Lyn's Log, 2nd March 2009
Ensenada, Mexico

Ensenada, Mexico
N31º51', W116º38'
19,988 miles.

We did not leave San Diego in the early hours of the 20th, when we should have for a passage of at least twelve hours, as it looked cold and foggy. No, we lazed about until the sun began to burn off the mist, and departed at a quarter to nine. That of course meant we arrived at our first Mexican port, Ensenada, after dark and, unable to raise any reply from the marina or even work out where it was exactly in the large harbour, we had to anchor outside in the bay, where we rolled around in the swells all night.

Next morning we found our way to Baja Naval marina and were introduced to Rogelio, a personable young Mexican who spoke excellent English and who seemed to go out of his way to accomodate us. This included the suggestion that we stay over the weekend to avoid overtime fees for checking into the country, which as he pointed out, would save the cost of the extra night in the marina. On Monday, he came with us to the collective office of Immigration, Port Captain and Customs to help us deal with Mexico's formidable bureaucracy. So many copies of every piece of paper are needed, that someone had set up shop with a photocopier outside the office just for this purpose! Even with all the departments being in different parts of the same building, it still took us all day to complete the process, and quite a lot of money. The very last step before leaving was to press a button on what looked like a small traffic light. This randomly lit either green, clear to go, or red, and they all came and searched your boat. Thankfully we got the green light and exited.

After the USA, our first impression of Ensenada was one of unkempt streets and buildings. The beaten-up state of the cars was explained when we watched a guy parking in a tight spot by simply ramming the cars ahead and behind until he had enough room. But the people did not look so poor when we saw them out and about in the evening ‘paseo’, that custom so typical of Spanish countries of families out strolling along the esplanade, socialising. We watched one large family paying to have their photo taken on the sea-wall by a guy with an ancient Polaroid camera, then going through the ritual of heating the plate under his armpit to develop it and the excitement as the blotchy picture was peeled off - even though they had digital cameras of their own.

We were to stay much longer than the weekend. The weather ahead looked a bit uncertain, so on Tuesday we rather tentatively asked Rogelio about a haul-out and bottom paint, so long overdue since it was last done in Trinidad as we could not afford USA prices - nor cope with their environmental regulations. True to form, he was soon back with a "very special deal" and a promise we could be hauled tomorrow and the job completed by the weekend, so we decided to go ahead. The truth was, the yard were short of work. We would not be allowed to do any work below the waterline ourselves, but could repaint the topsides.

Once out we added a list of extras: fitting a new cutlass bearing, changing a seacock, and fitting a new depth-sounder we had bought in the USA. We knew this last in particular was going to be tricky, but we extracted favourable quotes and a promise that they could still do everything by the weekend. That seemed extremely optimistic to us, but we agreed anyway.

It was carnival week in Ensenada. On Sunday there was a fancy parade with twenty or so floats down the main street. The kings and queens on the floats, wearing long trains covered in sequins and bright shiny colours, threw out open bags of confetti so that everyone was sprayed. The ‘Aids’ float threw out packets of condoms, which the women collected with glee. It was hardly a lavish affair but the crowds were jumping around and shouting, making the most of it.

Early Wednesday morning while waiting for the haul-out I heard trumpets and drums and thought a marching band was coming along the sea front. It was Flag Day. Next to the Baja Naval yard was a paved square in which was the tallest flagpole I've ever seen. The enormous flag had been lowered and was held off the ground by around twenty-five soldiers. There were several uniformed groups of children presented with a flag per group, some dignitaries, a small military band, a group of school children ready to play xylophones, and the soldiers, saluting the flag being raised, singing the national anthem and listening to speeches. I thought it looked quite spectacular but apart from invited guests and a few parents, we were probably the only onlookers. "The army is always holding parades," said Rogelio cynically when we asked him about it. "Do you know, in Mexico City the flag is so large it takes seventy-five soldiers to hold it."

Thursday and Friday on Sentinel were just amazing. The workers were like a swarm of bees round a hive. Everything was complete except the final fit of the depth-sounder into its newly welded holder on the bottom of the hull. We were exhausted, having painted the entire topsides and repacked the stern and rudder glands ourselves while they worked beneath. Never before have we seen so many things accomplished on a boat in so short a time. The yard was very well run. They had good equipment, were safety conscious, and the guys all seemed very happy working there. Every lunch hour, they all got together to play volley-ball in the centre of the yard. However we realised that in order to relaunch us on Saturday they would have to skimp painting the new depth-sounder holder below the waterline. We offered to do the job ourselves putting on the necessary five coats over the weekend, so we were eventually relaunched on Monday 2nd March.