My sailing season has drawn to its end, my boat Intermezzo set to be hauled out and put in dry storage for the hurricane season, me departing La Paz on a plane back to San Francisco. The time since launching Intermezzo last November in Loreto has been revelatory for me, especially the past few months. In terms of expressing myself, it has been a quiet time for me. I haven’t written much, nor have I done much to advance my various life plans. Yet in terms of personal experience, it has been very lively time, a period during which I broke through a lot of existential and emotional turbulence to reach what feels like a plateau of a more clear, peaceful existence.
I enjoyed making new friends in La Paz, a cosmopolitan mix of slightly roguish polymaths- Chris, Johan, Barbara, John, Magua, Alejandra, Michael, Sheri, Alex, Tamara- each some combination of artist, chef, diver, designer, mariner, animal lover, treasure hunter, gear head, builder, environmentalist, escapee and/or entrepreneur, and all of whom are enjoying rich expat lives in this small Mexican city. I enjoyed making new animal friends, too; the serious, solid dog Jelly Bean and her floozy pal, Mimi, the dinner party cockatoo Gnasher, who has his own reconfigurable condo of boxes, and Sir Geoffery, a big stately heron, Lord of Dock 4 in Marina Palmira, who frequently fished from and shat upon Intermezzo.
I enjoyed beautiful moments and experiences.
Every day in the marina I would look off the stern of the boat at a school of colorful striped sergeant majors swimming near the surface of clear water. A big red pargo (snapper) spent a lot of time in the shade of the hull, occasionally venturing out to grab a bite to eat. I was startled one day by a splash that sounded like a person had fallen into the water, only to discover a wolf pack of juvenile tuna hunting around the boat, leaping out of the water in aggressive pursuit of prey.
I witnessed so many beautiful sunsets, each one a unique display of light and color, each a time to be quietly awestruck and grateful and to take in the glory of impermanence.
I beheld many of these sunsets during my evening runs along La Paz’s seaside malecón, in the company of other runners, bikers, strollers, sitters; singles, couples, friends, families, old, young and in-between, all out enjoying the cooling off of the day, the sea breeze and the colors of the sky. My sense of belonging to a community was reinforced each week at the convivial Tuesday and Saturday street market, where beautiful fresh produce and artisanal cheeses, meats, pastas, bread and pastries are sold and English, Spanish, French and Italian are spoken, sometimes separately, more often mixed together.
I enjoyed a short cruise with my brothers Philip and Andrew and nephew Ian. I can’t recall ever having been together with both my brothers without other family around and I’m glad to report that we got along famously, nothing broke, no one was injured and Ian fit right in. We are each so different, yet it is clear we are of the same blood.
I spent a week teaching Tamlyn, a musician-friend launching herself into a new chapter of empty-nested life, how to sail so that she might serve as crew on other boats as part of her wanderlust travel plans. In between lessons, we shared stories about our lives, where we are currently pointing ourselves and wondering aloud what might lie ahead, reveling in the freedom that comes with not knowing.
I was re-acquainted with scuba diving and my experience with the underwater world expanded by Chris, an expert diver who is at home under the water as I have ever seen another human being. During a chilly exploration of a rocky reef, we picked up a few sea urchins off the bottom, cracked them open and ate uni sashimi in the water while clinging to rocks shivering, saltwater splashing into our mouths, accenting the sweet-salty flavor of the urchins. On another dive, we coaxed a big olive-green moray eel partly out of its rock cave home by offering it a tasty scallop to eat, another mollusk sacrificed for another’s culinary enjoyment. We spent a hot late afternoon diving down dozens of algae-covered pilings looking for seahorses that should have been there but weren’t, discovering some other beautiful creatures instead.
Over multiple cruises, I got to know the uninhabited and protected islands Isla Espíritu Santo and its northern partner, Isla Partida really well. Not a comprehensive knowledge of the entire islands, but rather detailed, granular familiarity with the waters of specific coves, segments of sandy shoreline and lengths of a few dry, bouldered arroyos that cleave between steep rocky slopes. The same sort of intimate familiarity with the natural environment I enjoyed from exploring the woods, swamp and creek behind the house I grew up on a bigger island in New York. The Sea of Cortez is a truly special place on this planet, a place where colorful dramatic terrain divides the dark blue sea from the clear blue sky with very little human development, very few people, few land animals, lots of birds, teaming with sea life, strong breezes, dark starry nights.
I actually did get some “real” work done while in living in Baja. I helped a construction management company launch an ownership transition that will bring in a new generation of leaders to sustain the firm’s success. I appreciate that my fellow company directors assent to my Mexican sailing lifestyle and allow me to work remotely, indeed, sometimes from very remote locations on the water. I made a dent in writing a financial management book, albeit a shallow one so far, but a definite dent.
Renee, closest friend and co-captain of Intermezzo, joined me for a final week-long cruise of the season and to help prepare for hauling out and dry storage. We visited our favorite anchorages on the islands and interrupted our mostly lazing around and reading on the boat with snorkeling and kayaking. Each evening we would grab a bottle of wine and make a short excursion to watch the sunset, a different place each time. By far the best one was when we ventured about a mile offshore with the dinghy, cut the engine and drifted, sipping wine while dozens of mobula rays leaped, back flipped, and belly flopped with slap-splashes all around us. These strange looking but very beautiful rays have wingspan of two to three feet, black topsides, bright white bellies, eyes on two separated stalks, sleek gill slits, and long skinny tails. They gather in groups of as few as a half dozen as many as 50 individuals and engage in long, lively displays of hydro-aerobatics, we reckoned as courting behavior. Sitting in the dinghy, drinking wine as the sun set watching them was simply one of the most magical moments I have ever experienced.
I could limit what I recount here to the highs of my experience, but I feel it important to mention the lows, for as Kahlil Gibran writes, “Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.” However, I choose to put a finger on my own scale and tilt it towards joy by only briefly summarizing my lows.
I suffered through the pain of letting go of some desires, dreams and beliefs that were hurting me, but to which I was strongly attached. I am saddened by the distance I perceive opening up between me and my previous life, my good friends and my family. I spent my birthday by myself, trying to appreciate my solitude, but mostly feeling lonely. I slept too much with no one around or compelling duties to rouse me out of bed, losing many hours of life aware to the drug of foggy slumber. I lost preciously earned progress in my yoga from lack of a suitable space to practice. I am still beating myself up as a sailor for a boneheaded navigational error that nearly had me running Intermezzo dead into an anchored Mexican navy vessel. All “first world” problems, easy to feel embarrassed about listing compared to the life-and-death struggles of so many others, but they are my problems.
I started my time here in November feeling off-balnce, uncomfortable with myself, distracted by a confusing movie running in my head, and self-absorbed. I’m ending the season feeling much calmer, accepting, grateful, resolved to simply be honest, kind and good, the best that I can be to others. As to my plans going forward, they are neatly summed up by two placards hung on the forward and aft bulkheads of author William Least Heat-Moon’s boat Nikawa, respectively, “PROCEED AS THE WAY OPENS” (re-iterated from my previous post), and “AVOID IRRITATION”.
Goodbye Baja. Thanks for everything.