Week ending January 3rd 2010

Morning Glory

Having digested the fact that we’re going to cease riding, we packed our bags on the monday morning, thanked Maria, Adriana and Jeremy for their kindness and welcome, and wheeled our bikes out of the driveway. We had decided to take our bikes with us to the new apartment but, when we leave for San Cristobal and Guatemala in a few weeks time, to leave them at Maria’s house for safe keeping.

Meeting Karen was good timing and thanks to couchsurfing.com. We had drinks at her place in the centre of town and she discussed the details of a charity that we had been interested in since arriving here, but hadn’t been able to find out about. www.hijosdelaluna-en.org is a tiny, grassroots type of affair, helping 24 children whose mum’s tend to work ‘during the night’ and whose fathers do not exist, for one reason or another. Some of the children are from parents who are illegal migrants from central America, and therefore they have no papers, which means they cannot go to school. They have no vaccinations because of this and their mums usually cannot support them. Most have been handed to the charity, but mum is of course welcome to come and pick them up at any time she wants…

We went there on tuesday morning and I ended up in the sink, washing up for 3 hours, whilst Joy played with the children, washing some of the tiny ones in a couple of washing up bowls. Thankfully Karen, a fluent Spanish speaker, came with us, and we all discussed what else we could do to help out.

The lady who runs the charity, Coco, has an apartment that she shares with her husband, but they both prefer to sleep at the charity, where they have 3 babies sleeping in cots next to them, and one toddler who even crawls into their bed for a bit of attention. Coco works all day every day and gets no time off. Her own children, now all grown up, come home during their ‘holidays’ and help out full time. They have a few benefactors, but they need food on a daily basis, and all hands to the pump. Thanks to a kindly Canadian chap, they are going to have a 10,000 litre water tank installed in the next few weeks, so that when the city’s water supply is cut, as often happens, they have a back up. At the moment, when the water stops, it is the hotels in town that suffer least and suffer last. Individual homes, including the house where the kids live, get hit first.

There was a reading lesson being held today, just as we were leaving, taken by Coco’s sister. We lent a hand, because we discovered that the words being read by 5 years olds were thankfully not beyond us. We knew that our rather shaky grasp of Spanish would come in use at some time…

Wednesday, December 30 saw us visit Casa Hogar, then back for a quick snooze and out again to the town square, the zocalo, for a terrific evening of entertainment. Susana Harp, a famous daughter of Oaxaca and a fabulous singer, performed in front of her home crowd. A Leslie Garrett singeylikey, but with distinctive Mexican and indigenous ocvertone. Her orchestra consisted of more than 30 impeccably dressed players and singers, and the crowd of more than 5000 quietly gathered around on seats, but mostly fidgeting uncomfortably on the beautiful natural stone floor.

Tonight the zocalo was crammed. There were clowns, street vendors selling food and nicnacs, jugglers playing with fire and of course Susana, taking centre stage on an elevated platform to the side of the main church, overlooking the centre of the zocalo.

The crowd loved it. Thousands of local people had turned out and the tourists were there in droves too. A lot of gracious fidgeting and vyeing for a better view ensued, but there were smiles all round.

Oaxaca, despite the poverty, dirty streets and simply dangerous pavements or sidewalks, is a lovely place. (I must say we have no idea how people in wheelchairs get about… Going for a drink in town must be like planning a large, 3D version of snakes and ladders, with open manholes, broken pavements, cobbles and questionable driving etiquette as the snakes, and the newly relaid surfacing in the heart of the old town the only ladders. Despite this, we have noticed at least one wheelchair sign, and some of the shops even ramps. We did see one however that had to be run down, it was too steep even for us to negotiate. (Incidentally, when we googled ‘DMD Oaxaca’ our names were the only hit to come up. Mmm.)

New years eve was fun. Karen had invited us to her place to meet with Kacki, a friend of hers from Florida and Bill, a professor from a college in Boston. Sparklers, champers and the obligatory spicy nibbles were dished out and fun was had by all. Being a blue moon, we all stood outside after midnight to watch it, but it remained yellowy-white all the time we stood there.

We took a long walk around the periphery of the old town today, and it was lovely. Traffic was light, enough shops were open to oblige us with drinks, and the sun was out. We dawdled around, enjoying getting lost, peeking thorugh doorways and seeing what Mexican families were doing on their days off. Some of the churches were full, and the market at the foot of the steps to one particular church was bustling. Kids played in the church grounds, and dogs barked as people bought their food for the evening whilst listening to Mexican pop music screaming at them - whether they liked it or not.

The city has been noticeably quiet since new years eve and we are looking forward to going back to Casa Hogar tomorrow.

Week ending Sunday 27th December 2009

Santo Domingo cathedral

Oaxaca is  lovely city. We enjoyed wandering around, taking in the atmosphere as thousands of people, Oaxaquenos and those from out of town, sang, danced, played their music and just watched the whole specatacle unfold. The colonial buildings were beautifully lit and set the scene admirably. Whilst there is snow in England, the temperature here remains in the mid 20’s . 

We cycled to Maria’s place in the south of the city, where she welcomed us in to her home. Maria is the mum of a friend of a friend of a friend, and it was really comforting to know that we had arrived somewhere where we felt wanted, for this special time for year. We had a traditional Mexican dinner and attempted to converse; Maria speaks no English, ad we speak almost no Spanish, so it proved an entertaining evening.

The following day she took us on a tour of the city. We visited the church in which her daughter and son in law had their Mexican wedding (two years after the official version took place in England). A beautiful C18th building decorated by indigenous indians and rivalling the mediaeval artistry of many European churches, it was happily being restored as we visited. Poor bearing soils and earthquakes cause a trememdous amount of problems in certain parts, so it was nice to see this structure coping well.

We then paid a visit to the huge Tule tree, supposedly the largest in the world.

Joy and Maria can be seen, bottom right. Big tree, isn't it...?

In the past, when superlatives have been claimed for natural wonders (or otherwise) we have tended to be rather sceptical. But in this instance, the claims are supported by fact. The tree is enormous. 58 metres circumference, making it the largest girth of any tree in the world - and upwards of 1500 years old, making it one of the oldest.

After this we found and learned about a huge and very picturesque mosaic dedicated to Benito Juarez, an indigenous leader who became president of the country in the late C19th and who led the way in major reform. The day’s tour was complete when we arrived at a pottery where the famous black pots are made, on the outskirts of Oaxaca. Having bought a two piece snail we drove home.

That evening we visited a ‘posada’, a traditional christmas gathering in which a group of people come calling. Tonight it was held at a friend of Maria’s. A sermon was given by the accompanying pastor, and songs were sung, before half the crowd entered, leaving the other half outside to sing their request to gain entry. An empty crib with Mary and Joseph waiting expectantly, located in the front yard, was visited by all those who gathered, before food and drinks were given out to everyone.

It was a lovely ceremony full of singing and ritual; and entirely new to us.

Adriana and Jeremy arrive the following day and it was great to decipher the messages we had received from Maria but couldn’t fathom. Knowing 8 words in Spanish doesn’t cut it when staying with someone who only knows 2 words in English.  It was lovely to meet up and chat, then sample some more fabulous Mexican cooking, care of Maria.

Beautifully carved and painted by local artisans, this cat is no longer than 4 inches (100mm)

We visited one of the villages on the outskirts of the city on the following day to discover some of  the artistic highlights of our trip to date. Carved wooden figures, most fantastic in nature, are carved and painted by very skilled artisans and sold in most houses in the village. It is a Oaxaquen speciality though unfortunately they are copied by the Chinese - a form of flattery I suppose - but the imports are a shoddy third rate attempt to make money and take the livelihoods away fom the people of the village. The carving is done by machine and the paint jobs are lousy. Just say ‘no’.

More festive feasting took place. On the evening of the 24th we met Hugo who played superb Mexican guitar for us and sang like he meant it. At one point we found ourselves wandering around the garden following Hugo liked the pied piper, Joy carrying a little plastic baby Jesus in her arms, before placing him in the crib.

It was a lovely evening, and when Hugo left we had assumed that was that. But it wasn’t. We got our shoes on and left the house at 10.30pm for an 11pm mass at the local church, where Hugo and his friends were the main event. It was a fun ceremony, if not for the Spanish preaching, but for the beautiful singing. It seems the Mexicans are very musical. In the city centre there is music every day and every night for the whole week, featuring various bands and orchestras and groups, playing all kinds of music for the varied crowds that gather. It’s certainly a fun place to be at this time of year and we would thoroughly recommend it to anyone excited by cultural variety and in possession of a good sense of fun.

We wandered home and then, at midnight,  got the bbq out. We cooked a fabulous meal with beans, steak, tortillas and chile salsa before heading for the land of nod at about 1am. It had been a lovely couple of days and full of the unexpected - which was fine by us.

Christmas day was thankfully a rather restrained affair, which included sleeping in until lunchtime, reading and doing little of anything else. Joy and I bought each other imaginary present, which was fun. My present for her had no wrapping paper, but a little bow on it. Of course, she had to ask me questions to deduce what it was. It couldn’t be read, it couldn’t be worn and certainly most of you wouldn’t have wanted to eat it. I had bought her a golden retriever puppy, with a genetic modification that involved removing it’s ability to leave ‘little presents’ for us.

Joy’s present to me was huge. I was amazed how she got it into the room. It was a bright red, plastic, 18ft long sea kayak. Fantastic. But how would I get it on the plane..? Oh, what fun we had….

In between all this activity we helped out for a couple of hours at a small charity in town, which is referred to as the ´’Streetkids Project’. We plan to do a lot more of this sort of thing. So we initially signed up for a few weeks. The more time we spent in town, seeing the streetkids and wondering about their lot, the more we wanted to help. Whilst they don’t live on the streets (the charity is informally known by this name because it was on the streets that the founders first met the kids), they are dirty, sometimes in rags, and are sent to work from about 3 years of age.

Cycling can be good fun, but it gets tiring, usually more so mentally than physically. And seeing this squalor all around us and ignoring it is not something we can do.

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As such, we are going to help out in Oaxaca - and then get a bus to San Cristobal, in Chiapas, which is adjacent to the Guatemala border - where we plan to help out again. It’s also a lovely city, with similar problems, and it’s in the upland forest, so a change of scenery will be good. If we are still keen, we’ll then go to Guatemala, to have a look round, before flying home…..

Unfortunately, the effort that friends back home have put in to help publicise the trip (thanks a million to Phil and Becki) as well as our own efforts over here, have proved of little impact. We are of course extremely grateful to everyone who has sponsored us or helped us out in other ways, but we haven’t made much of a dent in the 50k that we had aimed to make. Whilst we cannot gauge any perceived increase in the level of awareness of Duchenne, it is clear that the amount of sponsorship money we have raised is not huge and not rising quite as we might have hoped. This charity thing is hard work.

As you can imagine, this has been a very difficult decision to make. We don’t want to let anybody down, and we have been particularly concerned about Becki and George, and all those who have sponsored us. We hope you all understand our decision, and will continue to make people around you aware of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy.

My masterpiece of travel writing, to be released upon an unsuspecting world just as soon as I find a publisher deranged enough to help me, might raise a few more pennies; but Actionduchenne is still in need of 2m GBP. Does anyone out there know of a benevolent multi-millionaire cycle tourist who enjoys childish humour and is willing to buy half a million copies of an as yet unwritten book….? If so, please tell me before he changes his mind. He may even be in half a mind to help out, but that’s all he’ll need to read the book….

We do not plan on quitting though. In a few years time, when the dust has settled and everyone (except us…) has forgotten about the trip and the charity (www.actionduchenne.org) we plan on completing the trip - possibly by bicycle, possibly by motorbike. We would certainly like to arrive in Ushuaia, in Patagonia, having ridden from Nova Scotia, but at the moment it seems, it’ll have to wait. And hopefully by then Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy will be a thing of the past.

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On Boxing Day, having come to this momentous decision about the trip, we bought ourselves a cup of the finest Mexican coffee before securing an apartment in a lovely old building with a courtyard full of flowers and plants and a cobbled pavement. We are happy in Oaxaca and content with our decision, but also feel a little sad that our bikes now sit in the driveway at Maria’s house, forlorn and dirty.

Week ending December 20th 2009

Beautiful, but unknown butterfly

We pedalled our bikes through the resort, sadly only 20% full, and onto a ‘panga’, a small fishing boat that acted as a taxi taking people across the mouth of the lagoon to the heart of the village of Barra de Navidad. We even rode the bikes through the town, notching up almost a full mile, before arriving at the long distance coach station…

We had had quite some time to come to the conclusion that we did. We had crossed into the tropics. It was hot, and for each day we stayed on the coast, and for every mile, nautical or otherwise, that we made, it was getting hotter. Today, Sunday December 13th, - WINTER TIME, JUST IN CASE THE GODS OF WEATHER ARE LISTENING - it was 34c, or about 90f. We had been informed twice recently by local people, that this was unusually warm weather. And that it would remain so on the coast for some time to come. Oh good.

We had also been warned several times recently that the drugs baddies had moved their centre of operations from the Caribbean Coast to the Pacific Coast as it was easier to traffic them up the roads that we were about to ride. The roads had become a little more ’sketchy’ as they say. Perhaps that’s why mummy and daddy had told us to check our bags for illicit drugs whilst on the yacht…

We had therefore concluded that in order, a) to arrive in Oaxaca before christmas, b) not to die from hyperthermia, and c) not to be captured by baddies, we would take a bus. Just like the finest cream cakes, naughty but nice - and necessary. Inland, the temperatures are sensible. Or so we hoped.

We rode along the coast road in first class style - as befits our expectations to date. The first bus was the bestest. Huge amount of leg room, efficient air conditioning, and even a goody bag with an apple and some biscuits in it. The second bus was a small step down in class. The same but different. However, the third was most definitely a second class bus, and let us down somewhat. A noxious smell emanated from the back of the bus for all 8 hours and the aircon was cooling us down to 32c. Marvellous.

The scenery whizzed by at upwards of 3omph. The verdant rolling hills slowly receded into the background, and the cover slowly transformed from a wet landscape to a dry one. The green shades became browner, replacing jungle trees with palms and then small brush bushes. The looming hills welcomed us in, but continued to be hot, hot, hot.

For all the gorgeous scenery, it seemed that whenever man played a role in either landscape or urban design, rubbish, refuse, trash and basura were never far behind. In every village we drove through, rubbish was strewn at between 5 and 10 metre intervals. Domestic waste was mixed with light industrial. Free range pigs, dogs and donkeys occasionally nibbled at it, but wandered off after they realised that it tasted rubbish. Rainwater channels were entirely choked with it, the open land between houses rife with it, and the edges of fields and the inter tidal zone between town and country clogged with it.

As in most places, people keep their own houses tidy and are fastidious in their appearance. We saw on many occasions women sweeping dust, twigs and leaves into small piles and burning them outside their properties.

The accommodations themselves were a sad sight for the most part. Palapa, or leaf roofs, mingled with dodgy reinforced concrete post and beam construction and brickwork infill formed the basis of ‘home’. There were even some timber houses with woven timber walls, filled with mud, and mostly deteriorating. In the Old World these wobbly old structures would be statutorily protected by government as being of architectural and historic interest and a premium put on their value. Over here, it seems they are the lowest of the low.

We arrived in Puerto Escondido in the dark, carefully extricated our bikes from the hold in the bus and rode to the nearest hostel we could find. ‘The Mayflower’, right in the midle of town, was a traditional ‘travellers hostel’. Tattoos, unwashed hair and an average age of 23 made us feel particularly uncool, but it was a welcoming sort of place, and only 5 minutes from the nearest restaurant.

We stayed a few days. On day two we were having dinner in a beachfront restaurant watching the poor (Indians) walk by, some trying to sell whatever they could, when it appeared that I was crying. - In a manly sort of way, of course. -  I must have had something in my eye.

We chatted about the rather embarrasing ‘incident’ and it seemed to me that I was rather more upset about the social and financial differences I see round me than I had at first thought. The kids playing football on the beach probably couldn’t afford to eat at the place where we sat that night. They might not have wished to anyway - my Filet Mignon was a little underdone…

We realised that my annoyance at the state of things was directed solely at the unfairness of it all. What on earth do governments actually do for their money..?

Having one’s own website gives one the opportunity to be unapologetically self indulgent if one wishes to be. And I do. And it sometimes feels as though this trip is a bit self indulgent. We stand guilty as charged. So we thought more about the ‘wet eyes incident’ and, whilst we had already agreed between ourselves that we would try and help out again in a local community if we got the chance, we now decided to make it a goal rather than (as at least one prime minister has said in the recent past), an ‘aspiration.’

7.00am came and went far too quickly and we packed our gear and tiptoed out of the hostel. Cool and the gang were still asleep, having arrived in well after midnight the evening before. Unbelievable.

We cycled up the hill and out of town. A pretty place, we soon left it as we climbed further out of the valley. Thankfully no one makes cycling maps for the route we were embarking on, or we would have got another bus. The road wound up and up, it narrowed and it got hotter. Given that we had climbed over 1200 metres to arrive at a town 660 metres up in the beautiful Sierra Madre Sur mountains, one might have been forgiven for assuming that it would have been cooler than the 32c that we found. But at least the hotel we stumbled upon had an enormous fan in the room, designed and manufactured (possibly) by McDonnell Douglas…

The town of San Gabriel, on the Mexicana 131 was a rough sort of place.

San Gabriel village

The tarmac spluttered and died before we entered the place, given over to lumpy concrete reminiscent of an old airfield used for bombing practice. The houses were a ramshackle bunch of two storey concrete structures with many outside baños, questionable electrical arrangements and wonderful, smiling people. Grim-faced and wizend little ladies gave the warmest possible smiles when we greeted them with ‘buenos tardes’. The town was not a haven for the rich and famous. We saw no Spanish Mexicans, but mixed race and pure Indians that the Lonely Planet book had informed us about. The visual distinction is quite clear, as it appears, is the financial one. We strolled around town, the words ‘fish’ and ‘out of water’ coming immediately to mind.

Our conversation with Dr Steve in Santa Barbara came to mind. You remember the one…. it involved recent anthropological discoveries on race. Apparently, scientific evidence suggests that there are 4 African tribes inhabiting the earth, only one of which actually left the continent from which they came. The Ethiopians (including whitey homeboys, Eskimoes, the Chinese and the Huichol Indians that inhabit this part of Mexico) all come from that one race. Facial features and skin pigment have apparently only changed in the last 50 to 100,000 years.

As we spend time in this country, we see faces of indigenous Indians that remind us of the Uighur chinese people that we saw in a recent National Geographic magazine; we see people who look astonishingly similar to the famous black and white photo of the north American Indian chief, Geronimo; and we see still others who look a lot like Africans from the centre of that continent.

As we cycle along, Joy sees the beauty in everything. Frustrating, isn’t it? Above a free range rubbish dump she sees fabulous yellow flowers growing from a huge green plant. The birds all around us are simply stunning. Large colourful things with squeaky squawks, bright wings and quirky behaviour. The noises remind us of Hollywood soundtracks for ‘Jungle’ films. All that is missing is the screaming of the local chimps. We see large white butterflies floating along, looking like starched white serviettes, and yet others with spectacular iridescent blue wings, which remind me of shiny discarded bottle tops; and remind Joy of jewels.

Travel is a funny thing. And sometimes quite sad. But always surprising and fascinating.

We had managed a full 28 miles. We rested and then left the next morning for more hills. The Sierra Madre really are quite awesome.

Sierra Madre mountains

After 4.5 hours of quite strenuous cycling, and 17 miles……. we had had enough. We weren’t even going to make the next village by sunset, so, having sweated ourselves into puddles, we hitched a lift on the back of a truck, which was slowly forcing its way up the hills. Despite logs, tortillas and a water melon in the back, the brother and sister team insisted we could get the bikes onboard. They were tied down, we squeezed into the cab and off we went. The truck spluttered up the hills, taking fully half an hour to reach the top of the first range of hills. We went 2000 metres, before heading down the other side. The views were glorious. On the western side through which we had just driven, lush forest clung to the hillsides. There doesn’t appear to be any such word as ‘impenetrable’ in the Spanish language. As we crested the hills, and viewed for miles and miles through the heat haze, the other side of the saddle was semi arid, like night and day, the difference was so marked. Scrub bushes and trees littered the brown hillsides that we carefully picked our way down. The bends and the sheer drops were not for the faint hearted - which was a little unfortunate, and I was quite faint by the time I got down into the valley beyond, only to be told that we had another range of hills to climb and descend before we were finished. We bounced along, the driver and his sister finding humour in my distress - and Joy cheering them on.

The views were absolutely spectacular, and easily some of the best since we departed Blighty.  The heat haze had gone, the clouds had joined us, and it actually felt cool.

We were finally dropped, 5 hours later, in Zimatlan, a small town about 20 miles from Oaxaca. We still had some pride left, and wished to cycle the remaining (rather flat) few miles into the city. We said goodbye and waved the pair off. A hotel was readily found and we slumped into it, emotionally exhausted. The heat was one thing, and that had affected Joy - but the fear that I felt was quite another.

Oaxaca the next morning was a revelation. We had expected a huge welcome party when we arrived in Anacortes, in Washington, having traversed the American continent, but it didn’t materialise - Rather, it had been saved up for our arrival in Oaxaca, and it was really a fantastic party. Of course, christmas was also occuring, but that was coincidental. The welcome was so warm, we instantly loved the place. The colonial architecture, the zocalo, the churches, the fine old municipal buildings and the cathedral were all spectacular and very reminiscent of the old world. The two major town squares were full of life, the raised bed gardens were crammed full of red poinsettias (Noche Buenas) and the thousands of families wandering around the place with their children were singing and watching the live events unfold. Several bands were playing, there were mime artists at work and everyone except us seemed to have a balloon. It was magical, and such a lovely respite from the poorer side of life. We couldn’t thank everyone individually for their welcome, but wandered through the thronging masses waving and enjoying the spectacle.

A beautiful, clean hostel was found within 5 minutes walk of the squares, where we safely parked the bikes, before discovering the joys of clean beds, plentiful hot water and cool air. There was no air conditioning, no ceiling fan and no mosquito netting. Marvellous.

Week ending Sunday December 13th 2009

Another beautiful flower

Rain stopped play. We therefore enjoyed the coffees and dinners at the club for one more day. Splendid. These 6-yearly rains are certainly persistent.

We left the comforts of the club and motor-sailed to Yelapa, a few miles down the coast. The wind was light and we watched the sea for turtles, more wonderful dolphins, jumping pipe fish and ’the amazing flying fish’, which come to the surface in a whizz of bubbles and then take off, buzzing low over the surface, with the occasional flap of their rather long fins taking them some 30 metres across the sea. They break the surface in ones and twos.

The sea was calm, but the swell was quite notable. The beaches in this area are sandy for the most part, but they are steep, which results in a big surf crashing close to shore. The sound and the picture of the exploding surf was like bullets strafing a sand bank. 

Yelapa, a small village in a deep cove, was a delight - at least from the beach. We moored in the middle of the bay and took the dinghy in. The surf was large and our exit from the boat less than ceremonious. As it had rained for some long time, everywhere was dripping. The jungle all around us was singing. The cobbled pathways were underwater. The houses leaked, the smell of questionable sanitation was everywhere and bugs of all sorts slithered and climbed.

This observation interested us both. It epitomises our very different views of life. Joy sees the world as one half full of life and colour. I see it as half empty. When we see a rainbow Joy says she sees a promise for the future - which I admire and wish I could see…. but all I tend to see is the grey sky and the promise of rain…

Yelapa

This thought occured to us as we squelched around Yelapa. it was wet, the dogs had left their calling cards everywhere, the houses were dreadfully built and the smell put me off my tequila (thankfully).

Joy on the other hand loved the place. It was ‘real Mexico’. It was raw and unapologetic, it lacked the shine and polish of the resorts that we had stayed at, and it eschewed commercialism. The flowers were vibrant and the jungle creeped and crawled.

We did agree that the river into the sea and the birds flying around the place were stunning. We met two local policemen, armed to the hilt, who showed us a snake devouring a rather pale looking frog. Well, you would be wouldn’t you…?

We picked our way through the cobbles, over the bridge and back to the dinghy, which Cap’n Ron had ridden through the surf.

Needless to say, dinner on board that night.

We left early the next morning for a bay some 52 miles south. The sea was reasonably rough - at least for a softy landlubber. We got out about 6 miles, to avoid any nasty shallow stuff. Just as we were sailing, as opposed to motoring, Joy said how nice it would be to use the ‘kite’, or spinnaker. Cap’n Ron agreed. Now, as you may know, I’m not the most experienced sailor - even in my own cabin - but I understood that a spinnaker was for use in light breezes only. Say 10 to 15knots.

By the time we got the spinnaker (almost) up it was blowing 25 and gusting at 35 knots. The swell was confused and comfortably reached 10 feet. ‘I know…. lets get the enormous and jolly colourful kite out, drag it in the sea, pull the boat over so its gunwhales get a soaking, give Joff rope burns trying to retrieve it, get him lifted off the deck holding onto it, and in the process scare the wits out of him.’ (and David, as it turned out).

‘Joy, next time you have a bright idea, could we possibly discuss it first…?’ 

              ‘Oh very well….’

‘…But by the way, well done for getting such a nice array of photos.’

Are we having fun yet...?

The episode remained with us. We were all a little chastened by the event and stayed under motor for some long time.

Our thoughts were thankfully distracted by more dolphins coming to say hello. This time they popped up at the blunt end of the boat. We were surfing the waves -  quite a sight in a 55ft boat bobbing in 10ft waves. The dolphins appeared through the backlit green sea formed by the rollers. They were surfing too. They seemed to be having fun, particularly as two of them did a synchronised exit, which made our day. They quickly slipped away, only to be replaced by several large olive turtles, lazily drifting along and occasionally lifting their heads to see what was happening on the surface.

We made our destination in daylight, dropped anchor and had a bbq. Another hard day at the office. We watched the sun set, felt the wind drop and the stars come out. As David observed, the sky was a velvet Mexican carpet stitched with diamonds.

Orion, Cassiopaeia, the Plough, the ‘W’ and the horse all appeared. They lay on their sides, but were nevertheless brilliant as they rolled across the black sky. Joy and I sat up and watched the sky for some time. We saw 7 shooting stars, and a couple of satellites. On such a romantic evening, 7 white chargers and 2 cronky donkeys.

We arrived in Bahia Tenacatita, a large bay framed by mountains with vegetation that seemed halfway between jungle and high desert. It was time to don some goggles and flippers. Ron drove us out in the dinghy to ’The Aquarium’ as it is known, a colourful and very lively place, particularly with the crashing surf over our heads. We saw parrot fish and various other makes of wildlife that one only sees on tv. We saw a few pipefish and even a couple of very sharp fanged eels, plus a few too many puffer fish. We held hands as we glided over the top of them. The zoo that we found ourselves in was of the best kind, in which those observed (both them and us) could leave at their choosing.

More acquatic excitement occured the next morning. 2 huge dolphins appeared in the silky smooth sea, and rolled around under the boat, watching us watching them for quite some time. They dove down and proceeded to scratch their backs on the anchor chain and then bob around some more before leaving us.

We left this beautiful bay the following morning and made our way to Bahia Navidad, perhaps the most spectacular of the marinas in which we have found ourselves during our 4 week yacht-fest. The opulence was simply stunning and whilst fully appreciated we found it also removed us even more from the ‘real Mexico’ that we had only previously discovered. Not that I was complaining….

A couple more days of boating luxury neatly completed our time with Ron and David. Web, our other deckhand, had left the scene the day before. We bid a fond farewell, thanked them for everything that they had done for us and helped them slip their moorings (A jolly nautical term that it took us a while to learn). They were headed back to the dolphin playground. We were bound for the mainland. Hasta lluego amigos, muchos gracias.

Our time on board Sea Dream had been fantastic, and so much more than we ever imagined. We had seen some beautiful sights, learned how to ‘crew’, had eaten some first class food, including TopRamen for those aficionados out there, and met a great couple of chaps. It was a sad goodbye, but a necessary one.

We had a lovely offer to stay with a lady in Oaxaca for christmas and, as it was further than we could count, we thought we really should be going.

Week ending December 6th 2009

Puerto Vallarta town centre

Puerto Vallarta is, outside of the Disneyesque ‘village’ that we inhabit at the moment, just like many other Mexican towns. The centre is pretty though not very old, and cobbled to within an inch of its life - which is a problem for the occasional cyclists we seeing trying to negotiate the streets - with two storey buildings overlooking the streets, hazardous pathways (sidewalks), buses from the C19th. bouncing along the roads, and everywhere we look people selling things.

The town was founded in the late 1800’s, and became popular with tourists after Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton filmed ‘The Day of the Iguana’ here in the early 1950’s. Her old house is apparently near to the Spanish school, but we managed to avoid it. Incidentally, we saw several Iguanas wandering through the well manicured gardens in the village, as well as a scorpion, ‘Magnificent Frigates’ (which are about as close to pteradactyls as one might imagine), boobies, pelicans and house martins.

Iguana...!

In town, palm trees, various bushes, large trees with a multitude of trunk-like fingers reaching down into the soil and decorous patterns of stones in the broken concrete pavements soften the landscape of the town. In the centre is the cathedral and the formal square designed, perhaps not unsurprisingly, in the manner of many Spanish towns.

The malecon or promenade, located along the waterside, is an attractive place to be. Hawkers of all sorts gather there to wait for the tourists flooding off the huge floating cities that dock there every few days.

Looking up for the streets, one sees the mountains in the background. Huge, jungle thick in vegetation from roof top to peak, they encircle the entire city and reinforce the fact that we are both happy to be sailing south of here before rediscovering the joys of cycling.

By mid week the rain came. Apparently, serious rain like this occurs only every 5 or 6 years. It rained heavily for more than 12 hours (David suggested it was like being caught in the flush of a toilet) and thankfully following it the temperature dropped dramatically, along with the humidity. It was positively cold on Wednesday morning.

Another beautiful sunrise.

Probably about 75c. It did however rally in the afternoon. The wind rose and the sun came out and whilst the freshness remained the temperature soared. Boogie boarding was called for. We heeded the call. 4 and 5ft waves crashed into the golden sands as we fought our way through them simply in order to ride them back in at 50mph…. Such great fun it called for second and third visits later in the week. Thankfully a net surrounds the area of the bay in which we found ourselves, keeping out puffer fish, stingrays, sharks and jellyfish. Why would they want to come here, anyway…? They don’t even like boogie boarding.

All this relaxation comes at a price. The costs includes having to remember how to pack panniers, read a map, ride a bike and cook for ourselves. Still, some things are worth the expense.

Capt. Ron flew back here from LA on wednesday afternoon and started asking awkward sailing questions to which we made up a few answers. We were to leave on Friday so had to begin acting like crew members again. Mmmm.

Sunday and another 6-yearly rainstorm……We stayed put in La Cruz, the marina that we managed to sail to a couple of days before, 10 miles north of PV. Hardly Vendee RTW, but it was fun. We wandered around the town, refuelled, watched as the yacht was lifted out the water for some propeller repairs, and drank some coffee in the club.

As this week ends, we are anticipating setting off for real. Yelapa tomorrow night, then onto Manzanillo, where we aim to unwrap our bikes, dust off the rust, load ‘em up and see just how unfit we have become.