The Cruisers’ Life
It has been said
that the only difference between a boat owner and cruiser is that the cruiser chooses to fix their boat in a foreign
country. Spending time around Marina Palmira in La Paz has only enhanced my gut
feeling that we’ve all raced down here, as fast as we could, just to work on
our boats. Living on a boat, especially a boat that moves frequently, requires
a great deal of maintenance… that is for sure.
I almost had to
laugh today as I scrubbed the cockpit of our boat, while one slip over, a woman
toiled over some boat part: both on hands and knees and both in work gloves.
This isn’t a site you would conjure if you thought Mexican vacation, but it is
a very normal scene in the life of a cruiser. The physical labor of emptying our
lazerette and quarter berth/stern storage space, with the mid-day heat and dry
air, makes me thankful for siestas.
Our to-do list is never endless… similar to buying your first home, expect this
home is tiny, snug and open to the elements.
As a mode of
exploration, it’s quite slow. I’ve had to mentally come to terms with cruising
as a way of seeing the world. It requires so much maintenance and patience… it
makes backpacking sound like a dream. Were I am on solid ground, relying on my
own two feet to keep me standing, not a fiberglass hull.
But then, when
we’re out on the water, moving gracefully through the waves, perfect warm wind:
I know why people do it. It forces you to slow everything down. We cruise at
jogging speed (4-5 knots on a good sail). We kept a quick speed walk down the
coast. It’s daunting to think of all the couples and single-handers who keep up
this pace all the way around the world.
We are open to
the weather elements, but also have another force at play: the sea. Every day
on the water is humbling, but also elevating. A day on the water can bring your
mind into great calmness: a state of meditation, but can flip flop and become
stressful and high-strung. It’s a life many love. It’s a life Clif loves. I am
still learning to embrace many things about being on the boat.
I’ve been having
vivid dreams of hiking, camping, swimming in fresh water, climbing mountain
peaks, hugging trees (I know, you’re thinking… “Wow. It’s bad.”). However, I am extremely thankful for my journey
at sea. A journey that still continues with more lessons to learn: more growing
to do. I can always go back to the spruce trees and muddy trails… I know where
they are, and they aren’t going away anytime soon.
While there are
always infinite to-do lists, I somehow find myself antsy. My whole life I feel
like I’ve been working towards something very specific. I’m used to jumping
through hoops, completing papers and classes, grinding away rehearsal after
rehearsal. Cruising has challenged me to do the opposite. What do I do with
myself?! Write. Read. Do Sudoku. Clif and I really are retired. We’re getting
old fast (Just kidding…. Not really.)
It will be nice
to take a break this summer and work. (Ironic, no?)
The Anchored Life
Clif and I never
intended to spend most of our Mexican time in marinas, mostly because they are
so gosh darn expensive. The “anchor life” is a lifestyle chosen predominately
by young cruisers, cruiser families and those who just don’t have stores of
retirement money to spend in a harbor slip. However, we were glad to have our
boat safe in a harbor while we traveled the past month. Marinas give peace of
mind, security and the plush-ness of free showers.
Today we took
off from Marina Palmira to anchor out, right off the beach of downtown La Paz.
We purchased drinking water to store on the boat, completed a huge grocery run
to resupply our dry goods and fridge (that is now running), and did every chore
imaginable that required a hose attachment, electricity or a secure dock. We
sailed gracefully downwind towards La Paz (Marina Palmira is just slightly
north of the town center) and cozied our way into anchorage.
La Paz’s
enormous year-round cruising community gives a whole new meaning to “anchoring
up.” There are many boats anchored out, attempting to live as cheaply as
possible, driving their outboard dinghies back and forth from the dinghy dock.
Finding your own spot can be especially challenging, and requires a day, if not
more, to watch your anchor and watch how close your boat swings towards others.
The “La Paz Waltz” is a phenomenon that
is happens in the Bay when the current and the wind are opposing, causing some
boats to gently spin and touch one another if they are anchored too close. It
can be a guessing game as to where other anchors are holding, how many chain or
rope they might have out and how long the boat as actually been sitting there.
All that said, I think we found a good
spot.
Being at anchor
changes your life on the boat. There is more wind, more sounds, and more water
flowing under the boat and lapping at the bow. Our Walker Bay had to be set up,
sail kit and all, to sail into the closest marina and dock our boat while we
ran a couple of errands. Grocery loads have to be small and simple, and
anything in the dinghy needs to be able to get wet. No Internet or showers again…
at least for now.
I liken
anchoring to homesteading… although I’m not growing my own veggies (I should be
though!). We are electricity conscious, water conscious, and cooking most meals
on the boat. Now all we need is a chicken. My boat chicken dream still hasn’t
manifested itself.
The most
wonderful aspects of life at anchor are both the privacy and time it creates.
It gives you the adventurous feel, while still being able to run in to the
grocery store. We’re sitting on the boat now, brewing our new jamaica tea (hibiscus flower) and
listening to a Mexican boy band sing in spanish on our All-band battery powered
radio. The sun goes down, and so do you… unless you have a high powered,
motorized dighy that you don’t mind running in the dark. Rowing in the dark
isn’t quite as romanitic as in the daylight.
We still get to
feel connected to the community without paying rent. It is also a lot easier to
hoist the anchor and sail away, which is our plan this week! We made the
decision to base ourselves out of La Paz for a bit, feel like we know the town,
but still be able to get out and explore the islands. In late February we will
leave La Paz for San Carlos and Guaymas, where we will keep the boat for the
summer.
Our tracker will
be on in the next week, and we will start sending “We’re OK” messages every
night, once we are out on the water, outside of La Paz. If you need to contact us, message us via our InReach Delorme. We will most likely be back in La Paz next Sunday for a sailing swap meet, and then take off again for another couple weeks.
Until then...
Giselle
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