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Well, I’m back down here in La Paz after a frantic two weeks back home repairing flood damage to my house which occurred during one of my earlier winter excursions. I had to rip up some floors and walls, dry everything out and install new insulation, sheetrock, subfloor, carpet, paint, trim and various other water-soaked appurtenances. I actually enjoy building stuff but it’s much more fun the first time around rather than undoing a big mess.

I finished work on a Thursday night and flew to Cabo first thing Friday morning carrying two huge bags of boat goodies, as usual. Much to the disappointment of the taxi drivers at the Cabo airport who would happily have driven me to La Paz for $220, I opted for an $11 bus trip to La Paz. Cheapskate. But the busses are clean and efficient and I like riding with the locals.

I arrived at the Marina at 10pm and dragged my bags down the dock to JANGADA. Arriving at the boat, something looked different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Something….. was….. missing…. DOH! No dinghy! My brand spanking new Zodiac and brand spanking new 15hp outboard were gone. POOF! The steel cable had been cut sometime during my absence and now I was dinghy-less (although personally still a bit dingy).

The next morning I made all the usual rounds—the marina office, the police, port captain, customs—and posted STOLEN DINGHY notices all over the place. Several people offered their opinion about who/when/where/how but I quickly resigned myself that I would never see it again.

Filing the police report was particularly amusing. Arriving at the big, dirty La Paz police station on Saturday morning with Jolanda, the Marina de La Paz office manager, I was prepared for total chaos and a looooong wait. But the place was empty except for minimal staff. Seems all the ‘usual’ police business is only conducted during weekdays (presumably it takes Monday-Friday to report all the crimes of the past weekend).

We were lead into a small office to give the report. The ‘commandant’ sat down at his big desk and Jolanda relayed what had happened. He glanced seriously at me every now and then as if to confirm that I was still there. Suddenly he raised his hand and began rifling through his desk looking for something. Finally he found what he was looking for: a pen. He continued searching for another couple minutes, then left the office, returning a few minutes later with a small piece of paper which had obviously been torn from a larger one. He spread the paper on the desk, sat down and began asking Jolanda questions.

As she slowly answered them—What was my name? My boat name? The marina name? When did the theft occur? What was stolen? Where was I when it happened? Where do I live?—he painstakingly wrote the information on the piece of paper. No forms, no copies, no computer…. not even a typewriter. Now this is in a city of 350,000 people mind you; we’re not talking some remote village.

After a half-hour of note taking he folded the piece of paper up and put it in the desk drawer. I had to wonder if the process would be similar if I had been mugged or run over by a busload of orphans. But I really didn’t want to find out. If I didn’t know better I would assume that this was the very first crime to ever happen here. Or the first time he ever actually had to write anything down. We left with his promise to follow up. Assuming he could find his pen.

Visiting the various offices took the better part of two days, with the rest of my time spent working feverishly on the boat to get it ready for friends who were arriving from all over. The usual: cleaning and repairing, equipping and installing. Every time I looked aft at the two empty dinghy davits I got mad. This had occurred right in the middle of a ‘secure’, well-lit, populated marina. So much for security. To add insult to injury (had to stick in at least one cliché), I had brought down a big new super cable to lock the dinghy. Just a wee bit too late.

Monday some friends arrived and despite not having a dinghy to get to shore everyone was happy to be on Jangada. It was Cinqo de Mayo (translation: a sink full of mayonnaise), which I assumed would be some HUGE holiday celebration. Not so. There are many holidays just as big and important in Mexico. It seems Cinqo de Mayo is celebrated more in the U.S. than Mexico; here it is just one more excuse for a big party and a day off from not working.

La Paz, nonetheless, was in full swing with the Malecon (the strolling walkway along the waterfront) alive with music and food and thousands of people in their best clothes. In the middle of it all, where I would expect some sort of raucous mariachi music, was a 30-piece orchestra playing mellow classical music to a seated audience of a thousand people. Strange.

We strolled through the crowds and enjoyed the energy of the warm evening, stopping for cervesas, tacos and big drippy cones of ice cream. Around 10pm the more lively music started up and fueled with several stiff margaritas we danced and carried on until the wee hours. They’re called ‘wee’ hours because that’s what you have to do when you drink so much. We met up with two young ladies who were looking for some holiday fun, and before long they had joined our crew.

Next morning, despite hangovers and lack of sleep, it was time to head out. We sailed north around Isla del Espiritu Santo and Isla la Partida, two marvelously close and beautiful desert islands with serene coves and white sand beaches. Just like the photos. Paradise. We sailed, anchored, ate, drank, snorkeled, sang songs, laid in the sun, windsurfed, swam, read, hiked, fished, kayaked and all those other Jangada things which make sailing in the Sea of Cortez so perfect. The weather was ideal—cloudless 90º days and warm but comfortable 70º nights.

The days drifted by. We’d spend a couple days in a secluded bay, then move on to the next one. There was no schedule, no phone, no problems, no stress. Everyone was happy and Jangada was proving to be the perfect platform for tropical cruising: lots of room, lots of privacy, lots of comfort, lots of fun.

No one wanted to go home, as is usually the case, but we were back in La Paz by the next weekend. People had places to go, things to do, work and families and responsibilities to get back to. Me? I had nowhere to go, nothing to do. No wife, no kids, no job. Life is good.