Posted on January 19, 2018
Cookin’ Up The Coast
We could have easily spent six months exploring the Pacific coast of Mexico from Acapulco to Puerto Vallarta, despite our State Department’s new security warnings equating it with Syria or North Korea. Time was not on our side, however, so we raced northwards, stopping only in Zihuatanejo and Barra de Navidad.
It was in Zihua that we finally caught our stowaway. After evading our conventional mousetrap and somehow floating over the glue trap, we procured a live trap from the ferrateria and, within a half-hour of setting it, had a new pet. I think if it’d been a destructive rat, it’s life would have been forfeit; but cuteness can be a lifesaver, and we ferried it to the palapa restaurants lining the beach. A quick refill on the water tanks—50 gallons delivered to the boat via panga for only $12.50—and we pushed on to Barra.
Originally, we’d hoped to be in Barra de Navidad by Christmas, but better late than never—especially with this guy showing up every morning. The French Baker is a Barra institution, visiting both the marina and the lagoon anchorage with butter-filled deliciousness. He rings his bell, and you throw all your money at him, finally enjoying baguettes with a crust and slacking off on the nutritious-breakfast front. So good.
Barra was also a slowish reintroduction to the idea that, yes, other people travel on sailboats as well. There was a morning net, and we had to remember how to anchor with more than one boat around. We actually felt too close to our nearest neighbor, briefly; but as the anchorage filled up, we realized that we were just out of practice. F was invited to jam with some neighboring boats, but popped a D string tuning up—one more thing to add to the sherpa list for our incoming family.
Our last leg was an upwind schlep around Cabo Corrientes. We delayed one day, waiting for the north wind to die down, but it was still in our face all night, with the wind blowing against the current and producing sharp, steep waves. Loud, uncomfortable, annoying—not dangerous, but not ideal. It was a relief to round the corner into Banderas Bay, knowing that we had at least a month to enjoy the area. We were all so sick of moving; the longer we live aboard, the slower we want to travel. Time to suss out the best tacos in the target-rich environment of Puerto Vallarta.