The journey home

It took us four days to get back to the boat from Portland. Two long
flights, one night attempting to sleep in the Atlanta airport, two days in San
Salvador waiting for Jeff’s fugitive luggage to arrive, a 12+ hour bus ride
across two international borders back to Tapachula, and a harrowing 30 minute
cab ride in a deluge to Marina Chiapas. On our final leg, the taxi driver was
doubled over his steering wheel, navigating slowly through the driving rain, his
windshield wipers ineffective against the onslaught. Every couple of minutes he
would use a rag to wipe the condensation from the inside of the windshield,
which had cracks emanating from the center. Oh, and the seatbelts? The
seatbelts were nonexistent. Ah, Mexico,
nice to see you again.

The anticipation between us was palpable during the final stretch. We kept
repeating the phrase “I’m so excited for…” filling in the latter part of the
sentence with different things we had come to miss during our time in the
States. Tack. Tacos. Warm ocean swimming. Sailing. Being in our own space. Distance
does make the heart grow fonder. As we neared the marina, Jeff gripped my
shoulder. So close.

Using a small covered space next to the parking lot as our
staging area, we unloaded our things. The taxi driver had delivered us safely,
and for that we determined he had earned a 50% tip, which Jeff appropriately
dubbed “hazard pay.”

There was no point in shielding ourselves from the rain, we
were going to get wet…we were going to get drenched. We scurried with our
things, one or two bags at a time, depositing them, dripping, into our boat.

What we came to find was that things remained largely
unchanged. One of our 12v fans went kaput, our big tarp got shredded in a big
windstorm, there are a couple new leaks (rainy season in Central
America will test the water tightness of any vessel), and there was mold in places I never would have expected it (on
our pots and pans?), but otherwise Serenity was as we left her, floating. Two
months was long enough, though.

It’s strange how my concept of home keeps changing. We went
“home” to the Pacific Northwest for the summer, and all summer I was
replenishing my desire to return “home” to the boat in Mexico. Home is
a fluid concept – I feel at home on the boat with Jeff and Tack, and yet Mexico is not
my home. It’s dissonant, yet comforting to take home with you to new, foreign
places. After being on the road for four days, traveling via plane, bus and
taxi, I must say that I prefer traveling by home.

Date night in El Salvador! Pizza Hut and movies! This time around we were staying in what seemed like the wealthy suburbs. US fast food chains as far as the eye could see. The Pizza Hut near our hotel also served breakfast. Omelettes are apparently all the rage here. Please forgive the photo, I was trying out the self-timer and just barely made it to the bed in time. I also took Jeff by surprise as I hurled myself toward him. Then Jeff got a haircut. Look at ALL THAT HAIR! Jeff wanted to find some oogly eyes to put on it. I would show you the picture of Jeff, but he was in his undergarments. We stumbled upon the Pueblos Vivos convention in San Salvador celebrating all of the villages across the country. It’s like the County fair meets a talent show meets a never ending series of life-sized dioramas. An ad for Tica Bus, our mode of transportation. This particular ad makes it sound a bit R rated. I assure you that erotic is the last adjective I would use to describe our bus ride home. Serenity, the day after the downpour. Also, please note Jeff’s smashing haircut (it’s shorter now, after having cleaned it up with his trimmers). Unpacking! Let the untidiness begin! Tack lost some weight in our absence. Needless to say, he’s happy we’re home.