The Taco Traveler

I was washing my yankee sheets (ropes to control the head sail, land-lubbers), rinsing the lines of their crusty salt to try to soften them for a long summer’s storage in the middle of San Carlos Bay, Sonora, Mexico, and I couldn’t get it out of my head – this uncomfortable feeling like I’d wronged someone, like somehow I’d done something bad. I was remorseful. It’s not the sort of feeling you want to leave Mexico with – they’ll see it at the border and might not let you back into the States without a back-room interview or two.

I’d posted a casual tweet, a #followfriday post to recommend a couple guys with way more followers than me who certainly don’t need my recommendation…. But for some reason I felt like saying something. Like a really stupid scientist throwing an acid and a base into the same tweet and being surprised when there’s a reaction, I took two guys I follow on Twitter, @shoq and @stephenkruiser, and doled out a rare #followfriday:

A #followfriday of contrasts: @Shoq and @stephenkruiser (though a Right-ish figure, however, SK is more personable than political)

It was innocent enough, and I wasn’t expecting any issues with it (who doesn’t like a mention here & there, no matter how many followers they have?), but @Shoq didn’t care much for the mashup:

@tacotraveler Kruiser is about as personable as a roadside I.E.D. Did that crank pay you to tweet my name with his?

There was a back-and-forth w/r/t what “personable” means, and I suppose I gave in and didn’t want to just come out and say, “dude, stop being a dick,” but I let it go. So there I sat, churning my headsail sheets with a winch handle in a five-gallon bucket of warm fresh water and laundry soap, watching yet another amazing sunset and sipping on what may be my last margarita in Mexico for a long time (okay, I’ve since poured one more and am considering a third), but just feeling emotionally shitty, generally. And I figured out what was bothering me so much about it: I felt like the guy with whom I share a side (or at least several posts) of the political fence, as it were, was just plain wrong about how he goes about it – how he navigates the political landscape. Our new president would agree, I'm sure, that making a vitriolic attack against a political opposite was no better than, say, Cheney, who (let’s face it) is a major dick.

I have no idea what Stephen Kruiser’s radio show is like. Does he stir things up, Rush-style, and make an ass of himself to appease an audience that might demand a bit of lefty hatred or they’ll stop tuning in? I don’t know, but I don’t intend to check, either. I've belonged to a country club and seen enough narrow-mindedness to satisfy me for all time - people like slot cars on a track with no criss-cross: they simply won't change lanes - not on an idea or opinion, no matter how small or large or how unreasonable their position. But when it comes to Stephen Kruiser, the only persona I care about – the only one I interact with (as much as you can interact, as one of 80k followers) – is the one on Twitter. That persona seems like a nice guy, and I can't say I'd really like to discuss politics in 140 character snippets. Politics, for me, requires many more words (and usually a lot of alcohol) if feelings and friendships are to be preserved.

Shortly before my #followfriday post, I was introduced on Twitter (accidentally, via a @Shoq post criticizing a different guy on Twitter) to an entirely different sort of conservative. Someone who, when I looked through his posts, referred once to Obama as “Barry” and in many other posts was just a jerk. “Barry,” I suppose is no more disrespectful than calling our previous president “George,” but the way he said it made him sound like an asshole – like someone seeking the tiniest edge, like someone looking for anything that will annoy the left and ingratiate themselves to the right. I don’t have anything against conservatives unless they get preachy or personal, and I guess it’s fair to say that I have nothing against liberals, either, unless they get personal. Why hate someone for what they believe? My seven and six-year-old know better.

My politics? I’ve been all over the place. After high-school and early in college I suppose I was in a sort of “be like my dad” state of being, where finally getting to live with and spend a lot of time with a father who I'd seen only on holidays and summer trips for much of my adolescence was reason enough for me to adopt his politics and be as much like him as possible. I don’t know – I’m probably stretching, but it’s fair to say that I really looked up to Michael J. Fox as Alex P. Keaton, and like most of those guys I went to a lot of frat parties (never pledged) and started college as a Business major.

Then, in 1989 or so, I discovered a bit of a reader and writer in me and fell into the English crowd at San Diego State. I started hanging with hipsters (hipster-esque as they could be well past the Kero-wacky fifties). I edited a literary magazine. I may or may not have smoked a lot of pot and I may or may not have smoked some of that pot with a professor or two. Basically, influenced by the crowd I liked being with, I adopted the politics of that crowd. That continued into graduate school, where, as a grad TA and English master’s student I became, um... the professor.

In 1996 my grades and my ambition turned me from the scholar route (I’m a pseudo-scholar), and I started working as a contractor at Microsoft. I think I steadily moved more towards the political center as my income rose and the cool-factor of English-major liberalism started to wear off. I started my own consulting business and saw more than six figures (pre-Y2K, when six figures was still pretty sweet), but even then I didn’t have a problem sharing with my government as long as the money seemed well-spent. I drove a red Jeep. I snowboarded. I climbed a couple times a week at a rock-climbing gym. And I dated a lot. I was a well-monied single guy and life was good.

And where am I now? Well, after marriage, two brilliant and beautiful kids, divorce, unemployment... transience, I’m not much different than I was after grad school. I love “This American Life” and “Radio Lab” on NPR. I believe that art, music and writing should be required at every level of school, and that no life could possibly be full without some sort of self-examination in an artistic context. I listen to pop, hip-hop, electronica, the occasional metal, world music, “Adult Alternative,” and I have five versions of Bach’s “Cello Suites” played by five different cellists (if musical eclecticity (eclectic-ness?) says anything about politics). I voted for Obama and I teared up several times on election night (mostly when overt and uncontrollable happiness was displayed on screen, like a Malia / Sasha grin, but if you know me you know that I tear up easily). I don’t believe – either actually or conceptually – in a knowing, caring or vengeful God, but I believe that if there’s a force in the universe that gives a rat’s ass, it would care more that you’re nice than that you worshiped it every week. So yeah, I’m still a liberal. But the most important feature of “Where I Am Now,” as far as I'm concerned, would be my knowing I’m a part of the process – part of the community of ideas – and not the one and only solution. For me it’s about being a good person and letting other good people be good in their own way. And if they're not good, not friendly, not reasonable in their arguments or respectful while conducting their arguments, then move on. Maybe even unfollow. I guess what it comes down to is this: I just wish people wouldn't be dicks.

TT

 

Not a lot has been happening here - mainly work when it's not too hot in the boat. I finally opened up the cockpit enclosure all the way to get just a bit more breeze down below, but marinas are not the place to be if you want to stay cool. I should be out at anchor. La Cruz was a fine anchorage, with plenty of wind all day long, but I left that to come here to Paradise Village Resort and PV-Proper, and I'm not making the use of the property or PV that I should be. I've only gone into PV once, and that was this past Sunday for the Chivas/America match. The rest of my time here I've spent working on the boat or working inside the boat (on real work stuff) when it's cool enough inside, like from 10pm to 3am and whenever I wake up till noon. :-/

My trip into town was a great 24-mile bike ride, round trip. As I rounded the curve from Nuevo Vallarta where it joins Highway 200, I passed another guy on a bike; I was flying. A minute later I felt his presence right on my wheel. He was drafting on me. So I ignored him, but at the next hill I hit it. "Let's see if he can handle me now," I thought. I was flying up that hill in like 12th gear, and he stayed right there. Another mile later, on flat ground, I just turned around and smiled at him, like "I give up," and said "How's it goin'?" because I thought he looked like a gringo. Well, he wasn't; he didn't speak much English, but we ended up riding and talking for the next 20 minutes. He even helped me get a bit more speed by adjusting my seat up a bit to make my legs more efficient. He was a fifty-something Mexican man, a vet, a Doctor de Veterinario. That was a great encounter, but I couldn't understand his name. It wasn't a simple Mexican name, like Francisco Rodriguez. It was a name like an Aztec. Ticho Loquillo Quatl, or something like that. Well, nothing like that, but you get the idea. Anyway, I know where his office is and he told me to stop by if I ever had a sick animal or wanted to just get a beer.

I'm having more and more of those interactions - Mexicans who speak very little or no English, and we sit there for an hour and have a conversation with my horrible Spanish - which must be getting better if I can have 20-minute bike-riding conversation along a busy Mexican highway, or an hour-long conversation with a waiter. Last night I met Samuel. He served me at the Brazil Churrascaria. It was my second visit there this week, and they turned on the democratic debate for me. After I ate lots of meat and had a couple beers, Samuel and I started talking about futbol, boats, fishing, tequila... and he brought me a nice tequila "en la casa." Obviously, the restaurant wasn't crowded. This whole place is pretty empty.

I leave here Saturday am and will probably head back to La Cruz just to sit at anchor and use the better wifi there to continue working until Monday. Then I'll head more north, my exact direction again depending on the winds. If it makes sense to cross to Cabo, I'll do that. Or, if the wind isn't favorable, I'll just motor north along the shore to Jaltemba, Chacala, San Blas, Isla Isabela and maybe Mazatlan before hopping across to La Paz or Cabo.

TT

 

Preface
This isn't really an essay, but in order to keep my streak going (two marriages still intact after two wedding essays read) I'll call it one anyway. It's words, after all - take from it what you will. Al and Yvette of Sailfisher are the friends I made (along with Lou and Lydia on Shiloh) originally at Isla Isabela, between Mazatlan and San Blas. We've been buddy-boating since, more or less, with a two week gap at La Cruz when I last went to visit the boys in Florida. Like the thing begins, I wasn't asked to write something, but I knew the ceremony would be small, and short, and informal, and just in case they wanted something personal in the ceremony, I put this together while sitting on the boat, smoking a cigar and having a Basil Haydens. I pulled them aside before the ceremony and explained that they could just have it and take it home, I could read it as a toast afterwards, or I could read it during - their call. I offered a preview or to read the whole thing (brides usually don't like surprises, do they?) but they decided to have me open the ceremony with it without hearing it first.

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For Al & Yvette - 3.13.2008
Bahia Santiago, Jalisco, Mexico

I wasn’t asked to do this. I speak today because of a need to express for these two what many of us feel – to acknowledge for all of us the comfort in this union that can’t come from a state or a church’s approval but comes from our observations, and from our observations of their observations.

I was speaking to Yvette the other night, and she brought up Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” and it doesn’t matter what the song says – some of you may remember it differently - what Yvette saw in that song was this: “You’ve got heaven, right here with you, you know? Why do you go on seeking heaven?”

As I write this, I can look out my hatch and see the hillside burning – it’s a mountain behind Manzanillo and if you consider the distance and really calculate, the flames must be 45 feet tall. And these two… after this celebration they will return to their 46-foot boat. Al will load the dishwasher in his special and only correct way. They’ll don their headsets so they don’t need to yell. They’ll pull anchor and they’ll sail away, Yvette’s Bronx flames pulling the boat along, and Al’s cool slowing it down, ensuring they just keep moving, but not to anywhere, really. They’re already there.

I realize I've left a lot of gaps in my itinerary over the last couple of weeks, so hopefully this will rectify that. After Barra de Navidad I headed farther south towards Bahia Santiago, which is one of the sub-bays of the larger Manzanillo Bay area. Before getting there, however, I joined Shiloh and Sailfisher for a night at an amazing place called Ensenada Carrizal. I think I've mentioned it elsewhere. Anyway, after some snorkeling the next morning, everyone left for Bahia Santiago. Lou and Lydia (Shiloh) had rented a house on the beach because their kids and some neighbors from home (Steamboat Springs, Colorado) were coming into town for a visit and to help celebrate Lou's 60th birthday.

The house turned out to be the social center of the universe for the next week, as Lou's birthday on the 11th was followed two days later by Al and Yvette's wedding ceremony on the 13th. Lou's party was great, and there were plenty of great people to talk to. Lou and Lydia each had kids before they got married. Lou's son Dusty is an engineer at Boeing. He lives in Lynnwood and works in Everett. Lou's daughter Kari is engaged to Spencer, and they live in New Orleans where he's a chef in one of the most competitive chefing places in the world, I imagine. Lydia's daughter Cara and her husband Lee live in Steamboat Springs, too. Lee's a diver, and we had a good adventure taking my dinghy down the beach closer to a dive shop where I could get a fill and he could rent a couple of tanks for the week. We landed and then launched from that beach in 4-5 foot surf. The landing was as good as it gets, riding the shoulder of a breaker right to the beach where we jumped off in unison and dragged the dinghy up, barely getting wet. Launching was just as fun, and we got good air and nearly vertical on a 5-footer that was almost ready to break.

Everyone went to Carrizal again on the 12th. I shuttled Sterling and Parker (the neighbors) on Chemistry, and Shiloh took everyone else, and we spent a long day diving and lounging around on our boats. I'd thought about staying that night in Carrizal, diving at night and trying to get some lobsters for the wedding, but ended up deciding I needed to work, so I headed back to Santiago where there was a good open wifi connection accessible to me on the bay.

I spent most of the 13th shopping in downtown Santiago with my bike and backpack (again, sober this time and carrying fewer cans of corn than the San Diego drunk over-loaded bike crash). After I returned to the boat I had only a bit of time to get ready for the wedding, which was very informal, but still... I stunk.

The wedding was great, with tons of great food prepared by the housekeeper, and tons of tequila for sampling and taste-testing. The ceremony was very simple, with an officiant who kept it short. I had a few words to say that I'd written after Lou's birthday party after a good conversation with Yvette. And the vows were sincere and excellent and generated some tears, though Al hid his behind his sunglasses. I even had a date, sort of. Yvette had been talking about her friend, Trish, who she really wanted me to meet. And she was great, and I'm sure we would have had a good time talking, getting to know each other... if she hadn't brought a date - a date who was staying with her at the hotel, no less. :-/

So the 14th was recovery day, with a fuel stop at Las Hadas resort (where they filmed the movie "10") and then over to Carrizal again. After I said goodbye (again) to Lou & Lydia and they and their clan motored back to Santiago, I stayed and had the greatest dive of my life. Amazing visibility and sea-life in 30 feet of water, with pinnacles rising 20 feet from the sea floor. It was about an hour-long dive, and I'd only worn the top of my 7mm semi-dry suit, and by the end I was absolutely freezing (the water is exceptionally cold this year - La Nina, they're saying). I took about a 15-gallon shower to warm up. Had a good night alone in the anchorage, and then left yesterday late-morning for here, Melaque.

There, all caught up, I think.

 

This place is flat-out the greatest. Sure, it's my first real Mexican town that truly feels like a town (Cabo is just a resort city, and Turtle Bay was… ugly), but walking around you can see why Norm Goldie and his lovely wife Jan have made this their home for 40+ years. My first description of Norm was through the Rains' Mexico Boating Guide, where Captain Rains says: "Sportfishing skipper Norm Goldie on VHF 16 and 22 helps yatistas, but some call him the Enforcer." It's not a fair nickname, in my opinion (especially with the "but" that makes "the Enforcer" slightly pejorative). From what I've seen, Norm is a great friend to any and all gringos who visit San Blas, whether they're cruisers who are doing great, boaters of all sorts who get into trouble on the seas, tourists walking, riding or driving through town, and any other Nortenos who need help. He's also, however, a member of the San Blas community. So if "the Enforcer" does originate from someone who felt somehow bothered by Norm, I'd almost guarantee that Norm was protecting his community. For example, there's a dinghy dock here that Norm prefers people don't use because the owner of the dock (who charges 20 pesos / day for the use of the dock) is hiring illegal US workers (w/o work visas) and taking work away from the local workers. As a nearly lifelong Teamster, that's an issue for Norm. Outside of that, anyone who's met enough cruisers will tell you that some cruisers are such hopeless, demanding and non-appreciative assholes that they're beyond help, and sometimes need to be told where to stick their mast (or, more often, their twin-Cat-diesels).

Anyway, more about Norm as we go on…. At anchor at Isla Isabela, we made friends with Lou and Lydia aboard Shiloh, and Al and Yvette aboard Sailfisher. After Isla Isabela they were heading to San Blas, and said because it's relatively non-touristy it'll be the most authentic version of a Mexican town we're likely to see along the coast. So we had to stop for a night and check it out.

Ya know, I have to inject at this point, after nearly completing this entry (and hopping back here) that the rest of this entry is really a bunch of boring stuff. Great to experience, but probably not much to read. So read on at your own risk.

The sail 2/10 from Isla Isabela was nice but slow, with very light winds for most of it. We caught a nice yellowtail just after leaving the island, but I kept sailing as Denali is becoming quite the fish processor. After sailing for a bit, then motorsailing a bit more, we put up the cruising spinnaker with only 5-8 knots on the starboard quarter (heading SE, winds out of the SW to W). We didn't make great time, but we looked good.

About 3:30 we fell into line with Shiloh, Sailfisher and Chemistry (in order of San Blas experience and depth of keel) awaiting Norm's heavy New York accent as he guided us past the sandbar and into the estuary. His help was valuable, as the range markers have gone slightly out of tune due to the shifting bar. From his spot on the beach he helped us into the estuary via handheld VHF and his signal mirror, and then hopped on his bike and pedaled over to the Navy dock where he guided us to our respective anchors, and advised 100' of chain (about 10-1 scope) due to the heavy tidal flow.

Lou on Shiloh has known Norm a long time, so in being a part of Lou's posse, we were automatically important in Norm's world. So last night after putting the bug screens on the boat portlights and hatches, everyone met in the town square. The others took a while to arrive, and Denali and Malavika wanted to explore a bit, so I settled in at a plaza-side café and had a couple of Pacificos and some tacos de camaron. Nothing spectacular. While eating, I noticed a few people wandering around the plaza carrying grande Pacificos, and I realized I needed to have one of those. I spotted the group, paid la cuenta, headed to a little store, plopped down 24 pesos and then rolled up to the yachty homies with my very own Pacifico 40. The dollar/peso value is about 10/1, so my beer cost me $2.40, and $0.50 of that was a deposit on the bottle. Sweet.

Shortly after that, once the whole group was assembled, we all paraded around a couple corners to Norm and Jan's favorite local restaurant, where most folks loved their breaded shrimp, and I loved my Filleto de Ajo (a dorado fillet sauteed in garlic, and lots of butter, of course).

After dinner, Denali and Malavika rejoined me (they'd not joined us for dinner and instead wandered around the town finding interesting stuff) and we rowed back to the boat. I'd had a lot of beer by this time, and somehow I'm one of those special people who get especially agile and strong when I drink. No, really. I glided down gently to the dinghy, and serenaded my crew to "Moon River" on the way to the boat, then when we arrived at the boat and it was time to pull the dinghy onto the deck for security, rather than wait for the winch handle, I just threw my body into it and pulled the spinnaker halyard (which was attached to the dinghy that Denali was guiding over the lifelines). By the forth pull, I was nearly upside down with my feet on the mast-mounted winch to get leverage, but I did it. I successfully accomplished feeling really young and drunk… and dumb. Oh well.

The next two days and nights were similar, with great food, great company, and wonderful scenery. I was planning on leaving the 12th, but Norm and Jan convinced me to stay one more night because they have a Mexican friend who's always asking to meet one of their cruiser friends. So on the night of the 13th I had a blind date in San Blas, Mexico. Well... it didn't end up happening as it was too last-minute and the girl had a class that night. The extra night was worth it anyway, as we all went to a good friend of Norm's, a lady's house which is sort of an ad-hoc restaurant and the lady makes the most amazing chile rellenos you've ever had.

The San Blas estuary has a reputation as an uncomfortable place because of the jejenes (hay-hay- nays) which are no-see-ums, but with our screens deployed on Chemistry the bugs weren't a problem. I never was on the boat during dusk/sunset, so they were especially easy for me. Also, I think I generally have enough bourbon and/or wine flowing through my system that my blood is toxic to little bugs, including mosquitos. They might have a warning about people like me in a little bug "human species identification" book.

TT

 

Outside of this storm that's battering the west coast, there's not a lot going on. Pretty much just working on the boat and waiting for another weather window so I can make my way past the next two stops (Fort Bragg, CA, and Bodega Bay) into San Francisco.
 
The main thing I've discovered since arriving in Eureka last Sunday night is that the "cruising lifestyle" isn't just a dream anymore. Having never been the "neighborly" type when I had a real neighborhood, I didn't know what to expect as far as the "boat neighborhood" thing goes. Suffice to say, I'm a polar opposite on the water. In the suburbs I always felt like I wanted to associate with neighbors, but not necessarily be friends with them; say "hi" on the walk to the mailbox, set up the occasional play date for the kids, keep an eye out for any weirdness when you know they're on vacation. But keep them distant ("good fences make good neighbors"). But when cruising, I find that I love the interaction, the dock-side talk about engines, water systems, weather, which places to anchor, which marinas to visit.... It's a much different sort of neighborhood. Here, everyone is generally living the same life. Everyone is still interesting, of course, but everyone here has in one way or another, to some degree, come to a similar conclusion: that they wanted to see different things and live a different life than they can live on land.

I hosted my first "cruiser's potluck" the other night, and could have stayed up all night with my new friends, plying them with wine and culling out more and more stories and talk. These are amazing and interesting (and downright nice) people who are all heading south towards Mexico, and in some cases beyond. Nowadays, when everyone has a blog and a cell that works internationally, I expect to run into them again down the line.

And this is only my first stop since leaving Port Townsend. So much to come.

TT