Bathroom Basics for Non-Sailors

Speaking of boat bathrooms... the first thing you need to remember about bathrooms on a boat, is that you don't call them bathrooms. Oh sure, you can say bathroom and everyone will know what you're talking about, but they'll probably snicker and giggle behind their hands, arch their eyebrows at other people who happened to hear you, and basically, you will become the "butt" of all their non-savvy sailor jokes. On a boat, a bathroom is referred to as the head. It may be the forward head, or it may be the aft head, but it's a head, not a bathroom. Heads on boats are not the spacious "throne rooms", which many Americans have grown accustomed to. They are tiny little cubbies in which, once you enter, you can easily touch all four walls without moving your feet even a millimeter. They have tiny little sinks, a tiny little window, a tiny little toilet, and a tiny little bit of a permanent stink. Probably from their tiny little holding tanks which travel with the boat wherever it goes. 

Using the head on the boat is not quite like using the bathroom at home. When you use the toilet on the boat for instance, you cannot flush the toilet paper. Our captain says, "Nothing goes down that toilet that you didn't eat first!" The toilet paper goes in the garbage can. (Right now, that's not so different for us, because in Mexico, you can't flush the toilet paper either, no matter what toilet you're using.) When you're ready to flush the toilet on our boat, there is a little red lever beside the bowl that must be flipped up in order to flush. Once it is up, you have to pump the handle to flush water into the bowl. When you've successfully flushed water into the bowl, the red lever must be flipped down and the handle pumped again, in order to drain the water and everything else from the bowl. On our boat, this last step has given us and our guests some pretty exciting moments, (and probably elevated some blood pressures to dangerously high levels) because it doesn't always work so smoothly. Another thing our captain says is, "Don't be embarrassed if you can't get the toilet to flush and have to ask for help. 'It' happens!"

Keeping the head clean is not a job for the faint of heart. It's so small in there and full of pipes below the toilet, that no matter how clean you think you've got it, there is always just a hint of that unpleasant smell that never seems to go away. 

 

It's no wonder that cruisers get pretty revved up at the prospect of using a "real" bathroom. At the marinas, it's one of the first things Sandy and I check 

out. Our current bathroom in Marina de La Paz is lovely! Not only is it clean and pretty, but it has some rocket-powered fans overhead that keep the air moving and the place cool! (That's our marina bathroom in the picture.) We look for the good bathrooms all over town. La Paz has some notable bathrooms, but the one at the top of my list, is the one at Applebee's Restaurant. Yes, Applebee's. A couple nights ago, several of us went to dinner and then decided to get ice cream. We were walking down the malecon, and as we passed Applebee's, Susie veered off and headed for the entrance. She said to me, "They have the best bathrooms in here!" So in we went. She was right. The place was palacial and we oohed and aahed as though we had just checked into a 5 star hotel!

Like everything else involved in living on a boat, the head provides a challenge, but hey... I've been on boats that don't even have a head. Why, we know people who sailed all the way from Hawaii to Vancouver BC with just a bucket, which makes the heads on Faith seem like Applebee's in my book! 

Zip-Lining

When I was a kid, my friend, Carlyn, had a rope swing that hung from this huge maple tree in her back yard. The way it worked was you climbed up onto this big fat branch, grabbed the rope, and down you went, like Tarzan, swinging from a vine. But here's the deal. I don't think I ever actually took that ride because it always looked so far down and I was terrified of it. So I ask you, what in my history of experiences, could possibly make me think that I should take a Zip-Line Tour of the Mexican jungle canopy? I have no idea, but last week I decided I couldn't live without trying it.

I invited all of the crew from Faith to join me, but no one would because they're afraid of heights. (I won't name names, but you know who you are.) I invited people from other boats. George and Sue wanted to go, but had too much to do before taking the Puddle Jump. A few people were deterred by the cost. Others fell back on the old, "I'm not comfortable with heights" excuse. To my credit, I never called one of them a sissy. To their face anyway.

That left only me; so off I went. At the Vallarta Adventures office, we buckled ourselves into an open-sided truck, driven by a head-banded character who never stopped talking. Fourteen strangers, seven on each side, trying not to stare at the seven on the opposite side, as we traveled for an hour out of town and up into the outlying mountains. It probably would have taken only half the time if the truck hadn't had to slow from 60 mph to 0, every 2 miles or so in order to navigate the speed bumps, which apparently is Mexico's answer to controlling traffic speed. Their law enforcement can't be bothered with radar guns. They're packin' uzis. 

When we got to the turn off for the canopy tour, the road changed to a steep climb of dirt and ruts. Naturally, the truck transmission began slipping and couldn't make much headway up the hill. So the driver sent the photographer, who was riding along up front, out to get a huge rock to place behind the back tire of the truck in order to get some purchase on the road. But that didn't work. So we all got out and walked the rest of the way, with the promise that we would have a truck to take us back to town by the end of our tour. 

Once we arrived at the tour site, we were outfitted with our gear. I had 

a moment of trepidation, wondering if "the gear" was going to fit around my thighs. I noticed a couple other women looking a little worried, but as it happened, the straps were very adjustable. Next came a little demonstration of how the zip-lines worked, how to control your speed, plus a little pep talk to get the crowd excited. Didn't work all that well. Turns out those women weren't worried about their thighs. They were scared stiff at the idea of zipping through the trees with no net.

The five guides assured us it was totally safe, and that we would all have a wonderful time. Don't they look reassuring?

We hiked up to the first zip-line, a narrow little treehouse-like platform. 

Somehow, I foolishly agreed to go first. 

I could see the next platform in the distance through the trees, so at least I knew where I was heading. But it was a long way down to it. Paco hooked me to the zip-line and said, "Are you ready?" I said I guessed I was, so... I went. And it was awesome! I couldn't believe how fast that thing moved down the line! Do you think it has something to do with how much you weight? Anyway. As I flew along, my eyes were glued to the next platform, and more importantly, the comforting sight of the guide who was waiting for me! Once I was firmly on the landing, he clipped my safety line to a rope which encircled the tree, and then unhooked me from the zip-line. We were never without the safety line attached to something. Nice plan. 

We got to zip about 10 lines, and got better and better at controlling the speed so that we would land "gracefully" on each platform. Easier said than done. If you didn't apply enough brake (and I should state here that your brake is nothing more than a heavily gloved hand on the line above your helmet) you would just about knock the guide out of the tree as you landed. If you applied too much brake, you had to get yourself to the platform using hand over hand along the line. And in that case, the guides give you the business and refer to you as a pinata. You know... hanging from a line in the middle of nowhere. (At least no one had a stick to beat us with.) I will admit that I was a pinata, at least once. 

 

The last part of the adventure was repelling down from the final tree platform. This was quite a bit different from the zipping. I knew you had to control your speed with your right hand by gripping a rope, but of course, when the guides demo for you, they show off a bit, and it looks like they are dropping like a rock. In fact, it was very easy to control your speed as you descend. As you can see, I look totally in control! :-)

 

My one regret was that there were very few insects or wildlife of any kind for that matter. It was pretty dry. Apparently, the rainy season of June, July, and August, are a better time for bugs and stuff. I thoroughly enjoyed the day and believe I have redeemed myself from my cowardly behavior all those years ago! 

Whales, Turtles and Rays...Oh My!

Looks like something dead, doesn't it?

Adventure stories abound in which some unfortunate sailor, marooned on a desert island, manages to make his escape by lassoing two sea turtles together and either rides them or is towed to safety by them. A fanciful solution to an impossible problem. Most people have never even glimpsed one sea turtle, let alone two. However, on a recent passage from Tenacatita to La Cruz, it crossed my mind that it just might not be so far fetched. 

It was a glorious February day aboard S/V Faith as we made our way north from the anchorage at Chamela where we'd spent the night. Traveling fromTenacatita to Chamela the day before, we had not really encountered an abundance of wildlife. Although Lord knows we tried! It's amazing how long one can sit and stare out at the ocean, hoping for just a glimpse of something above the surface. Any suspicious little splash of water will do. On this day, we were handsomely rewarded for our efforts. Everywhere we looked we were spotting whales, rays and turtles! 

The humpback whales were mostly making their way north, like us, but we never assume. Once we see one break the surface, we try to determine which direction they are swimming. Wouldn't do to run over one, of course. We'd hate to harm a whale, and have heard some grizzly stories of the damage that hitting one could do to the boat! Only a few came remotely close to the boat. Personally, I consider them "close" when we can hear them blow out their air at the surface. That's close enough for me! It's exciting to see them no matter where they are. 

The water was exceptionally clear which could be one reason we saw so many rays that day! They were easily spotted near the boat, swimming just below the surface, usually in synchronized formations. Two or three would glide, turn, dive or jump (Yes, jump!) in unison. The Blue Angels have nothing on these guys! When they swim at the surface, you can see just the tips of their wings above the water. From a distance,  they look like dolphin dorsal fins. Only as they move closer to the boat can you see their broad bodies slipping by. Generally, the boat startles them and they immediately dive. What I didn't know about rays is they like to jump... as in clear out of the water! And they don't just jump once and then disappear. They jump, maybe fly would be a better word, time after time after time. Once, as we were having lunch in Puerto Vallarta at this lovely restaurant with a view, Sandy and I watched one leapfrog its way almost clear across the Banderas Bay. At first we thought it was a fish, which would have been strange enough. But then we realized it was a ray, and of course, since we'd had a couple margaritas, we thought THAT was hysterical!

Believe me, turtles don't do any leaping! The first time I saw a turtle I thought it was the bloated body of something dead in the water. Only when they lift their little head and take a peek at the above water world can you see any sign of life. When the ocean is calm, you can see them from pretty far away. They are the only dark spot in an otherwise smooth, blue surface. When the water is choppy, you can't see them until you're right on top of them. The turtles we saw were Olive Ridley Turtles. They are sort of a light green color. I think the best one I saw, was one who was surprised by the boat going overhead. He came zooming up from under the boat on the starboard side, took one look around, and immediately ran for cover. His little flippers were going a mile a minute in his effort to get the heck out of there! As the day went on, we saw an amazing number of turtles. Of course after about the twentieth one, we thought, "Gee. We should have been counting them!" I would venture to say we probably saw 40 turtles. I'm not making this up! It was amazing. And I think, if the occasion had called for it, since there were so many around, we probably COULD have caught two or three and escaped from a deserted island! Really. We could have.  :) 

Oh Baby!

Baby (left) and Mom. Look at the difference in the size of their dorsals.

It was probably 15 (or more) years ago that I was in Mexico on a kayaking vacation in the Sea of Cortez. I remember getting a lot of flack from friends like, "How can paddling a kayak for a week be considered a vacation?" But it was, in fact, the best vacation I ever took. The thing I had anticipated most about such a trip was a chance to see whales- moms and their babies to be exact. But after a week of paddling from one island to the next, I had counted zero whales. Our naturalist guide said it was too late in the season (the second week of April) to see whales in the Sea of Cortez. Bummer. When would I have such a chance again?

Well, my friends, the chance has come again and THIS time...wait for it... we've seen them! Yesterday, the boat was resting comfortably in Santiago Bay which is just around the corner from Manzanillo. It was a pretty lazy day on board. Since temperatures are reasonable, I was baking chocolate chip cookies, which takes all morning because the oven and consequently the cookie sheet are so small, I can only bake 9 cookies at a time. In between batches I was reading a book, Chris was reading a book up in the cockpit, and Sandy was reading in the aft cabin. Around noon, Chris noticed a humpback whale in the bay, which appeared to be resting at the surface. So we all came up to inspect. The longer we watched, it became clear that there was more going on than just a resting whale. We began to see snatches of another whale, who was a bit more frisky and much smaller. We realized then that it was a mom and her calf. We got to watch them for two hours as the baby frolicked - never far from Mom's side. (Although my viewing was interrupted by multiple trips up and down to deal with batches of cookies.)

Dingys from two other boats went out to get a better look, but the mom remained at the surface. A ponga pulling an inflated "banana ride" full of tourists even pulled up and stopped to watch a while and she still stayed where we could see her and was actually moving closer to our boat. Every once in a while, she would roll on her side a bit, which we think was for the baby to nurse. We were snapping pictures like crazy! Since the mom was just lying at the surface, she was easy. But we never knew where that kid was going to pop up, and therein lay the challenge.

It wasn't until two clowns on a jet ski went zooming by at full speed, oblivious of the whales, that she decided she'd had enough, and headed out to sea, swimming so close alongside one of the dingys on her way out, that the occupants could nearly touch her. Boy, those people's eyes were wide open as they headed over to our boat to compare notes!

At happy hour last night at The Oasis restaurant on the beach (What else would it be called, right?) the whales were a big topic of conversation. Apparently they'd been in the bay the day before too, so we'll be looking for them again today. All in all, a very rewarding experience... the reason I came to Mexico!

Miracles

Somewhere back in November, Sandy and I decided we needed more swimsuits. Which meant shopping. Well, if we have to shop, we have to.

We ventured into Puerto Vallarta, where, as you can imagine, swimsuit stores abound. However the swimsuits available in a resort town like this, seemed to be more appropriate for... well, someone else. Sigh... One night, with nothing better to do and a good Internet connection, I stumbled upon the website for Miracle Suits. All the suits looked like "normal" swim suits, and were offered in a variety of colors and designs. They were a bit on the pricey side, but since swimsuits comprise a huge portion of our wardrobe, that wasn't an insurmountable obstacle. But here's what closed the deal: They guaranteed that the suits would make us look 10 pounds thinner in 10 minutes! Who among women over 50 could resist?

I picked out the suit I wanted, a jungley type on a black background. Luckily I happened to notice some small print suggesting that, due to the extraordinary amount of spandex involved in the construction of a Miracle Suit, (apparently the secret to the guaranteed "miracle") you should order a size larger than you normally would. Now, if they're going to add a requirement like that, why don't the makers of Miracle Suits save us all the trouble, not to mention embarrassment of having to order a size larger, and just make the suits bigger? For cryin' in the sink! We already are a size larger than we want to be, or we wouldn't be ordering a Miracle Suit in the first place. Right? Now, we have to order an even bigger size, just to ensure that we can squeeze into it.

Never the less, since our friend, Mary, was due to visit in December, we quickly ordered and had the suits shipped to her house so she could bring them. We anxiously awaited her arrival on the 20th. (Not just for the suits. We were happy she was coming!) Minutes after her arrival, Mary riffled through her bag and produced the long awaited Miracle Suits. They were gorgeous! We were delighted!

If you're thinking, "Hmmm. Maybe I'll check out that site myself..." Let me caution you: Getting into a Miracle Suit is not a job for sissies. It just possibly would have been easier to pull on a section of bicycle tire inner tube! All that extra spandex is a force to be reckoned with. In the small confines of the ever humid forward head, I wiggled and squirmed, working up quite a sweat, which of course, only added to the challenge. It was slow work, punctuated by frenzied moments of, "Who am I kidding? This is never going to fit!" Every inch of progress required strenuous effort and a brief respite. To wipe away the sweat.

And suddenly, I was home free. In it. Done. Had it on. And let me tell you, (I'm not kidding here) it was a miracle. And worth every penny, too!

Dinghy Dependence

Elvis

                    The beach at Punta de Mita

When people reminisce about their cruising years, they talk of the lovely towns they visited, wonderful people they met, spectacular coves where they snorkeled, and the glittering beaches which were overflowing with shells. What they don't mention so often is the dinghy, and its importance to the success of their travels. While anchored in one of those lovely spots, the dinghy is a cruiser's... shall we say, Honda Accord. You all know approximately how long it takes to head for the garage, get into your Honda, start it up, and take off. Rough estimate: 5 minutes?

That's not how it works with a dinghy. Sandy named our inflatable dinghy Elvis. But right now it looks like his name is E S, because most of the letters have fallen off. Elvis is carried on the stern of the boat, swinging from dinghy davits. Before we do anything we make sure the dinghy is secured to a cleat, so that Elvis doesn't leave the building without us! The dinghy davits have little pulleys on them so we can easily lower him into the water. That's the easy part. Elvis has oars, mostly for emergencies, but he has a hulking old 7.5 HP Honda motor, which weighs a ton. So once Elvis is in the water, the next trick is to get the motor attached to his stern. That motor is one heavy piece of work, and for now, we are using a dingy davit to lower it down. Chris lifts it off the rail, I hold the pulley line and lower it down to Sandy, who positions it and clamps it onto Elvis.

Next we have to load the dinghy with the essentials: oars, gas can, flotation devices, dry bags containing anything we don't want to get wet, and finally, the hand-held radio, just in case. Once Elvis is loaded, we cheerfully load ourselves, (one at a time please, and step in the middle of the boat) in, and off we go. Now call me crazy, but I'm thinking that this took longer than 5 minutes. But, hey. What else have we got to do? :)

While recently anchored at the nearby town of Punta de Mita, we decided to go ashore and explore the beach. We were getting ready to go, when we noticed a brown booby (big sea bird) perched on the bow of Faith. We laughed and called him our guard booby. Sandy named him Bobby. Weren't we lucky to have our very own booby aboard? And off we went.

But back to our dinghy story. All dinghy riders know (and if they don't know, they learn very quickly) that once in sight of the beach, timing is everything in order to execute a successful landing. You never want to try to beat a wave to the shore. Always be nice, and let the wave go first. If you time it right, your dinghy will scrape bottom at the opportune moment for the crew to jump out "commando style" and drag the dinghy clear of the water. Oh yes. I forgot to mention that in that nanosecond before the crew jumps into the water, they need to do a quick perusal to make sure there are no rays or skates that might be waiting to sting them.

Okay. Pretend that we've been on the beach, had lunch, found a shell, and are ready to go back to the boat. At Punta de Mita, returning to Elvis, we noticed that the tide had receded significantly, which meant we had quite a ways to drag him. Once in the water, Chris got in first because he was driving. But "the crew" couldn't get in yet, because we didn't want the motor to drag on the bottom. We needed to be in deeper water. So we pushed out a bit farther, until Sandy and I were over our waists in water. Chris started the motor and announced, "Okay, get in." Sandy and I, who are on opposite sides of the raft, looked at each other and burst out laughing. Of course, now the waves are changing, and we're even deeper, so Chris' voice gets a little louder, "Come on!" So Sandy and I jump up and dive head first (can you say face plant?) into the boat like a couple of big sacks of flour! Wasn't pretty; and I've got the bruise to prove it, but we made it. And lets face it. The people on the beach who were watching all of our shenanigans... what did they think? Who cares. We'll never see them again! Once we were in the dinghy, we never looked back.

When we got back to Faith, our little dinghy foray was the least of our problems. In our absence, the boat had been white washed (and I'm not exaggerating here) with bird poop from our friendly brown booby, Bobby, but who we now fondly refer to as Butthead.

Thanksgiving in La Cruz

                         




                                          

Lots of people have emailed asking what we were planning/did for Thanksgiving. Well, first of all, it does not seem anything like Thanksgiving here. The weather and the atmosphere just don't jive with our mindset of Thanksgiving. However, there are enough never-say-die Americans around to warrant a celebration of some kind, which is what we did. You all have heard me mention Philo's restaurant. This year (maybe every year, who knows?) he held a Thanksgiving pot luck dinner for anyone who wanted to attend. He provided turkey, rice and stuffing, and everyone else brought a dish to share. Every food group was represented and it was spectacular! Not only that, but his band played while we ate, so people could dance. It was great fun! Chris and our friend, Chuck, went up early to save a table, which we shared with 6 other people from the marina. So we weren't with our families, but we were with our friends. 

Philo's band is something else again. He plays the guitar and sings, and leans towards Johnny Cash and country songs. He has a woman who plays bass guitar, an awesome saxophone player, and various other accompanists, which sometimes includes a keyboard player, a washboard/banjo player, and my personal favorite, a spoon player. One night the spoon player was a little kid who looked like he stepped right off the set of "Deliverance"... yes, the movie. On Thanksgiving, the spoon player looked like a leftover from the days of Haight-Ashbury. What can I say? This is Mexico.A good time was had by all.