Our bus to Oaxaca.
Snacks for sale at a bus stop.
Mountains on the way to Oaxaca.
Poinsettias and tall trees in
Oaxaca's Zócalo.
Outdoor eateries surround the Zócalo.
Santo Domingo Cathedral.
We walk down towards the historic district.
Oaxaca is loaded with charm.
One long cobbled street is set aside for pedestrians only.
Flowers adorn many
windows.
Door knocker.
There are great places for a snack and a view
all over town.
Many buildings have a door-within-a-door out front.
This church has two doors in its
gate.
The front of the public library.
The courtyard inside the public library.
Fancy stairs from the courtyard to
the second story balcony in the
university courtyard.
Self-explanatory in every
language.
Clusters of strange sculptures of
people spill all over the sidewalks.
Sculptures of "migratorios" congregate by the cathedral.
Inside the cathedral - gold, gold and more gold!!
The overriding theme is gold.
Pulpit.
A portion of the ceiling.
Street performers abound.
Uniformed schoolkids hang out by the cathedral after school.
Paintings for sale on the sidewalks of the art district.
Home of former president Benito Juarez.
Protesters cruise past us carrying signs.
Triqui protesters.
Two tourists make a video of
themselves in front of the
cathedral.
Oaxaca, Mexico (1)
Mid-February, 2012 - We left the seaside life of Huatulco behind for a
few days to get a glimpse of the colonial mountain city of Oaxaca
(pronounced "Wahaka"). There are two ranges of mountains to cross,
and there are several ways to make the trek. A $12 ride in a small van
will take you on sickness-inducing switchbacks up treacherous single lane
mountain roads, but gets you there in six hours. A daytime $23 bus goes
around the worst mountain passes but makes a lot of stops, getting you
there in 10 hours. A $28 overnight bus makes the trip in 8 hours with just
one stop. Or you can fly for $100.
Preferring comfortable budget travel and
sleeping in a bed, we opted for the day
bus. This was a fun way to go with lots of
action. At one stop a lady with a basket of snacks on her head showed up at the bus and
started calling out her wares in a shrill voice. At another stop a security guard boarded the bus
and video-taped everyone's faces. At a military checkpoint the men were all herded off the bus
while the womenfolk were left on board. This seemed a little odd until we found out it was just
so the brawny guys could lift the heavy luggage out of the baggage compartment for inspection.
In the end they all re-boarded the bus carrying chips and drinks they'd gotten at a little roadside
stand. The womenfolk were happy about that! But the bus company didn't leave us hungry for
long. At lunch time the bus stopped for half an hour at a cute little roadside restaurant.
It was a long drive, but the views in
the mountains approaching Oaxaca
were quite nice. These mountains
are a major Mescal manufacturing
region, and many mountainsides
were a patchwork of agave cactus
fields.
We arrived in the early evening and,
after dropping off our bags at the
hotel, we dashed out to the Zócalo,
the main town square which is the
heart of the city. Huge trees
dominate this city park, and
poinsettias were planted thickly
around them.
The square is actually made up of two
squares adjoined at the corners, and all
the edges of these squares are lined with
outdoor eateries. As darkness fell the
place came alive.
Hundreds of
people were
everywhere,
walking, sitting,
eating, selling stuff,
buying stuff, talking
on the phone and necking.
You name it, it was
happening at the Zócalo.
Towering above it all, the
Santo Domingo Cathedral
lit up the night.
We stayed at the Hotel Casa del Sótano, a
charming little hotel built around a courtyard with a
pretty outdoor breakfast terrace. We drank our
morning coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice
looking out over the city as it woke up, and we
were utterly enchanted. This is a walking town if
there ever was one, and right after breakfast we
hoofed it straight down to the old town district.
Oaxaca oozes charm from every ornate balcony, wrought iron
gate and rooftop terrace. It is a city with a past and a soul.
Built in 1521 by the Spanish on an Aztec miitary site, the flavor
is both historic and hip at the same time.
We couldn't stop the cameras from clicking. Everywhere
we turned there was something begging to be framed
and remembered.
The streets are cobbled (one main artery is pedestrian
only) and the buildings are heavily embellished with
elaborate trim.
Flowers hung from the
balconies, and Mark was
fascinated by the crazy door
knockers on many of the
doors.
And there are a zillion places to get a bite to eat
with a view onto the city streets.
Many buildings have a very
large front door with a
smaller utility door cut into it.
The little door is the one you
use to get inside.
One of the churches has two utility doors cut
into its main front gate.
All kinds of things can reside behind these
imposing doors. Usually it is a courtyard. In
the public buildings we found the doors were
often open, and we wandered in and out of
quite a few. The city library has a lovely
courtyard inside.
One of the universities -- Universidad
Autónomo "Benito Juárez" de Oaxaca --
has a plain courtyard but a grand, curvy
staircase going to the second floor.
There are several universities in this city, so there are young people everywhere. It
is also a favorite international tourist destination, and we met folks from Austria,
Denmark and England during our stay. To satisfy these groups of people there are
enchanting little restaurants, coffee shops and bars everywhere. Just in case the
tourists visiting Cafe Brújulu don't speak Spanish, their bathroom signs need no
translation!
As we made our way over to the Santo Domingo Cathedral, we found little groups
of odd statues standing around in front of many of the shops. Hundreds of them
filled a huge area in front of the church and spilled over into the sidewalks all
around.
We later learned that Oaxacan artist Alejandro Santiago
created these sculptures called "2501 Migrants" to
represent the 2500 people (plus himself) from his
hometown of Teoculcuilco that have left town to seek a
better fortune elsewhere. He first placed the sculptures in
his hometown as a spiritual replacement of the people who
had left. Then he lined them up in the desert between
Mexico and the USA along the most common migration route.
Now they stand around the Oaxaca's beautiful cathedral plaza.
After wandering
among these
intriguing statues for
a while we went
inside the cathedral.
Wow! Every inch of
the interior is
trimmed in fancy
gold leaf designs.
Some 60,000 sheets
of 23.5 carat gold
leaf were used in its
construction, and the
walls and ceilings
sparkle with gold.
I couldn't help but wonder, as the sunlight
glinted off the baroque patterns, whether this
gold had once been the artwork of the
Zapotecs or Aztecs or other indigenous people,
melted down by the Spanish to
decorate the church. Or had it
been mined by the Spanish
nearby?
I asked several guides and the
consensus was that it came from
the local gold mines that had
originally perked Spain's interest
in Oaxaca and wasn't the result
of melted ancient treasures.
As it turns out, the Oaxaca area mountains are still rich with
gold, and the Canadian-owned mine Natividad is
busy extracting it today.
But the real treasure in Oaxaca is not the gold or
even the architecture but the funky spirit that
makes this city a fun place to be. Street
performers and artists strut their stuff on the
streets, and school kids hang out under the trees
by the cathedral.
There is an artisans district
where art of all kinds is for sale
on the sidewalks, along with
literary books in many languages
and hard-to-find music CD's.
These aren't the usual cheap
bootleg hawkers found in other
towns, but university types
selling off parts of their
collections for pocket change.
Wandering down a side street we bumped into the
boyhood home of Benito Juárez, Mexico's only
indigenous president (1858-1864). A pure Zapotec, he
is revered for education reforms that are still in effect
today and for spearheading the separation of church
and state in Mexico.
Being the capital of the state of Oaxaca
as well as a university town, politics play
an important role here. Strolling down
the street we suddenly saw a parade of
scarlet clad women marching towards us
carrying signs.
They were the Triqui indigenous people, and they were staging a sit-in in front
of the governor's building in an effort to gain support from the recently elected
governor for their cause, which, from what we could gather, involved land
disputes and violence in their hometown.
There was a vibrance and an energy
here in Oaxaca that made the Triqui
protests, the migrant statues and the
brutal history of the Spanish conquests all blend together as brilliant facets of humanity's
unstoppable ambition and its dramatic quest for happiness and prosperity.
This town is so photogenic that we saw tourists everywhere whipping out cameras to
capture snapshots to take home. One couple got particularly creative and set up a tripod
with a video camera in front of the cathedral. They pointed the camera at themselves with
the church in the background and talked for quite some time about how much their travels
meant to them and what great experiences they had had so far in Mexico, ending their
conversation with a "hello" to friends and family back home.
We sure were loving Oaxaca's action and color, and there was no need for us to leave
just yet.
Find Oaxaca on Mexico Maps.
Acapulco to Huatulco – A Disturbing Passage
Happy vacationers break into a chant for us as they pass Groovy.
The "Barrido Marino" sea sweepers take used
motor oil and household trash too!
Acapulco is Nahuatl for "Place of Reeds"
Sea horse on our anchor chain.
Sunrise.
Eerie silhouette on the rising sun.
Mark checks our position on the
paper charts.
The sun sets into a moonless night at sea.
Dolphins greet us with great
enthusiasm.
Puerto Angel is cute but too crowded.
Puerto Angel lighthouse.
Our two boats in Jicaral Cove, Bahías
de Huatulco.
Jicaral Cove.
We share Jicaral cove with Osprey and Turkey Vultures.
This place is teeming with coral.
Neighboring Playa de San Agustín
Clear water and fun palapas at San
Agustín
Snorkelers at San Agustín
Bahía de San Agustín has unusual rock
formations.
Life's a Beach.
Cruise ship "Statendam" takes up most of Santa Cruz Harbor.
View of Santa Cruz from the water.
Low buildings hug the shore against a mountainous backdrop.
Tangolunda Bay in Huatulco.
Tangolunda Bay, Huatulco.
This resort goes for $1,000 USD per night. Yikes!
Catamarans take advantage of the
afternoon breezes in Tangolunda.
We watch the "I Do's" of a young couple on shore.
Huatulco, Oaxaca, Mexico
Late January, 2012 - Our pretty little spot in Puerto
Marques on the outskirts of Acapulco Bay came to life
one evening when a boatload of young Mexicans
zoomed past in a boat labeled "Corona La #1". We
waved, as usual, becoming one of the sights for their
tour, and suddenly they started waving and chanting
what sounded like a team cheer.
Languid sunny days made us lazy and we kept putting off our departure
for our next 215 mile jaunt to Huatulco. Mark changed the oil in the
engine and transmission one day and at just the right moment the Sea
Sweeper boat ("Barrido Marino") showed up and asked if we had any
trash for them. What luck! They took the used oil off our hands along
with our trash, and then hit up the megayacht parked nearby to take
their trash too. How cool is that: a beautiful free anchorage with free at-
your-boat trash service. No wonder it was hard to leave.
The word Acapulco comes from the indigenous Nahuatl language and means "Place
of Reeds" or "Place where reeds were destroyed." to this day, floating beds of
reeds drift throughout the bay and coastline for miles. Judging by the pile on their
foredeck, the Sea Sweepers picked up more reeds than trash, it seemed.
One day when Mark hauled up the anchor before we went on a daysail he saw the
strangest thing on the chain. It kept swaying and moving around and suddenly he
realized it was a sea horse. "Look at this!" he yelled back to me. I ran up with the
camera just as the little guy unhooked his tail and fell off. But a few chain links
further on, up came another one. He had his tail tightly wrapped around one link of
the chain and he kept moving his body around, looking us over, until he finally
unhitched and fell back into the depths.
One night we were woken by loud, mysterious sounds resounding on the
hull. Going on deck we heard nothing. Back down below we realized it
was the haunting tones of whales singing in the bay. Mornings and
evenings we heard the creaking and scraping noises of equipment being
moved onshore or of a boat's engine or something. Finally on our last
morning we discovered it was the noisy calls of wild green parrots in the
trees next to us. They were flying and climbing all over the branches,
cackling at each other with grating noises. We were amazed there was so
much nature this close to a major city.
When we were finally ready to
leave Acapulco, we left in the pitch
dark before dawn to ensure a daytime arrival in Huatulco some 30+ hours later. The
sun rose as a pink ball in the lightening sky. A few minutes later it became an intense
bright orange orb which made the camera pick up the surrounding sky as black. Some
clouds obscured the ball of fire, and from a distance it looked a bit like a witch on a
broomstick flying across the sun.
This slightly ominous sunrise brought us a day that ultimately held one of the most
disturbing events of our lives. Around two in the afternoon, while motoring along about
10 miles off the coast, some 60 miles south of Acapulco, we were enjoying being
pushed by a two knot current that pegged the speedometer at a thrilling high-8 to 9+
knots. Suddenly Mark spotted something unusual in the water. We stared hard through the binoculars to get a better look.
With gut wrenching knots in our stomachs, we realized we were looking at a dead body.
We turned the boat to approach the body, feeling totally alarmed and freaked out. We were
both shaking as we neared the body. It was a heavyset middle aged or older balding white
man, lying face down in the water. He was wearing a mask and snorkel, fins and booties,
and a shorty type of wetsuit with swim trunks over it. He had on diving gloves and had
clearly been in the water for at least a few days, and probably a week or more. He looked
for all the world like he was peacefully snorkeling along in the middle of the ocean, except
his skin was decomposing and one arm lay limp and twisted at an odd angle by his side.
This is the last thing either of us ever expected to see while cruising. We were edgy,
terrified, and flummoxed about what was the right thing to do. The stench was significant.
We noted the GPS coordinates of the body and instantly began hailing the Mexican Navy.
We tried in English and we tried in Spanish, but there was no response. This is a remote section of the coast and we realized
we hadn't seen a boat or heard a peep on the VHF radio in 8 hours since we first pulled away from Acapulco Bay. There was
no safe anchorage that we could reach before nightfall; the next was 140 miles (21 hours) away.
We continued on our way, hailing the Mexican Navy periodically, to no avail. The sun set into the moonless void of a new moon,
and we moved along in pitch darkness, unable to discern the horizon. All was black in every direction. The canopy of bright
stars overhead faded into a misty, funereal veil all around us. For the first time it really hit us just how alone all cruisers are on
the ocean. If you can't take care of yourself, help will be a long time coming. I kept thinking about the man's family, his loved
ones who knew he was missing but had no idea exactly where he was or perhaps even how he had disappeared. He might
have been on a snorkeling tour, or snorkeling on his own, or perhaps he was in a boat that was sinking and he donned his
snorkeling gear as it went down, knowing he would be spending time in the water once it sank. It was impossible for us to know
those things, but the burden of knowing we were the only ones in the world who knew his whereabouts was enormous.
It was a long long overnight sail. Every time I tried to sleep, images of this
unfortunate man facedown in the water filled my mind. "Don't think about it," we
told each other. But how can you not? We talked about how unutterably tragic it
would be if either of us lost the other. Of course, we have friends who have died
riding their bikes, friends stricken with terminal diseases, and friends who have
died in car wrecks. But somehow being alone out on the ocean suddenly
seemed so much more fraught with peril than house-based everyday living.
We had heard a news report before leaving
Acapulco that the world was going to be
bombarded by extraneous solar radiation from a
large solar storm, and that it could potentially
affect GPS satellites. That got us busy with the
paper charts, parallel rulers and dividers, making
sure we knew exactly where we were at all times
throughout the night, just in case the satellite
giving us our GPS position quit working. Another
day dawned and we were very relieved to see the sky lighten around us.
Suddenly a pod of several hundred dolphins came leaping and bounding towards us. They
were truly exuberant, thrilled to be alive, and seemed to be jumping for joy. That was more like
it!! We snapped a gazillion photos of them as they cavorted around Groovy. They must have
come to cheer us up.
Near 11:00 in the morning we spotted a Mexican
Navy ship on the horizon. We leapt back on the
radio and hailed them in English and Spanish again.
No sooner had we reported what we had seen, than
the ship was at our side. Those Navy boats can
really move.
They tied alongside us and their young captain came
aboard Groovy. Stepping between the boats was not
easy: both boats were pitching wildly in the swell and all hands on the Navy
ship were attending fenders and lines to keep the two boats from mashing
each other. He had a look at our photos of the corpse, took down our coordinates for its position, and relayed the information
back to the Navy base in Acapulco. The encounter was quick, efficient, polite, and the captain seemed very grateful for the
report. He noted our names and our boat's name. When he was back aboard his ship and described the photos to his crew,
they all winced and shuddered. It was not a comfortable image for those tough young men either.
We pulled into Puerto Angel, the first good anchorage south of
Acapulco and found it pretty but overcrowded with moored pangas.
We anchored twice but couldn't find a spot where we had enough
swing room without being in the ocean swell, so we left and carried
on to the Bays of Huatulco 15 miles further south. Here we were
rewarded with stunning natural beauty and peace. Gradually the
disturbing emotions from our overnight sail began to fade away.
Last year while researching Huatulco I had come across an
earlier cruiser's online description of a bay here that he fell
in love with and nicknamed "Osprey Cove" because he
couldn't find an official name for it on the nautical charts.
After a few emails back and forth with him, I realized it was
now known and charted as Jicaral Cove, and we spent our
first night there.
This tiny cove, just big enough for a single cruising boat or maybe two at a pinch, is one
of several bays that make up the National Park of Huatulco. A line of buoys protects the
vibrant coral reef in the cove and small boats filled with tourists come in to snorkel the
reef every few hours.
The Bays of Huatulco sit
next to the infamous Golfo
de Tehuantepec, a vicious
200 mile stretch of water
whose mood swings make
the Sea of Cortez look
positively unflappable.
Every week or so in the
winter north winds from the
Gulf of Mexico between
Texas and Mexico
accelerate south across the
narrowest portion of the
Mexican mainland, and
race off into the ocean at
60+ mph, often creating 20' seas. In between these multi-day temper
tantrums the Gulf of the Tehuantepec lies down to take a breather, during
which time all the coastal cruising boats make a run for it.
When the gales are blowing in the Tehuantepec, the Bays of Huatulco can
get a little frisky too. But we arrived during a quiet spell and had several
glorious, peaceful days exploring Jicaral cove.
The ospreys for whom the
earlier cruisers named this
place "Osprey Cove" were still
here, along with a group of
turkey vultures.
Coral litters the sand all along the beach, a sight we
had seen only once before in Los Muertos on the
southeastern tip of the Baja peninsula.
We kayaked around the corner into Bahía de San
Agustín (also known as Puerto Sacrificios) and
discovered a long curving beach backed by unusual
boulders at one end and a cluster of lively beach
palapa bars and boutique shops at the other.
We wandered along the beach and
marveled at the calm beauty. This is a
magical place.
Friends of ours were anchored in the main bay by the town of
Santa Cruz, so we sailed over to meet up with them.
We got so caught up in our breathtaking downwind sail in the
strong afternoon winds that we nearly missed the entrance to
Huatulco's main bay. It was the sight of the enormous cruise
ship Statendam parked there that got us back on course.
Like all cruise ships this far south, they were on a several month
trip between the east and west coasts of the US with a Panama
Canal transit as the centerfold stop.
Continuing our Reader's Digest quickie tour of some of the
Huatulco bays, we stopped in at Tangolunda, a large bay with
several anchoring options.
Huatulco is an official tourist
development created in 1986
by Fonatur, Mexico's
government tourism agency
that brought the world Cancun
and Ixtapa in 1974 and Los Cabos in 1976 and more recently Loreto/Puerto Escondido in the
Sea of Cortez and Nayarit near Puerto Vallarta.
Learning from their prior beach tourism projects, Fonatur is developing Huatulco with an eye
towards maintaining the area's natural beauty. In the bays where building development is
allowed, like Tangolunda, the buildings are low. Other bays are set aside as part of a national
park with boat-in access only.
Bahía Tangolunda
hosts the requisite
tourist banana boats
and jet-skis, but
several catamarans
dominated the
breezy bay most
afternoons.
One afternoon we
watched a wedding
in progress just off
the end of our boat.
What a spot to get
married.
This first week in
Huatulco was just
the briefest overview of some of the lovely bays. This area is so
pretty, so relaxed, and so charming that we won't be running off
and leaving Huatulco any time soon, especially since the
intimidating Gulf of the Tehuantepec lies just around the corner.
Find Huatulco on Mexico Maps.
Visit Anchorages on Mexico's Southern Pacific Coast
to see more cruising posts from this area!
Acapulco – A Faded Lady + Sailboat races
Orcas play near Groovy.
Shrimper or bird taxi?
Papanoa.
Sunrise begins over our bow.
Acapulco's mountains in the distance.
Villas perch atop cliffs on Boca Chica Channel.
Sailboats race towards us.
Acapulco's main beach.
Tight maneuvering.
Downwind spinnaker run.
The "fake" lighthouse at La Marina.
The Yacht Club grounds.
Club de Yates de Acapulco.
Racing yachts waiting for the next race.
Waterfront near the yacht club.
Looking across Acapulco's inner harbor.
Puffer and angel fish at the docks.
I took these from above water.
Wonderful daysailing in Acapulco Bay.
A few of the many highrises on the beach.
Navy warships and a tall ship.
Acapulco has several picturesque
anchorages.
Vacation homes overlooking Puerto Marques.
A little mermaid near our
anchorage.
The lightly visited resort where we anchored in Puerto Marques.
"Barrido Marino" - the "Sea Sweepers"
These cheap little taxis are everywhere.
The rock cliffs of La Quebrada.
Cliff Diver Alejandro scales the rocks.
Alejandro (left) and Aurelio (right)
Acapulco's cathedral.
A peek inside...
The Zócalo has amazing trees.
Acapulco's town beach.
Acapulco, Guerrero, Mexico
Mid-January, 2012 - We finally pulled ourselves away from Zihuatanejo/
Ixtapa and resumed our travels south. Papanoa is a 35-mile daysail
away, and as we motor-sailed we were very surprised to see some
Shamu-shaped fins ahead of us. It turned out to be several small orcas
playing in the water.
Papanoa is a small shrimping village, and we passed a few
shrimpers trolling the depths as we approached the harbor.
Countless birds were catching a ride on the booms of one boat.
The frigate birds took most of one boom and the seagulls
spread out on the others.
We arrived in mid-afternoon and watched the activities of this quiet port
town. Several shoreside cantinas had the music going, and a group of
kids were laughing loudly and burning up energy as only kids can, diving
off a pier and cannonballing each other out of a small dinghy that was
tied to a piling.
Acapulco is another 75 miles
south of Papanoa, which
required us to get a pre-
dawn start. We were now
traveling more east than
south and we watched the
sky lighten ahead of us until
the sun rose over our bow.
Acapulco has a mixed reputation these days,
and we weren't sure what to expect when we
arrived. Our first glimpse of this legendary port
had us grinning excitedly, however, and set the
tone for a fantastic stay. We decided to enter
Acapulco's expansive bay through its narrow
westerly channel "Boca Chica" ("Small Mouth")
rather than through the main entrance further
east called "Boca Grande." We slowed way
down as the rock walls rose to wonderful
heights on either side of us in the channel.
"This is just like Cabo!" we said to each other.
The towering cliffs were
covered with fancy homes,
hotels and highrises.
As we emerged on the other side of the channel, Acapulco's
vast beach suddenly came into view. Our eyes widened in
amazement. The beach was backed by an endless stretch
of highrise buildings, and the hillsides were littered with
homes and communities that rose in waves towards the
horizon. There was more humanity in front of us than we had seen in months. Forget Cabo. This was like Miami. Or like
sailing into Las Vegas. It was a huge, massive city built for tourism. We puttered around the bay taking way too many photos
that all looked the same -- highrises on the water -- and then backtracked to a lovely little anchorage in Boca Chica next to a
small beach on Isla de la Roqueta.
Gazing across the bay at the mammoth city in the distance, we were
anchored in our own small paradise next to a busy little beach where
the Sunday crowd was swimming, snorkeling and imbibing at the
beach bar. Suddenly on the horizon we saw some incredibly sleek
sailing yachts headed our way in a race. Within moments Groovy
was perched in a front row seat of a spectacular sailing race.
The streamlined boats flew towards us at top speed. Ladened with
both skilled crew at the helm and winches and "rail meat" crew that
sat on the high side facing out, feet dangling over the side, the boats
bore down on us until I was sure we'd be broadsided. Just at the
last second each boat would tack, within arm's reach of our cockpit.
All hell would break loose as ten people scurried over the deck,
furiously turning winch
handles and wrestling the boat into submission on its new tack. A few commands
would be yelled here and there, but the most prominent sound was the creaking of
lines and groaning of each boat as it was tensioned and tuned for max velocity on its
new tack.
These guys are really good at this stuff
and they do it all the time, so when
one boat looked like it was about to T-
bone another and Mark said, "They're
gonna hit!" I said, "Nahhh…" Then we
both heard a loud CRUNCH and the
sound of very expensive boat parts
grating against each other. Seconds
later the lead boat dropped its sails
and turned around to head home. I'm
not sure if they were disqualified or
had sustained too much damage to
continue, but none of the other boats
paused for one second!
In no time the race began its downwind leg, and one yacht after
another breezed past Groovy in the opposite direction, their
colorful spinnakers flying. As each boat slowly vanished
into the horizon of skyscrapers our hearts gradually
stopped pounding. What excitement, and what a
surprise.
By sunset our little anchorage had whittled down to just
us and the noisy birds in the trees. Like Isla Ixtapa and
Las Gatas Beach in Zihuatanejo, this place is heavily
visited by water taxis, banana boats, jet-skis and
snorkelers during the afternoons, but by dusk it is
deserted and is an ideal, remote tropical anchorage with
no swell. We slept like babies that night.
The heart of the Acapulco yachting scene is the "Club
de Yates de Acapulco," or the Acapulco Yacht Club.
This beautiful marina and yacht club would be ideal for visiting cruisers, but
it is so popular with local boaters that there is seldom room for anyone from
out of town. Next door "La Marina" is being renovated and will soon
accommodate visitors, but it isn't yet finished.
We wandered into the Club de Yates and found all
the beautiful racing boats we had watched sailing
the day before already lifted out of the water and
put up in dry storage to wait for the next race. We
found out that hauling our boat would cost nearly
$600 US. Imagine having to fork that over every
time you wanted to race your yacht?! But this is a
place where money is no object. The captain of a
megayacht parked at an end-tie told us his owner
likes to zip from place to place burning a cool 180
gallons per hour at top speed. He laughed out loud
when we told him we needed to top off our 66
gallon fuel tank sometime during our stay here.
Getting fuel is not as simple as you might think in Acapulco. The fuel dock
is fairly short and has little turnaround room, and many megayachts come
calling, so you have to sign up to get fuel a day or two in advance. This
requires a trip to the Harbor Master's office where, to our surprise, he made
a copy of our US Coast Guard documentation papers as part of our fuel
registration process. The up-side of this minor inconvenience was that he
also issued us a temporary Yacht Club card which would allow us to come
and go from the pretty marina at will and use the dinghy dock and
swimming pool too.
The Acapulco Yacht Club exudes that noble air that wafts over
exclusive yacht clubs worldwide, and the whole place is dripping
with wonderfully elegant nautical decor. Trophies fill the trophy
cases, portraits of past captains and commodores line the walls,
names of local champions and legendery yachts are engraved
on beautiful plaques, and ancient bronze binnacles and helms
stand like museum pieces in the corners.
The little chandlery has goodies for boats, but the prices for
ordinary items are truly extraordinary ($100 US for four plastic drinking glasses!), but
the souvenir shop sold high quality ball caps with the yacht club logo embroidered on
the front for less that $10 US.
Acapulco is not a clean city, and we had watched the Pacific ocean transform from a
rich inviting deep blue to a sickly grey-green as we had entered Acapulco Bay. But
here at the dock the water was so clear that I could see angel fish and puffer fish
swimming just below the surface.
When we travel from place to place we always hope
to sail but usually end up motoring most of the way
because the winds are so light along Mexico's
mainland coast. However, Acapulco Bay is a terrific
spot for day sailing, and after watching the races the
day before, we got inspired to go out for a joy ride
ourselves. There were no other boats on the three-mile-wide bay, and we had just enough
wind, 10-13 knots, to put Groovy over on her side for a little romp in the breeze.
Exploring the outer reaches of the bay we saw more highrises (they are endless), and a Navy
dock that had two modern warships and a lovely old tall ship.
Other cruisers had found pretty anchorages
along the outskirts of this big bay, and as the
days of our stay wore on we
noticed that they weren't in a
hurry to leave Acapulco either,
obviously enjoying their time
here as well.
We left the inner harbor for
Puerto Marques, a small outer
bay, where we spent five
delightful nights. Billed in the
cruising guide as being open to
ocean swell, we got lucky and
enjoyed peaceful quiet nights
ancchored alongside a row of
nearly empty resorts. There couldn't have been more than ten
occupied rooms in the four resort hotels we were facing, but
new construction inexplicably seemed to be continuing.
Every day the bartender would arrive at the cute
dockside bar and serve perhaps one or two guests.
Every night the restaurant tables would be set and the
kitchen staff would get busy, all to serve just three or
four couples.
Acapulco has a reputation for being past its prime, but there are
clear signs that its citizens don't want to let that prime slip away
too fast. Besides all the new construction, there is a fleet of
bright yellow boats bearing the words "Barrido Marino" ("Sea
Sweep") in large letters on their sides. These boats scour
the entire bay every day with nets to retrieve floating trash
and debris. At the far end of Puerto Marques a huge
project is underway with barges and cranes to install what
looks like a new pier or perhaps a marina.
Over in La Quebrada the famous dare-devil cliff divers began
flying headfirst off the cliffs into the sea back in 1934, and within a
decade or two were the superstars of Acapulco tourism. Eager to
see these guys, we took one of the little blue-and-white VW bug taxis and
zipped off to the cove of jagged cliffs where the diving action takes place. Both
Mark and I remember watching these divers on TV as kids, and we couldn't
wait to see them in action.
The cove is a spectacular craggy
coast of rugged peaks and
crashing surf, and the entire area
has been built up to show off the
divers. Elvis Presley's 1963 movie
Fun in Acapulco was filmed here
Restaurants overlook the diving gorge and trinket shops offer free
coke or beer for shoppers. El Mirador Hotel stands above it all,
having played host to many of the world's celebrities over the
years. There's a ticket sales booth at the top of a long set of
winding stairs that go down towards the water. Viewers can choose
any level for watching the divers. Five or so divers take the plunge
once a day in daylight and they dive again three more times after
dark (with torches). We opted for a daytime show and were thrilled.
To our surprise the divers start the show by walking through the crowd,
hopping over the fence to the rock face below, and then hot-footing it
down a ways and jumping into the water. After a quick wave to the
crowd above, they then free
climb the enormous cliffs on
the far side all the way to the
top. One young diver,
Alejandro, impressed us immensely
with his catlike agility as he zipped up
the cliff like Spiderman.
Once at the top, the divers each
offered a quick prayer to the Virgin of
Guadalupe, touched the shrine, or
even kissed the statue inside, and then
turned and waved to the crowd. One
by one they then took a position
somewhere near the top of the cliff
and, when the waves were right 125
feet below, launched themselves into
spectacular dives.
Alejandro warmed up for quite some
time, stretching, doing mock flip turns, and obviously preparing for some fancy twists and somersaults in the air. When
he finally soared off the rocks he rolled and turned and swiveled in the air like a shimmering fish, and gracefully slipped
into the frothing water below.
Another pair of divers leapt off the cliff together, one launching himself into a back
layout somersault before twisting and piking his way to the water. The last diver
climbed to the highest peak and flew over the rocks in a glorious swan dive.
Afterwards the divers mingled
with the crowd, happily posing
for photos with fans.
We were on such a high after
this that we nearly skipped
down the hill towards the
cathedral in the old town
square, El Zócalo. Acapulco is a grungy, busy,
crowded city, but there was something in the
earthy smells, the crush of people and the
sweat dripping down our temples and backs
that made it all very exciting.
A group of nuns emerged from the 1930's era
cathedral just as we approached, and the doors
were thrown wide for a peek inside.
Opposite the cathedral was a large, darkly
shaded city park filled with enormous trees
that have odd twisted trunks and roots.
Crabby old ladies sitting next to flowers
they were selling waved us off with nasty
frowns when we took photos of their
flowers. People sat on park benches
eating snacks or reading the paper.
Tourists and shoppers mingled in between.
Vendors sold everything everywhere and music pumped so loudly
from some speakers on the ground that an old lady put her fingers
in her ears as she walked by. Official tourism hosts wearing blue
shirts and numbered badges darted out from the crowd to help
bewildered tourists, and more than one suddenly turned up at our
sides asking if we needed assistance. It is not a warm, friendly
place, nor is it a place I'd want to hang around for more than a
brief visit, but we were glad to have taken a walk through that part of town, and equally glad to emerge back on the waterfront
malecón, or boardwalk, where the fresh sea breeze hit our faces once again, and the beach and boats filled our view.
Such is the faded lady of Acapulco. A previous cruiser's blog last
year described gunmen firing shots in a building near the marina at
night, and as we dropped our anchor in the city anchorage at ten in
the morning we heard a series of gun shots near the supermarket
where we had bought provisions the day before. But I've heard
gunshots in every city I've called home, and I've even watched a
well armed SWAT team take positions outside a house in a tony
Scottsdale, Arizona neighborhood. The anchorages on the fringes
of Acapulco Bay are all lovely, and we are glad to have experienced
the sweeter side of town. After a little more relaxing at Puerto
Marques we headed down the coast to Huatulco.
Find Acapulco on Mexico Maps
Visit Anchorages on Mexico's Southern Pacific Coast to see more cruising posts from this area!
Zihuatanejo’s “Parthenon” – He Did What?!
Santa rides a Hammerhead Shark.
Christmas tables set out on Las Gatas Beach.
Santa in a Mexican
Poncho.
Alvin and the Chipmunks
movie poster.
Las Gatas Beach on Christmas Day.
A Christmas serenade on Las Gatas Beach.
Cool bongo players.
Zihuatanejo's "Parthenon."
Overgrown
streetlight.
Driveway leading to the Parthenon's gate.
The center of this mammoth gate housed vicious guard dogs.
Elegant parking area outside the gate.
Durazo loved ancient ornamentation.
The columned facade pokes out between the weeds.
Wow - we get to go in!
The cage for the guard dogs...
The cage for the tigers.
Approaching the Parthenon.
Statues fill the yard.
The Parthenon's entrance.
Looking through the front door.
Lifesize sculptures line the foyer.
The view from the foyer.
Staircase to the second floor.
Looking down at the open-air party room from the balcony.
Views of Zihuatanejo Bay.
Mirrors on the walls and ceiling of an upstairs bedroom.
Bat guano covers the jacuzzi tub in the master suite.
Marble-topped bar outside the library downstairs.
Marble dining table, murals and columns outside the kitchen.
View from the top steps of the Parthenon.
Looking back up at the mansion.
The pool bar.
Would you like a cerveza or a Margarita?
Arturo Durazo's Parthenon.
Arturo Durazo's "Parthenon" of Zihuatanejo, Mexico
Christmas, 2011 - After an easy overnight passage from Manzanillo Bay we
arrived at Isla de Ixtapa (Isla Grande) outside Zihuatanejo where we were quickly
swept up in the wild pre-Christmas beach scene. The island's three tiny beaches
were packed to overflowing with vacationers whooping it up.
A few days later, around the
corner in Zihuatanejo, we
found Christmas festivities
were revving up with just as
much enthusiasm. All the
waterfront restaurants were
decked out for the holidays,
and Christmas movies were
playing at the little cinema.
Zihuatanejo Bay is a mile-
wide bay surrounded by four beaches with lots
of options for anchoring. Last year we stayed
right next to the town, but Groovy's hull got
such a thick layer of barnacles in just 10 days' time that this year
we decided to anchor on the far side of the bay by Playa Las
Gatas where the water is cleaner.
In past years we've dreamed of a having white Christmas,
but this year our Christmas came in lovely shades of blue
water, blue sky and green palm trees. We
kayaked through throngs of people playing in
the ocean, and as we swam it felt much more
like July than December.
We hung out on Las Gatas beach all day
long on Christmas day and watched families
playing on the beach. Musicians wandered
by to offer entertainment for a "propina" (tip).
These guys hike over a challenging rock path
from the larger La Ropa beach half a mile
away. They carry whatever it is they play,
from guitars to drums to huge double
basses, as they walk on the precarious
rocks. Two of the most intriguing musicians
were a couple banging on bongos and
singing Caribbean sounding tunes. They
were from the nearest major inland city, Morelia.
Back on Groovy the following day we kept staring at a very strange
building that was perched high above the condos on the point that
juts out between two of the bay's beaches, Playa La Ropa and
Playa Madera. The building looks like a miniature Lincoln Memorial,
and last year we found out it was called "The Parthenon" and was
cloaked in a dark, mysterious history.
Built in the early 1980's by Mexico City's infamous Chief of Police,
Arturo Durazo Moreno, it stands today as a striking monument to
his excesses and wickedness. We had heard rumors that he had
ordered it built with hidden doors leading to secret tunnels that
snaked down to the sea, just in case he ever needed to escape.
Totally tantalized, we decided to go check it out.
There's no sign saying "This way to the Parthenon," but we knew
we were on the right path when we trudged up a very steep winding
road of crumbling concrete lined with ornate streetlights buried in
overgrown weeds. It was obvious the road had once been carefully landscaped and very
imposing.
Suddenly the heavy canopy of trees above us opened up and
the road approached an enormous gate. I was dwarfed by the
gate when I stood next to it, and I mused on the rumor that the
gate had been stolen from the Chapultepec castle in Mexico
City. That would have been quite a theft, but Durazo was an
impressive man fully capable of such things.
When his boyhood friend José López Portillo became
president of Mexico in 1976, Durazo's fortunes soared.
Portillo was one of Mexico's most corrupt presidents, and he
turned to loyal Durazo for his own personal security. He
appointed Durazo to be Chief of Police in Mexico City, despite
knowing that he had been under investigation in the US for
almost a year for drug trafficking. Portillo set him up to report
directly to himself rather than to the Mayor of Mexico City.
During his six year tenure Durazo turned the police force into
a racketeering empire.
What remains of the empire was buried in weeds all around us. Ornate
greco-roman architecture surrounded us, but the overgrowth was so thick
and the beauty so faded that it seemed like some cursed castle in a
children's fairytale.
We peered around the
edge of the huge gate and
could just glimpse part of
the mansion's columned
facade. Until recently, this
property was owned by the
city of Zihuatanejo. Unlike
the city leaders of El
Ajusco, home to Durazo's
other outrageous mansion
that was built at the same
time outside Mexico City--a country estate complete with artificial
lakes, a dog racing track, a clone of New York's Studio 54 club, and a
23-car garage--the city of Zihuatanejo did not turn the Parthenon into
a museum. Instead, they recently donated it to the Universidad
Autonóma de Guerrero. It was private property, but we thought it
would be so cool if we could somehow get inside to take a peek…
Suddenly the guy who had been sweeping the stone flooring
outside the gate invited us in to have a look inside -- for a
fee. We negotiated the fee to something reasonable, and lo
and behold he opened the door and let us in. I doubt he
has any kind of official relationship with the abandoned
property, but he seems to have appointed himself the
gatekeeper, for profit, and he does have a key to the
padlock. He gave us a lively tour -- in Spanish. Fortunately
a large Mexican family arrived shortly after us, and their
visiting cousin from San Diego provided us with
translations when we couldn't grasp the nuances of what
our guide said.
Just inside the gate we had a close-up
look at the cage that housed Durazo's
ferocious guard dogs. Durazo built his
empire on intimidation, and large
growling dogs were just the first stage of
welcome he offered to his arriving guests.
Next to the dog cage was the tiger cage.
We stepped inside. In its now decrepit
state fantastic roots have crept under the
walls to cover the floor, looking like a
snarled tangle of snakes. On the far side
of the yard was the crocodile pit.
A driveway leads up to the mansion, passing
several Romanesque stone sculptures on the
way. When the statues were set in beautifully
landscaped grounds, this must have been a
dramatic entrance, but now the brown
vegetation and decaying sculptures give the
place an eerie air.
Much of Durazo's fortune was made from
bribes paid by the rank-and-file police officers
under his command. He also used them as
his personal construction labor force to build
both the Parthenon and his country estate
outside of Mexico City.
He was admired worldwide for lowering
the crime rate in Mexico City and was
even honored with a prestigious award
in the Soviet Union for doing so. But his
methods were discovered to be beyond
brutal when the tortured bodies of 12
twelve Columbians suspected of bank
robbery turned up in a river.
An investigation into his practices began which ultimately
revealed his elaborate pyramid scheme of bribes and payoffs.
Entering this palatial building is like stepping into another world.
As I passed through the foyer I was so drawn to the view in front
of me that I almost missed the six recessed marble sculptures
lining the walls on either side of us.
The architecture is fantastic for a cliff-top seaside palace in a
temperate climate. Two rows of massive columns soar upwards
to a height of two tall stories to support the ceiling above,
creating a vast breezy Italian marble "patio" with stunning views
of Zihuatanejo Bay beyond.
The view is spectacular
from the ground floor,
but we knew it would be
even better from the
balcony upstairs.
Looking down at this wide marble "porch" it was
easy to imagine sumptuous parties filling the
immense, breezy, open-air room. A huge marble
dining table stands to one side, backed by yet
more columns and an expansive mural.
All the bedrooms are upstairs, and each one has
windows onto this porch that could be left open to
the fresh air or closed during bad weather. At
one time the bedroom ceilings were lined with
ornate mirrors, and the walls were covered with
painted murals and more mirrors.
This design gives each bedroom either privacy or
an open window to the lovely columned sea-
breeze room below. Now, however, groups of
bats hang from the ceilings in the corners of every
bedroom, bathroom
and closet in the
house. As we
entered each room
we heard a flurry of
bat wings as they
woke up and flew
off. Bat guano
covered every floor
and smelled terrible. At first all of Durazo's furnishing were
sold, but now it seems the building was eventually stripped
by looters. Toilets are gone, leaving gaping holes in the
floors. Electrical outlets are missing, chandeliers have
disappeared, and all that remains in the kitchen is some
broken wooden lower cabinets. Anything that could be pried
off, detached, unscrewed or removed has been taken.
Back downstairs a large marble topped bar is tucked up against the shelf-
lined, once elegant library.
You have to use your imagination a bit to picture what
life might have been like here during Durazo's reign.
From 1976 to 1982 Durazo held his police chief post
and built his empire of corruption. He extorted money
at every turn and lived a lavish lifestyle. However, upon
the arrival of a new presidential administration whose
campaign theme was Moral Renewal, Durazo fled.
An international manhunt ensued, and after charging him
in absentia with racketeering, Mexican and US authorities
tracked him down to Costa Rica in 1984 and brought him
back to trial in Mexico. Long referred to as "El Negro" or
"The Black One," Durazo was sentenced to a long prison
term (I've seen it reported as 11, 16 and 25 years) on
charges ranging from corruption to extortion, tax evasion,
smuggling, drug kickbacks and possession of illegal
weapons. He was released after less than eight years in
1992 due to ill health and good conduct. He lived out his
final days in Acapulco, redeeming himself a bit by working
with recovering alcoholics. He died of cancer in 2000.
In the mid-1980's
Durazo's chief
bodyguard José González wrote a
runaway bestseller about his evil
boss entitled "Lo Negro del 'Negro'
Durazo" or "The Black of 'the Black
One,' Durazo." A movie quickly
followed. Never allowing himself to
be out maneuvered, Durazo won a
defamation lawsuit against his
former aide from behind prison
bars.
Stepping out from the vast patio I
stood at the top of a grand stone
staircase that leads down to a
swimming pool and spacious pool bar.
The stagnant brown water in the pool
had been there for years, but it was
easy to imagine delicious days of
relaxing poolside next to the
ornately columned rotunda bar as
all of Zihuatanejo Bay stretched
towards the horizon in the
distance.
Returning to the main building our
guide led us down into the
basement where he thumped on a
large section of the floor to show
that it was hollow. He pointed to
irregularities in the flooring where it
had been sealed and explained that this was the entrance to the secret
tunnels that go down to the sea. Durazo had indeed built himself an
escape route, but he had been caught while abroad and had never
used it.
We left the Parthenon with our heads spinning. We had had no idea that the intriguing looking building on
the hill harbored such secrets. The enthusiasm of the Mexican family who toured with us also made us
realize that the legacy of Arturo Durazo is well known here. "Haven't you read the book or seen the
movie?" they asked. We had never even heard of the book or the movie, but within a few days we had the
movie in our possession from one of the bootleg DVD sellers at the Mercado Publico. The book may be
harder to find at a reasonable price because it is out of print.
Besides this cool, mysterious palace, Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa has many other charms that kept us in town
until mid-January.
Find Zihuatanejo on Mexico Maps
Visit Anchorages on Mexico's Southern Pacific Coast to see more cruising posts from this area!
PV: Paradise Village – The Lap of Luxury
Two of Carlos Slim's three megayachts, "Tulley" and "Ostar," at Marina de La Paz.
Mariachis cap a perfect evening.
Waiting out a Norther in Bahía Falsa.
Clipped in while crossing the Sea of Cortez.
Coconut palms!
Banana trees!
Wendy grinds his yummy
French Roast.
Welcome to Paradise.
One of the swimming pools.
Eggs Benedict or Huevos Rancheros?
Grady the Cockatoo says "¡Hola!"
Tiger mom.
The Welcome Event was a colorful spectacle.
Future Flamenco dancers.
Baja Ha-Ha mothership Profligate
Crocodile Zone!
Iguana sunning himself.
Wild coatimundi in the grass near a bus stop.
Beach chairs at Paradise Village.
Paradise Village.
Playing in the surf.
Cartwheels: the essence of
little girlhood on the beach.
A snowy egret high-steps it out of
the waves.
Vallarta Yacht Club.
Bougainvillea on the docks.
This place gets a grip on you.
Paradise Village
Late November/Early December, 2011 - We returned to La Paz from
the nearby anchorages to find ourselves suddenly caught up in the
lives of the rich and famous. Two megayachts were parked at Marina
de La Paz: the 140' Tulley and the 182' Ostar. Both belong to the
world's richest man, Carlos Slim (his other 200+ foot megayacht is in
the Caribbean!). Excitement filled the air the day Carlos arrived.
"Which one is he?" I asked as the entourage appeared. "The one with
the sunglasses." "But they all have sunglasses!"
A friend of ours is the captain of a neighboring megayacht, and he
invited us to his birthday party along with his buddy, the captain of
Ostar and his wife (who is also a captain but is currently enjoying the
high life on Ostar instead). Wow. How often do you get to peak in the
door of the world of the ultra rich? The stories these captains could
tell -- but can't due to contracts they've signed! The wine flowed, the
food was divine and above it all the music of the mariachi singers soared.
Out in Bahía Falsa a few days later, Mark played mellower tunes on his
guitar as we waited out a series of Northers that were blasting down the
Sea of Cortez. This was the ideal location to sit out these vicious storms.
We had tolerable winds and flat seas in our safe little nook, but the radio
crackled with chatter as one unattended boat dragged into another back in
the main La Paz anchorage. Helpful cruisers around the anchorage
located the owner of one of the boats in the US and relayed messages
from him to get the combination to the padlock, the location of the ignition
key, and the location of the battery switch for the anchor windlass.
It pays to wait for
a good weather
window when
crossing the Sea
of Cortez, and
we got the perfect slot. We romped along close-hauled for 15 hours
at a blistering 7.5 knots and we motor-sailed the rest of the way,
zipping from Los Frailes to La Cruz five hours faster than we'd
planned. The seas were calm and the wind was warm on our faces,
and when we weren't on watch we each slept well. What an
incredible contrast to last year's roller coaster ride from hell on these
same waters where the teapot took a nosedive right off the stove and
the waves bore down on us like frothing beasts hissing at us from
above. Now we realize we crossed during a Norther last year.
The downside to our lickety-split speed was that it put us in port in the
wee hours of the morning in the pitch black. Fortunately, we knew the
La Cruz anchorage from last spring, but the twelve mile approach was
littered with small fishing pangas. Mark kept his eyes glued to what he
could see of the horizon through the binoculars while mine were glued to
the radar. The pangas kept materializing out of nowhere. They would
flash their flashlights at us frantically as we drew near and we'd flash
ours back to let them know we'd seen them.
We got the anchor down without a hitch,
43 hours after leaving Los Frailes, and
fell asleep almost before our heads hit
the pillow. Next morning as we
wandered around La Cruz it slowly sank
in that we were no longer in desert of
Baja California any more. We were in the lush, verdant, moist
tropics. The palm trees sported coconuts and the bananas
were thick on the trees.
The most important stop for us in La Cruz was at Garleria
Huichol in Octopus's Garden where a Frenchman named
Wendy roasts the most delicious French Roast coffee. We
stocked up and enjoyed a cup under the shade of a
cuastecomate tree.
The real reason we crossed the Sea to Banderas Bay (home of Puerto Vallarta) was to treat
ourselves to an early Christmas present with a stay at the incomparable Paradise Village
Marina. It is just a few miles from La Cruz, and we waited until we were fully rested from our
crossing before we headed over so we could make the most of every minute of our stay. As we
tied up at the dock a neighbor came over to greet us. "Are you here for good?" He asked. I
hesitated, puzzled. "Um, no, just five days… Are you here for good?" "Oh yeah!" Then we
discovered another neighbor had just signed up for his fifth year. As soon as we started walking
around the resort we began to understand why these guys weren't leaving. It's that nice.
Paradise Village is a huge complex of hotels, shops, villas, condos,
marina, golf course, beach, pools, spa and hot tubs located in Nuevo
Vallarta some 10 miles from downtown Puerto Vallarta.
The grounds are lavish, and lush, the dining areas are elegant, the
pools have a view of the expansive beach, and the spa can deliver
every possible body treatment you could dream of.
To keep the kids happy there is a building where vacationing
parents can drop them off for a day of supervised activities, and to
keep everyone happy there is a mall with all the favorite fast food
eateries from McDonalds to Starbucks.
After two months of living on the hook in a salty,
rolling home, I was dumbstruck when I went into the
women's showers in the spa and discovered a
candle-lit hot tub waiting for me. And boy, was I
ever clean when I finally emerged!
In the mornings the eager joggers ran around the
extensive grounds and up and down the miles long
beach. In the evenings couples strolled the paths hand in hand under the
stars. A small flock of macaws and a cockatoo added a tropical note to the air
with their raucous cries, and a pair of tigers in the middle of it all nursed a pair
of month-old cubs, the latest two of 76 that have been raised at the resort.
When we checked into the marina we were told
there was a "Welcome Event" that night with free
food and drinks at the amphitheater. What a
surprise to find rows of margaritas, piña coladas
and rum punches next to endless platters of finger
food and a huge crowd of vacationers taking seats
in front of an outdoor stage!
An emcee appeared and the colorful
show burst into action with all kinds
of dancing, audience participation
games and laughter.
We were treated to a special show
right in front of our seats as a little
girl and boy did their own dance
moves.
The marina has a cool layout
where all the boats are lined up
against the shoreline as it curves
along an estuary.
We took the kayak out one day
to explore the estuary a little
further, and were shocked to find
that our friends on Ostar had
followed us from La Paz and
parked at the end of the dock.
They must have liked our Groovy
travel plans.
Another boat in residence was
Profligate, the catamaran
mothership of the Baja Ha-Ha
cruising rally that takes boaters from
San Diego to Cabo San Lucas each fall.
Unfortunately its owners had returned
to the US and it was closed up tight.
Paddling down the estuary we passed many beautiful boats sitting out
in front of equally beautiful homes. Eventually we passed under a
bridge and turned away from civilization into the crocodile zone.
We didn't see any crocodiles but there were lots of exotic birds in the
trees and quite a few iguanas sunning themselves.
Unusual animals seemed to be the theme at
Paradise Village. Even when we took the city bus
to go provision at the supermarket we passed a
group of coatimundi scavenging in the grass.
So far we had explored only the
back side of the resort where the
boats and the estuary are. Out
front is an enormous beach that
stretches to the horizon and
seems to go on forever. Resorts
line the beach as far as the eye
can see, and each resort has a
collection of beach chairs and
thatch shade ramadas out front.
We took some wonderful, quiet
early morning walks along the sand. Later each day the beach would
be hopping with vacationers catching rays and playing in the surf.
Canadians and
Americans weren't the
only snowbirds enjoying
the warm air and warm
water. Several snowy
egrets were fishing along
the water's edge too.
The Vallarta Yacht Club
is an active social club
for all kinds of winter
residents, both boaters
and non-boaters alike. Visitors to the marina can enjoy the
yacht club's amenities too, and one afternoon we strolled down
for a beer and some free wifi. After an hour or so we noticed
the place was getting very busy. A woman came over and
asked, "Are you new members?"
We explained we were
"temporary" members through the
marina. She welcomed us warmly
and headed over to a large table
of delicious looking hors
d'oeuvres that had magically
appeared. We followed her
example and loaded up a plate
full of delicious goodies.
The crowd kept getting bigger,
and then another woman
asked us if we were new
members. "We must really
stand out!" Mark chuckled.
Just then a fellow with a microphone stood up right next to our table and said to the crowd,
"I want to welcome all our new members to New Member Night!" Suddenly we were in the
middle of a round of introductions and a microphone was thrust in my hand so I could
introduce Mark and myself to the group. "Gosh," I said to all the grinning faces, "We just
came down here for a beer and to get our email -- and then the party showed up!"
Another day we ended up on a timeshare tour of the nearby
Villa del Palmar resort. The freebies on offer were 1,300
pesos in cash ($100), a certificate for a week's stay at one
of their resorts for $249 when redeemed, and a one-week
pass to enjoy all the amenities of the resort here. It's not
that we couldn't find enough to do at the resort we were
already staying at, but we'd seen the
sister resort of Villa del Palmar in
Ensenada Blanca in the Sea of Cortez and
we were intrigued. A delicious gourmet
breakfast with a salesman, a resort tour
and an hour on the hot seat was all it took
to pocket our cool cash. This cruising life
is paying off.
It was really hard to tear ourselves away from Paradise Village, and we
envied the cruisers who had tied their boats up there semi-permanently.
But the warm air that had blown us across the Sea of Cortez had turned
cool in the evenings and the water that had been 80 degrees at the
beginning of the week had suddenly dropped to 69. It was time to go
south to Manzanillo Bay.
Find La Cruz, Puerto Vallarta and Banderas Bay on Mexico Maps.
La Paz: Doing The “La Paz Waltz” and Hiding from Northers
Breaching whale on the malecón.
La Paz cathedral.
Hilly streets of La Paz neighborhoods.
Carrying meat to the market.
The Mexican Navy checks us out.
It was an easy boarding.
Cruising Mexico
Off the Beaten Path
Mark opens up the hot water heater on the dock.
The offending stainless steel tube that needed
a bead welded around the sleeve joint.
Super Burrito, home of great carne asada tacos.
Real coke and yummy tacos for two, all for $8.
Wind travels in the direction of the arrows.
Green=14 mph.Yellow=18mph. Red=24mph
Wind travels from the hook of the hockey stick.
White is light wind and dark blue is heavy wind.
The La Paz Waltz causes anchored boats to collide.
Boston, Massachusetts tides.
La Paz, Mexico tides.
The new Comercial Mexicana Mega supermarket.
Mega is big enough to
require an escalator.
Mega claims to be cheaper than Walmart.
Plenty of fresh produce.
A channel buoy was blown ashore in
the Norther.
Playa Bonanza: tents for kayaking
guests on the beach.
Kayakers get ready to leave.
Off they go.
Sunset at Playa Bonanza.
A ferry heads into Bahía Pichilingue next to Bahía Falsa.
Bahía Falsa has a small beach bar in the sand.
Bahía Falsa.
Bahía Falsa.
Come finish this developer's dream!
A pelican pretends he's a heron in
the mangroves.
Beach bar at Bahía Falsa.
A fun spot to get a beer, barefoot.
Richard, Volker and Petra on a
transcontinental cycling tour of the
Americas.
Pedaling off to the ferry.
La Paz, Playa Bonanza and Bahía Falsa, Mexico
Mid November, 2011 - This is the time of year in the Sea of Cortez when the winter
weather patterns begin to dominate, and a Norther was predicted to blast us with a
few days of brisk north winds. That was enough to send us out of the exposed
island anchorages outside La Paz and into the safe refuge of the bay of La Paz for
a while. We walked the now-familiar malecón while the wind whipped up the seas out
at the islands, as unconcerned about the sea state as any breaching whale might be.
After a month in the small remote
anchorages of the Sea of Cortez, it was great
to walk the urban streets of La Paz and
gather all those provisions that only a city can
offer. Our daily walks took us all over town,
past historic churches and up and down the
steep hilly neighborhood streets. Many of the
streets were now filled with memories from
our visit last spring, and we knew exactly
where to go to find our favorite bakery, the
bank, the marine chandlery and the
supermarket. It felt good to know our way
around town.
On our way into La Paz
we were boarded by
the Mexican Navy for
the first time this
season, our fourth time in two years. Now it is a familiar and
easy affair. This boarding was conducted while we were
underway, and we didn't even need to stop motoring. One
man nimbly came aboard Groovy to review our paperwork and
fill out his forms while his crewmates putted alongside our boat
in their panga. Once he was done he climbed back into their
boat and they were off. Fast and easy.
Not quite so easy was the leak we had developed in the hot water
heater. Marine hot water heaters use the heat of the engine to
heat the boat's fresh water by sending the hot antifreeze from the
engine through a hose to the hot water
heater where it envelops the tank and
heats up the water. The steel pipe supporting the connection between
our antifreeze hose and our hot water tank had developed a leak and
needed to be welded. Mark took the hot water heater to the dock in the
dinghy and handed it off to the highly recommended La Paz stainless
steel expert, Sergio Galindo.
He repaired the leak, but
in the end, we paid more
for him to weld the joint
than it would have cost
to buy a brand new hot
water heater and have it
shipped from the US to
Mexico. Ouch.
Without a doubt, Mexico's finest marine stainless steel fabricator is the creator
of our solar panel arch, Alejandro Ulloa, in Ensenada. His exquisite and artistic
craftsmanship is not only clever and functional, it was very affordable and
enhances the look of our boat. He was a pleasure to work with and his
polished welds are a thing of beauty.
We put the frustrating water heater repair behind us, and enjoyed
being return visitors to La Paz, seeking out our favorite haunts.
The colorful restaurant Super Burrito has terrific beef tacos, and
we had a feast topped off with "original" Coke in old style glass
bottles and formulated with sugar rather than high fructose corn
syrup.
We kept an eye on the developing Norther on the two weather
websites we use in the Sea of Cortez: www.sailflow.com and
www.passageweather.com. Northers appear in the Sea when high
pressure builds in the "four corners" area in the US (the juncture of
Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico) and low pressure builds in
southern Mexico. This causes the wind to get sucked down the Sea
in a wild blast.
We were anchored in the well protected large bay in front of town. It is a long,
skinny, shallow bay and the tides sweep in and out creating very strong currents first
in one direction and then in the other. In light winds all the anchored boats face one
way for a few hours and then the other way in an orderly fashion as the tides turn.
However, when the wind pipes up during a Norther, some boats respond to the
current while others
respond to the wind.
This results in the La
Paz Waltz where each
boat does its own
dance steps to the
tune of either the
current or the wind,
depending on
its hull design and the
state of the tide. They
all end up facing in
different directions.
Sometimes boats actually sail into each other, usually in rather slow motion.
We watched our neighbors fend off an unattended boat that kept pursuing
theirs like a hunter chasing its prey.
The tides in Mexico -- and all of the west coast -- are very
different than the tides I grew up with in New England. On
most of the east coast the tides march along in a steady
procession, going all the way from one extreme to the other
every six hours. Here the tides do a little blip at the mid-tide
between the extreme high and extreme low, producing a
kind of false high and false low tide on the way in and out.
This is confusing, as a high tide may or may not actually be
"high." Also, the maximum range of the tides in La Paz is
just over 5 feet whereas in Boston it is almost 15 feet.
Although we were getting a kick out of
already knowing many of the hot spots in
town, La Paz had one amazing new
addition that had arrived since we were
last here six months ago. The
supermarket chain Comercial Mexicana
had the grand opening of their Mega store
the week we were there.
We grabbed a grocery cart on the ground
floor and rode the escalator with it up to
the main shopping floor. Two stories and
an escalator -- that's a pretty big store!
Strutting their stuff against nearby
Walmart, they displayed two identical
shopping carts to prove Mega is about 10%
cheaper.
Inside the store the produce section was very
large, and the special Gringo area featured Costco's Kirkland brand products
in their signature oversized containers. Peanut-butter pretzels -- yay!
When the weather settled down we went back
out to the pretty anchorages that lie within a two
hour sail from town. Getting to the open ocean
from La Paz requires going down a long narrow
channel. It is several miles long, dredged to a
good depth and marked with large buoys. As
we were leaving Mark carefully noted each pair of buoys when we
passed between them and searched for the next pair up ahead.
Accidentally slipping outside the channel here would put us hard
aground. Suddenly he said, "I can't find the next green buoy!" We
looked and looked and it just wasn't there. Then we spotted it -- on the
beach. The powerful swell from the Norther had uprooted this huge
buoy and tossed it on shore.
Playa Bonanza is a long white beach
that is deserted except for a small eco-
tourism camp at one end. Five canvas
tents for guests are tucked into this
corner and two tents are reserved for
the guides and for cooking. When we
arrived a colorful collection of kayaks
and kayakers was lined up at the edge
of the water. Within a few minutes
they all took off and disappeared
around the point, and we had the
beach to ourselves.
Later that evening the guides returned
without the kayakers and relaxed on
the beach with a small fire and some
fresh caught fish. The next day they
vanished for a while to return with
another group of kayakers and the
pattern repeated itself. That's not a
bad gig: hosting vacationing kayakers
for a few hours each day and kicking
back on the beach in between.
Another day we sailed
over to Bahía Falsa, a
large bay with several
beaches, some
mangroves and a beach
bar under some thatched
shade ramadas. A pile of
kayaks lay to one side
waiting to be rented.
Bahía Falsa lies next to Bahía Pichilingue which is the big commercial
harbor and ferry dock outside of town. Ferry boats cross between
Mazatlan on the mainland and La Paz every day, and we watched lots
of ferries and other large ships going in and out of the harbor.
Around the corner we found an unfinished and abandoned building with
a steeply pitched round roof over an arch-encircled room or patio. It is
on its own private beach, just begging for someone to finish the dream.
At the far back of the cove there is a
cluster of mangroves, and sure enough
lots of mangrove types of leggy birds
live there. We snuck up on a few in the
kayak and caught them on camera, but
most of the pictures were a flurry of
flapping wings and blurred legs and
feet as the birds flew off.
One afternoon while relaxing at the beach bar we noticed three German
cyclists enjoying themselves a few tables down. Their heavily ladened
touring bicycles were leaning on a fence nearby. We went over to talk to
them and discovered they are on an epic cycling adventure.
"Where are you coming from?" I asked. "Anchorage,
Alaska." My eyes got wide. "And where are you going?"
"Argentina." My jaw dropped. It turned out these guys
had left Anchorage in the spring of 2011 and planned to
get to Argentina in the winter of 2013. Volker and Petra
had started their adventure together. They met Richard
on the road and he decided to merge his cycling
adventure with theirs as far as Puerto Escondido
south of Acapulco.
The trio were on their way to the ferry dock to catch
the overnight ferry to Mazatlan. They climbed onto
their bikes and we watched them ride up the long
grind towards Bahía Pichilingue.
A while later, while pedaling our kayak towards
Groovy, we saw their small forms high on the ridge,
pedaling towards their South American dreams. Soon
we would be continuing our travel dreams across the
Sea of Cortez in Paradise Village.
Find Playa Bonanza, Bahía Falsa and La Paz on
Read about our experiences in the La Paz area in
April, 2011 here.
La Paz: Isla Coyote, Isla San Francisco & Isla Partida – Remote Islands
Salt mine ruins at Bahía Salinas.
Isla Coyote framed by the mountains of Isla San Jose in the distance.
Statue on Isla Coyote.
Manuel, 50-year
resident of Isla Coyote.
The "Whale Museum" on Isla Coyote.
Whale spine.
Every house has a view.
Looking down from Isla Coyote.
Groovy waits patiently.
View from Isla Coyote.
The community chapel.
Solar panels provide electricity to each building.
Isla San Francisco beach.
Baja mountains as seen from Isla San Francisco.
A yellow-rumped warbler visits
us on Groovy.
Mark buries our feathered friend.
Charter boat - life of luxury.
A cocktail party on the beach.
Mark dives for Euros.
20 Euro note.
20 Peso note.
The dramatic cliffs of Islas Espiritu Santos.
Puerto Balandra - turquoise beauty amid towering mountains.
Sunset in Puerto Balandra
Isla Coyote, Isla San Francisco & Puerto Balandra
Early November, 2011 - Continuing south from the Loreto area, we enjoyed some
downwind sailing and stopped for a brief overnight at Bahía Salinas at the base of
Isla San Jose. This is a small bay that used to be home to a salt mine. The ruins
of the buildings and even some old vehicles are scattered just up from the beach.
The Sea of Cortez has many abandoned structures, from buildings once used in
small industries like salt mining and fishing to tourist hotels and housing
developments that never got off the ground.
There is one unique, tiny island, however,
that is covered with dollhouse-sized buildings
that are still lovingly maintained. Just a tenth
of a mile or so across, it is clear even from
out in the anchorage that every possible
square inch of Isla Coyote sports a small
building or patio.
Sculptures, sea shell
arrangements and
other creative
decorations are
scattered about the
grounds.
As we motored ashore
towards the two-
dinghy-sized beach,
we were met by a man
who introduced himself
as Manuel. He
graciously tied up our dink and invited us to
walk around the island and explore.
He told us that he had lived on the island for
fifty years and had raised his kids here.
A few steps from the beach he showed us
the "Whale Museum," a collection of whale
bones with a little sign listing the kinds of
whales: sperm, finback, pilot.
Only the sheer cliffs on the east side of Isla
Coyote are bare. The rest of the island is
packed with the homey signs of a simple life
well lived.
Isla Coyote is tall enough that
each one- or two-room building has a
wonderful and unobstructed view.
A little trail snakes up the hill
between the buildings. It is a
three minute walk from the
beach to the bluff at the peak.
There is a whimsy and
charm here that speaks of
a happy group of families
that made a life here on
this miniature island for
many years. At one time
this tiny island was home
to 30 people.
Manuel told us his wife was
currently living in La Paz while
his son attends university
there. He stays out here on
the island to keep an eye on
things. "It's just me and my
dog Luna here," he said to me
in Spanish, although he did
have a friend Roberto staying
with him when we visited. His
only other company is occasional cruisers that drop by and daytripping
tourists that take a four mile boat ride out from the tiny seaside village of
San Evaristo on the Baja mainland.
He keeps in touch with the
world via VHF radio and cell
phone, but he doesn't have
a TV.
Each building has a solar
panel on a stick outside,
and down on the beach
there was a collection of
large drums that held the
fresh water he had just
received from San Evaristo.
San Evaristo is also the source of most of his provisions.
A tiny chapel has a commanding view of the bay, and another building is covered
with a pretty mural depicting the undersea world.
Around the corner from Isla Coyote is a favorite cruiser
destination, Isla San Francisco. We had loved this
classic anchorage last spring and thoroughly enjoyed
visiting it again this fall. The water was amazingly
clear, and when I went snorkeling I saw several large
brown eels cruising around under the anchored boats.
They had mouths like moray eels and they swam with
them wide open. I kept my distance! A beautiful
mobula ray also flew past me slowly under water.
The mountains in the distance cast dramatic shadows in the morning light,
and we sat in the cockpit in the mornings and evenings, mesmerized by
our surroundings.
Up on deck one afternoon I heard a faint
chirping and watched a tiny bird land in
our cockpit. We were in the midst of
moving Groovy from one end of the
anchorage to the other, and when I
started the engine the bird vanished.
Once we dropped the hook again he
suddenly reappeared in the cabin. He
had taken the cross-harbor ride with us down below. He seemed
unsteady on his feet and kept closing his eyes and nodding off as he
perched on our table in the cabin. I offered him a dish of water and
some bread but he kept his eyes closed while I looked him up in our
bird book. He turned out to be a female yellow-rumped warbler, a
migrating bird that spends summers between northern California and
British Columbia and winters in Mexico. This tiny fluff of a bird had
just flown 1,200 miles or more. No wonder she was tired.
We went about our business that evening, but our little bird friend got weaker and weaker. Finally she
stretched out on her side and closed her eyes for the last time. We were both very sad. We had
hoped a good night's sleep on Groovy would revive her spirits. Mark made a little coffin from a yogurt
container and the next day we went ashore and buried her on a ridge with a beautiful view.
Ensenada Grande (on Isla Partida, the northern island of Las
Islas Espiritu Santos) had been another favorite stop on our
way north last spring, and we dropped in for a few nights on
our current trek south. We had been seeing more and more
charter boats in the last few anchorages, and at Ensenada
Grande we parked right next to a beautiful big power boat in
the middle of the turquoise bay. We watched the crew get out
the snorkeling gear and launch the kayaks and mix the drinks
and break up the bags of ice and all kinds of other things
while the guests kicked back on a high deck with a view.
A crew member dinghied
ashore and set up some
beach umbrellas and beach
chairs. Soon the guests were enjoying a shaded cocktail
party on the beach. What a life.
That evening we saw the same beautiful sunset from our
cockpit as they did, but we'd had to launch our own kayak
and dig out our own snorkeling gear earlier in the day.
Mark and I snorkeled along the rocks, admiring the many
brightly colored fish. They come with all kinds of trim, from
stripes to polka dots to loud, flamboyant patterns. All of a
sudden Mark pointed at the sand and I saw the corner of a
blue 20 peso note waving slowly from under a rock.
"Cool!!" I thought, "That's enough for a beer at a beach
bar!" (20 pesos is about $1.50). We grinned goofy grins at
each other through our masks. Mark reached for the
money and then pointed excitedly at the corner. It was a
20 Euro note!! Wow. Make that beers and dinner for two!!
(20 Euros is about $27). Cruising is paying off.
A swell came in overnight, making the boat prance in the waves and keeping us up all night. In the forward berth
you were tossed in the air as the boat jumped and fell in the waves. In the aft berth you were in a perfect
soundboard that magnified the crashing thunder of the stern pounding the water.
In total frustration we
got up at 3 a.m. and
watched the movie
Terminator with the
volume turned way up.
It is an interesting
experience to get
absorbed in a movie
like that while your
theater seat and movie
screen are flying all
over the place.
The weather was
getting iffy, and we didn't want to risk another sleepless night, so we continued south along
the spectacular cliffs of Islas Espiritu Santo.
We made one more stop at
lovely Puerto Balandra as we
continued towards La Paz. This
bay is the quintessential tropical
anchorage that lies at the heart
of most cruising dreams. The
water is an exquisite shade of
aquamarine, the white sand
beaches are truly white and
almost powdery, and the rocky
mountains undulate around the
bay in a snug embrace.
More charter boats showed up to enjoy an
afternoon of perfection in paradise, and we sat in
the middle of it all with binoculars, cameras, drinks
and snacks in arm's reach. This was our delicious
prize, our reward after a sleepless night. The thing
about these moments of bliss in nirvana is that you
can earn them from the workaday world and jet
down to the tropics where a crew or resort staff
caters to your every need. Or you can slog it out
on a small rolling boat, at the mercy of the weather,
snorkeling for Euros, and repairing the many things
that break on board. Either way the price is paid
and the handsome reward of a few precious
moments in paradise becomes emblazoned in your
memory forever.
Those moments are brief, however, and an impending Norther sent us into safety and the urban thrills of La Paz.
Read about our experiences in Isla San Francisco, Ensenada Grande
and Puerto Balandra in April, 2011 here and here.
Find Isla San Francisco, San Evaristo, Ensenada Grande, and Puerto Balandra on Mexico Maps.
Loreto Area: La Ramada Cove, Isla Coronado & Puerto Escondido – Gifts From and To the Sea
Bahía Concepción: the islands, mountains and peninsulas blend together.
Leaving Bahía Concepción the orange islands are inaccurately
charted. The purple radar image shows the correct locations.
The red triangles identify accurate GPS locations of the islands.
Our boat is the size of a city block.
Dangerous pinnacle rocks.
Pinnacles dot the Sea of Cortez landscape.
La Ramada Cove.
Strolling the beach at La Ramada.
Perfectly clear water.
Caleta San Juanico.
San Juanico
Groovy catches the wind and
heads south.
Dolphin swims underwater next to Groovy.
Brightly colored cliffs near Loreto.
Hidden beach at Isla Coronado.
Vivid colors at our private beach.
It's just us and the
herons.
Isla Coronado.
Private islando oasis at Isla Coronado.
Waterfront civilization just outside of Loreto.
Walking towards Loreto's town square.
Inside the Hotel Posada
Hotel Posada de las Flores.
Loreto's "Misión de Nuestra Señora."
Inside the cathedral.
Capturing the antique cathedral on
an iPad.
Puerto Escondido's marina docks.
Groovy waits at the fuel dock.
A boat is lost on a pinnacle rock.
Mark catches a Skip Jack Tuna.
La Ramada, Isla Coronado, Puerto Escondido, & Loreto
Late October, 2011 - It was hard to leave Bahía Concepción, but the time finally came and we headed out of the bay to
continue our trek south. Looking back over our shoulders we were reminded once again what a miracle GPS and electronic
marine navigation systems are for sailors today. In his Log of the Sea of Cortez, John Steinbeck talks about how hard it was to
navigate these waters in 1940 when the only tools the captain had were some sketchy charts and a coastal pilot book. The
islands are often indistinguishable from the mainland mountains and peninsulas, and the rugged coast often becomes a
bewildering mirage.
A glance at our chartplotter shows just how confusing this
landscape can be even today, but for different reasons.
Unlike navigating in the US where electronic charts are
accurate down to individual slips within marinas, the
survey data used in Mexico's modern electronic charts
was collected not long after Steinbeck's voyage. Although
it gives a general idea of the layout and depths, it is often
inaccurate by a half mile, mile, or more. Islands that don't
exist feature prominently on the charts, and islands that
are a true threat in the water are nowhere to be found on
the charts. Fortunately the boat's radar tells the story as it
really is, and the electronic chartplotter overlays the radar
image onto the chart. You get used to sailing through
charted obstacles that aren't actually there.
The thing about the Sea of Cortez is that there are lots of pinnacle rocks
that stick up out of nowhere. Most are fifty feet or more in height, making
them easy to spot with radar and with bare eyes. But you still have to stay
on your toes, as many of them don't appear on the charts and can loom
up unexpectedly.
Fortunately, the guidebook Sea of Cortez by Bansmer/
Breeding lists the GPS coordinates of every danger and
destination in the Sea, so for a boat equipped with a GPS
chartplotter, navigation is actually an easy paint-by-
numbers affair.
The prevailing winds in the Sea of Cortez generally blow either from the north
or the south, and in autumn you get a few days of one direction alternating
with a few days from the other as the summer's predominant south winds give
way to winter's predominant north winds. We caught a ride with a big north
wind that swept us south to our next destination, La Ramada Cove.
This picturesque
spot is protected
only on its southern
side, but we got
lucky and the winds
shifted to the south
for the next few
days.
So we were able to enjoy the isolation, peace and quiet of this idyllic
anchorage while staying just out of reach of the south wind that howled
outside the cove.
The water was beautifully clear and warm,
and sitting on the edge of the cockpit we
could see fish of all kinds swimming under
our boat, flashing in the sun as they zipped
this way and that.
One night we came on deck to see the most unusual bioluminescence. Brilliant little sparkling "eyes"
seemed to be looking up at us from the black depths all around the boat. One at a time they would
wink a few times and then suddenly burst and fade away into the black depths. As each light
exploded and dispersed it seemed to take on the shape of a jellyfish, but our flashlights revealed
nothing but ordinary fish around the boat. After a while the glittering stars disappeared. We still don't
know what they were.
One afternoon we hiked the
short distance from our beach
at La Ramada Cove to the
scenic cove of San Juanico on
the other side of a small hill.
We had spent several
languorous days at Caleta San
Juanico last spring, but now the
anchorage was deserted
because its mouth opens to the
south, which would have made
it very uncomfortable in the
current south wind.
However, the osprey were still
there, perfectly content with nature's unpredictability,
not worried in the least whether the wind was from
the north or south.
We caught the next north blow to carry us a little
further south to Isla Coronado outside of Loreto.
A pod of dolphins spotted us underway and came
leaping over to greet us. The water was so clear we
could see them perfectly as they swam under the
water alongside the boat.
Our route followed the contour of the mountains that make up Baja's
shoreline, and in places they were dramatically striated in shades of
red, black, brown and grey.
This is the magic of the Sea of Cortez. It is a rugged, remote, barren,
harsh land, but if you look beyond the surface it reveals a dramatic
beauty and is teeming with life.
Last spring Isla Coronado had been the scene of some of the
worst conditions we had experienced in seven months of cruising
Mexico when an unexpected post-season Norther blasted the little
north-facing anchorage. Fortunately, when we arrived this time
the bay was tranquil and inviting. We shared our island oasis with
just one other boat, Valkyrie, a small sloop captained by a friendly
singlehander.
There is a
private beach
away from the
anchorage,
and we took the
dinghy over to
explore.
Lush green
vegetation stood
out in sharp relief
against the
burgundy carpeted
rocks in the
distance.
We felt like we were standing on our own
private island, a world away from reality.
Our footprints joined those of
the herons that had been
walking on the sand earlier.
But there were hints of
civilization. After several
days without contact, we
were now able to get internet
access via the cell phone
tower at Loreto just a few
miles away from our island.
Soon we were lured across
the water to visit the town in
person, and we anchored outside
Loreto's tiny harbor.
It was a great feeling to
return to a town we had
come to know and love
last spring. We saw it
now with fresh eyes.
The town was celebrating
its 314th anniversary
when we arrived, and a
portion of the town
square was decked out
for the weekend's festivities.
We returned on the big night,
and the place was hopping
with music, fun, food, and stage events. If that
is how Loreto celebrates turning 314, imagine
what will happen when they hit a round
number.
The ornate Hotel Posada de las Flores and the Mission
of Our Lady Church dominate the town square.
In a wonderful juxtaposition of the modern and the
antique, I watched a man lining up a photo of the
historic cathedral on his iPad. After he got his shot, a
group of us all stood around and admired his wonderfully backlit 8x10
photo. It was beautifully accented by the iPad's white frame and
made me realize what a long way we've come since the days of
Polaroid.
A few days of big north winds and accompanying steep waves sent
us into hiding nearby at Puerto Ballandra, one of the few truly
protected anchorages in the Sea. Last spring it had been nicknamed
"Bee Landra" because of the abundance of fresh water seeking bees
that harassed all the boats. We decided a few bees in a peaceful
anchorage would be better than rolling around in big seas and winds somewhere else. As
it turned out, the bees were few and manageable, due, in part, to the really good fly
swatters we brought down with us this season! With the Sea of Cortez bees we have
found that the best defense is an aggressive offense. None of that pansy "leave the bee
alone and it won't bother you" stuff. We go all out in our attacks, swatting the air, the boat
and each other to kill the scout bees. They are slow moving and must be a bit delicate, as
they are easy (and very satisfying) to kill with a swatter. (I tried asking them nicely to
leave, but they refused).
While in Puerto Ballandra one
afternoon we were idly watching
a boat sailing towards the entrance when we noticed that by dusk it
still hadn't made it into the anchorage. Mark hopped in a friend's
dinghy and they motored out to see if the boat needed help. It turned
out that along with a broken engine and a sail that was stuck partially
raised, the fellow sailing the boat could not find the entrance to the bay
and had been drifting back and forth looking for it all afternoon. He
was confused by the mirage of rocky peaks, and didn't have any
electronic navigation gear on board. Darkness fell, and Mark and his
buddy guided the boat into the anchorage, nudging it forward with the
dink, and helped him find a place to drop the hook.
When the north wind diminished to a manageable scale we
continued moving south, making a quick fuel stop at Puerto
Escondido, the only place with fuel for a hundred miles or so
in either direction.
As we sailed towards Puerto Escondido there was a lot of
commotion on the radio about a boat that had gone up on the
rocks nearby. There were no injuries, but the singlehanding
captain was rapidly unloading all his belongings onto the
rocks and examining a six inch wide hole in the bottom of the
boat to see if there was any way to salvage it. We listened as
a group assembled to lend assistance and bring out sheets of
plywood, bilge pumps and moral support.
The next morning as we left Puerto Escondido we could
see something glinting in the sun on the horizon ahead of
us. Soon it morphed into a sailboat on its side in front of
a towering pinnacle rock, and we realized this was the
boat we had heard about the day before. This pinnacle
rock was one of several in the area called "Los
Candeleros" ("The Candlesticks"). We later sadly
discovered the boat was Valkyrie, the one we had
anchored with at Isla Coronado a few days earlier.
Tragically, the captain had driven straight into the
pinnacle rock and nailed it head on. Ouch. Thank
goodness the only loss was material.
Taking a deep breath and forging ahead, we made our way south
towards Agua Verde. With no wind and nothing to do on board as
we motored along (just one pinnacle rock for 40 miles), Mark threw
out a fishing line. Last year all the cruisers complained of bad fishing
up and down the entire west coast of Mexico. So we were stunned
when within half an hour Mark had landed a fish. Wow! Yikes!! What to do? We were totally unprepared for a fish actually
biting the lure. I ran around excitedly, trying to be helpful, "Are you going to stun it by pouring alcohol in its mouth like our
friends suggested? What kind - rubbing alcohol? Where do we keep that stuff? Are you going to slit the gills to kills it? Do you
need a knife? A cutting board? Gosh, you gotta do something with that flopping fish, and quick!" I must have run up and down
the companionway stairs six times. At least I didn't cry this time.
Mark was much more level headed. He calmly threw some ice in a bucket and put the bucket and
the fish in the dinghy off the back while we continued on to Agua Verde.
One of the weird things about
fishing is figuring out what you
caught. Fish don't come with
labels and a lot of species don't
taste good and need to be
thrown back. Mark looked up his
catch in a book, and it was a Skip
Jack Tuna, rated as "good
eating." Sure enough, once we
were anchored he filleted it like a
pro and barbecued it. We
enjoyed it for three absolutely
yummy meals over the next few
days as we made our way south
towards the beauitful island anchorages near La Paz.
Read more about our adventures in the anchorages near Loreto during our previous visit in May, 2011, here and here.
Find La Ramada Cove, San Juanico, Isla Coronado, Loreto, Puerto Escondido and Agua Verde on Mexico Maps.
**While in Acapulco we read an article in their yacht club magazine about the salvage and recovery of the yacht Valkyrie!
Bahía Concepción & Punta Chivato – Great Sea of Cortez Anchorages
Punta Chivato's elegant hotel.
Shipwreck?!
Osprey
Shells on Punta Chivato's "Shell Beach."
We're not alone -- Mark
found Wilson!
Stairs leading up to Punta
Chivato's hotel
Charming outdoor bar. Too bad it's closed!
Interestingly landscaped grounds at the hotel.
Playa Coyote in Bahía Concepción is like glass.
Heron on watch.
A perfect day for a lazy kayak ride.
Playa El Burro beachfront ex-pat homes.
Each home is a little different.
Some have a removable front wall to bring the
view all the way in.
Snoozing on the water is the only way to beat
the heat.
Geary Ritchie's home is totally wired to help with
his weather forecasting.
Geary, the Sonrisa Net's Sea of Cortez
weatherman himself.
Playa Coyote.
The lunch room for the staff at NOLS.
NOLS houses a complete commercial kitchen...
…extensive provisioning for the students...
…and a mini-REI right here on the beach.
The entire campus, like every building in this bay, is
run on solar power.
Kayaks ready to go to sea.
The centerboard yawls used by the sailing
portions of the classes.
We catch a NOLS class on the water and see
the yawl in action.
Punta Chivato & Bahía Concepción
Mid-October, 2011 - Once the effects of hurricanes Jova and Irwin
way down south had stopped churning up the waves and wind in our
neighborhood near the middle of the Sea of Cortez, we ventured
across from San Carlos on the mainland to Punta Chivato on the
Baja side. There wasn't enough wind to sail, and we had an easy
70+ mile crossing under power.
Punta Chivato is a small community of vacation villas fronting a long
shell-strewn beach. The point is dominated by a sprawling hotel. But
what really caught our attention as we approached was an apparent
shipwreck of an older sailboat resting on its side along the rocks.
Although this anchorage was very peaceful when we arrived, it could
obviously be quite nasty at times.
The temperatures were still hovering near 100 degrees
everyday, so the whole community was closed up tight.
The only sounds were the raucous cries of gulls and the
shrill whistles of a pair of osprey.
We wandered along the beach,
admiring the endless array of
seashells.
Adding to our sense of remoteness,
Mark suddenly found Tom Hanks'
best friend, the basketball "Wilson" of
Castaway fame, sitting among the
rocks and shells.
We had heard that the hotel at Punta
Chivato was a perfect place to spend
some relaxing afternoon hours sipping
cool drinks while perched high above
the sea with a sweeping view
around the point.
Unfortunately the hotel and it's
charming outdoor bar were
closed until December. So we
wandered around the lovely
grounds and imagined how
much fun it would be if
the pretty, shaded
outdoor bar were filled
with happy vacationers
enjoying sundowners
along with us.
From Punta Chivato it is an easy 25
mile or so daysail south to the broad
bays and anchorages of Bahía
Concepción. A long channel
separates this bay from the rough-
and-tumble Sea of Cortez, and the
water where we anchored at Playa
Coyote was like glass.
We could see schools of yellow and
black striped sergeant major reef
fish below the surface, while an
occasional giant angel fish would
glide by and look up at us in the kayak. The
herons, gulls and pelicans
watched the motion of the fish
with as much interest as we did.
A happy couple floated by us in
a tandem kayak, looking very
kicked back…
Then a large fish began leaping
out of the water, almost dancing
on its tail as it darted across the
surface. A gull flew in to try to
catch the fish in mid-air, but a
heron beat him to the punch and caught the stunned fish mid-leap. The heron quickly
dropped into the water, fish in beak. He wasn't nearly as graceful a swimmer as his web-
footed companions, but he managed to stay afloat. Just as he was angling the fish in his
beak to swallow it in one gulp, a pelican swooped by and snatched the fish right out of his
mouth. In a flash the pelican threw his head back and ate the fish. Yikes. The heron
was stunned, we were stunned, and the whole thing was over in an instant. The gull flew
off, scolding everyone as he rose above the water.
We took the kayak around the corner to next-door Playa El Burro. This intriguing ex-pat
community had perked my interest when we were here last June, because the beach is
densely packed with small thatch-roofed houses built right in the sand. Many are closed
up tight for the hot summer months, but a few were open and we could see the inhabitants
milling about inside.
Each house is unique. Many have a porch
out front or a removable front wall that opens
the interior of the house to the view of the
bay. They are cute, although very rustic, as
there is no electricity, town water or sewer
service. Everything runs on solar power and
water is brought in to each house by truck.
All of the homes are owned by ex-
pats, and it struck me as very odd
that such wonderful vacation living
would be the exclusive property of
foreigners rather than Mexicans.
The heat at this time of year is
pretty much unbearable, and
lots of people spend their
days submerged in the 80+
degree water. One fellow was
on his floating bed for several
hours!
At the end of the beach is the
distinctive home of Geary
Ritchie, an avid amateur
meteorologist who provides
sailors with Sea of Cortez
weather forecasts every
morning via SSB and VHF
radio. His home is covered
with antennas.
Geary was at home when
we stopped by, and he
graciously invited us to sit
on his front porch with him
for a while. What a spot!
He explained a little about
how all these tiny homes came to be sitting on the water's edge here. His
was the first home on the beach 15 years ago, and at the time the Mexican
government charged him $30/month for his bit of sand. He built a little
beach palapa home, and he has lived here ever since. Nowadays the rent
has gone up nearly eight-fold, but is still a phenomenal bargain for a
bungalow in paradise. And the beach has filled in with similar homes.
Folks like Geary provide an invaluable service to sailors worldwide, and
they achieve legendary status among cruisers for their dedicated volunteer
efforts. Geary has been told his radio voice is similar to his fellow
forecaster in South Africa. I was intrigued that he got his start by providing weather reports for a friend in the States who had
left his boat in the bay one summer.
Back at Playa Coyote around the corner we visited another
intriguing shoreside property. The National Outdoor Leadership
School ("NOLS"). They have a "ranch" on this beach, one of many
worldwide campuses that provide bases for student wilderness
excursions into our planet's wonderful outdoor classrooms.
We had met the assistant director David and his young family out on the
water. They were camping on the deck of one of the boats in the bay to
escape the excruciating overnight heat in their home on shore, and they
rowed past us on the mirrored morning water on their way "to work."
They invited us to visit the school, and what an eye-opener that was.
We arrived on the beach to find several staff members having
lunch under the huge mesquite tree that shades their strip of
sand. Becca, the director of trek provisioning, gave us a
delightful tour and explained the essence and nature of the
school.
Something of a cross between Outward Bound, the Boy Scouts and an
elite college, the school offers classes ranging from a few weeks to a full
year, many of which accrue college credit at universities around the world.
Classes are conducted in the wild and include kayaking, hiking, rock
climbing, horseback riding and sailing between remote destinations.
Students learn skills ranging from biology to environmental studies to
backcountry survival to group leadership. Most classes are about 15
students with 3 or 4 instructors, and all camping is open air: no tents and just a few shade tarps.
Becca's job is to make sure everyone is well fed on the
expeditions. The kitchen and store-room she oversees are
enormous. The recipes use gallons instead of cups.
This particular campus in Baja California was established around
1990, and its ultra-smooth operation is thanks to the two Mexican
families who have become an integral part of the school. Initially
they provided the land and buildings for the "ranch," but now the
operation of the school and campus is a family enterprise.
This was the first place I had ever been in Mexico where every
Gringo was fluent in Spanish, and Spanish was the default
language for everyone. As Becca said, "The ladies here do all the
shopping and food preparation, and if I can't converse in Spanish I
can't do my job."
The tuition for classes here is similar to a private college, and the education is on the same level. Students are told what to
bring, but just in case they can't find a particular item, the school has a small store that looks like a mini-REI or Cabella's
camping store. What a surprise to see all this high-end Patagonia clothing for sale in the middle of a community made up of ex-
pat beach bungalows.
Just like everyone else on the beach, the school runs without city
water, city sewer or city electricity. The grid of Outback solar charge
controllers was very impressive. We have an Outback charge
controller in our fifth wheel, but just one, not six!
Along with a library filled with books on outdoor adventuring, the
school has a repair yard where the sailboats and kayaks can be
patched up between expeditions. The sailing component of the
classes uses small open centerboard yawls. Of course the students
sleep outdoors on the beach during the sailing portion of the class
rather than on the boats.
We picked up a beautiful 100-page glossy brochure for the school
while we were there and lusted over the stunning photographs of the
courses offered everywhere in the world from the Amazon to
Australia to Scandinavia to the Pacific Northwest. Each site has a
"ranch" campus like the one we had seen. What a fantastic
educational experience it must be, perfect for a "gap" year between
high school and college or before grad school.
Later, when we were daysailing at the mouth of Bahía Concepción, we
saw one of the classes on the water. Four yawls were tacking back and
forth near the entrance of Bahía Concepción, and we tacked back and
forth along with them. The next day when we left Concepción for La
Ramada Cove and the Loreto area, we saw the four yawls pulled up on
a remote beach. Two shade tarps and the four boats were all we could
see of their wilderness experience. Besides ourselves a sailing few
miles out on the water, there wasn't a sign of humanity anywhere to be
seen on the coast for another 25 miles.
Read more about Bahía Concepción during our previous
visit in June, 2011 here.
Find Punta Chivato, Bahía Concepción, Playa Coyote and
Playa El Burro on Mexico Maps.
San Carlos – A Gringo Party Town!
Algodones Bay, San Carlos.
Palms line the beach at Bahía Algodones.
Beachside villas on Algodones Bay.
Groovy anchored between the palms.
San Carlos harbor anchorage.
San Carlos Harbor
Marina San Carlos.
Marina San Carlos.
Marina San Carlos.
Raccoons raided the pantry on a
neighbor's boat.
Resort near the Soggy Peso Bar.
We are back in vacation land...
...back on the beach...
The "Palacio Municipal" in downtown Guaymas.
The cathedral in Guaymas.
The lighthouse outside the Fonatur/
Singlar Marina.
Marina San Carlos.
San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico
Early October, 2011 - After saying goodbye to the bugling elk and
Route 66 memorabilia in Williams, Arizona, we hustled down
from the mountains to Phoenix where we put the trailer into
storage, gathered a few things together, and took the overnight
bus to San Carlos, Mexico. Groovy was waiting for us in her slip,
and she eagerly welcomed us back.
San Carlos has special meaning
for us, as it was not only the end-
point of our cruise last year, but
is the place where our cruising
ideas were initially hatched
during Thanksgiving of 2005.
A friend of ours has a
lovely home at Marina
Real in San Carlos, and
he had taken us out in
his open fishing boat
that fateful Thanksgiving
weekend. Feeling the
wind in my hair and
watching the sun
sparkle on the brilliant
blue sea, I was
enchanted and suddenly
blurted out, "Hey Mark,
we could do this -- we
could go cruising!"
As a lifelong lover of the woods and
the desert, his feet planted firmly
between pines and cactus, he looked
at me in wonder. "Cruising?!"
"Sure!" I said, "We could live on a sailboat and sail the seven seas and
fish for our dinner and swim in tropical anchorages…" It was all so
vivid in my mind. He wasn't sure what to think, but he was very excited
to catch a yellowfin tuna during that little Thanksgiving excursion.
As we motored along the rugged shore with the fish on ice in a cooler,
I spent the next several hours painting a colorful picture for him of us in
our swimsuits living on the sea and sailing from one exotic port to the
next. I realized I had made an impression on him when we returned to
the dock and he suddenly said, "Well, if I'm going to be fishing for my
dinner, I'd better see how this thing is filleted." He closely watched
every flash of our captain Carlos' fillet knife, studying the way he
expertly carved up the
fish. "Wow," I thought,
"Maybe we really could go cruising…"
A long long time had passed between
that little fishing trip and our cruise of
the Mexican coast on Groovy last
winter, but when we pulled into San
Carlos this past June we felt like we
had come full circle. We sailed by the
island where Mark had caught his
yellowfin tuna on our friend's fishing
boat, and we anchored just outside the
entrance to Marina Real where we had
seen a Beneteau anchored way back
in 2005.
This past summer had given us the chance to revisit our home in Phoenix and run
away in our trailer to the Utah red rocks for a few weeks. Now we were back in San
Carlos with a new cruising season ahead. For us San Carlos seemed to be a point
of intersection, the juncture of past dreams and present transitions.
A lot of the boats we had traveled with
last season were on the docks in San
Carlos, and the air was abuzz with their
various plans: Central America, Panama
Canal, South Pacific, Caribbean.
We didn't have any concrete plans beyond
sailing the Sea of Cortez for October and
November. We took the kayak out into the
harbor and enjoyed the early morning light,
slowly getting used to living a water-based life
again.
One morning a couple told us they had had
returned to their boat after a night ashore to
find that otters had wreaked havoc aboard.
They had seen webbed footprints, but it
wasn't clear if otters were really the culprits.
After a little sleuthing, it turned out that a family of raccoons lived in
the bushes next to the marina docks, and they had taken advantage
of the boat's open hatches to get aboard and raid the pantry. Food of
all kinds was strewn throughout their cabin.
Mark was returning from the shower one night and saw the raccoons
up close. It was a little family of five, and they were very cute,
although one parent hissed in annoyance at having its photo taken.
San Carlos is a gringo
vacation town, and one
afternoon we joined some
friends to check out the
Soggy Peso Bar. This
breezy little beachside bar
sits on the edge of the white
sands of Algodones Bay,
and it has a fantastic view
looking back towards the
Marina Real enclave of
waterfront villas.
The beers were ice cold and
the beach scene was hot,
and in a flash we realized we
had left the US along with our
life in our trailer, Route 66
and Utah's red rocks far
behind. We were in our beachwear once again,
back in the land of sand and sun, back on the
Mexican coast.
The village of San Carlos is a small vacation
community that was built on a single rancher's
ranch land a few decades ago.
Ten miles down the road is the
much older city of Guaymas,
complete with a historic city center.
We took the bus there and strolled
around one afternoon. A
"Municipal Palace" building
dominates a huge, open plaza, and
the cathedral lends a touch of
charm to the otherwise gritty town.
A lighthouse marks the entrance to the
municipal marina, and there is a nice
"malecón" or waterfront boardwalk for
strolling.
We had dashed down to
San Carlos in hopes of
resuming cruising while the
water was still warm at the
very beginning of October.
When we arrived it was reportedly 91
degrees. Fantastic!! We couldn't wait to
get going. But two hurricanes showed
up on the radar down south--Jova and
Irwin--and although we were far from
their path, the weather promised high
winds and choppy seas in our
neighborhood for a while.
So we waited in the marina and
watched the water temperature slip
down to 82 degrees over the course
of a week. Finally our window of
opportunity came, and we left the
marina for Bahía Algodones around
the corner where we got the boat
prepped for this season's first
crossing of the Sea of Cortez. Punta
would be our first stops on the Baja side.