25th March - 16th April
We finally managed to get dentist appointments, in Bucerías, on the north side of Banderas Bay. So we sailed over to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, the neighboring town. Banderas Bay has an active sailing community, and there happened to be a race on that day. Conditions were perfect, with smooth water and brisk 18-20-knot breezes. We ended up sailing right through the race, which added a bit of excitement to the six-nautical-mile crossing and some good maneuvering practice. But there was plenty of room for everyone and we stayed well out of the racing boats' way. 
The anchorage at La Cruz de H is roomy and wide, and nearby Marina Riviera Nayarit has a convenient dinghy dock for going ashore. The anchorage is exposed to the consistent strong breezes that usually start blowing in late morning, building strength throughout the day till evening, and technically we were on a lee shore. But the holding was good and we kept a close eye on the weather. At night, the lighter, softer land breezes swung the boats around 180 degrees to point shoreward. Early mornings were usually calm till the sea breezes started building again.
Often in the mornings we joined the Banderas Bay cruisers' net that 'meets' on channel 22 on the VHF radio. There's a host/facilitator, and each participant announces him or herself by boat name. They're super-useful: there are weather and tide updates, and announcements of all kinds - boats comings and goings, lost and found, stuff for sale (I mean, "for coconuts"; you're not supposed to advertise stuff for sale on the VHF!), requests for help, community events and so on. The nets really help provide community among cruisers, especially in our relative Covid isolation. 
Anchored just upwind of us was a small, blue, rather neglected-looking sailboat that we kept an eye on. Twice it dragged anchor a good distance towards the beach, and both times Good Samaritan cruisers used their own boats to tow it back into place. Apparently the harbor master was aware of this boat, and said it had dragged many times. We later heard it had finally dragged all the way to the beach and gone aground, with no owner ever seen. Sad.
Nights in the anchorage were plenty busy with food-web action. One night we watched pelicans hunting flying fish around Honu. The fish shone iridescent bluish-green in our flashlight beam and were leaping out of the water in short horizontal bursts. Our light seemed to help the pelicans spot the fish, and this became a game for Bernard: he'd spotlight a fish, and a pelican would lunge after it with its long ungainly beak then gobble it down, the skin of its big flexible pouch wobbling. Once we spotted a two-foot-long, yellowy-white snake-like creature wriggling near the surface and assumed it was a sea snake, which are supposed to be common in Banderas Bay. Later I realized it was more likely an eel, which calmed my new misgivings about swimming here! A healthy respect is called for, but the fear isn't really justified; sea snakes are the most venomous in the world, but I read that the ones here mostly stay further out to sea, they really just want to stay out of your way, and bites are rare.
A heron took to roosting on our deck every night. We only knew it was a heron because of the distinctive annoyed-sounding squawk it made when disturbed. We could hear its wings flapping as it took to the air every time we opened the companionway hatch. I tried sneaking quietly out on deck to get a sneak peek at our uninvited guest, but never managed to glimpse it. What weren't so invisible were the splotches of grayish-white poop on the deck and the fish scales left on the bowsprit that we had to clean up every morning. 
I was determined to swim off the boat every day. But with the usually boisterous sea conditions and much speedy coming and going of dinghies, pangas and power yachts, it wasn't very relaxing. Bernard lent me a sausage-shaped inflatable divers' signaling device to be better seen, but it didn't really work for the purpose. After one very close encounter with a rowboat, I stuck with swimming circles immediately around Honu, or vigorously treading water at her side, a less satisfying but acceptable workout. 
At some point Bernard and I had accumulated an array of small cuts and grazes, mostly on our legs, from 'boat bites', insect bites and who-knows-what. In the tropics, even the smallest cut or abrasion can quickly become infectious, and seawater can make them worse. I knew we shouldn't swim in the sea with any broken skin, but I still had to learn the hard way. Eventually I was forced to stay out of the water entirely and even with daily first aid, the tiny wounds took a couple of weeks to heal. 
La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (pronounced 'wanacoxlay,' a.k.a. elephant-ear tree) was a lovely little town, with cobblestone streets, a friendly neighborhood vibe, and its share of beautiful murals. The town is known for its live music venues, and even internationally famous acts perform here. We caught an afternoon jazz performance - outdoors and socially distanced - at a place called El Jardin del Polpo (Octopus's Garden) - it's a shady tropical garden with the lyrics to the Beatles' 'Octopus's Garden' painted onto one wall. And we discovered a wonderful little vegan ice cream store run by a smiling family that seem to genuinely enjoy offering samples and serving up their delicious flavors in generous scoops. 
We spent a few nights in the marina to do the usual boat cleaning and other chores. There are pluses and minuses to marinas versus being anchored out - apart from slip fees vs. free. Marinas are usually protected from the stronger breezes you're exposed to out in the anchorages. But in the increasingly hot and humid weather, those breezes really help keep the boat cool. 
There was plenty going on while we were in the marina. Joel, a fellow cruiser, led some free yoga lessons on the marina's shaded, paved ball court and I joined in when I could; the sessions left me feeling great for the rest of the day. I can and do improvise with yoga aboard Honu, and sometimes on marina docks, but it's just not the same as a class, with a teacher, on solid ground. Sea Shepherd, the international direct-action ocean wildlife protection organization, was visiting the marina during our stay. They were selling their famous trimaran, the Brigitte Bardot, held a rummage sale of stuff off the boat to raise funds, and did a presentation about their work at the Sunday market held weekly at the marina.
It was Pascua - Easter time - and in Mexico religious holidays are taken very seriously. Unfortunately the extended holiday meant more delays to our final dental appointments. We realized we were stuck in Banderas Bay at least through April 19th, and after sighing away our frustration - we were in 'mañanaland', after all - we decided to make the most of it and head over to Yelapa, on the south side of Banderas Bay.