BACK ABOARD S/V VILISAR IN SAN CARLOS, SONORA, MEXICO
Monday, 24 October 2005
It’s great to be back aboard Vilisar! She survived the heat and humidity and even a few windy days during the seven weeks we were away at Rancho el Nogal in the high sierras. The bilge was dry, the familiar smells are all still there; except for dust and dirt on the outside and the fact that the wood is drying out more and more, everything is fine.
Alex had returned on his motorcycle from Chihuahua, arriving at el Nogal on Thursday evening about dark with a flat tire. A sharp rock was the culprit on the road a few miles short of the river. After a meal with Simon, Dutch and Alex – supplies were very low so it was a very makeshift meal – we polished off half a bottle of tequila together as a farewell party. Alex decided to drive to Yepachic with us in Cindy’s pickup in order to buy some food and drive the vehicle back. Our rancheros were still in Chihuahua.
After a leisurely breakfast of frijoles, huevos y tortillas (the latter made specially for us by Simon), we pack our few things into the duffle bags and throw them into the back of the truck along with two rolls of barbed wire that we are supposed to leave near the ranch gate for Simon to repair some nearby fence. We say our goodbyes to Simon and Dutch, Alex jumps in the back and off we go. The rainy season is over but, with the dozer still in the ravine, the road has not been graded. Even the road outside of the ranch is a mess. Thank goodness the 4WD works! We even used the low-range 4WD sometimes. Two jarring and dusty hours later we arrive at Lucy’s Restaurant (2 tables) and Hotel (2 rooms).
We have half an hour to spare (mas o menos; a favourite expression in the mountains) before the scheduled arrival of the daily Estella Blanca bus from Chihuahua. We drink coffee while we wait. We also keep an eye on the highway from the restaurant window; we have paid for our coffee and our kit is already outside. There is a large group of about a dozen people hanging about and we suspect they are also waiting for the bus; some will board it, some will be meeting people coming off the bus, and some will have packages to pick up from Chihuahua or load onto the bus for Obregon, eight hours to the south.
As the scheduled arrival time approaches, we start getting a little nervous and move outside to the roadside to be ready to flag down the bus. We realise that the crowd has totally dispersed, which makes us even more nervous. We ask a lady walking past us and leading a burro if the bus has already gone by. Passada? We think she says that it has not but her answer is rather lengthy and complicated so we are not exactly sure. After forty-five minutes the bus does finally hail into view over the hill at the other end of the village and eventually swooshes to a halt next to us in a cloud of roadside dust. We throw our duffels into the baggage rack beneath and climb aboard.
The bus is quite full but we get separate aisle seats near each other. Next to me sits a very small and slim and dark young man. He is also very quiet and it is some time before we come into a very limited conversation. I thought he might be native, Tarahumara perhaps, as the ones I have seen her in the Tarahumara Mountains are quite small. No, he and his three or four friends on the bus are from the Yucatan Peninsula and have been looking for work in Chihuahua. Not finding any, they are heading to Sonora to stay with family. When we pass through police checkpoints in the mountains, the Federales take them all off the bus and examine their plastic ID cards before letting them get back aboard. These highway checks by Army and police are frequent (I think we had four in all); they have them all the time but at marijuana-harvest time they are intensified. The police do not even bother to look at Kathleen’s U.S. passport and glance only cursorily at my Canadian papers. So far in Mexico nobody has ever asked to see our official Tourist Visa.
The road back down to Obregon is of course the same incredibly winding highway that we took up nearly two months ago. It seems to me that the two drivers going down are going rather more slowly than the drivers on the way up but that is subjective. Maybe I am just getting used to roads and driving in the mountains and think everybody should be shooting along like it is the Rally Monte Carlo. Once, on a right-hand curve the driver hits the brakes hard and pulls to the shoulder in time to avoid an eighteen-wheeler crawling up and cutting the curve. The road is plenty wide but we have to back up the hill to allow the lorry to pass; a second lorry waits for us to come down. A few hours later as it is getting near dusk, the same thing occurs again when a white tractor without a trailer forces us off the road on a right-hand curve. The truck keeps going on up the mountain road but we have to back and fill to get out of the soft shoulder. When we have done so, the drivers discover that the stainless steel tire rim on the right side is badly crimped. It will not be particularly safe to be driving on it but it is also clearly not such a hot idea to be changing tires on steep mountain roads in a blind curve.
The male passengers have used the opportunity for a pit stop. Eventually half the bus passengers are standing around looking and commenting on the tire. Before the driver loads us all back in, I get to talking to the only other Anglo-looking person. Her name is Leila and she hails from Aarau and Bern in Switzerland. She has been working as a volunteer at an animal shelter in Guadalajara and is using some of her remaining time to tour Mexico. She is flabbergasted to find somebody on a mountain bus in the Sierras speaking Deutsch to her. Soon the three of us are chatting away. Before taking our places again, we agree to look for an hotel together when we get to Obregon, which will obviously be a lot later than we anticipated.
After dark, when we have reached the coastal plain and are still and hour and one-half short of Ciudad Obregon, the drivers pull off the road and change the tire on the dusty shoulder. A half hour later we are on the way again at speed. We pull into the Central Depot about 2200 local time. We are an hour behind Chihuahua time and about three hours behind schedule).
We ask around and are directed to Hotel Doris. It is extra clean and very cheap even by comparison to Hotel San Juan in Chihuahua. We agree that the three of us could share a room and save some pesos; a large room with WC/shower and two double beds costs us Pesos 210. With the money we save we go to a Chinese restaurant for a warm meal. I ask when we enter if they serve frijoles, tortillas y huevos. When they answered in the negative (the Chinese lady looked at me like I was nuts), we decide to stay.
This next morning, Saturday, we are up early due to the time change and catch the two-hour bus to Guaymas at 0800. There is a price war going on and the tickets have been reduced by 50 percent to only Pesos 40. It is strange to have the coastal desert flying past the window and a trite Hollywood romantic comedy playing as a DVD in the bus. Leila, who had originally vaguely considered viewing Obregon, had asked if she could come to Guaymas with us. She wants to see the Pacific at least once. Sure thing. We have become good travelling friends now and enjoy each other’s company. We ask her if she wants to stay with us aboard Vilisar in San Carlos.
After catching the local bus to San Carlos, we get a lift out to Vilisar, glad at last to be “home.” I was sad to leave the ranch but now I am glad to be back aboard. I have a large legal document to translate before we can leave; it has to be in by Wednesday night. So we will stay here till I get it sent off. We can definitely use the money. Leila and Kathy are taking it easy on the boat. They have done some laundry and light grocery shopping. Kathy is stowing things ready for putting to sea. The ladies will head into Guaymas today or tomorrow to hit the big supermarket to re-provision us for the Sea of Cortés crossing at the weekend. We want to be in La Paz by 31Oct05 to meet Bob Ferguson coming down by trawler from Seattle. We will likely do the crossing in one shot; even with good winds it should take two or three days to get to La Paz. Time to use our windvane steering and get used to standing watch again. If Leila sails with us as crew, that will make watchkeeping that much less onerous. Unfortunately, we will not have a moon to light up the sea for us.
The weather here is just about perfect. The daytime temperatures are in low 80’s ° F (mid 20,s ° C) and it is dewy and cool at night. This does not prevent us from sitting on deck till about 2100. We are glad to have light blankets for sleeping. The bay water is much, much cooler now too. The winter winds have apparently set in and are blowing every day from the west or northwest. The forecast for the weekend puts them back to the SW and SE, unfortunately. That may delay our departure or force us to motor it, which we definitely do not want to do.
My shoulder seems to have heeled quite well but I have several very painful ribs. Lying down or standing up or rolling over in bed are very painful and sudden moves or lifting can cause a jab like a knife. Other physical work is for some reason all right. I still take lots of Ibuprofen and recall Dr. Karl Wetklo’s words in Frankfurt when I cracked a rib or two in a fall from a bicycle (actually, I maintain I was thrown), “Well, I can wrap up your ribs tight and it will take six weeks for them heal. Or I can do nothing and it will take a month and one-half.” Grin and bear it.
Monday, 24 October 2005
It’s great to be back aboard Vilisar! She survived the heat and humidity and even a few windy days during the seven weeks we were away at Rancho el Nogal in the high sierras. The bilge was dry, the familiar smells are all still there; except for dust and dirt on the outside and the fact that the wood is drying out more and more, everything is fine.
Alex had returned on his motorcycle from Chihuahua, arriving at el Nogal on Thursday evening about dark with a flat tire. A sharp rock was the culprit on the road a few miles short of the river. After a meal with Simon, Dutch and Alex – supplies were very low so it was a very makeshift meal – we polished off half a bottle of tequila together as a farewell party. Alex decided to drive to Yepachic with us in Cindy’s pickup in order to buy some food and drive the vehicle back. Our rancheros were still in Chihuahua.
After a leisurely breakfast of frijoles, huevos y tortillas (the latter made specially for us by Simon), we pack our few things into the duffle bags and throw them into the back of the truck along with two rolls of barbed wire that we are supposed to leave near the ranch gate for Simon to repair some nearby fence. We say our goodbyes to Simon and Dutch, Alex jumps in the back and off we go. The rainy season is over but, with the dozer still in the ravine, the road has not been graded. Even the road outside of the ranch is a mess. Thank goodness the 4WD works! We even used the low-range 4WD sometimes. Two jarring and dusty hours later we arrive at Lucy’s Restaurant (2 tables) and Hotel (2 rooms).
We have half an hour to spare (mas o menos; a favourite expression in the mountains) before the scheduled arrival of the daily Estella Blanca bus from Chihuahua. We drink coffee while we wait. We also keep an eye on the highway from the restaurant window; we have paid for our coffee and our kit is already outside. There is a large group of about a dozen people hanging about and we suspect they are also waiting for the bus; some will board it, some will be meeting people coming off the bus, and some will have packages to pick up from Chihuahua or load onto the bus for Obregon, eight hours to the south.
As the scheduled arrival time approaches, we start getting a little nervous and move outside to the roadside to be ready to flag down the bus. We realise that the crowd has totally dispersed, which makes us even more nervous. We ask a lady walking past us and leading a burro if the bus has already gone by. Passada? We think she says that it has not but her answer is rather lengthy and complicated so we are not exactly sure. After forty-five minutes the bus does finally hail into view over the hill at the other end of the village and eventually swooshes to a halt next to us in a cloud of roadside dust. We throw our duffels into the baggage rack beneath and climb aboard.
The bus is quite full but we get separate aisle seats near each other. Next to me sits a very small and slim and dark young man. He is also very quiet and it is some time before we come into a very limited conversation. I thought he might be native, Tarahumara perhaps, as the ones I have seen her in the Tarahumara Mountains are quite small. No, he and his three or four friends on the bus are from the Yucatan Peninsula and have been looking for work in Chihuahua. Not finding any, they are heading to Sonora to stay with family. When we pass through police checkpoints in the mountains, the Federales take them all off the bus and examine their plastic ID cards before letting them get back aboard. These highway checks by Army and police are frequent (I think we had four in all); they have them all the time but at marijuana-harvest time they are intensified. The police do not even bother to look at Kathleen’s U.S. passport and glance only cursorily at my Canadian papers. So far in Mexico nobody has ever asked to see our official Tourist Visa.
The road back down to Obregon is of course the same incredibly winding highway that we took up nearly two months ago. It seems to me that the two drivers going down are going rather more slowly than the drivers on the way up but that is subjective. Maybe I am just getting used to roads and driving in the mountains and think everybody should be shooting along like it is the Rally Monte Carlo. Once, on a right-hand curve the driver hits the brakes hard and pulls to the shoulder in time to avoid an eighteen-wheeler crawling up and cutting the curve. The road is plenty wide but we have to back up the hill to allow the lorry to pass; a second lorry waits for us to come down. A few hours later as it is getting near dusk, the same thing occurs again when a white tractor without a trailer forces us off the road on a right-hand curve. The truck keeps going on up the mountain road but we have to back and fill to get out of the soft shoulder. When we have done so, the drivers discover that the stainless steel tire rim on the right side is badly crimped. It will not be particularly safe to be driving on it but it is also clearly not such a hot idea to be changing tires on steep mountain roads in a blind curve.
The male passengers have used the opportunity for a pit stop. Eventually half the bus passengers are standing around looking and commenting on the tire. Before the driver loads us all back in, I get to talking to the only other Anglo-looking person. Her name is Leila and she hails from Aarau and Bern in Switzerland. She has been working as a volunteer at an animal shelter in Guadalajara and is using some of her remaining time to tour Mexico. She is flabbergasted to find somebody on a mountain bus in the Sierras speaking Deutsch to her. Soon the three of us are chatting away. Before taking our places again, we agree to look for an hotel together when we get to Obregon, which will obviously be a lot later than we anticipated.
After dark, when we have reached the coastal plain and are still and hour and one-half short of Ciudad Obregon, the drivers pull off the road and change the tire on the dusty shoulder. A half hour later we are on the way again at speed. We pull into the Central Depot about 2200 local time. We are an hour behind Chihuahua time and about three hours behind schedule).
We ask around and are directed to Hotel Doris. It is extra clean and very cheap even by comparison to Hotel San Juan in Chihuahua. We agree that the three of us could share a room and save some pesos; a large room with WC/shower and two double beds costs us Pesos 210. With the money we save we go to a Chinese restaurant for a warm meal. I ask when we enter if they serve frijoles, tortillas y huevos. When they answered in the negative (the Chinese lady looked at me like I was nuts), we decide to stay.
This next morning, Saturday, we are up early due to the time change and catch the two-hour bus to Guaymas at 0800. There is a price war going on and the tickets have been reduced by 50 percent to only Pesos 40. It is strange to have the coastal desert flying past the window and a trite Hollywood romantic comedy playing as a DVD in the bus. Leila, who had originally vaguely considered viewing Obregon, had asked if she could come to Guaymas with us. She wants to see the Pacific at least once. Sure thing. We have become good travelling friends now and enjoy each other’s company. We ask her if she wants to stay with us aboard Vilisar in San Carlos.
After catching the local bus to San Carlos, we get a lift out to Vilisar, glad at last to be “home.” I was sad to leave the ranch but now I am glad to be back aboard. I have a large legal document to translate before we can leave; it has to be in by Wednesday night. So we will stay here till I get it sent off. We can definitely use the money. Leila and Kathy are taking it easy on the boat. They have done some laundry and light grocery shopping. Kathy is stowing things ready for putting to sea. The ladies will head into Guaymas today or tomorrow to hit the big supermarket to re-provision us for the Sea of Cortés crossing at the weekend. We want to be in La Paz by 31Oct05 to meet Bob Ferguson coming down by trawler from Seattle. We will likely do the crossing in one shot; even with good winds it should take two or three days to get to La Paz. Time to use our windvane steering and get used to standing watch again. If Leila sails with us as crew, that will make watchkeeping that much less onerous. Unfortunately, we will not have a moon to light up the sea for us.
The weather here is just about perfect. The daytime temperatures are in low 80’s ° F (mid 20,s ° C) and it is dewy and cool at night. This does not prevent us from sitting on deck till about 2100. We are glad to have light blankets for sleeping. The bay water is much, much cooler now too. The winter winds have apparently set in and are blowing every day from the west or northwest. The forecast for the weekend puts them back to the SW and SE, unfortunately. That may delay our departure or force us to motor it, which we definitely do not want to do.
My shoulder seems to have heeled quite well but I have several very painful ribs. Lying down or standing up or rolling over in bed are very painful and sudden moves or lifting can cause a jab like a knife. Other physical work is for some reason all right. I still take lots of Ibuprofen and recall Dr. Karl Wetklo’s words in Frankfurt when I cracked a rib or two in a fall from a bicycle (actually, I maintain I was thrown), “Well, I can wrap up your ribs tight and it will take six weeks for them heal. Or I can do nothing and it will take a month and one-half.” Grin and bear it.
posted by rjb @ Monday, October 24, 2005
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