La Marina is described in the guides as an inexpensive alternative to the posh and polished Acapulco Yacht Club, lacking a few amenities but with access to everything we'd need. As we made the approach we began to second guess this information. It looked like a hurricane had hit the marina. At first that's exactly what we thought had happened; several of the docks were half submerged, others were lashed together with fraying nylon lines, all were missing planks and littered with detritus. The boats on the outer piers were in similarly disheveled condition. A sailboat swayed in the light swells, its shredded cloth waving ghostly, ragged fingers at us. A powerboat with its hull dented and crushed along the waterline listed precariously, its sistership on the next pier was missing part of its flying bridge. On closer inspection, if hurricane it was that caused all this destruction, it happened five or six years prior to our arrival. We tied up to one of the empty outer piers � stepping gingerly on the rotting, pocked planking. There were boxes for running electricity and water out here, but they'd been stripped of wiring and pipes long ago. "Uhhh...." I said as Brian changed clothes and squeezed his running shoes on. "Yeah," he replied, "maybe you'll be moving to the Yacht Club, huh?" He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and jumped to the dock. "I've got my cell, give me a call if you switch marinas, OK?" he called over his shoulder.
We'd been visited by an armed guard (armed to guard what? I had to wonder) wielding a flashlight shortly after we'd tied up who got across that La Marina's office would open at nine. With Brian bee-lining for the other end of the great harbor and Eric soundly asleep, I decided to explore. Maybe find some dockage with amenities like WATER and electricity closer to the offices..... This required a good deal of concentration. Walking those docks was tantamount to crossing a rope bridge infested with termites. Two separate boards broke under my foot; I had to avoid wide, gaping holes; and always keep my balance on the narrow, rollicking walk. It was great fun but I was disappointed in my quest � NO WATER, no electric, no better dockage. I did find the guard and get him to open the bathroom for me. Well, perhaps the folks in the office would be able to arrange something for us. In the meantime I ran the gauntlet back to the boat and took a nap.
Two hours later Eric and I scowled over our shoulders at La Marina, that decrepit shambles masquerading as a public dockage. The bastards had charged us fifteen dollars for the four hours we'd spent tied to their diseased and destitute pier. I'd been too tired to argue when I went to the office and it seemed a bad idea to poison the water by marching back to Faith and slipping our mooring without a backward glance. Things can get hairy fast in Mexico for gringos with that kind of attitude.
What I did do was make La Marina call AYC to arrange a slip for us. This, at least, felt vindicating. Eric and I pulled up to the AYC gas dock, I walked the length of the solid concrete dock, along the sidewalk lined with grassy lawn, pools, restaurant, and adjoining hotel to the office. "Thirty dollars a night," they quoted me. I booked two. Then we were pointed to our mooring.
Before moving the boat, however, we took care of something even more important. Bellying up to the bar, we ordered several stiff rounds of ice cold water, which we put away with reckless abandon until our heads reeled from the chilly effects. Ahhh! Sweet surcease of suffering!! Now we felt ready to go back to task on board our vessel.
"Med-mooring" they call it, after the traditional mooring style of the Mediterranean. You back your boat into a narrow space, between hyper-costly yachts of course, tying bow to a floating buoy and stern to a wall. I'd never done this before so it was amazing when we pulled it off as if we were old pros. Bow to buoy, Eric fastening bowline, me pressing forward ever-so-gently, swinging stern around and backing straight to the wall. We didn't even have to fend off our neighbors once!
Only after we'd secured the stern and sat relishing the experience did we realize that Med-moorings suck. The light swell coming into the harbor rocked and bounced us, Faith bucking against her bow and stern lines atrociously. We did some adjusting to quell the bombardment of jerks and wrenches but it was still somewhat like sitting on a mechanical bull when we finished. We went to find solace in the showers.
Clean and happy again, Eric and I sat at the bar to see who we could meet. (Also, the pool area located just off the bar was frequented by scantily clad, very healthy members of the opposite sex. It was probably as close to a commercial for Sunny Acapulco as you could get.) We asked the bartenders about where to find the Capitan de Puerto � middle of downtown � where we could get a phone card � across the street from the hotel � and whether there was internet available � yes, free internet upstairs in the TV lounge/patio overlook above the restaurant. Well, that was easy! We sauntered over to the gas station on the street, got the calling cards and phoned Brian to let him and Doni know how to find us. I left the second mate and cook to the task of getting our laundry taken care of and jumped in a cab to flash downtown to the Capitania. When I got there at three the office had been closed for an hour. This was a circumstance, I learned, that would prevail at every port thereafter: the Captain of the Port does not work past 2 pm (unless you want to pay exorbitant overtime fees).
Not wanting the venture into town to be a total wash I hiked two blocks back toward the Yacht Club, climbed a tall stone staircase, and found myself in the Fuerte de San Diego � Acapulco's historic waterfront fort protecting the great harbor. The fort is now a museum displaying trade goods from the Far East and South America, restored kitchens and armory, a tribute to early navigation of the area, salvaged pieces of sunken galleons, and a history of the attacks on Spain by her competitors and enemies (which at one time or another included everybody in the known world. It's really interesting to read about people like Sir Frances Drake � the celebrated English circumnavigator and privateer from the point of view of the people he was privateering and circumnavigating to escape from. Needless to say, a dimmer opinion is expressed than that which we find in our grade school text books.) You can climb the inner walk from ground level to the ramparts on top of the fort overlooking the harbor and the city. I did, and looking out over the great bay from the battlements I imagined blasting Sir Frances Drake from the water at five hundred yards, toppling his masts and putting an end to the Scourge of the Spanish Main.... I walked to the other end of the fort with a view to the city. "I'll be!" I thought, noticing that there were ample gun placements here to level everything within several square miles. I laid waste to downtown Acapulco, starting at the Capitania and moving on to the resort district. Pooom! There goes the BanaMex! Fewwwmmm! So much for the Plaza de los Mariachis! I left the gentlemen's club and several food establishments standing. After all, there has to be something left for the Conquistadors de Acapulco....