Well, we were being old biddies, for the most part, and with Carnival in full swing we had made only the most feeble attempt to join in on the festivities. But there were a number of other cruisers going to enjoy the celebrations (and fireworks) so Brett and I ventured out and took part in the fun. Besides, these people are going to be our neighbors in that small neighborhood known as the Pacific Ocean and it might be a good idea to get to know some of them. When we got up to the dinghy dock there were people from four other boats there: eight adults and five children. We were quite the large party.

The streets were blocked off for nothing but foot traffic for about eight to ten blocks with bandstands at one-block intervals and beer or tacos for sale at any number of stalls. It was a big celebration with a lot to do, luckily one of our party had gotten a schedule and “the burning of the deer” was an event that was coming up soon. We all converged on the location not knowing what to expect. There was a giant pinate looking thing and the fire department was there in force, they put up a barrier of yellow police tape around the paper-mache person and we waited expectantly for the festivities to begin. We all laughed about the yellow police tape that was haphazardly strung about the figure. The location where the man was to be burned was corded off at twelve feet in the front and the tape got progressively closer around the back where the tape was actually almost strung beneath it. This is where we were standing. There where small children sitting almost under the burning location and we all remarked on the proximity of the tape to the burning man and the lax safety standards here in Mexico. Though we were joking we still all thought it wise to stay back a bit and placed ourselves four feet from the safety line. Evidently that was not far enough.

We could feel the anticipation of the crowd grow with the coming hour of the burning and the event began with the entrance of some clowns, maybe twenty or so of them, chanting and dancing. It seemed like they were re-enacting the burning of a which or a public hanging and they all danced around in a frenzy until the fuse was lit and the man…. did not go up in flames but instead twirled madly while shooting sparks in every direction. The crowd around us surged back as we were pelted by the burning embers and I felt first a sting on my throat and then a hand beating madly at the same location. Thank you Keel, our new friend from the ship Shamballa. It was only due to his fast thinking that I only singed my hair and did not go up in flames entirely! With that small bit of adventure accomplished it was off to the fireworks where we made sure to be out of the way of any flying debris and laughed heartily at the smell of burnt hair, an aroma that would cling to me for the rest of the night.

It was a mad house! As the night wore on it became increasingly difficult to get around and going to the bathroom became a feet equal to running with the bulls. I had my first experience of what it might be like to loose ones footing and be trampled to death. (I did not loose my footing but the crush of humanity was such that I could imagine all too well what it would be like if you were to fall down: the seething masses would never even blink an eye and you would have been swallowed whole.) When the fireworks began we stared up in wonder; it seems no matter how old you get there is always some wonder involved in the blinding display of gunpowder and colors. As we oohhed and ahhed we had a strange realization. The rest of the crowd was dead silent. There we were: an island of noise in a sea of silence. Of course this only inspired us to more vocal praise of the light show above and we rocked with laughter at the absurdity of it all. Didn’t everyone make appreciative noises at the grandeur of fireworks? Apparently not. Although we got some strange looks no one seemed really bothered by our noise so we laughed and cajoled our way through the ceremonies, though I must admit that I am still shocked that making appreciative noises at a fireworks display is cultural conditioning and not instinct. It is these small differences in culture that are so deep and yet so subtle that they are easy to miss and yet so startling once they are noticed.

One of our group went to the toilet and asked me to wait for her, which I did, while the rest of the group (including Brett) pushed on to the next stage. I told him I would find him and to stay on the right side of the street. Well, after three songs and no sign of our companions I started to look for Brett and realized what a poor plan this had been. We had no contingency plan for meeting if my “I’ll find you” did not work out. I walked three blocks that were packed form sidewalk to sidewalk and passed two band-stands that were surrounded with party goers in sequined hats and masks. I had a sinking feeling in my gut but pushed on and tried to not think about the fact that I was in a foreign country with nothing but a twenty dollar bill and a singed scarf to my name. Things were getting bleaker and bleaker but I eventually decided (after about an hour and a half of searching with no sign of Brett or any of our friends) that Brett would not leave the Carnival without me and I decided to go to the entrance and wait there. Evidently he had the same notion so there he was, thank God!

We laughed at each other for having such bad planning skills and left the Carnival to have the worse beef taco I have ever had and walk back to the anchorage with our friends from Special Brew. Tamara and I walked ahead while the boys trailed behind. Since Tamara and I were having such a nice conversation when we noticed the boys stop to take a leak in a bush behind us we gave them their privacy and kept walking. It was about six blocks and fifteen minutes later that they caught up to us to let us know they had been arrested for public urination and fined on the spot for everything in their wallets: a combined total of seventeen dollars. It was quite the exciting night for both of us, apparently.

The next day we had to get ourselves over to the marina where the refrigeration repair person who had been recommended to us had his shop. We got over there in time to have him look at our fridge and watch the Super Bowl, Go Giants! Since the generator has not been working we have not had a functioning refrigerator since we have no power to keep it going but that is not the real problem. The problem is that even if the generator is working we have to run the damn thing every time that we run the fridge and that can be any where from three to four times a day, what a racket! Not to mention the cost in diesel to keep it running. There was no doubt in our minds that this system needed addressing and we had spoken to other cruisers who have systems that require half the power that ours does and that run half as often. But when Mike looked at our system he was very reticent to address the problem. Firstly, he thought that the our refrigerator was poorly insulated. Secondly he thought that the system we had must be sufficient. (He originally thought our refrigeration unit was a full air conditioning unit for the entire boat because of its size and amperage.) After much going back and forth, with Mike all but refusing to put a new system in (convinced that we would be disappointed), we finally convinced him that we would address the insulation and switch to his system.

We were in a bind now… We had only a short time to get to Puerto Vallarta to meet Gary and Odie who were coming to visit on Thursday the seventh and here we were on Monday the fourth of the month starting a huge installation of a new refrigeration unit. Mike gamely asserted that he could get it in in one day and that we would have it that night. Which was great as Puerto Vallarta is about one hundred and seventy miles from Mazatlan and we needed to give ourselves time to get there. And so we are faced with the biggest danger of sailing: a schedule. The sea can be as calm as a bathtub or as violent as a hurricane. Your greatest protection from the forces of nature is to not be in them when the time comes and a schedule is a huge hindrance to this goal. But if Mike got the refrigerator in on Monday we would be able to leave on Tuesday and have a comfortable window for delay, if needs be.

Luckily Mike had all the parts on hand (Carnival was still going strong and it is a holiday here with most businesses closed, so parts would be hard to come by if he did not have what was needed.) Everything was going well, until the cooling plate, which is a closed cell system and can’t be repaired, was ruptured and rendered useless. Great. So now we have a partially disassembled refrigerator and the possibility that we will not have the right part. There was no shortness of tension on Fearless as we waited to see of Mike could find the right part in a closed down city. We debated our options: leave Mazatlan with a refrigerator that still does not work, rent a car and get Gary and Odie and bring them back to Mazatlan, go to Puerto Vallarta and hang with Gary and Odie and then return to Mazatlan in Fearless…. None of the options were great and in the end Mike was able to find the part. Yea! We did some math and figured that if we left at 6pm on the night of the fifth we should be able to accomplish the one hundred seventy miles at an average speed of four knots. That’s cutting it close.

Mike worked his butt off and we left the marina at 6:15pm. The sun was going down and the wind was pushing us fiercely off of the dock. With just Brett and I to get us safely off the dock we got the lines ready… me holding onto the bow line that was loosely looped around the bow cleat and Brett working on the stern cleat. We would have to release them at the same time but as Brett worked the stern cleat the boat drifted forward and my line fell off. The boat was being pushed off the dock by the wind and I screamed that we were no longer attached on the bow and Brett, showing great athletic prowess and a comical look of bug eyed shock, leapt up just in time to the quickly departing boat. We were off on our trip to Puerto Vallarta, roughly on schedule.

The trip went well and I felt very little of the apprehension that might accompany a two day passage with just the two of us. We are old salty dogs by now and have settled into an easy routine at sea where we each do as much as we can and then nap, switching seamlessly from one to the other on watch. The wind does seem to have a nasty habit of going either exactly where you are going (not good sailing) or coming from exactly where you are going (that sucks, too). So we were fulfilling our own prophecy and were making an average of four knots but having to tack back and forth which meant that we were not really getting there as fast as we needed to. It was three in the morning on the day when Gary and Odie were arriving when I decided that at our current speed we were not going to be able to get there in time. We were going to have to turn on the motor, so I did. Or didn’t. I turned the key anyway. But nothing happened.

Well this is a rude awakening but I had to get Brett out of bed and announce that the engine would not start. This kind of wake up can put anyone in a bad mood and Brett was no exception but I felt sufficiently sorry for him that I listened with sympathy while he cussed his way through every possible option until, about fourty five minutes later the engine roared to life and I yelped with excitement and gave Brett a giant thanks while my heart swelled with pride. This is one of the reasons that I feel safe in this boat, knowing that Brett can and will repair what ails her. And with the engine working we were able to arrive on schedule and we cheated nature and schedules this time.

Gary and Odie arrived and Brett and Gary spent the first day getting the generator installed. Odie and I commenced some much needed drinking and girl time. It was so nice to have my girlie here and go window shopping, get pedicures and have a cooking buddy. We spent the first few days in a marina and then a few days on the hook out in La Cruz. After coming back from La Cruz we got into a new marina, its called Paradise and aptly so. It is on the grounds of a resort and we have full access to the pool, which has a separate “quiet pool” for adults, three slides and two hot tubs and is also adjacent to a lovely beach that is littered with grass umbrellas and beach chairs. It has been so relaxing to just play in the pool and it has been like a vacation within our vacation, no boat work while they are here: just being with friends, good conversation and food.

I was sad to see them go. Today we put them back on a plane and tomorrow we will get back to the business of getting the boat ready. There is the insulation for the fridge, some patchwork for the canvas dodger, a saltwater pump for the sink, menu planning for the big crossing and a myriad of small chores to be done before we will be ready to take her across the ocean on (probably) the longest leg of our three year voyage. But we are getting there and I can almost taste the new adventure that is stretching out before us. It is funny to remember that when we first bought the boat I told Brett that I would go on this journey under the condition that I did not have to do any of the long ocean passages. Now I can’t wait for the passage to begin.