Maybe we need counseling, psychoanalyzing, tranquilizers -- or, maybe we're just hopeless. Despite the promises and in some cases, warnings that "Cruiseheimers" would set in within a few months, it seems to be eluding us. That relaxed state of mind and manana attitude were supposed to envelop us and guide us to ever-slowing days as we ventured deeper into the cruising life. Perhaps we're not quite ready, or tragically, too Type A to be in a semi-retired state of mind, because we seem intent on continually stirring things up in order to have a challenge, or as Allan puts it, some meaning. Whatever the diagnosis, the proof of our hopelessness is in the the decision we've recently made -- a drastic change in our plans: we've chosen to go right instead of left.

Simply put, right instead of left means that we're sailing to the South Pacific instead of going through the canal and into the Caribbean. This right turn to the Marquesas puts us in the company of over 100 other boats (that we know of) who have chosen to "puddle jump" and sail 500 miles farther than from Los Angeles to New York in 3 to 4 weeks, over the huge expanse of water called the Pacific Ocean -- yes, the one I usually fly over in a 747 in 14 hours. My cousin Frank, in wry commentary on both the insanity of the idea and the time it will take to get there, says "Isn't this be like me riding my skateboard to work on the freeway?"

Now, if you take a close look at the photo above, you will notice that there are no islands between the West coast of the Americas and the Marquesas. No gas stations, no marine chandelrys, no Wal Marts, no little tiendas, and no Starbucks. This means a completely different approach to provisioning, since we can't run to the corner market for eggs. It means an even deeper and clearer understanding of our little floating planet than if we were to be within a day's sail of land at any given time. What are our electrical needs, and how many little PacMen will we make each day with our solar panels and generators to supply them? How much water will we need, and what would we do if our miraculous water maker got the Cruiseheimers intended for us and took a little siesta? Where, and how do I store 100 apples, that many carrots, 20 heads of cabbage, 10 fresh beets, gobs of onions, 30 cans of chili, 20 lbs of brown rice and 1,000 bags of M & Ms? What, really, are our fuel needs? And what will it be like to be in constant motion, without stopping, for weeks? It's daunting, exciting, and once again, a lot of work.

But, as Allan points out, it's FUN work! We're working toward a really cool goal, a climbing-Mount-Everest sort of challenge. And, we have tons of support around us, other people who are also puddle jumping. We all leave in loosely formed groups of 2 or more boats in late March to early April. Everyone has their own schedule in mind, but overall it's all about the weather, and when the pressure systems and the tradewinds say "Go!" we will go.

So here we are in Marina Riviera Nayarit, in the lovely little town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, doing research on the seasonal tradewinds, procuring paper and electronic charts of the region, reading about long range cruising from the couples who have been doing it for years, taking inventory of our food stores, beefing up our safety gear (seems there's never too much you can buy to prevent the many possible "what-ifs" from getting the best of you in the middle of the ocean) and learning more about the ITCZ.

The ITCZ - Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone - is a zone of confusion; a place where the top and the bottom of the world come together, wrapping around the Earth like a belt worn just above the waist, like grandpa wears his. The ITCZ is where we will encounter the Dreaded Doldrums, stifling heat, lightening and rain, and where our patience is likely to be tested, from all that I have heard. Yippee!

Meanstwhile, as we prepare for this new and improved version of our adventure, we're enjoying La Cruz and it's cobblestone streets. Like many towns in Mexico, the streets are made up of miles of hand-laid stones, the kind you can't walk on steadily even in tennis shoes, let alone flip-flops or, God forbid, high heels; the kind you have difficulty dragging wheelie suitcases or carts over. The kind of streets that lead, in some cases, to opportunity: our friend Orlando, after a long night of roaming the lumpy streets in the dark in search of BBQ ribs, has decided on his retirement job: setting up an ankle-wrapping business in La Cruz.

The marina here is new, and it's a classic story of development swallowing culture and history. The marina is great, from a nautical standpoint, with new docks, reliable electricity and Internet, a beautiful modern palapa-style clubhouse and yacht club, and new clean showers. But it's creation 2 years ago swallowed up the entire waterfront of this small town. And while the old argument that development creates jobs, brings money to the area, and stimulates the local economy certainly holds true, it is nonetheless sad to see the Gringo touch on everything. As I write, the bulldozers and digger things are busily building a peninsula where none existed before, on which they plan to build a big condominium complex. Word has it the President of Mexico is coming for the big boat show in March, and the town is busy getting a fresh coat of paint for the occasion. Almost every little store and many of the homes have been repainted just in the last week, in a flurry of chromatic activity.

Our social life here in La Cruz is healthy, we have a great collection of friends we've made in the short 3 months since we left California. Rod and Elisabeth on Proximity are next door to us again, and have been terrific support in our recent decision, sharing charts, plans, books, and ideas. John and Mary-Ann on Old Moon have just arrived from Mazatlan, as have Mike and Lisa on Blue Aweigh, another Catalina Morgan 440. Numerous other friends are also here, and many are puddle-jumping, so the info exchange is amazing. There are weekly seminars on related subjects, and we are learning, as always, lots. Greg and Tiffany Norte will be joining us on the journey, and Greg is here in La Cruz being tremendously helpful and endlessly cheerful. Tiffany will join us in a few weeks.

And so we'll head for the Grand Marquesas, then Tahiti, Tonga, Fiji, Vanuatu, and eventually Australia, where maybe I'll have a cold Stella at the Piermont Bridge Hotel with my old crew mates at United. From there we will see what comes next, since we won't have enough time to sail home for our return to work in mid-2011, unless we win the lottery in the meantime. And since we're not buying lottery tickets, I guess that's unlikely. Meanwhile, it's "French for Cruisers" instead of "Spanish for Cruisers" and I'm in search of a Fijian dictionary.

By the way, for those of you who have been curious -- the perplexing zinc problem seems to be remedied. Rick from Marine Services Mazatlan called the problem "a head scratcher" and indeed, a lot of heads were scratched and put together in somber ponderance over the matter. Ultimately, Allan and Rick re-worked the grounding system. Then, with a borrowed torch, some hard-won capacitors, and a few long sweaty hours in tight places while suffering from a mild feverish ailment, Allan feels the battle has been won. He went down yesterday and checked the zinc wear, and was happy to discover that there is very little erosion since we left Mazatlan. Many thanks to everyone who helped in the matter.