What is wrong with this picture?

This space is where my motor used to be! I’ve been having problems with the motor (in fact I don’t think it has ever worked right since I bought the boat eight years ago). Using my “Be Your Own Diesel Mechanic Book,” I performed all the checks and tests I knew how to do, then called a professional. The diagnosis was a blown head gasket. Bad, but not too bad. After ordering a few parts and a few hours of labor, I would be back in business…or so I thought. But as with all boat projects, one thing leads to another, which leads to another. Final diagnosis: I have a damaged piston which required taking the motor out of the boat. Ouch! Once the motor is out, you might as well replace everything that needs replacing: gaskets, gauges, rusted metal pieces I’m assuming are important and motor mounts (two of mine were broken…it’s a wonder I didn’t break my prop or rip it out, sinking the boat). “Teapot Tony”, my diesel mechanic, currently has the motor in his shop and I have the pleasant job of cleaning up all the oil and nasty gunk: twenty years work of grit, grime, and various missing screws, nuts, washers and tools irretrievably dropped underneath the motor.

Another Bus Story

A few weeks ago I went to downtown to find that elusive coffee shop. After walking past the entrance twice, I found the stairs leading up to Café Oro Verde. According to the Banderas Bay Cruising Guide, “Wen and his wife Pat roast fresh arabica beans brought down from small estate plantations high up in the Sierra Madre Mountains.” I chatted with Wen while he ground ½ kilo of medium roast coffee beans. He told me all about his female friend who has sailed around the world twice, solo. I didn’t ask, but wondered if he was talking about Ellen McArthur.

I left the coffee shop, wandered in and around some of the shops and made my way to the bus stop. I hopped aboard the bus which had “Walmart/Sam’s Club” written on the window. Almost all of the buses from downtown stop at Walmart, which is where I change buses to return to Nuevo Vallarta. However, this bus stopped before the normal bus stop for Walmart, and then made a right turn. As the bus started going through a part of town I didn’t recognize, I started thinking I should get off. But I decided to see where it went. As the bus drove east, further away from the water, I started to get a little nervous. I told myself this bus came from downtown, so surely it would return, eventually, to the same area. We passed through Pitillal, and started going up into the dusty hills. About twenty minutes into my scenic ride, I realized we weren’t driving over paved roads anymore. Even more disturbing was the fact I was the only gringo on board. Another twenty minutes and we were in a different world. This place must have been where Mexicans who only make three dollars a day live. No houses, just wood or concrete shacks using the ubiquitous Mexican blankets as doors and room dividers. Garbage was piled everywhere; in ditches, at the side of the road and in front yards. I wondered if this town had running water or even electricity. Except for a few women doing laundry or the man chopping up pinapples, the town looked deserted. One could have sold tickets on this bus as an old west ghost town tour.

The bus carefully drove over boulders and avoided ditches. It was hot, so I opened the window but there was so much dust being circulated, my sunglasses and coffee mug were soon caked with dirt. I kept thinking the bus would turn around and make its way out of the hills and back downtown, but at every turn the bus seemed to go further into the heart of this desolate city. I had no idea where I was, and if I got off now, I would have no idea how to get back. I decided to stay. Then came the school kids. Apparently this bus also served as the school bus. The town came alive with boys and girls dressed neatly in their Catholic uniforms. Almost immediately the bus filled with screams, laughter, and overloaded backpacks. The bus stopped at every block. At each stop, a few kids would get off, several would get on. Soon the bus was crowded; kids standing in the aisles and hanging on seat backs as the bus jostled along. After forty five minutes all the school kids were gone, and I was alone with the driver. The bus pulled up to a fence and stopped.

I think the driver was shocked to see me still sitting there trying to act like I was where I was supposed to be. He chuckled as I asked him if this bus was going to go back downtown. He said, “Yes” and I sighed with relief. A man came on the bus with a broom and spray bottle and ordered me to “get off”. It appears this was a routine stopping point for all buses to get cleaned. While the bus having its seats cleaned and floor swept, I stood outside wishing desperately I had brought something to eat or drink. I didn’t want to risk crossing the road to get something at the mini mercado, fearing the bus would leave as I was counting out pesos. When the bus was clean, the new driver placed a placard in the window that read “Centro”, which means the downtown area. I climbed on board giving the driver another five pesos and I was on my way. In and around Mexico, they are always selling tours: canopy tours, horseback riding, sailing excursions, swimming with dolphins, fiestas, etc, ranging in price from fifty to two hundred dollars. My 2 ½ hour tour of “real” Mexico cost me only one dollar.

Pablo

Pablo is the local crocodile that occasionally swims by my boat. This picture was taken by another boater. A few days ago, Pablo swam by, but I couldn't figure out all the fancy buttons on my new camera quick enough to catch him.

Here's Proof

After the cat story, I thought I would provide proof that Genoa is not big bully and she is capable of having friends. This dog is Nelson, who lives on the other boat next to me. They hit it off immediately and started running around in and on the boats, playing and chasing each other. Nelson went back to the States for three weeks, but Genoa still keeps looking into the portholes of the boat for him. As you can tell, I still don't trust Gen completely..she is still tied to the boat...but with a longer line now.

“…dogs are faithful and they do not tell lies because they cannot talk.”

Mark Haddon
The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Nighttime

Orea

My neighbors left today. Dave and Lurah are headed south for a bit and then in April they'll take the boat back up the Sea of Cortez. Now Genoa won't have anything to obsess about. Orea had a cat on board. And everyday Genoa would sit out on deck looking for the cat to make an appearance. A few months ago, when they first arrived, I had warned them Genoa was not a cat lover. One day, while I was at work, Genoa escaped out of my boat and made a beeline for Orea. They managed to grab her and walked her back to the boat, tying her to the toe rail. She escaped again, this time climbing on board Orea and after the cat. I'm not sure what exactly happened, but Genoa ended up getting a well deserved punch in the face. When I came home from work, Genoa was sitting on the dock, tied to the toe rail, looking for a place to hide...she knew she was in trouble. I was horrified to find out what had happened, but Dave and Lurah were so nice about the whole ordeal and even apologized for giving Genoa a black eye!