	Chapter Two Tied up in Marina Cabo After spending three nights of electrical bliss in the inner harbor, we moved to the outer bay and anchored. The waters here are as clean and clear as the inner waters are nasty. The inner harbor water most closely resembles chunky split pea soup (with ham). Outside we're surrounded by jellyfish which resemble shimmering undersea wraiths along with schools of trumpet, coronet and the occasional trombone and tuba fish. We've witnessed some spectacular wildlife shows despite all the hustle and bustle of this being one huge tourist attraction. It's not uncommon to see large schools of bait fish boil to the surface and tail walk across half the bay. On somewhat rarer occasions we've seen whose giving chase as well. Usually, it's a young 1 to 2-foot dorado, but a couple of times we've witnessed candle apple metal flake silver blue and green marlin do some Michael Jordan style leaps with a grace and nonchalance that could shame the entire NBA. We took Jack William's advice and had drinks and dinner at the Whale Bar of the Hotel Finesterra. I would say that it was inexpensive but I suspect that by the time we climbed the hill we were just too damn tired to eat much. The bar is cut into the side of the hill overlooking the furthest point south on the Baja peninsula. Night or day the view is breathtaking provided the climb up doesn't send you into cardiac arrest. It's no small wonder that a fleet of taxis is waiting at the bottom of the hill. Gringo Sprawl in Cabo Someone somewhere mentioned that Cabo was so gringo that it even had tattooed gangbangers from LA roaming the streets. We met some tattooed kids from LA but they were hawking timeshare condos and memberships at the coming Hilton resort and casino, or para-sailing or some other nonsense. Some other idiot mentioned graffiti and tagging as being rampant here but we haven't seen anything of the sort. We have noticed a certain rustic quality to signage here and there. It's also clear that the murals we've seen both here and in the small villages up the coast were done by, well, some of Mexico's lesser known artists, but a graffiti problem, no way. We've found so many English speaking people it's hard to believe we're actually in Mexico and that maybe one of the reasons we've hung around so long. I've discovered the hard way that the scarcity of people on the way down has left me somewhat shaken in my belief of the sailor as loner. The admiral, on the other hand, wants to blow this joint and move on. Several guidebooks mentioned that this is the most expensive place in Mexico to provision but that has not been born out by the facts either. Diesel here is the lowest anywhere in Baja and only in La Paz will groceries be any cheaper (provided you're willing to schlep a couple of extra blocks). We have a number of repairs to make, mostly to our main sail. The plastic shackles between the sail and slugs are breaking slugs every time we let the main out. I finally sew on webbing to replace all of the shackles. We've also got several tears along the luff to mend. Our solution is to use spray-on contact cement to stick sunbrella patches to the torn areas. Our old cast iron, hand cranked Pfaff sewing machine was lugged up on deck and we reinforced the patches with several rows of stitches. Anchored in Bahia Del Cabo Our outboard also needed attention. We just bought it from an old friend at a price that guarantees we won't feel bad if we drop it in deep water or some enterprising kid takes it for a one-way joyride. Due to the press of getting the boat ready and provisioned, I've not bought anything more for it other that a spare set of plugs and a new fuel tank. Big mistake! The carburetor was thought to have a bit of varnish from old fuel inside the bowl. It had been cutting off intermittently since we left San Pedro. I pull it apart to find a junkyard in the fuel bowl. Once it was cleaned and reassembled it ran fine for about two seconds. Then the water pump impeller failed. It's an old 8 horse Suzuki. Were it a 75 horse Yamaha I could have found parts at Aramburo's Supermercado. I picked up a close impeller at Coast and dug out a spare macerator impeller which also bore a passing resemblance. The impeller I bought is a lost cause. The macerator impeller which I glued to the old impeller hub lasts for about twenty minutes. I take it back apart, reglue it and reassemble it and reserve the outboard for emergencies only. It's February 18th. After two weeks and two days in Cabo, we haul anchor and head northeast. The City of Peace is waiting.

Chapter Two

Tied up in Marina Cabo

After spending three nights of electrical bliss in the inner harbor, we moved to the outer bay and anchored. The waters here are as clean and clear as the inner waters are nasty. The inner harbor water most closely resembles chunky split pea soup (with ham). Outside we're surrounded by jellyfish which resemble shimmering undersea wraiths along with schools of trumpet, coronet and the occasional trombone and tuba fish. We've witnessed some spectacular wildlife shows despite all the hustle and bustle of this being one huge tourist attraction. It's not uncommon to see large schools of bait fish boil to the surface and tail walk across half the bay. On somewhat rarer occasions we've seen whose giving chase as well. Usually, it's a young 1 to 2-foot dorado, but a couple of times we've witnessed candle apple metal flake silver blue and green marlin do some Michael Jordan style leaps with a grace and nonchalance that could shame the entire NBA.

We took Jack William's advice and had drinks and dinner at the Whale Bar of the Hotel Finesterra. I would say that it was inexpensive but I suspect that by the time we climbed the hill we were just too damn tired to eat much. The bar is cut into the side of the hill overlooking the furthest point south on the Baja peninsula. Night or day the view is breathtaking provided the climb up doesn't send you into cardiac arrest. It's no small wonder that a fleet of taxis is waiting at the bottom of the hill.

Gringo Sprawl in Cabo

Someone somewhere mentioned that Cabo was so gringo that it even had tattooed gangbangers from LA roaming the streets. We met some tattooed kids from LA but they were hawking timeshare condos and memberships at the coming Hilton resort and casino, or para-sailing or some other nonsense. Some other idiot mentioned graffiti and tagging as being rampant here but we haven't seen anything of the sort. We have noticed a certain rustic quality to signage here and there. It's also clear that the murals we've seen both here and in the small villages up the coast were done by, well, some of Mexico's lesser known artists, but a graffiti problem, no way. We've found so many English speaking people it's hard to believe we're actually in Mexico and that maybe one of the reasons we've hung around so long. I've discovered the hard way that the scarcity of people on the way down has left me somewhat shaken in my belief of the sailor as loner. The admiral, on the other hand, wants to blow this joint and move on. Several guidebooks mentioned that this is the most expensive place in Mexico to provision but that has not been born out by the facts either. Diesel here is the lowest anywhere in Baja and only in La Paz will groceries be any cheaper (provided you're willing to schlep a couple of extra blocks).

We have a number of repairs to make, mostly to our main sail. The plastic shackles between the sail and slugs are breaking slugs every time we let the main out. I finally sew on webbing to replace all of the shackles. We've also got several tears along the luff to mend. Our solution is to use spray-on contact cement to stick sunbrella patches to the torn areas. Our old cast iron, hand cranked Pfaff sewing machine was lugged up on deck and we reinforced the patches with several rows of stitches.

Anchored in Bahia Del Cabo

Our outboard also needed attention. We just bought it from an old friend at a price that guarantees we won't feel bad if we drop it in deep water or some enterprising kid takes it for a one-way joyride. Due to the press of getting the boat ready and provisioned, I've not bought anything more for it other that a spare set of plugs and a new fuel tank. Big mistake! The carburetor was thought to have a bit of varnish from old fuel inside the bowl. It had been cutting off intermittently since we left San Pedro. I pull it apart to find a junkyard in the fuel bowl. Once it was cleaned and reassembled it ran fine for about two seconds. Then the water pump impeller failed. It's an old 8 horse Suzuki. Were it a 75 horse Yamaha I could have found parts at Aramburo's Supermercado. I picked up a close impeller at Coast and dug out a spare macerator impeller which also bore a passing resemblance. The impeller I bought is a lost cause. The macerator impeller which I glued to the old impeller hub lasts for about twenty minutes. I take it back apart, reglue it and reassemble it and reserve the outboard for emergencies only.

It's February 18th. After two weeks and two days in Cabo, we haul anchor and head northeast. The City of Peace is waiting.