We really let this blog languish while we spent a couple happy months sailing 775 miles down the west coast of Baja, around the tip of the peninsula into the Sea of Cortez, north 200 miles to Agua Verde for Christmas, and south again to La Paz. We’ll try our best to catch up to the present, but we’re starting way back in October with our arrival in Mexico. Looking back now, I think of this little slice of time as post-Amazon delivery, pre-Duolingo.
In the run up to Halloween, no amount of California surf could offset the kids’ disappointment at missing one of our most enduring Seattle traditions: eating zombie meatloaf, hitting the all the highlights on the Phinney Ridge trick-or-treat circuit, then spending hours sorting candy on the Millikan’s floor while negotiating NAFTA-level trade deals.
We couldn’t have our traditional Halloween, but realized that we could have Día de los Muertos in Mexico. So, we left San Diego at 6:30am on October 31 and arrived at our slip at Ensenada Cruiseport Village at 4:50pm. Fifteen minutes later, we found ourselves at the marina’s costume-optional potluck, eating deviled eggs with a Viking named Sven and his dog, Jenny.
It was immediately clear that we’d booked a slip in an especially warm and helpful community of long-term expats and fellow itinerants. Scott (one boat over) was in Ensenada for a couple of months for boat repairs. He caught our docklines and quickly realized that he knew our friends on SV Kuaka from their time cruising in Tonga. Sven (across the dock) has been moored in Ensenada for years. He piled our mountain of dirty laundry into his bike trailer and pedaled it over to the marina laundromat. Jelle (midway down the dock) told us where to find diesel since the only fuel dock in town was out, and lent us a few extra jerry jugs to take to the local BP station. Mike (on the big fishing boat near the dock ramp) lent us his car so we wouldn’t have to carry 175L of diesel the 2.2 km back to the marina, and gave us a giant bag of just-caught fish. Octavio (in the marina office), managed all of our paperwork and transportation to the Port Captain’s office where we officially cleared into Mexico on November 1.
Once we checked into Mexico and hoisted our courtesy flag, it was time for tacos. We’re pretty sure we found the best ones in Baja at Tacos Fenix.
Walking through the streets of Ensenada, we felt — if not shock — a definite cultural shift. The language barrier was obvious. My rusty, thirty-year-old Spanish was enough to order shrimp tacos, but nowhere near enough to really communicate. Steve may not speak Spanish, but he’s spent enough time traveling to be comfortable with discomfort. The kids, though, are pretty new to feeling foreign. Paul joked about singing one of the Spanish greetings he’d learned in school, but felt annoyed that he couldn’t even read the signs. James, meanwhile, only needed a few seconds to figure out how to use his phone camera to translate everything we saw.
Aside from language, Ensenada felt different in ways that were harder to simplify. We bought delicious multigrain bread from a fancy bakery and coffee beans from a cute cafe in one of the historic winery buildings on Plaza Santo Tomás. We also walked on dusty, dirt roads and saw stray dogs in the grocery store parking lot. Locals were gracious and encouraging when we spoke Spanish like toddlers, and persistent when we passed by their tourist-trap restaurants. While the cruise ships are in town, the waterfront and neighboring streets teem with people buying and selling: boat trips, blankets, leather goods, silver jewelry, tchotkes, and tequila. We liked to imagine we were a different sort of tourist, but we ate churros just like everyone else.
Some things felt familiar. As 3rd-5th graders at UCDS, James and Paul celebrated Día de Los Muertos by learning about a loved one who had died and creating a remembrance for the school’s community ofrenda (altar). Walking around the city, we passed little ofrendas in shop parking lots and large ones at the city’s Center for the Arts, and especially loved the one in our marina’s office honoring the Prince of Darkness, Ozzy Osbourne.
After a few days and a few grocery store runs, we were ready to move on, but not before taking a DiDi (Mexican Uber) to the closest beach.
The 200 nm trip from Ensenada to our next anchorage at Islas San Benito required two overnights and — finally! — some serious sailing. And, as always, maintenance.
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