November 15, 2011

Hilarity from the day before turned into utter disappointment. We made an appointment for Joe to get his leg x-rayed and then meet a doctor. It turns out that he was more stoic than I would have ever imagined. The fall in Bahia de Los Muertos gave him a spiral fracture on his right tibia. This is one of the hardest bones in the body to break after the femur. The reason he couldn’t put any weight on it was due to the fact that it was broken, and not just any break but one that wrapped around the whole leg and travelled downward. We never heard a single complaint about pain or discomfort. Truth be told, he kept saying that he was getting better and we shouldn’t change our plans on his account. If a broken leg can’t make him complain then I don’t know what will. All I know is that this is a person I want to sail around the world with.

The day that Joe limped in to the clinic and saw the doctor he was also going under the knife. He got 4 x-rays, they were read by a radiologist, he was seen by a doctor, given a full physical including an EKG and stress test, anesthesia, the operation, and three days in the hospital including antibiotics and pain killers before he flew back to San Diego, all for under five grand. According to all the people that recommended this doctor, he received first class medical care for a pittance of what it would cost in the States. I can’t help but wonder if the healthcare system or at least the insurance companies are irrevocably messing up our system. But this blog is not the place for musings that can cause such heated opinions. Anyway, Joe got great treatment rapidly. That is the most important thing. If all goes according to plan he will rejoin the Whistle Wing in Zihuatenajo and continue on with the trip. Not that I wish anyone ill, but this is the perfect time for such a travesty to occur. Due to prior engagements to Leslie and Laura we will be in La Paz and the Sea of Cortez for most of Joe’s recovery time and he should be completely mended, out of pain, and ready to hit the wild ocean by the time we fix our compass on south, spread our canvas, and take to the intractable beyond called the ocean.

At some point during the couple of days while Joe was injured, days that all blur in to a constant stream of storms and lee shores, Mike was checking the mariner’s net on the sideband and heard a call from the Star of India. For those of you that are not aware, the Star of India is the oldest active sailing vessel in the world. It is an old iron barque that has circumnavigated 21 times and seen all sorts of walks of life. It is the flag ship of the Maritime Museum of San Diego where I used to work. The vessel popped up on the net because, along with three other major tall ships including the HMS Surprise (Providence of Pirates of the Caribbean), Californian, and Pilgrim, it was outside of San Diego Bay sailing along for a historic cruise. I came back on the net and was able to greet my old shipmates from over a thousand miles away; sounds like they had great wind, a great sail, and several flawless tacks (at least on the Surprise and Californian, my old ships). Not that there is any favoritism or anything.

La Paz is a great town. The longer I stay here, the more it grows on me. I have had several days of hair wrenching boredom but it is always outweighed by La Paz itself. People are incredibly nice and gracious here. Everyone stops and says hello while passing in the streets. No one is in too much of a hurry to acknowledge anyone. Attempts at Spanish are greeted with smiles and an attempt to convey certain points with hand gestures and incredibly rudimentary Spanish. Even with my limited graspings at Spanish, I have found that I can understand enough of what is said for the encounter to be worthwhile. Although I won't lie, sometimes when I am at a complete loss for what to say, I have found that I accidentally slip in to French to convey a point. This abrupt change into an even more foreign tongue perplexes everyone and even I can almost hear from afar how what I am saying is completely foreign. But habits are habits and in the end everyone ends up smiling and we figure it out.

It is also a small town. The first night that I was in the marina I was walking the docks, checking out the boats, enjoying a somewhat solid surface under my feet (even though I realized that I was swaying like a drunkard because I am already so used to a living deck), and I saw a man outside on his aft deck enjoying a cigar and glass of port. I stopped to say hello and after a few minutes of conversation he invited me onboard, as is customary in any port, and I proceeded to share a cigar and glass of wine with him. We got to talking about our backgrounds and next thing you know we had spent two hours talking. I was surprised that I didn’t already know him. This man, Greg, is a professional captain for an incredibly wealthy American that shall remain unnamed. He splits his time between three boats but rarely actually takes the owner out. They are such fast friends that he is given run of whichever boat he chooses as his home and since this vessel is moored in La Paz, Greg has decided to call it his home for the past 6 years. He used to build boats next to where Mike used to build boats. He sailed on the Whistle Wing III, our vessel’s sister on the east coast. He knows the rigger that converted the Rose into the HMS Surprise. He knows my bos’un from the Maritime Museum. And the list goes on. We at around and regaled each other with sea stories and I was surprised that even at this point in my life I have a few that experienced mariners appreciate. I suppose it is easier when the audience knows the people I am talking about. By the time I got back, Mike and Joe thought that I had gone out into town or something. I told them about this guy and Mike smiled, shook his head, and simply said, “The world is a small place.” You have to love Mike's understated way.

Greg is not the only person that has ties to the United States who now resides in the great town/city of La Paz. One of my expeditions into the city after I took care of various housekeeping items on the boat led me to the famous Rancho Viejo. This establishment is so well liked by the citizens of La Paz that they have been able to franchise it, opening a second on the malecon and a third in a different part of the city. The malecon is what they call the boardwalk and Obregon Avenue, basically the high-rent real estate that has an ocean view and access. I sat there for over two hours reading two of the local English newspapers that are geared for Gringos and chatting with ex-pats. The ex-pats come from all walks of life. I found some that were in their late 20’s, some in their 40’s, and some well in to their retirement years. The resounding consensus was that these people loved the city for its laid back atmosphere, the friendly citizens, the climate, and the prices of everything. Each person I talked to was happy to welcome me to their adopted city and give me their opinions on the best places to go for food, services, and night life.

Another day Mike and I went to one of these local breakfast places on the behest of a random ex-pat we happened across while walking the streets. We wandered in to a tiny café and I had no idea what to expect. The locals all gave us a look but quickly went back to their food and conversations. That was heartening. I hate walking in to a place with a deafening silence greeting my ears. We sat down and a man that was eating breakfast stood up, walked up to us, asked if we wanted coffee, and proceeded to serve us himself. This man, Bob, informed us that his wife and daughter ran the place. He gave his recommendations and then, like everyone else I have met, did not linger and overstay his welcome. We ate to our hearts content and were so full that we did not have a dinner of spaghetti till 8:30pm. We accidentally ordered three meals and yet the total with coffee, orange juice, and water all ran to the modest sum of 130 pesos or 10 USD. I can see how people could get used to this town.

Due to the fact that we were not sure what was wrong with Joe, we rented a slip in the marina for the entire week. Mike’s rationale and one that I agree with and epitomizes the cruising attitude was that we didn’t know what was going to happen and deadlines and dates are the death of relaxation. We are in no hurry to go anywhere; in fact we are here for quite some time. Due to the weather patterns, freak storms, chance occurrences, previous engagements, and a love of the city, we were bound to the city for a while anyway. The week in a marina with two people has led to a few days of mind numbing boredom but the highs far outweigh the lows. In fact if one were to compare the “boredom” to any vacation at the shore, the shore would pale in comparison. True, we spend half a day reading a book or taking naps, but the other half is exploring a truly foreign city. And some people spend their entire days reading books, sitting in dirt, and soaking in rays. Perspective is a blessing. I only utter that dastardly word, boredom, because we are not snorkeling, diving, swimming, hiking, spearfishing, pearl hunting, or sailing in 30 knots of wind with a seaway and living deck under our feet. In truth, “la vie est bella”.

Tomorrow is “Revolution Day.” Most Mexicans truly to not understand the American’s love of Cinco de Mayo. Most of the gringos in La Paz agree that Cinco de Mayo is actually a Budweiser holiday. I am sure that Corona Especial, El Patron, or Jose Cuervo don’t object but the concept is foreign to locals. Revolution Day is so important that it merits a three day weekend as well as the shutting down of every major street in La Paz. The locals that drive the free shuttle from the marina in to the city all give a smile when I ask if they have off for the festivities. Even the people that came down with the Baja are complaining that all the good anchorages at the islands off the coast are taken by locals escaping the city for the weekend. I have seen locals decked out in colorful sun dresses and their Sunday’s finest as they head in to town for pre-celebrations. I don’t know if it is a good thing that we are leaving Sunday morning to escape the throngs or if it would be worth it to check out the fun. In the end I am sure that our game plan is for the best of my wallet if nothing else.

Stay tuned for the next blog where I will get in to the nitty gritty. During these past few days I have managed to make a few friends and get some of the real local “gouge” on the narco violence in Cabo, the fishing dilemma witnessed in Bahia de Los Muertos and Bahia Tortugas, the poverty in La Paz, and the steps that non-profits are taking to educate the youth of the city.