It’s been ten days since we crossed the border into Mexico, making a short little jog in our track to go check out a NOAA weather buoy. Mexican fishing licenses already in hand, we dropped a hook in the water and caught a tuna 15 seconds later and then treated ourselves to the freshest poke we’ve ever eaten. What a high to start our Mexican adventure on. But the past ten days haven’t all been highs, and our short time in Mexico has already reminded me of one of my favorite things about international travel: the great highs paired with the similarly great lows. Somehow when you’re navigating a foreign land, highs and lows are more intense, more poignant. Maybe it’s the difficulty of finding your center while you vacillate back and forth between them. Maybe feelings and reactions are heightened by the challenge of, well, everything. Or maybe it’s just something in the water. Here’s a small collection of the pairings of highs and lows we’ve had here in Mexico so far:
High: I can communicate in Spanish! Low: I can’t communicate in Spanish. As the designated Boat Linguist, I have had to dive quickly into using what little Spanish I have. I’m proud of myself when I can make myself understood and even receive a compliment! But it doesn’t always happen. Those moments when I simply don’t have the right words are so discouraging, when I don’t know enough to even circumlocute a concept or a question and simple frustrated silence ensues. I’m grateful that most people don’t immediately launch into English when I fail. And so I take a deep breath, pull out my dictionary, and learn more.
High: Exploring a new city. Low: Very few street signs. Tom and I agree that exploring a new foreign city is absolutely one of the highest highs we’ve had since we’ve been here. We are travelers, and we love the process of navigating a new environment, finding special nooks and crannies, perusing grocery stores, trying new foods, and just taking in the surroundings. We feel in our element being, well, out of our element. I suppose that comes from a combined eight decades of international travel. It’s a lot harder to do with kids, but we’re managing, and they’re learning. It’s the lack of street signs that makes it extremely frustrating, and we find ourselves relying much more on landmarks than on street names.
High: Beer gardens and restaurants with places for kids to play while us parents enjoy awesome craft beer. Low: There’s really no low to this. We took a 15-minute bus ride with our friends on Blue Heron up to El Sauzal to check out a few local breweries and discovered a wonderful world of Mexican craft beer culture. Our first stop was Aguamala, which had an amazing selection of beers, almost all of which we tried (!). We then stopped at a local pizza restaurant with a kids’ play area, and then at the Baja Brews beer garden, which boasted 7 local craft breweries and overlooked the waves crashing on the rocky coast El Sauzal. The kids (and their parents) can’t wait to go back.
High: Dollar tacos! Low: Bacteria. Street tacos are awesome and cheap. Tom and I have, however, already been afflicted with traveler’s, um, indigestion a few times already. Sigh. Since we’re going to be here a while and since we love trying new foods, we might as well get used to it.
Low: Paperwork I can’t seem to get right and 5 trips to the National Institute of Migration. High: The opportunity to walk all over town, to see places most tourists don’t go, and to get to know the city a little better. I had no less than 5 visits to the INM to get all our papers in order to get our temporary resident permits, 4 visits to banks to figure out how to pay the annual fee, and wild goose chases to find places to get pictures taken of all of us and to make copies of all our documentation and payment receipts. This whole process was more frustrating than I am letting on, and Tom admitted that seeing me so torn up by it was one of his lows. The up side is that I got to know the center of the city pretty well while figuring out how to get all this done. Plus, I’m pretty sure my Spanish improved in the process. (For those interested, the reason we are applying for temporary residence cards is so that we don’t have to pack up all four of us and the cat and leave the country every 180 days. These cards will give us the flexibility to stay as long as we want and leave on a schedule that works for us. I like to think it’s worth the frustration now to avoid the expense and frustration numerous times later.)
High: Introducing your kids to a new culture, new language, and new foods. Low: Your kids melting down and becoming crazy due to the sensory overload of a new environment. The first few days were hard on the boys. On us, too, but the kids’ craziness made it almost untenable for us, and I believe we all found ourselves in tears at various points in those first few days. But we all seem to be settling in a little better now that we have developed more of a rhythm to the days. I’m even hoping to get the kids enrolled a few days a week in a local day care since we’ll be here for a few more weeks, but this is challenging the limits of my Spanish.
I asked the kids what their highs and lows were. They both said that the migration office on the first day was their least favorite thing about Mexico (waiting in line for two hours would push any kids’ patience, I suppose). Dylan said his favorite thing was the breweries. Well, playing at the breweries. And the trampoline park that he hasn’t been to yet. Andy said his favorite part of Mexico was the bus ride and the breweries. Glad we’re making an impression.
High: Customer service. Low: No low to this either. The customer service we have experienced at Baja Naval Marina has been wonderful. We feel so welcome, and everybody has been so helpful. Additionally, the officer at the INM went above and beyond what she needed to do to help me get the paperwork in order, and the numerous people I spoke with at banks were helpful and patient as they answered my questions. We could learn a lot from such patience, customer service, and welcoming attitudes.
High: Color and beauty everywhere! Despite some of the difficulties, we are loving Mexico and so glad that we made the decision to stay here for at least 18 months. We’ve only been in Ensenada for ten days, and a huge land beyond awaits us. We can already see that there is so much to learn from this fascinating country that is full of its own juxtapositions and contradictions. What a wonderful place to spend a slice of our life.
Point Conception loomed before us and the wind slowly began to creep up knot by knot until – bam! – all of a sudden 22 became 29. The direction changed so I could no longer hold a direct course to steer around the point, but rather knew that we would have to gybe (turn with the wind behind the boat) at least twice in strong winds to make it around. The waves grew.
Comfortable seven foot waves became nine, and some eleven and twelve foot waves snuck in every few minutes to remind us how quickly seas can build. We managed our first gybe smoothly, Tom pulling in the mizzen sheet (the mizzen mast is our second, smaller mast at the back of the boat) and then easing the mizzen out so the strong winds from behind us didn’t slam it forward. The self-tacking staysail (our small jib at the front of the boat) took care of itself. The next gybe should take us on a course around the point, but we had to wait, wait, wait until we knew we could clear it. The winds grew. We were seeing 30 and 31 regularly. It’s not yet a gale, but it’s close.
We prepared to gybe, and again I turned the boat, and Tom took in the mizzen sheet until a wave caught us broadside. All of a sudden I had no steerage, no ability to steer down the wave. “Tom, help!” I cried. He immediately realized that the mizzen (even reefed!) in the process of being pulled in and then eased out, had acted instantaneously as our rudder, trying to steer us into the wind and completely overpowering our actual rudder. Tom quickly blew the mizzen sheet and within a millisecond, we had steerage again and made our course to round Point Conception, the “Cape Horn of the Pacific.”
We had made it to southern California. But there was little time to celebrate as we had to turn up into the strong wind to find our anchorage at Cojo, a barren strip of land tucked in just behind the dreaded point. We warily eyed the beached sailboat on the sand in front of us and picked our way through thick, dark kelp beds to find our spot, dropping the anchor with 21 knots of wind on the nose to blow us backwards. Little need to back up and power-set your anchor when the wind does it for you, but we did it anyway. And we were here.
We opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate our official arrival in southern California, comforted the angry cat, and laughed as we watch the champagne bottle slide back and forth across the table with every swell that hit us. It didn’t feel like southern California yet as we watched a family of wild boars trot along the beach, baby boars in tow, and sat alone in the anchorage, not a building or boat to be seen. The full enormity of southern California would come later as we headed south and east down the coast.
The world around us then began to change. Huge, shiny boats filled the Santa Barbara Harbor. There was a catamaran we could have sailed under. Mega-yachts dotted the end-ties. We sat at rolly anchor outside the safe marina breakwater and pier, rocking in time with other salty, grubby, well-used boats. Massive mansions towered above us on the coastal cliffs. We felt foreign.
Architecure became adobe and clay. The air carried the scent of desert flowers and smog. Tanned bodies strolled long, white beaches. People were everywhere. Harbor patrols were everywhere. Buildings were everywhere. Concrete was everywhere. When was the last time we saw a tree? And all the best anchorages were full of private and expensive mooring buoys. And the inescapable heat kept beating down on us.
We felt like fish out of water. Even our attempted escape to the trails of the Catalina Island proved rocky as we braved the surf and the surge coming north from Hurricane Sergio and sustained a few uncomfortable nights at anchor. We missed our rain and our cool temperatures. We missed the come-as-you-are grunginess of the Pacific Northwest. We missed our calm island anchorages, hugged by spruce, cedar, and Douglas fir. It has not been an easy transition to southern California.
But southern California has also served up some wonderful gifts in the form of all the people we have met. My mom’s friend since 3rd grade, Diane, gave us a tour of Redondo Beach and Manhattan Beach, took us out to breakfast, and drove us to the airport and back to pick up Sara flying in from Denmark. I got to spend a few days with my old friend and swim teammate from high school, Tracy, which was such a gift (Tracy, we didn’t take a picture!). The folks at Redondo Beach Yacht Club immediately invited us to come to their big weekly party. We met Blue Heron, another boat headed to Mexico with a boat kid. At Dana Point, we met Gail and Ron, who drove Tom to West Marine, and other boaters who offered us some contacts in Mexico. At anchor there, so many people saw the Washington on our stern and came over to talk. Some folks having a big party on the beach invited us over to celebrate and partake of the great spread.
Further south, the folks at Oceanside Yacht Club – Les, Rick, Tim, Mike, Brianna, Tessa, Jeanie, and so many others made us feel so welcome and showed us such wonderful hospitality. Dylan and Andy got a friend to play with for a few evenings, and Mike gave us some helpful fishing gear and advice. We could not have asked for a better stay and a more welcoming community. The negative feelings I was having about southern California dissolved in the warmth of the welcome we received.
Once the high surf warnings dissipated and Oceanside’s harbor entrance calmed, we headed south to San Diego, our jumping off point for our leap down to Mexico. I hadn’t really looked forward to San Diego in any other way than as the place to get the final items of the to-do list done (vet appointment, fill fuel tanks, send ballots, provision with boat supplies), just an extension of the coast. But San Diego has been a complete experience on its own. It surely warrants its own blog post, but since I find it so hard to squeeze out time for writing, San Diego gets its moment now.
The other unforgettable experience was visiting Sea World. We knew we really wanted to make this trip now, because Sea World will be phasing out its orca programs over time. To see the wonder in the eyes of our kids as they saw the animals was priceless. I feel that I would like to reflect on this more, so I will leave more for another post.
Perhaps it is a little silly, but anchoring across the bay from a pool in Coronado almost made me want to cry. We now live on the water, but there have been precious few opportunities to swim. Even the Dana Point Harbor Patrol picked me up at one point and told me where I could and could not swim. Two days in a row, I was able to get some me-time to swim, just swim, for 45 minutes. To just move myself through the water. I didn’t have to look up. I didn’t have to worry about getting run over by boats or kayaks or stand up paddleboarders. There were lane lines. There were backstroke flags. I may not see a lap pool for a long time, so this was a very sweet experience.
Point Conception was a turning point, both literally and figuratively. Southern California hasn’t been a dream for us. We aren’t “sun” people, and we wanted to dance when the rains came. We were overwhelmed with the structure and regulation of harbors. But we were also overwhelmed with the warmth, camaraderie, and fun. Southern California was always a place I came as a kid in the summers, viewing the world from the safety of a house in the hills and paying little heed to everything else. It’s a special experience to visit it as an adult and to have the perspective of gazing from the water out east onto the cities and the hills. I appreciate the opportunity for my experiences, my assumptions, judgments, and opinions to come full circle – or, more accurately, to be influenced and developed by so many different factors and to grow into a more nuanced, unforgettable experience. Point Conception gave me that experience with its difficulty and exhilaration, and southern California has indeed followed suit.
If it wasn’t already enough for my parents to have the kids, the cat, and me aboard the RV for ten days as we traveled down the Washington, Oregon, and northern California coasts, they got rewarded with the opportunity to do it for eight more – without me. And I’m sure they weren’t thrilled with the announcement that we wouldn’t be able to get to Dana Point on the 20th, but rather on the 23rd. Make that an extra 11 days alone with the kids. And so my parents rightly deserve the title of Grandparents of the Year, because they not only signed up to do it, but successfully completed the major task without giving our kids away or leaving them on the side of a highway somewhere.
Our kids can be intense. Really intense. And strong-willed. I mean, um, spirited! And Andy, in particular, has very selective hearing, which works when you’re talking about treats, but not when there’s anything helpful to be done. Managing two spirited, whiny, constantly hungry kids for that long while also trying to make progress down the coast was a Herculean task.
They managed it with the help of the kids’ bikes, some awesome campsites, a few other campground kids, lots of toys, lots of snacks, and good old DVDs. And, of course, a fair bit of patience. And sternness. And probably some wine. It also helped that the cat was no longer on board, since the kids could not keep themselves away from her, and poor Demon was forced to find every place imaginable on the boat to hide from the kids’ constant attention. It may have helped that I wasn’t there, because I’m pretty sure they’re at their worst around me. It also probably helped that they had already gotten used to the routine of the RV: putting the convertible couch out in the evening and folding it up in the morning, driving in the morning, playing outside in the afternoon, bedtime stories in the evening. And to cap off the whole experience, they got a full three days at Disneyland and California Adventure, which was the cherry on top of the trip for them.
There were certainly some trying times, not least the time that the RV’s brakes began to have problems, so my dad pulled into a place in LA to get them fixed while my mom headed down to Oceanside with the kids in the car, with no snacks or TV to tide the kids over. The hope was that my dad would get to the campground by bedtime. I told my mom there was no shame in taking them out to McDonald’s and getting a hotel room for the night. Whatever needed to be done to say sane. In the end, they found a playground and a pizza place, and my dad made it to the campsite by 8:00 pm that night. Difficult day survived, but not an easy one to get through.
“I’m so happy!” Andy beamed up at me with a face that radiated pure joy. His little brown eyes twinkled, and his smile was so big and so sincere that I was about to turn him toward his grandma so she could see his genuine, pure happiness since she was the mastermind and benefactor of this trip. And I was wondering how much Disney Corporation would pay to have that quote and adorable face on video.
“I’m so happy that I’m tall enough to go on the ride!” Queue screeching-to-a-halt sound effects. Because the day before there had been tears. Twice. Because he hadn’t been tall enough. Because even though he had eaten his healthy heart out to get from 38 to 40 inches, which would get him on _most_ Disneyland rides, he fell just shy of the 42 inches required to get on a few of the others. Never mind the fact that he probably would have been terrified of the rides (as he was of most). It was the closed door that affected him and his hungry, tired 4-year old soul.
Disneyland is a peculiar place. There is so much joy, so much fun, so much happiness and anticipation and excitement. But it runs parallel with so much discomfort. The standing in line in the blazing sun on throbbing feet with a tired, petrified 4-year-old while wondering when you should sit down to shell out another $50 for a mediocre lunch because the lunch you packed was already devoured as a 10:00 snack. And then it ends, because you sit down on the ride and see such joy as they point at the characters with stubby fingers and stare wide-eyed at the amazing engineering that has brought the story and the characters to life. It is worth every penny and every sore foot and even every tear.
Having spent so many summers of my childhood in southern California, I’m perhaps too familiar with Disneyland. Too familiar with the run to your favorite roller coaster. Too familiar with the long lines. Too familiar with simply what to expect. And it was hard to pull myself back from the eager 10-year-old still alive and kicking inside me in order to take each Disneyland moment a little more slowly and try to experience this new world from the eyes and steps of novice 4- and 6-year-olds. To stop for the photo ops with Disney characters, to forgo the fastest rides, to seek out the gentlest and brightest rides. It shouldn’t have surprised me that our perceptive 6-year-old, in answer to my question “What are you most looking forward to about Disneyland,” said something to the effect of: “I’m looking forward to seeing what it feels like and seems like inside.” And so I tried to remember just to embrace the atmosphere, even when all my 10-year-old self wanted to do again was race back to the line for Thunder Mountain.
Where my memory failed me was in recalling the darkness of so many of the rides, both the literal and figurative darkness. As we got on our first ride, boarding a a flying Peter Pan pirate ship and venturing into a dark room lit up only by little tiny stars, I could think only of how our kids would handle the darkness and the scariness. And it only goes downhill from there. Snow White is petrifying. Alice in Wonderland is really freaky. And even Dylan came out of Winnie the Pooh saying it was kind of scary during Pooh’s dream – going through a room full of mirrors and fluorescent magical creatures. And so the Storybook Land Canal Boats, It’s a Small World, and the Monorail were among the favorites. And despite the odd Pooh dream, Winnie the Pooh made it to the top five, as well. Though I have to hand it to Dylan, who, though absolutely petrified on the Halloween-ified Space Mountain, declared hours later that it was one of his favorites. We have an adrenaline junkie in the making.
Meeting all our expectations was Dylan’s excitement at seeing Cars Land in California Adventure. This is the kid whose second word was “car” and who has been a Cars fanatic from birth. His excitement at walking through a real life Radiator Springs and seeing Lightening McQueen in the parade was worth all the exhaustion. And he was so thrilled with the opportunity to get in every sort of car imaginable – the best being the Radiator Springs Racers, which we managed to get on three times in one day!
Another special experience at Disneyland was the opportunity to share it with our new crew member, Sara, who is joining us from Denmark for a few months. The kids took to her like little magnets, and Dylan would ride next to no one else. Not even over jet lag when we started our first day, Sara was a trooper and made it through more than I would have!
