We're now in Mazatlan, "land of the deer" in the language of the pre-Spanish Nahuatl. The crossing from La Paz to Mazatlan, a 250 mile journey, was not without it's challenges. We left less than an hour before dark, as planned, so we'd arrive Mazatlan in the morning 40 hours later. But the seas were choppy and uncomfortable, and the wind was stronger than we expected or than was forecast, so when the sun went down with no moon, we lost our visual cues and peripheral vision, and with our bodies not acclimated yet to the motion of the rocking boat, we began to feel seriously queasy, a rare event for both of us. It was an uncomfortable first 10 hours with broken sleep, until the next morning, when the sun came back up, the seas calmed a bit, and the wind provided a great 13 solid hours of 6-knot sailing across the southern Sea of Cortez.

It's not uncommon to have bird hitch hikers on board, as many cruising blogs will reveal, and the second night at sea we were joined by 2 frigates. One laid claim to the very top of the mast, where he remained unsteadily for at least 4 hours into the night. The other looked like he was new at the whole flying and landing thing, and we had a complete frigate air show watching him circle the boat, come in on final approach, swoop up toward the spreaders, pull into a sharp stall, grab hold with his beak, and quick get his feet on the spreader. Then, as the boat rocked from side to side, he'd flap furiously trying to keep his balance, his little feet sliding on the flat metal spreader until he'd slam into the mast, at which point he'd give up and try again. Around the boat, swoop up to the spreader, open beak ready to grab, whoop! up on the spreader, flap flap flap flap, slide, slam, jump and try again. Sometimes he'd aim for a different landing spot, none of them really making much sense. Numerous times he thought he could get some rest on the steep forestay, which was wrapped by the furled jib sail. That never worked, but he tried repeatedly. A few times he made low passes over the bird on the top of the mast, squawking angrily. The poor little guy tried valiantly for hours, until finally it got dark and we lost him.

After 39 hours, Allan, who had the watch from 4-7am, woke me an hour out of Mazatlan. I blinked into the bright sunshine on deck, anxious to see the beautiful coastline of mainland Mexico, and was greeted instead by en eerie, skyline - hazy and smoky, spooky, ugly -- like the whole city was on fire. A quiet Armageddon, a gray, flat-looking horizon with the dark contours of huge hotels and buildings, all faceless in the haze. I wanted to turn the boat right around and go back to La Paz. I felt betrayed, whiny, and behaved like a nap-deprived little kid for the next 2 hours.

So I'm grumpy and pissed off because it's icky, Allan is confused because the harbor is nowhere in sight and the GPS display doesn't seem to be accurate, and to top it off, the marina, who we're talking to on the radio, is having trouble answering our question as to where they want us to go. We find the entrance and get the news that our slip will be ready in a few hours, and they direct us to a temporary slip.

We tie up, shower, me moping and nagging, feeling hot and disliking the smoke that is choking my lungs and, most annoyingly, I'm not able to decide what to wear. We call our friends Orlando and Linda on Cuba Libre, who have been here a month. He suggests we hop the little water taxi to the other side of the small marina and come visit. By the time we get to the other side, I'm feeling better, with a little help from food and a nice shower. A quick stop in the marina office to check on the situation reveals that a slip will not be available for a few days. One of the reasons we all love Mexico is that people are a bit more relaxed around here, and in that vein, we know that a few hours can mean a few days, and a few days can mean, what? No telling.

We discuss the issues at hand: First, temporary dock doesn't have electrical hookup. Okay, not a big deal, that's why we have a generator and solar. Second, temporary dock is across from all the stuff -- showers, laundry, food, buses, pools, people we know. Okay, not a big deal, the little water taxi goes back and forth on command and takes 30 seconds. And last, temporary dock does not have water hook up and we have a very salty boat and a very salty bed due to a little snafu -- one we can both claim 100% fault for -- that let gallons of water in the forward hatch during that first rough night at sea and soaked the entire mattress and everything on it, including the clean laundry I had folded and not yet put away. ("Never done that," several people say with guilty smiles as we later relay the story.) So ultimately it's the water thing, and we discuss the idea of going to a different marina. The manager, Geronimo, and his assistant Gladis have a conversation in Spanish that we can't follow, and then tell us confidently that they'll work on it. "No worries," we say, (I love the Aussies for that one) and head down to see Orlando and Linda.

Linda hands us glasses of cold lemonade, and Orlando puts us right at ease about Mazatlan. They have loved their month here, and love the marina. We get reinvigorated, and when we return to the office, they have a slip for us, 2 boats down from Orlando and Linda. All settled.

So we wash the salty boat, take the wet, sopping bedding and clothing to Norma in the laundry, who does a fast and fabulous job of washing, folding and packaging our stuff for only a little more than if we'd done it ourselves. We take naps, and then head for a Cuban meal at Carlos and Lucia's with Orlando and Linda. Orlando is Cuban, and we'd read in Last Resort's blog (Dick and Sharon Drechsler) that on their stop in Mazatlan they went with Orlando and Linda to a Cuban restaurant. I love Cuban food, maybe from all those Miami layovers in the 90's, and so we happily follow in Dick and Sharon's footsteps and tromp off to meet Marty, the Cuban waiter who grew up in Texas, and speaks with a Cuban accent in Spanish and a thick Texas drawl, possibly exaggerated for effect, in English. The food is delightful, especially the fried plantains, the best ever. I could go on and on but I'll leave the food reviews to Sharon, who writes for Examiner.com.

The capper to the long and partially grumpy day was a much-longed for soak in the huge hot tub. You see, we are in a 5-Star resort here at Marina El Cid, which is part of a 4-hotel complex including 2 pools, a hot tub, spa, gym, 18-hole golf course, beach, and restaurants and bars, of course. All available to us as part of our reasonable slip fees. So we're not really suffering out here in the wilds, in case you were worried.

Sunday, we had breakfast at Brujas Beach up coast with O & L, our tour guides for the moment, followed by a lazy day since it's Sunday. At breakfast, we met Captain Rita, who was full of fabulous local stories and has an interesting history as a 100-ton Master, with over 30 years of sailing experience, among other things. Walking back from breakfast, we were approached by one of the 13,752 Time Share Salesmen here in northern Mazatlan, who are like evil pests, relentless, sticky, unshakable. I, in the short few hours we've been in Mazatlan, had had enough, and barked sharply at the guy from across the street. He pursued, and I barked even louder. "Don't be grumpy, senorita!" he said sweetly, as he peeled off.

Just before leaving for breakfast, we saw friends Mary-Ann and John on Old Moon, who had just pulled in from La Paz, and were engaged in doing what Mary-Ann called "the Mexican Cha-cha-cha," driving around in circles for an hour waiting for the temporary slip to clear, because the regular slip they reserved was not available. Sounded vaguely familiar.

We visited with them later and ended up at the busy pool for a late lunch, where I, feeling bold, ordered a martini. Martini's are not one of Mexico's more popular drinks, and so, after a little bit of discussion over the matter, I was invited behind the bar to show the bartender how to make one. There's a photo in the gallery of me in that capacity. Later, they offered me a job. I told them I'd think about it.

Tomorrow we'll get busy with a few more honey-do's, (the boat is a bigger nag than I am) and start exploring Mazatlan a bit. Wednesday we leave on the bus for Los Mochis, where we catch the train Thursday morning to Barrancas del Cobre, the Copper Canyon, to spend Christmas with John and Mary-Ann.

It's a good thing we don't fear change, (okay, maybe just a little) since that's what this cruising life is all about.