The boat teaches many lessons in conservation. This is part of an ongoing series of posts about how we boaters do more with considerably less. The tips are valid for land based life as well, though, so hopefully folks can use some of these ideas.
* * *
No matter how long I cruise and no matter how many times and in how many methods people ask this question, the answer to "How do you entertain yourself on a boat?" remains a helpless shrug. In the Real World™ we had so many distractions, even after we turned off the television and discontinued cable. We could go to the movies, a museum, the zoo, the beach. There were restaurants and cafes. Our friends were nearby, our shelves filled with books…. oh god the libraries. The libraries.
Let's pause for a moment to contemplate the duel wonders of the Internet and Libraries. You people who live with ubiquitous access to both resources should never ever EVER take them for granted.
After you cut the lines and head out into remote anchorages, foreign countries whose primary language is not your native tongue, places where going out for pizza really isn't an option, it is an interesting question just how to spend copious free time. However, despite the paucity of civilized amusements and the wealth of free time available, I have yet to meet a bored cruiser. Tired, frustrated, dirty, miserable, or unhappy, but never bored. I haven't even met a bored boat kid which -- given the nature of children -- seems somewhat miraculous. So just what are we doing?
Read Anything -- At this point, I think every member of this family is willing to read absolutely anything published in English, up to and including computer user guides. If you start your cruising life as a lover of science fiction or fantasy, you'll soon learn to enjoy mysteries, diesel mechanic manuals, and even… say it isn't so… romance novels. Alternatively, if you enjoy a good bodice ripper but haven't read great literature since English 101 in college, you'll start to find yourself reading H.G. Wells and Shakespeare. Reading taste for cruisers is largely determined by what you find at the many book exchanges along the way. Every marina, yacht club, restaurant, and laundry room patronized by the cruising community has at least one shelf… in some cases an entire wall… devoted to casual literature. It is crucial to your happiness that you become agnostic regarding genre and open to new literary experiences. Consequently, I can now list Two Years Before the Mast as one of my favorite books of all time. However, I never want to read another account of sailors lost at sea again. Ugh.
Get a Hobby -- We've seen cruisers that knit, quilt, cook, and bead. There is one that crochets handbags out of plastic grocery bags and another who specializes in shell earrings. Like DrC, many cruisers take up an instrument or revisit one they learned many years ago. Others write stories, poetry, or blogs, carve wood, work on their photography, make videos, or build elaborate web sites. It is a good idea to become invested in your hobby before you leave, particularly if the materials and tools are going to prove difficult to find in other countries. Also, be open to discovering new hobbies while you are out here.
Walk… A Lot -- Hiking is our passion. We walk everywhere. One of the limitations of cruising the Pacific Northwest is that it is far more challenging to walk around up there than it is down in Mexico. In the desert, the horizon is literally limitless. We walk in the wilderness and in towns, up ridge lines and over to remote anchorages. Walking is good for the health, kills hours of time, and enables you to dramatically expand your horizons. A pastime which we did not take up but which many of our fellow travelers endorse is kayaking. I think of this as walking on water providing similar benefits and pleasures.
Learn to Play -- I think adults outgrow games and play as we age. Forgive me for saying so, but I attribute this loss in no small part to the industrialization of education. Somewhere between 6th grade and graduation, we tell our children to stop screwing around, stop having fun and get to work. It's a shame. We should never stop playing. From play comes some of our best ideas and our happiest moments. DrC and I, and even to a lesser extent our daughters, have reacquainted ourselves with the pleasure of play. We play Scrabble and Sorry, Gin and Rummy. We enjoy video games on our computers and handhelds as well as solo logic puzzles such as Sudoku and Crosswords. Mera and Aeron have sustained The Game long after I think most children would have abandoned it. One of our favorite games is Mexican Train which we enjoy with our cruising buddies on warm evenings.
Do It Yourself -- Boat life requires constant work and maintenance. It forces you to think creatively about how to fix, create, repair, replace and build it yourself. Once you start down that path, it seems increasingly stupid to buy. Don Quixote sports shelves, curtains, lockers, hooks, and covers all made by a member of this family. We make our winter Solstice gifts each year, and we spend a lot of time sanding, painting, varnishing, cleaning, polishing, waxing, and lubing. You can either suffer through all this work (which I do) or you can try to enjoy it. I'm working on this. I enjoy some of it.
Relax Your Mind -- The need for speed in the real world drives our entertainment consumption as much as it does our work life. There is an urgency to everything, a constant requirement of movement and activity. Cruising life teaches lessons about patience and relaxation. It is okay just to sit still for awhile and listen to the water sluice past the hulls, to lie in bed and watch the sun rise through the port hole, to sit in a palapa and watch the children play on the beach. This one catechism is so difficult for me; I am a Type A, hyperactive, pressure addict. DrC, though considerably more silent, is arguably even less capable of sitting still. It has been hard for us to learn passivity. However, the most elusive yet satisfying moments of our lives are those wherein we just sit side by side contemplating the horizon and feeling warm, happy, loved, satisfied with a moment requiring no embellishment.
Hours go by, days vanish, entire weeks and months simply slip into the past and never do we hear or feel the plaint, "Are we there yet?" When the journey is the destination, it's easier to be entertained by the present.
Showing posts with label "things to do". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "things to do". Show all posts
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, November 20, 2009
Attention Span of a Housefly
I suffer from attention deficit split disorder (ADSDO, pronounced “ads do”). This is not a real syndrome; it is not recognized by the medical establishment. In fact, the term was coined by Mera. It is a mental pathology that manifests itself in an inability to do only one thing at a time. When my girls are working on math while simultaneously listening to Weird Al, painting their toenails orange and blue, and finger knitting, they explain that ADSDO is an inherited disease -- they get it from their mother.
The parent in me wants to scream in frustration, “Get your schoolwork done. FOCUS!” However, the unschooler wannabe idealist angel sitting on my other shoulder is smug. The girls are apparently reasonably well versed in the concepts of genetics and inheritance as well as the role of genes in disease. After a brief familial tussle in which I insist all three prove they can spell ADSDO and use it correctly in a sentence, I give up the struggle with only a token intervention in the form of putting towels under the nails.
Actually, my ADSDO is probably an adaptation to a mild form of the real thing -- attention hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Back in the days before ritalin, bright kids with no ability to focus in class were tracked into either one of two programs: Semi-Permanent Detention or Mentally Gifted Minds. I found it peculiarly appropriate that at my elementary school, the detention hall shared the same room with the MGM program. From the distance of 30 years, I can see that the room should have had a sign warning teachers -- Abandon Patience All Ye Who Enter Here. It was the room for children who simply couldn’t be wrapped up, set in a row, and expected to sit still until recess.
Yet the traits that made me such a miserably poor excuse for an elementary student were also the very attributes of my personality which made me a highly successful manager: adaptive context switching, multi-threading, laser focus for brief periods of high intensity effort followed by intuitive decision making and moving on without regret or self-contemplation. In algebra, they accused me of cheating because I “skipped the steps” and simply wrote down the answer. In college, they took off points for “failure to show your work.” In business, they promoted me and gave me more people to manage... proving once again that academic success is a poor way to identify quality employees.
Problematically, the cruising life doesn’t offer enough things to do simultaneously to satisfy my housefly brain. In fact, traveling by sail for hundreds of miles is proving tantamount to locking me in a small white box, removing all the sharp objects, and playing an elevator version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. I can almost handle the monotony while motoring. I line my toys up on the helm: GPS, radar, chart plotter, cruising manual, anemometer, VHF radio, knot meter, and depth sounder. Then I pull out my iPod chock o'block full of podcasts and audio books as well as a pencil and book of sudoku. Between the steady stream of info bits, the logical complexity of the puzzle at the Avanzado and Experto levels, and a regular scan of instruments and horizon, my brain almost settles into a peaceful steady state.
However, the whole strategy falls apart when the seas are running high. First off, DrC likes to take the helm when we've got big wind and big wave in combination. He does this primarily because he likes to sail. He really enjoys it. He enjoys it more when everything is slightly edgy, big and heavy, weather helm and slop making the auto-pilot a dicey proposition and manually steering pretty much a necessity. So I get booted off the helm and into the salon.
Then we get to the second problem which is with the boat rolling around like a marble on a wooden maze game, my stomach and my head begin a futile tussle for dominance. The longer we're out, of course, the less this is a problem. However, after months in the dock, traveling on land, and in the Sea of Cortez where waves in the anchorages barely top the ankles, my stomach recently has been winning more frequently than not. Which means that the only safe activity I can engage in without the imminent threat of vomit is staring at the horizon contemplating the coming Zombie Apocalypse while slowly chain nibbling saltines.
And here's the thing about zombies... they are actually quite challenging to kill. So while I sit there staring at the churning seas and listening to my husband delightedly humming along to Dazed and Confused, I attempt to make good use of my time identifying the many ways in which we can remove zombie heads and annihilate the remains in a blazing fire. Lest you think this would be quickly resolved, I challenge you to figure out how to do it north of La Paz where there appears to be not a single flammable plant. There's nothing but rocks and cactus. My daughters burned their school books the other night in order to roast marshmallows. Or how about on the high seas? If you were boarded by zombies, I think you could probably take the heads off with a well aimed fishing knife or a very firm swing of an oar, but what about burning the bodies? Where? How? With what? Note to non-nauticals: Diesel is not flammable.
This important contemplation of theoretical physics consumes my time for say... fifteen minutes... and then I face roughly six more hours till we pull into our anchorage. I swear to god I am going to go out of my fl*in mind.
The parent in me wants to scream in frustration, “Get your schoolwork done. FOCUS!” However, the unschooler wannabe idealist angel sitting on my other shoulder is smug. The girls are apparently reasonably well versed in the concepts of genetics and inheritance as well as the role of genes in disease. After a brief familial tussle in which I insist all three prove they can spell ADSDO and use it correctly in a sentence, I give up the struggle with only a token intervention in the form of putting towels under the nails.
Actually, my ADSDO is probably an adaptation to a mild form of the real thing -- attention hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Back in the days before ritalin, bright kids with no ability to focus in class were tracked into either one of two programs: Semi-Permanent Detention or Mentally Gifted Minds. I found it peculiarly appropriate that at my elementary school, the detention hall shared the same room with the MGM program. From the distance of 30 years, I can see that the room should have had a sign warning teachers -- Abandon Patience All Ye Who Enter Here. It was the room for children who simply couldn’t be wrapped up, set in a row, and expected to sit still until recess.
Yet the traits that made me such a miserably poor excuse for an elementary student were also the very attributes of my personality which made me a highly successful manager: adaptive context switching, multi-threading, laser focus for brief periods of high intensity effort followed by intuitive decision making and moving on without regret or self-contemplation. In algebra, they accused me of cheating because I “skipped the steps” and simply wrote down the answer. In college, they took off points for “failure to show your work.” In business, they promoted me and gave me more people to manage... proving once again that academic success is a poor way to identify quality employees.
Problematically, the cruising life doesn’t offer enough things to do simultaneously to satisfy my housefly brain. In fact, traveling by sail for hundreds of miles is proving tantamount to locking me in a small white box, removing all the sharp objects, and playing an elevator version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. I can almost handle the monotony while motoring. I line my toys up on the helm: GPS, radar, chart plotter, cruising manual, anemometer, VHF radio, knot meter, and depth sounder. Then I pull out my iPod chock o'block full of podcasts and audio books as well as a pencil and book of sudoku. Between the steady stream of info bits, the logical complexity of the puzzle at the Avanzado and Experto levels, and a regular scan of instruments and horizon, my brain almost settles into a peaceful steady state.
However, the whole strategy falls apart when the seas are running high. First off, DrC likes to take the helm when we've got big wind and big wave in combination. He does this primarily because he likes to sail. He really enjoys it. He enjoys it more when everything is slightly edgy, big and heavy, weather helm and slop making the auto-pilot a dicey proposition and manually steering pretty much a necessity. So I get booted off the helm and into the salon.
Then we get to the second problem which is with the boat rolling around like a marble on a wooden maze game, my stomach and my head begin a futile tussle for dominance. The longer we're out, of course, the less this is a problem. However, after months in the dock, traveling on land, and in the Sea of Cortez where waves in the anchorages barely top the ankles, my stomach recently has been winning more frequently than not. Which means that the only safe activity I can engage in without the imminent threat of vomit is staring at the horizon contemplating the coming Zombie Apocalypse while slowly chain nibbling saltines.
And here's the thing about zombies... they are actually quite challenging to kill. So while I sit there staring at the churning seas and listening to my husband delightedly humming along to Dazed and Confused, I attempt to make good use of my time identifying the many ways in which we can remove zombie heads and annihilate the remains in a blazing fire. Lest you think this would be quickly resolved, I challenge you to figure out how to do it north of La Paz where there appears to be not a single flammable plant. There's nothing but rocks and cactus. My daughters burned their school books the other night in order to roast marshmallows. Or how about on the high seas? If you were boarded by zombies, I think you could probably take the heads off with a well aimed fishing knife or a very firm swing of an oar, but what about burning the bodies? Where? How? With what? Note to non-nauticals: Diesel is not flammable.
This important contemplation of theoretical physics consumes my time for say... fifteen minutes... and then I face roughly six more hours till we pull into our anchorage. I swear to god I am going to go out of my fl*in mind.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Radio Protocol
The VHF is hooked to my backpack strap, volume low but the speaker only about eight inches from my ear. This is a compromise; I can listen for the girls while not disturbing the people at the market as I do the morning shopping. I am surrounded in fast talking, short older Mexican women who are haggling with the produce seller, waving pieces of fruit and bunches of carrots as they argue over quality, price, or the weather. I have no idea; They all speak Spanish.
“Don Quixote Mobile, Don Quixote Mobile, this is Don Quixote Niñas.” Aeron is on the VHF, her voice so very young and high and -- let’s face it -- girly. The mamas pay no attention, sorting multicolored peppers using criteria I find completely unfathomable.
With the ease of much practice, I reach up to my shoulder and key on, “Don Quixote Niñas, this is Don Quixote Mobile.”
“One seven?” the small voice asks.
“One seven,” I agree. This is a favorite channel and preprogrammed into the handheld so I switch in two clicks. “Don Quixote Mobile on 17.”
“Don Quixote Niñas on 17. Can we spend the afternoon doing play practice on Kamaya?” A whispered conference then, “And maybe a sleep over?”
For the girls, staying in an anchorage for any length of time is a license to move on to other boats. Jaime disappears with the ten to tween crowd, Mera and Aeron generally stick to the elementary set. Out of a sense of obligation, I routinely attempt to get them to bring the kids back to our boat. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t. “School checks all done?”
There is a dramatic sigh on the other end of the radio and more urgent consultation. “Mera says she has one check left, and I finished everything except my math.” Aeron’s voice changes to a plea for understanding and generosity which she knows will not be forthcoming. Yet, nevertheless she will try. My girls are not quitters. “Mom... we can do an extra check tomorrow. Please?”
Silence. I don’t even bother to key in to sigh. There is no point.
“Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaszzzzzz.....”
It’s easier to just let her hang there while I proceed to select fruit from the large produce display in front of me. The Mercado Municipale is a busy, noisy place. My conversation with the girls is largely going unheeded by the locals, though I suspect DrC may be paying closer attention. I also suspect the woman in front of me is impugning the ancestry or manhood of our produce vendor. He doesn’t look happy.
“Okay,” comes the resigned voice. “We will finish our checks.”
At this point, Don Quixote Jaime pipes in, “Break break! Info!” At the sound of Jaime’s voice, DrC cocks an eyebrow, his attention drawn from the display of tomatoes and cilantro he is picking through.
“Don Quixote Jaime, go ahead,” I say.
Jaime reminds us, “You said we could watch Blue Planet as a science check tonight. I’ve got to babysit on Love Song this afternoon.”
I don’t remember saying this. I don’t remember much of the morning at all. Did I say that? I ask DrC with a look. He shrugs. I might have. He can’t remember either. The morning is a blur. It was at least two hours ago. In cruiser time, this might as well be infinity ago. Crap. Executive decision time. Bottom line, do we want the afternoon to ourselves messing around with the sewing machine and water maker, or do we want to do something responsible like take the kids on an expedition to the local museum.
“Right. Go ahead.” I’m a lightening fast decision maker. The avocados, a cabbage, and a hicama drop bang bang bang into my plastic shopping bowl as I start to demonstrate the program management authority for which I used to get paid the big bucks. With a sharp shake of my head, I reject DrC’s attempt to include a watermelon. Who the hell wants to carry that back to the dinghy dock? “Check in...”
I’m interrupted as the girls burst out, “Don Quixote Niñas clear to 22 alpha.” “Don Quixote Big Girl back to two two.” DrC throws me a disgusted look as I mumble, “Clear to 22,” and fumble with the VHF. While the marketing is going well -- our vendor happily taking money from the argumentative old women and then reaching for my selections -- I could perhaps have been a bit more thorough in establishing the location and plans of my offspring before signing out.
“That’s if you can get them back,” DrC warns as he reluctantly releases the melon. My children are free spirited wild animals wafting through the marina, the old town and the anchorage. They’ve been adopted by fifty pairs of cruising grandparents, sworn oaths of lifelong friendship with children on boats we haven’t even met. They earn money baby sitting and scrubbing bottoms; they help Meercat prepare finger foods for a potluck, ferry guests to a party on Vltava, and attend jam sessions around campfires with Hipnautical. Our control over them is remote and dicey at best.
Faced with another childless afternoon, DrC hands me a bag of limes and asks, “Internet or sex?” Suddenly, it appears that everyone in the produce section knows English after all and activity pauses for a moment while the group of shoppers awaits my executive decision.
The mamas nod approvingly and the vendor laughs as I reprimand my husband, “You know, Dean. This is how we got into this trouble in the first place.”
“Don Quixote Mobile, Don Quixote Mobile, this is Don Quixote Niñas.” Aeron is on the VHF, her voice so very young and high and -- let’s face it -- girly. The mamas pay no attention, sorting multicolored peppers using criteria I find completely unfathomable.
With the ease of much practice, I reach up to my shoulder and key on, “Don Quixote Niñas, this is Don Quixote Mobile.”
“One seven?” the small voice asks.
“One seven,” I agree. This is a favorite channel and preprogrammed into the handheld so I switch in two clicks. “Don Quixote Mobile on 17.”
“Don Quixote Niñas on 17. Can we spend the afternoon doing play practice on Kamaya?” A whispered conference then, “And maybe a sleep over?”
For the girls, staying in an anchorage for any length of time is a license to move on to other boats. Jaime disappears with the ten to tween crowd, Mera and Aeron generally stick to the elementary set. Out of a sense of obligation, I routinely attempt to get them to bring the kids back to our boat. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t. “School checks all done?”
There is a dramatic sigh on the other end of the radio and more urgent consultation. “Mera says she has one check left, and I finished everything except my math.” Aeron’s voice changes to a plea for understanding and generosity which she knows will not be forthcoming. Yet, nevertheless she will try. My girls are not quitters. “Mom... we can do an extra check tomorrow. Please?”
Silence. I don’t even bother to key in to sigh. There is no point.
“Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaszzzzzz.....”
It’s easier to just let her hang there while I proceed to select fruit from the large produce display in front of me. The Mercado Municipale is a busy, noisy place. My conversation with the girls is largely going unheeded by the locals, though I suspect DrC may be paying closer attention. I also suspect the woman in front of me is impugning the ancestry or manhood of our produce vendor. He doesn’t look happy.
“Okay,” comes the resigned voice. “We will finish our checks.”
At this point, Don Quixote Jaime pipes in, “Break break! Info!” At the sound of Jaime’s voice, DrC cocks an eyebrow, his attention drawn from the display of tomatoes and cilantro he is picking through.
“Don Quixote Jaime, go ahead,” I say.
Jaime reminds us, “You said we could watch Blue Planet as a science check tonight. I’ve got to babysit on Love Song this afternoon.”
I don’t remember saying this. I don’t remember much of the morning at all. Did I say that? I ask DrC with a look. He shrugs. I might have. He can’t remember either. The morning is a blur. It was at least two hours ago. In cruiser time, this might as well be infinity ago. Crap. Executive decision time. Bottom line, do we want the afternoon to ourselves messing around with the sewing machine and water maker, or do we want to do something responsible like take the kids on an expedition to the local museum.
“Right. Go ahead.” I’m a lightening fast decision maker. The avocados, a cabbage, and a hicama drop bang bang bang into my plastic shopping bowl as I start to demonstrate the program management authority for which I used to get paid the big bucks. With a sharp shake of my head, I reject DrC’s attempt to include a watermelon. Who the hell wants to carry that back to the dinghy dock? “Check in...”
I’m interrupted as the girls burst out, “Don Quixote Niñas clear to 22 alpha.” “Don Quixote Big Girl back to two two.” DrC throws me a disgusted look as I mumble, “Clear to 22,” and fumble with the VHF. While the marketing is going well -- our vendor happily taking money from the argumentative old women and then reaching for my selections -- I could perhaps have been a bit more thorough in establishing the location and plans of my offspring before signing out.
“That’s if you can get them back,” DrC warns as he reluctantly releases the melon. My children are free spirited wild animals wafting through the marina, the old town and the anchorage. They’ve been adopted by fifty pairs of cruising grandparents, sworn oaths of lifelong friendship with children on boats we haven’t even met. They earn money baby sitting and scrubbing bottoms; they help Meercat prepare finger foods for a potluck, ferry guests to a party on Vltava, and attend jam sessions around campfires with Hipnautical. Our control over them is remote and dicey at best.
Faced with another childless afternoon, DrC hands me a bag of limes and asks, “Internet or sex?” Suddenly, it appears that everyone in the produce section knows English after all and activity pauses for a moment while the group of shoppers awaits my executive decision.
The mamas nod approvingly and the vendor laughs as I reprimand my husband, “You know, Dean. This is how we got into this trouble in the first place.”
Monday, December 15, 2008
Our La Paz To Do List
La Paz was our longest stop since we left Seattle. We had a very long list of things we were going to get accomplished. We always have a very long list. As usual, DrC was the most productive while the girls barely managed to keep their rooms clean. However, we did manage to tick off several large items:
DrC To Do
[X] Watermaker - It’s now fully functional - 30 gallons per hour on the port engine.
[X] Hookah - We picked up a used on for $400.
[X] Soap - More lemon scent this time but too many orange crayons.
[_] HAM licensing - We still haven’t gotten our Mexican credentials.
Toast To Do
[X] DocuSign v2.5 - Another release for my client. It looks like they are going to want me to do more work for them in the future, which is nice. We’re increasingly looking at staying out here till the economy gets it’s collective ass out of hock -- which may take a very long time.
[X] Skirts - Made one for myself and got the fabric for Mera and Aeron. Jaime “doesn’t wear dresses anymore.”
[X] Scout Troop - We had our first meeting. I still need to finish the materials and ship them to all the rest of the boats interested in participating.
[_] Solstice Gifts - Progress made, but I’m not done. Mom is bringing one of the bits I need to finish. I also need to figure out how to make a shirt for DrC since that’s what he asked for. Gah.
[_] Fix Sail Cover - Gah squared. The seams are slowly unraveling. They come undone at roughly the same speed I fix them. By the time all is said and done, I will have hand sewn the entire thing from one end to the other.
[_] Helm Covers - Didn’t finish the covers, because I kept breaking needles. I’m going to try using the new machine Aeron bought for me before I give up on doing my own canvas work. She picked it up in a silent auction for $200 pesos at the subasta. Like ancient toasters, this old Elna looks indestructible, and the motor is so powerful the boat shakes when you engage it.
Girls To Do
[X] Switch Rooms - Mera is now in the V-berth while Jaime and Aeron share the double. This was dramatic and horrid. Jaime screamed, kicked, cried, and basically imploded. The process resulting three bags of “give away” and four bags of trash. The pack rat gene runs strong in Dean’s children. Jaime is gradually recovering.
[X] Play - The kids met four additional kid boats, expanding our list of folks we pal around with.
[X] School - We stayed roughly on target for school while we were here despite all the distractions.
[_] Solstice Gifts - They got started, but they haven’t finished either. Some stocking stuffers have been found and squirreled away on the boat.
[_] Decorate Dinghy - As an antitheft measure, the girls are assigned to paint the dinghy and motor. We’re holding off on this project as we are considering buying a larger engine. Wouldn’t do to paint it green with orange polka dots if we’re not keeping it.
DrC To Do
[X] Watermaker - It’s now fully functional - 30 gallons per hour on the port engine.
[X] Hookah - We picked up a used on for $400.
[X] Soap - More lemon scent this time but too many orange crayons.
[_] HAM licensing - We still haven’t gotten our Mexican credentials.
Toast To Do
[X] DocuSign v2.5 - Another release for my client. It looks like they are going to want me to do more work for them in the future, which is nice. We’re increasingly looking at staying out here till the economy gets it’s collective ass out of hock -- which may take a very long time.
[X] Skirts - Made one for myself and got the fabric for Mera and Aeron. Jaime “doesn’t wear dresses anymore.”
[X] Scout Troop - We had our first meeting. I still need to finish the materials and ship them to all the rest of the boats interested in participating.
[_] Solstice Gifts - Progress made, but I’m not done. Mom is bringing one of the bits I need to finish. I also need to figure out how to make a shirt for DrC since that’s what he asked for. Gah.
[_] Fix Sail Cover - Gah squared. The seams are slowly unraveling. They come undone at roughly the same speed I fix them. By the time all is said and done, I will have hand sewn the entire thing from one end to the other.
[_] Helm Covers - Didn’t finish the covers, because I kept breaking needles. I’m going to try using the new machine Aeron bought for me before I give up on doing my own canvas work. She picked it up in a silent auction for $200 pesos at the subasta. Like ancient toasters, this old Elna looks indestructible, and the motor is so powerful the boat shakes when you engage it.
Girls To Do
[X] Switch Rooms - Mera is now in the V-berth while Jaime and Aeron share the double. This was dramatic and horrid. Jaime screamed, kicked, cried, and basically imploded. The process resulting three bags of “give away” and four bags of trash. The pack rat gene runs strong in Dean’s children. Jaime is gradually recovering.
[X] Play - The kids met four additional kid boats, expanding our list of folks we pal around with.
[X] School - We stayed roughly on target for school while we were here despite all the distractions.
[_] Solstice Gifts - They got started, but they haven’t finished either. Some stocking stuffers have been found and squirreled away on the boat.
[_] Decorate Dinghy - As an antitheft measure, the girls are assigned to paint the dinghy and motor. We’re holding off on this project as we are considering buying a larger engine. Wouldn’t do to paint it green with orange polka dots if we’re not keeping it.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A Day in La Paz
La Paz, BCS, Mexico is an acknowledged mecca for the cruising sailor. It’s not that this is the most stunningly beautiful place in Mexico, nor will you find the cheapest goods, the best services, or the most comfortable anchorage. La Paz attracts cruisers because La Paz is full of a berzillion and one cruisers already, and a good fraction of the community and businesses have evolved to provide support for those afloat.
For example, you could live full time in La Paz and never own a phone; All you need is a powerful VHF. In the morning at 7:30AM on 21a you can listen to the Bill and Pepe Political show. This is your opportunity to discuss the latest news: political, economic, local, US and international. The participants range from libertarian and conservative to hippies living the good life. The conversations drift from the fluctuations of the Dow to how the new hotels on the Mogote are going to process their shit.
At 8:00AM, switch to 22a where you can get all the rest of the news that’s fit to print. Tides, weather, lost and found, arrivals and departures, Bay Watch, local assistance. During the morning net, you can find a diesel mechanic, trade your unwanted items for “coconuts,” and learn about the day’s activities. The cruisers organize daily yoga sessions as well as weekly Alcoholics Anonymous, dominos, blues jam, and quilting meetings. Do you need to find cranberry sauce? Want a part brought down from the United States? Looking for crew to go to Mazatlan next week? The morning net is your opportunity to find it.
Then you go to Club Cruceros in the Marina de La Paz at 9:30AM for coffee and cookies. The club includes a really well stocked book for book exchange as well as adverts for just about everything you might be looking for in terms of shops, technicians, and mechanics. It’s hard to get out of there in less than an hour. The girls love the place not just because there is a small playground to one side. And the cookies.
After coffee, head into town to the market. My daily rounds include the bank, fabric store, municipal market for fruit and vegetables, mercado for milk and packaged goods, carnaceria, pescaria, and tortilleria. My last stop is always the panaderia where I pick up a bag full of pan dulces and big soft white bread rolls. My whirlwind tour through the markets usually costs me about $20 USD for two days of food. I’m still having trouble getting over how cheap food is in Mexico... as long as you eat local.
We spend most afternoons on the boat doing chores, sewing, school, putting the water maker together. In the evening, we’ll go into town to play dominos and exchange email. I’d like to say that Internet is great in the anchorage, because technically it is. You have to pay for it though and we were too cheap. Stupid. In retrospect, I regret not plunking down the $30/month to get Internet out here on the hook from BahiaNet. Lesson learned.
Other useful bits to know about La Paz:
Both sunrises and sunsets are simply gorgeous nearly every day.
Theft is rampant. Anything not tied down will get stolen. Do not leave your stuff lying around anywhere, even on the deck of your boat.
Two weeks in Mexico and 65 degrees at night is going to feel really cold. Don’t ditch the blankets as you cross the border.
Fabric is cheap and abundant, at least here in La Paz. People still sew here. However, do not expect to find all that wonderful quilter’s cotton you find in the States. Down here, the fabric is for clothes. So the stores are stocked with muslims, linens, polyester blends, and all the notions you can possibly stuff into your cubby on board.
The much balloyhoo’d La Paz Waltz out in the El Mogote anchorage should not scare any experienced cruiser. Anchor your boat with lots of scope and a good clearance to your neighbors, set it hard and deep, and drift around. Particularly anyone who has anchored in the Pacific Northwest with routine tidal swings and currents of 2 or more knots will not find it particularly challenging.
The best free Internet in the city is at Ciao Molina across from Marina de La Paz. 20 pesos for a limonado or 28 for a beer, and they’ll let you sit for hours. The meatball sandwich is also surprisingly good.
We go to bed early here. We get up early too. The days are short as Winter Solstice approaches, and the temperatures are dropping. Today, we move into the marina for a day of clean up and provisioning before heading across the Sea of Cortez to the mainland. I can readily understand the bungee appeal of La Paz that brings cruisers back again and again. We will no doubt swing through in April. The trick is not to get seduced into staying long enough for the barnacles to form.
For example, you could live full time in La Paz and never own a phone; All you need is a powerful VHF. In the morning at 7:30AM on 21a you can listen to the Bill and Pepe Political show. This is your opportunity to discuss the latest news: political, economic, local, US and international. The participants range from libertarian and conservative to hippies living the good life. The conversations drift from the fluctuations of the Dow to how the new hotels on the Mogote are going to process their shit.
At 8:00AM, switch to 22a where you can get all the rest of the news that’s fit to print. Tides, weather, lost and found, arrivals and departures, Bay Watch, local assistance. During the morning net, you can find a diesel mechanic, trade your unwanted items for “coconuts,” and learn about the day’s activities. The cruisers organize daily yoga sessions as well as weekly Alcoholics Anonymous, dominos, blues jam, and quilting meetings. Do you need to find cranberry sauce? Want a part brought down from the United States? Looking for crew to go to Mazatlan next week? The morning net is your opportunity to find it.
Then you go to Club Cruceros in the Marina de La Paz at 9:30AM for coffee and cookies. The club includes a really well stocked book for book exchange as well as adverts for just about everything you might be looking for in terms of shops, technicians, and mechanics. It’s hard to get out of there in less than an hour. The girls love the place not just because there is a small playground to one side. And the cookies.
After coffee, head into town to the market. My daily rounds include the bank, fabric store, municipal market for fruit and vegetables, mercado for milk and packaged goods, carnaceria, pescaria, and tortilleria. My last stop is always the panaderia where I pick up a bag full of pan dulces and big soft white bread rolls. My whirlwind tour through the markets usually costs me about $20 USD for two days of food. I’m still having trouble getting over how cheap food is in Mexico... as long as you eat local.
We spend most afternoons on the boat doing chores, sewing, school, putting the water maker together. In the evening, we’ll go into town to play dominos and exchange email. I’d like to say that Internet is great in the anchorage, because technically it is. You have to pay for it though and we were too cheap. Stupid. In retrospect, I regret not plunking down the $30/month to get Internet out here on the hook from BahiaNet. Lesson learned.
Other useful bits to know about La Paz:
Both sunrises and sunsets are simply gorgeous nearly every day.
Theft is rampant. Anything not tied down will get stolen. Do not leave your stuff lying around anywhere, even on the deck of your boat.
Two weeks in Mexico and 65 degrees at night is going to feel really cold. Don’t ditch the blankets as you cross the border.
Fabric is cheap and abundant, at least here in La Paz. People still sew here. However, do not expect to find all that wonderful quilter’s cotton you find in the States. Down here, the fabric is for clothes. So the stores are stocked with muslims, linens, polyester blends, and all the notions you can possibly stuff into your cubby on board.
The much balloyhoo’d La Paz Waltz out in the El Mogote anchorage should not scare any experienced cruiser. Anchor your boat with lots of scope and a good clearance to your neighbors, set it hard and deep, and drift around. Particularly anyone who has anchored in the Pacific Northwest with routine tidal swings and currents of 2 or more knots will not find it particularly challenging.
The best free Internet in the city is at Ciao Molina across from Marina de La Paz. 20 pesos for a limonado or 28 for a beer, and they’ll let you sit for hours. The meatball sandwich is also surprisingly good.
We go to bed early here. We get up early too. The days are short as Winter Solstice approaches, and the temperatures are dropping. Today, we move into the marina for a day of clean up and provisioning before heading across the Sea of Cortez to the mainland. I can readily understand the bungee appeal of La Paz that brings cruisers back again and again. We will no doubt swing through in April. The trick is not to get seduced into staying long enough for the barnacles to form.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Long Shlep
There is only one way to see San Francisco; You must walk it. I lived in the Bay area while attending college for nearly five years. I’ve visited by car, train, bike, and foot. If you only have one day, in my opinion the best way to savor the city is The Long Shlep. Dress in layers, wear really comfortable shoes, and bring a big appetite.
Start by taking the BART to the Powell Street Station. When you come up from the station, you’ll be confronted with the city at it’s most bustling and busy. You’ll be tempted to take the Trolley as the fare station is right in front of you, but frankly, that’s for tourists. It costs a lot and you miss some of the most interesting bits of the city. Enjoy the view of the Trolley, take pictures as it goes by, and feel smug in your knowledge that you’re seeing the better bits without paying the extortionist fare.
Follow the trolley line north on Powell Street. This will take you through the commercial district, past a million tourist shops, and up to Nob Hill. From here, you will see spectacular views of the TransAmerica building and the Bay. Just past Nob Hill, drop east from the top of the hill on Clay to dive two or three blocks into Chinatown. Wander freely through this area marveling at the shops, restaurants, and commerce. If you start late, you might find this a good place to grab a dim sum lunch. I can’t recommend a restaurant since all the names are in Chinese. They are all absolutely terrifying from the outside; The food is always outstanding on the inside. Don’t think too hard about what you’ve accidentally eaten.
Make your way north on any street paralleling Powell through Chinatown. This will send you directly into North Beach. North Beach is to Italy what Chinatown is to China. The smells wafting out of the restaurants shift to pasta, sausage, fennel, garlic and onions. On Columbus is one of the ten best chocolate truffle makers in the country. Stop for a cafe or cocoa and truffles. My favorite is lemon but the girls were partial to cinnamon (Mera), hazelnut (Jaime), and coconut (Aeron).
Continue north until you hit Fisherman’s Wharf. There is only so much of this massively touristy street you can stomach, but a little bit is a lot of fun. You’re probably not hungry, which is good. The seafood here is excellent but very very expensive for small quantities. If you do choose to eat, get a place that lets you sit outside and watch the people go by. An fun stop in Fisherman’s tucked over to one side is the Musee Mechanique. This is a warehouse full of old amusement machines: pachinko, cinemascope, the original Pac Man. The collection is eclectic, but tremendously enjoyable. There is no charge to enter, but be prepared to drop a roll of quarters in the machines.
Now that we’ve hit the water, we start drifting westward towards the Golden Gate. You will pass through a series of historical landmarks, each offering their own attractions. First, you’ll see the Cannery. This monument has been converted into a shopping mall. If you like to shop, I recommend here or at the next stop -- Ghiradelli Square. At Ghiradelli, you need to at least enter the ice cream salon as you’ll get a free square of chocolate just for walking in the door. In the main dining area, you can watch the chocolate being made. You’d think you would be full, but good luck getting out the door without splitting a hot fudge sundae or picking up a pound of mixed chocolates.
Head for the water front and walk around San Francisco Maritime Historical Park. As a sailor, it’s hard to resist marveling at all the boats at anchor or on balls who managed to get themselves situated without the use of motors.
Up up UP the hill and over, you are now enjoying a bird’s eye view of the Marina District. As boaters, we now yawn a bit at the beauty of the marina and yacht club. Just how many boats can you see in one life without coming somewhat jaundiced. However, a walk down the small streets near Marina Blvd will reveal some of the most expensive and beautiful real estate in San Francisco. The long walk through this residential neighborhood is rewarded on the west end by the Palace of Fine Arts. Currently under renovation, you can not walk under it or through the park, but you can enjoy the view or visit the new Exploritorium.
Do you have any energy left? If so, keep walking another mile and a half up the hill to the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is a serious hike up a very long hill. Remember that you have to gain roughly 250 feet from the Marina District. From either a block from the Palace of Fine Arts or from the parking area at the end of the bridge, you finally get back on a bus back to your origin at the Powell Street Station.
The Long Shlep is 5.6 miles if you leave from the Palace, 7.2 if you start home from the Golden Gate. By the end of the day, you will feel as though you have truly seen San Francisco, enjoyed some amazing food, and started to fall in love with this wonderful city. I could spend weeks in San Francisco and never run out of things to do. But one spectacular day with my girls was enough for this trip.
Start by taking the BART to the Powell Street Station. When you come up from the station, you’ll be confronted with the city at it’s most bustling and busy. You’ll be tempted to take the Trolley as the fare station is right in front of you, but frankly, that’s for tourists. It costs a lot and you miss some of the most interesting bits of the city. Enjoy the view of the Trolley, take pictures as it goes by, and feel smug in your knowledge that you’re seeing the better bits without paying the extortionist fare.
Follow the trolley line north on Powell Street. This will take you through the commercial district, past a million tourist shops, and up to Nob Hill. From here, you will see spectacular views of the TransAmerica building and the Bay. Just past Nob Hill, drop east from the top of the hill on Clay to dive two or three blocks into Chinatown. Wander freely through this area marveling at the shops, restaurants, and commerce. If you start late, you might find this a good place to grab a dim sum lunch. I can’t recommend a restaurant since all the names are in Chinese. They are all absolutely terrifying from the outside; The food is always outstanding on the inside. Don’t think too hard about what you’ve accidentally eaten.
Make your way north on any street paralleling Powell through Chinatown. This will send you directly into North Beach. North Beach is to Italy what Chinatown is to China. The smells wafting out of the restaurants shift to pasta, sausage, fennel, garlic and onions. On Columbus is one of the ten best chocolate truffle makers in the country. Stop for a cafe or cocoa and truffles. My favorite is lemon but the girls were partial to cinnamon (Mera), hazelnut (Jaime), and coconut (Aeron).
Continue north until you hit Fisherman’s Wharf. There is only so much of this massively touristy street you can stomach, but a little bit is a lot of fun. You’re probably not hungry, which is good. The seafood here is excellent but very very expensive for small quantities. If you do choose to eat, get a place that lets you sit outside and watch the people go by. An fun stop in Fisherman’s tucked over to one side is the Musee Mechanique. This is a warehouse full of old amusement machines: pachinko, cinemascope, the original Pac Man. The collection is eclectic, but tremendously enjoyable. There is no charge to enter, but be prepared to drop a roll of quarters in the machines.
Now that we’ve hit the water, we start drifting westward towards the Golden Gate. You will pass through a series of historical landmarks, each offering their own attractions. First, you’ll see the Cannery. This monument has been converted into a shopping mall. If you like to shop, I recommend here or at the next stop -- Ghiradelli Square. At Ghiradelli, you need to at least enter the ice cream salon as you’ll get a free square of chocolate just for walking in the door. In the main dining area, you can watch the chocolate being made. You’d think you would be full, but good luck getting out the door without splitting a hot fudge sundae or picking up a pound of mixed chocolates.
Head for the water front and walk around San Francisco Maritime Historical Park. As a sailor, it’s hard to resist marveling at all the boats at anchor or on balls who managed to get themselves situated without the use of motors.
Up up UP the hill and over, you are now enjoying a bird’s eye view of the Marina District. As boaters, we now yawn a bit at the beauty of the marina and yacht club. Just how many boats can you see in one life without coming somewhat jaundiced. However, a walk down the small streets near Marina Blvd will reveal some of the most expensive and beautiful real estate in San Francisco. The long walk through this residential neighborhood is rewarded on the west end by the Palace of Fine Arts. Currently under renovation, you can not walk under it or through the park, but you can enjoy the view or visit the new Exploritorium.
Do you have any energy left? If so, keep walking another mile and a half up the hill to the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is a serious hike up a very long hill. Remember that you have to gain roughly 250 feet from the Marina District. From either a block from the Palace of Fine Arts or from the parking area at the end of the bridge, you finally get back on a bus back to your origin at the Powell Street Station.
The Long Shlep is 5.6 miles if you leave from the Palace, 7.2 if you start home from the Golden Gate. By the end of the day, you will feel as though you have truly seen San Francisco, enjoyed some amazing food, and started to fall in love with this wonderful city. I could spend weeks in San Francisco and never run out of things to do. But one spectacular day with my girls was enough for this trip.
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