After months of dealing with the struggle of life at anchor we pull into the marina. It’s a cozy, safe feeling. We are giddy with excitement as we plug into shore power. Soon we are washing salt off the decks and rigging with a seemingly endless supply of fresh water. No more garbage stored in the anchor locker, the dumpster is just a few steps away. Our faithful dinghy serves not as our lifeline to the outside world, but as a shade for the forward hatch. As the days pass, we loose track of the weather, the tides, and the phase of the moon. The assimilation into marina life is complete. We saunter down the dock on our way to a grocery store, a restaurant, or a happy hour. The slip fees add up quickly, but life is good and everyone around us is paying the big bucks. It feels so right, it can’t be wrong. After a few weeks, we have made a trip home to see family and friends and significant progress on the boat projects list. One day, the harbor master knocks on our boat and wants to know when we are leaving. You mean we have to leave?! We commit to a departure date and the countdown is on. The stragglers on our list of marina chores get completed. We announce to friends that we are leaving the marina to go anchor out in the bay. The response from one of our marina mates: “You mean you’re giving up your slip?!” Yes, cold turkey.
So we are back on the hook. We found a nice little spot in front of the malecon (the
strip) near the municipal pier. There is
no one anchored to the north of us, so when the forecasted north winds blow
later in the week we don’t have to worry about another boat dragging down on
us. We are quite happy to have extracted
our selves from the marina, and I provide Trisha with a daily tally of how much
money we have saved. La Paz