Log #36, Acapulco Repairs & Returning to Costa Rica

So one may wonder: How does a reasonably intelligent and youthful woman in the present prime of her middle years, who has been sitting behind a desk for oh so long living the interesting yet at-times-predictable landlubbers life, adjust to life on the sea in a constantly moving, ever changing environment? In other words, "What's it really like?" Here are a few of my observations as this grand, new, adventure unfolds.

11/19/00—We splashed the boat Wednesday (put it back in the water) and she was so happy to be wet again! Thursday we arrived at the yacht club in a BIG, grown-up taxi. Nearly all of the 4000 taxis running loose in Acapulco are VW bugs. Each day it's an invasion of the ancient baby beetles. Anyway, to bring all our stuff from the hotel we had to request a normal size vehicle so that everything could fit.

When we arrived and walked the dock to the boat, I suggested to Karl that he carry me over the threshold. (Well, after all, we WERE newlyweds!) He just stood there and laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. OK, he was consumed with calculating the logistics. (And still is ... I never was carried.) You have to realize the boat was tied to a dock, and depending on the wind, was sometimes 2-4 feet away. It could have been a flying leap over the "threshold," or throw her over the threshold into the boat. The other option was carrying me into our aft stateroom through a doorway, which is 1 foot 10 inches wide by 5 feet 2 inches. Either way you looked at it, there were apt to be injuries, so we decided to forgo the age-old tradition until better options appeared. I'm still waiting.

11/19/00—5:15 Sweat ran down my cleavage (such as it is) like a river; sweat, more concentrated than ultra saline solution, dribbled into my eyes; huge droplets of sweat dripped from my forehead and plopped onto the pages of the book; I was positively glowing. My normally straight-ish hair hung in short ringlets as I sat under a fan in the salon. It was 91-degrees with no outside breeze. I loved it. Call me crazy. But I've always said, "I like heat."

11/19/00—7 P.M. It was 90 degrees in the boat and we were two salt licks. You see, we had spent three hours that afternoon sitting in heavy traffic in a steamy, intimate VW bug-taxi. You might say we had marinated in our own perspiration all afternoon, and then we stewed on the boat all evening. But, we were ON THE BOAT—finally—and getting all settled in. Which meant, since space was a premium, every Q-Tip had found it's proper home. The finely crafted design of the boat optimizes each space, place and corner. Like beds … unique, custom-designed works of art.

This brings us to the bed story. Ladies and gentlemen, to make one's bed is considered a fairly routine procedure, right? Not on a boat. Nothing is routine procedure on a boat. The simple daily task of making up one's bed translates in the marine world as weird bodily gyrations within a tiny place called a stateroom. "Stateroom" conjures up visions of grandiose space, a luxurious, elegant boudoir-on-a-boat surrounded by large portholes and roomy hanging clothes lockers, built-in high-tech TV and stereo systems with digital surround sound, vanities for primping, and bookcases filled with entertaining best sellers. Here's the reality. Our cozy floating bungalow is positioned in the back, or aft, of the boat. It consists of a generous, wedge-shaped built-up platform with a cutout, for sitting in the middle, and storage beneath. Within that unique design is a wedge-shaped full-size mattress tucked against the starboard wall, and a twin butted against the port hull. The beds are surrounded above on three sides by small built-in clothes lockers and two short vanities below with drawers. There is enough room for one person to turn around, or sit, or walk into the head (bathroom). Now as I wrote this, I had the privilege of watching a finely tuned wrestling match between the odd-shaped boat mattress, duo bedding, and my lithe, athletic husband.

Undaunted by weight, space and design, Karl yanked the heavy, symmetrically-challenged full-sized mattress off the bed and positioned it so he could plunge on top and tussle with the odd-couple bedding—a custom-designed, fitted bottom sheet, attached to its flat top mate. With only three feet of space to work within between the top of the bed and ceiling, he spread himself all over the mattress, quickly gaining complete control. With lightening speed he worked first one end of the mattress and then the next, nimble fingers and body in perfect synchronization. Never was there a question of authority. In moments, the battle-of-the-bed was over. He had managed to secure not only the proper sheet, but also the proper end of the sheets to the appropriate end and side of the oddball mattress. It was an impressive display of talent and wit. Remember this story friends: as you go to make your bed each morning, all the while thinking "Here we go again"; life's routine could be a lot tougher. It could be a game of endurance, brain, and brawn. Believe me, this bed-making-learning-session was entertaining to watch - —but will it be fun when it's my turn? Hopefully, no one will be watching.

11/28/00—I spent the other afternoon with my new friend, a young Mexican cab driver, after Karl had sent me out on a special mission. In the process of replacing the blown out radar (from the electrical storm strike in Costa Rica), I was asked to scour the city to find 30 marine-specific tiny metal electric connectors for the boat.

Attempting unsuccessfully to hail several cabbies in front of the yacht club, this cabbie enthusiastically picked me up. I should have been surprised by the fact that he already had a passenger in the back seat of the VW bug. "Not to worry," I was assured it was his cousin. Before taking me to my destination, he merely needed to drive her to work: "No problem, five minutes!" Twenty-five minutes later, we had dropped her off at the My Casa Restaurant, located on the other end of town, halfway up a mountain far from where I wanted to go.

I was totally unconvinced that I would make it to my first store by end of day. Boy, had I underestimated my cabbie. He took his mission seriously. Within minutes, we arrived at the first store. A bust. Then the second. Another bust. Radio Shack had closed down, and the general electronics store never heard of the tiny, precious connectors. Undaunted, my cabbie friend motioned that we could walk to the next store on my list. Well, we didn't exactly walk; we RAN the next few city blocks to the next store, which also proved to be a bust, but a good aerobics workout nonetheless. "Hurry Rebecca, walk faster!" he shouted as I breathlessly ran to keep up with him. "Come on Rebecca, hurry. Hurry!" Wait a minute, who was really in charge here? Next, my protector and human shield, manfully stepped out into four lanes of crazy, mindless Acapulco traffic. The artful waving of his red handkerchief stopped cars in busy thoroughfares. "Follow me, Rebecca!" he chanted. "No worry, we find them! Come. Hurry."

Gulp. I stepped forward, following the red peace flag. Fortunately all drivers spotted the blonde gringo and her Mexican escort. And stopped. So we continued our quest in search of the teeny, weenie, 30 electric connectors. The adventure escalated as the hours whizzed by. Hearts racing in anticipation at each new stop, my cabbie escorted me (by taxi) to nearly two dozen stores—from Home Mart to a Radio Shack-type place in a modern mall, to the grimiest, grungiest, yuckiest-looking dives you could imagine in the Central district (downtown) of Acapulco. Finally, finally! Yes! ... after nearly three hours we hit an electronics store that carried the connectors! Our mission (which we chose to accept) was a success! Never before have I been so excited to make a $2.50 purchase of tiny, lovely, gleaming, golden electrical connectors. And I now have a new best-friend cabbie in the city of Acapulco. "You and your husband call me anytime, for taxi ride!" If you're ever in Acapulco, you'll find him. The cabbie stopping traffic with the red hankie.

12/08/00—Our second passage: We were day two into a five-day passage. Having waited for a weather window before leaving our peaceful anchorage at Huatulco—Mexico-gas, water, provisions aboard—we lifted anchor at 5:00 PM. Expecting to catch a corner of the tough weather, that night and into the morning proved a rough ride ... lots of bumps and lumps. The floor turned into walls, and the walls became floors, but we managed just fine.

In fact, I cooked my first dinner at sea! Hunkered into the little galley to escape any potentially flying objects, I prepared steaks, baked potatoes (OK - microwave potatoes), fresh salad (avocado, tomato, red peppers and onion with vinaigrette dressing) and freshly baked brownies for desert. Not too bad; my confidence level kicked up a notch.

The next morning around 7:00 when it was rolling even worse than the night before, I fixed Karl bacon, scrambled eggs, toast with juice. It's amazing what can be done with a single frying pan ... even bread toasts great in a pan. Anyway, it's wonderful to have a normal lifestyle while your house is moving at an average of 5-6 knots an hour.

12/18/00—It was difficult to believe Christmas was a mere week away, as we sat in the gorgeous, peaceful anchorage in the stunningly beautiful bay of Santa Elena. Tucked into the northwestern edge of Costa Rica, warm tropical breezes, brilliant color, and a virtual symphony of nature surrounded us. In fact, here's a bit of history from Charlie's Charts of Costa Rica. Supposedly, Enrique Somoza, the former Nicaraguan dictator, once owned the land in this bay. The guidebook also claimed that the area was the site of a US training facility for the Contra rebels. Now the entire peninsula—a dry, tropical forest including extensive savannas and non-deciduous forests—is part of Santa Rosa National Park. It's not unusual to hear monkeys and parrots. And according to Charlie's Charts, there are five different species of "cats" ashore: jaguars, margay, ocelot, puma, and jaguarundi. The inland caves are home to over 60 species of bats, plus there are coyotes. I longed to go ashore … the parrots were calling. Indiana Jones needed us.

12/18/00—I had a 48-hour initiation. We came off a very difficult two-day-plus nonstop passage from El Salvador. Bumpy, rolling - —roller coaster ride all the way—which made for tough sleeping, or NO sleeping. Actually, it was the wee hour of the morning visit to the head that produced the expletives. Let me just say that using the boat's head was like taking your life into your own hands; self impalement through the use of particular feminine products. Call it a test of balance, determination and grist. Girls, can you picture your home turning nearly upside down, or pivoting from side to side 90 degrees, or crashing up and down—bam, bam, bam - —while pivoting side to side? Then imagine cooking meals, eating, showering, using the commode, let alone just walking around. And sleeping.

"What's to keep you from rolling out of bed in all that turbulence?" you may ask. Well, to prevent just such an occurrence, you set up lee cloths: A system of heavy canvas attached along the entire side of the berth and connected to the ceiling or wall.

Here's a rule I resisted: You don't sleep with your spouse during tough passages. I used to snicker over that idea. No more. I awakened in the middle of the long, bumpy night to observe my husband hanging—no dangling—precipitously over the edge of his twin berth, held only by his lee cloth hammock. That thin piece of fabric was all that came between that lovely tush and the hard floor. I am now a confirmed believer in the system.

On the other hand, I had the full size berth, starboard side. Therefore I was in no danger of rolling out of bed. However, to keep from knocking and breaking every bone of my body against the wooden wall where I was methodically crashing as we heeled all night, I stuffed our bedspreads along the wall for the second night. Brilliant idea. Nice, easy, soft body blocks. Now, just wait until we heel in the other direction. I'll truly LOVE my lee cloth! That being said, I still enjoy sailing ... bumps, bruises, and all. It's fabulous! How else can you play with the dolphins, dine on the freshest of fish, discover new cultures, and make friends around the world—while taking your home with you? Try it ….

Return to Log #36—Acapulco Repairs