**Steph here for quick intro, doing some site maintenance (read: wondering if we should keep it or finally say goodbye almost 2 years after the trip) and found this unpublished draft. Though we have plenty of photos that should accompany the post, they are no longer in my phone, so going image free for this one. Hope y’all enjoy this almost forgotten gem**
It was Steph’s last week, and the two of us were savoring the slow passage of time that pervades La Paz. We strolled along the Malecon every day, sampling the various restaurants and ice-creameries. I even started the indulgent research project of locating the best margarita in the city (to steal the recipe). But it was impossible to escape the incredible sailing weather, and we decided to take advantage and see some of the local anchorages we’d missed on the way in. It was time to provision, sight-see, and (most importantly) locate a cheap Mexican guitar to keep onboard.
We rented a moped for a measly 300 pesos and headed off, cutting corners on the winding scenic roads that etch along La Paz’s eastern sea cliffs. I could tighten Steph’s grip on my torso by throttling up. She’d squeeze me with all her strength and shout, “Slow down!”
We pulled over at little tourist beach complete with mini-bar and sampled what had to be the worst margarita in La Paz, the recipe for which I suggested be burned. People waded into the clear shallow water on the sand below.
“I wonder if that water slide works,” said Steph, pointing at a ratchet looking swirl of tubing that distended from a nearby resort.
“Doesn’t look like it,” I muttered, and we added it to the list of unusable construction we’d happened upon in Baja.
Back on the road and off to a grocery store. Veggies, ingredients for my newly infamous chicken stew, and an unfortunate amount of freshly baked bread (which, we learned, is better than any US version). A fast dinghy ride back to the boat to drop off the goods, and, let’s go! We have an hour left – time to find a guitar!
We respectfully participated in the Mexican tradition of rolling stop-signs and cutting people off on our way to the music shop. Inside, I exchanged scattered Spanglish with the owner, motioning to the price tags and making exaggerated sighs at the uncharacteristically high prices until he nodded enthusiastically. “I think I have guitar for you, porque eres pobre,” he said, pulling a little red guitar out from behind the counter.
Finally feeling understood, I reached for the beauty when he stopped me and strummed the strings. They flapped uselessly against the wood like spaghetti noodles. “Pero you can fix it!” he said, motioning at the bridge and nut. “Little cardboard here and here!”
“Cuánto cuesta?” I asked.
He shrugged. “180 pesos”.
A steal.
We managed to wrangle it into my backpack, and I managed to persuade Steph to wear it to the marina. When we arrived, we were approached by a tall, American woman complete with crystal rings and geometric tattoos. “Hi!” she said, clearly momentarily unencumbered by the weight of sobriety. “My husband and I saw you two and wondered if you would have drink with us?”
“Sure!“ Steph said, “We’ll return this scooter and be right there!”
Back at the popular marina restaurant/bar, we cheers-ed our new friends, Bob and Noel, and began exchanging sea stories, harking on the differences between boat and land life. “I have to detangle my hair every day,” Noel told us, “But Bob just goes with it. He’s getting dreads.”
Bob grinned – a strong, barrel-chested guy with an absolutely epic goatee. “I got enough stuff to worry about.”
“We watched you guys pull up earlier,” said Noel. “We saw Thatcher stand in the dinghy and air-hump to test the knot. I was like, we gotta hang out with those guys”
Bob nodded, “And then you showed up with a guitar on your back…”
Round two of margaritas and who’s that in the distance, tying up to the dinghy dock? It’s our friend Danny from Cygnus! We could be growing potatoes on Mars and would run into Cygnus. We motioned for him to join us and soon we had practically taken over the restaurant, cracking bad dad jokes and telling sea stories.
“We drag anchor a lot,” said Bob.
“Oh, that’s an understatement!” chimed Noel. “We anchored in front of a nice hotel we stayed in for my birthday and one day Moby, our son, was like, ‘Mom the boats gone!’ And I go, ‘The boats not gone, you’re crazy!’ Then I look out and I’m like, ‘OMG BOB THE BOATS GONE.’ And the thing is the hotel didn’t allow dogs, so our puppy was onboard!”
“I had to bribe so many people to get our boat back,” said Bob. “Those pangas are spine crushing.”
The night went on until the restaurant staff started giving us dirty looks. “I think they’re closing,” said Steph. “What are you guys doing tomorrow?”
“There’s an awesome anchorage east of here,” offered Danny. “It’s got everything. Cool hikes, decent snorkeling, and some mangroves you can dingy through.”
We all agreed it sounded like the perfect spot to rendezvous the three boats tomorrow.
“What’s it called again?” I asked.
“Balandra”
Sail Agora 