Closing the chapter on Mexico

April 7, 2009

From the Lagoon at Barra De Navidad: 19 degrees 11’ N, 104 degrees 40’ W



Cooling palm branch.


Like the fish, we must move on.

“You should have come into Barra tonight,” Russ said boarding the boat after his street cart taco consumption mission was complete.

“There was a blind lady singing the most beautiful songs. She had a smile on her face as she sang and lots of people were putting money in her cup.” How fortunate we are to have sight.

He seemed refreshed and satisfied having enjoyed a hard earned break from the boat into town.

I look back on him a few nights ago ordering beef tacos from the street cart. The Mexican lady wore striped slacks and a red top. She took a hand full of tortilla dough, rolled it up into a ball and put it in a wooden block then pulling a handle, voila, the tortilla was perfectly flat and round.

Onto the grill it went. Her husband was in charge of BBQing and cutting up the beef. Tall and gentle, his face had a glean from the balmy evening and hot coals he stood over. She then added the meat to the tortilla and put it on a plate that was covered with a plastic bag, so that the plate could be reused for another customer. It is a family business. Customers came and waited for their order patiently, and went.

Russ sat down in a white plastic chair with his meat taco. He had added hot sauces and condiments. His eyes bulged as he took the first bite. In between watching a horrific boxing match on the small TV set up on a wall, virtually on the street pavement. He relished his meal. Blowing breath out on his lips to cool them down, he ordered 4 more. Street tacos are his Mexican fix. MEAT!

Being a veggie, I prefer my lunch at the Grand Hotel in beautiful gardens overlooking the swimming pool and channel, out into the bay and across to Barra, which is built on a spit. Blended margaritas, salsas and chips, grilled mahi mahi with rice and beautifully satayed vegetables. Hmmmmmm. I’m the more sanitized sort. Except today on board, stepping across my Mediterranean plate on the deck of Zulu, my sandal dropped off my foot right square onto lunch. Sole first. Not good. I ate lunch in any case, because it had taken so long to make. I'm really not spoiled. My lunch might have been though!

Barra De Navida is built on a spit with a lagoon on one side and the bay on another.

Russ and I sat in the beautiful gardens of the Grand Hotel that overlooks the narrow channel
to Barra. And out beyond in Bahia Navidad (Christmas), where we had anchored off of Melaque.
We looked across the waters and both know it is time to go.


Our view across from the lunch table at the Grand Hotel.


A last walk through the gardens of the Grand Hotel.

The days are getting sultry. The mosquitos are thirsty at night. Nap time is anytime. Sailboats are pulling anchor and going north or south or out to sea. I can hear the Tahitian drums and see the dances of French Polynesia in my minds eye. It is calling me. We play the music, and pull ourselves out of slow motion ‘manjanaland’.

29 big bottles of purified water are in our tanks. Fuel to come. Beer to come. Fresh produce to come. Washing done. Zulu gets organized for an ocean passage, slowly but surely.

The breeze is blowing, cooling, and edging us into the blue. Paul Theroux’s Dark Star Safari, given to me by my dear friend Martha from Renton, Washingto State talks about travelling. Paul travelled overland from Cairo to Cape Town writing vignettes on people’s lives: struggles, dreams, wars stories, famines, fundamental fanatacism, political big men (in the hands of). When travelling you are always in a situation of preparing to leave lives for the next
destination. That is where we are.

Preparing for the next destination of the Marquesas (a little more gentle than Africa): one of the most beautiful places in all of Oceana. Costa Rica and the Galapagos have been set aside for another time when we’ve made full circle.

So it is in the spirit of adventure that we move on, more like gypsies than yachtsman. We don’t travel like the huge yacht ‘Time for Us’ with a South African chef on board and all the amenities. Wait a minute Zulu does have a South African ‘chef’ on board. Me!


Zulu lies at anchor in the lagoon at Barra De Navidad to the left of the red shrimp boat.

We travel minimally and perhaps not light enough. Comfort is not the epitome, our skin is getting dry and rough, turtle-like, and watches will be long as will be the nights and days. Nonetheless, we travel on letting go of the places we have arrived at. Not searching for paradise, just moving through the waters of the planet to experience the periphery.


Time For Us travels in style with a South African chef on board. Zulu also has a South
African chef on board! Me.


The French baker from Barra delivers goodies to the yachts at anchor.

We let go of the French baker, the tacorias, the churches and solemn members holding onto their palm branches on Palm Sunday, the children playing in the town squares, the indigenous Indians selling their baubles and wares on the beach: the beautifully scalloped mangoes on sticks, pineapples, silver bracelets, blankets, bright sarongs, straw hats, hammocks, names written on grains of rice. We let go of sad faces, of laughter, of their honey-coloured faces and dark grape eyes, their smiles, their history.


The hot dog stand in center square at Barra.

We’ll pull the anchor from the lagoon in a few days and head south to Manzanilla, Santiago Bay, and Las Hadas. The hotel designed after a Moorish fairytale will be the last man made image we see, before we go south west to find the NW trades and then west to find the rim of Oceana.

Our Mexican chapter will soon be closed so that another passage is achieved. The tall green volcanic mountains and low atolls await. The aquamarine crystal waters. The blind lady’s song in the square will linger on. We carry her brave, beautiful smile along the path untrod.


Looking out from the lagoon toward the Grand Hotel and passage out to sea. Last night.


The path of a passage lies ahead, untrod.