Tag: Mazatlan
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No Trouble
Trouble’s gone. After a week anchored nearby, the blue-striped sailboat was gone when I got up this morning. Huzzah! (Boat names are sometimes quite direct. Best to pay attention.) I contacted another instructor when Anxiety refused to let me sail solo. “Knowing you can sail is different from hoping you can,” she pointed out in the wee…
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Leap of Faith
Three nights on the hook. Anchored. A lost security bracelet (gate key) prompts check out from the marina. Sign from god: no more access to hot showers and wifi. Oh no! Am I ready? But maybe I don’t have to feel ready. Maybe I just have to listen. This has happened before. On Kaua’i, the 4Runner key…
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Boat Life
It seemed simple enough. Scrub the rust off the old propane tank and paint it. Then I’ll have two tanks, including the new one I just bought, filled, and installed. Phase one goes well. I lay a blue tarp on the dirt next to Casa Maria restaurant (now closed), spray vinegar on the rust-encrusted metal,…
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Good Friday
Red flags all week, the Harbor Master’s way of saying, don’t go out, don’t come in. But this morning I finally spy a yellow flag — yes! — proceed with caution. (No one I know has ever seen any other colors on the pole. Flags are either red or yellow.) I quickly ready Habibi for adventure: covers off the…
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Solo
Four foot waves at the narrow mouth of the channel into the marina. The depth sounder seems to be measuring them — oops, five feet — instead of the distance to the ocean floor. Habibi’s draft is six feet and we haven’t run aground, so I’m guessing. I’ve joked that, since she is fiberglass, I’ve…
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Making It
“You bought a boat, then advertised for sailing lessons?” Not quite, Mister Skeptic. You may go now. But, yes, I am taking lessons again, after putting up a notice in the marina office. Docking was on the agenda for the first one, very different from catching a mooring ball. Concrete to ram into, for one thing. Which I…
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Women
Happy International Women’s Day! Yesterday after a swim near La Playa Las Brujas (Witches Beach), I ambled around an older part of Mazatlán. Women sold me eggs and pomegranates, cut a length of yolk yellow fabric, and served me tacos carne asada. Women directed me to the ocean, a bakery, and bed sheets. I chatted…
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BeLoved
Quizá puedo ir a conocer Habibi cuando obscurezca, wrote a friend. Maybe I can get to know the Beloved when it’s dark. At first I didn’t understand. And then I realized that he really is an angel, telling me the truth of life, whether he knows it or not. I came to know the Beloved when my life was…
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Olas
“Surfer dude!” said a woman as I walked back from a session, board on head. I smiled. Mazatlán has waves. Olas, in Spanish. Which sounds like Hola. Which means hello. Hello, waves! It’s been a while. “Te quiero,” I texted recently. I love you. Radio silence ensued, yet I’m glad I sent the message. I…
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Capitana
“¿Capitana?” asks Guillermina, the manager of Marina Mazatlán. Are you the Captain? “Sí,” I reply, yes, and she smiles widely. A man comes in the office while I am signing the docking contract. “She is the Captain,” she brags, and he gives me a thumbs-up. Role model! Because I am doing what I am supposed…
essays by shé 