Being awoken by gun toting authorities ready to blast one out of one's shorts at the first wrong move is not something I ever expected to be cheered by, but that is how I felt when the navy panga arrived alongside Faith. We'd just drifted off when the call came, "Capitan de barco!" Captain of the boat! Brian and I went up to the cockpit the way you'd approach a snarling German Shepard � slowly, with hands visible and no threatening gestures. We invited the fellow in charge aboard, and sat complacently in the puddles on deck. I'd brought the boat papers with me (the correct papers always seem to have an instant calming effect on official people). Within a few moments we were chatting amicably with the crew, even getting a smile or two from the guy with the AK-47 at the ready. They were taken aback when we were able to offer copies of our registration and passports, then presented the Zarpe from El Salvador. Giving our now-inoffensive little craft a once over they decided not to bother with the search dog, John, who was all wet. "Can we make a copy of this?" asked our interpreter, meaning the Zarpe. "Sure, but I'll need them back," I told him. "That's no problem," he said, "and you can stay right here until the sun is up. But make sure you move as soon as it is." He indicated that we could choose either the east or north anchorage areas. Then he jumped back into the panga and they zoomed over to their launch dock. We retired once again.
I'd been asleep for fifteen minutes when a resounding knock came from the side of the hull � the Zarpe being returned. I checked the time (4:45) and smoked a cigarette on the now drying deck, then climbed back into my bunk. I struggled with sleep for half an hour until it took me in its embrace. But fifteen minutes there came another booming on the side of the boat. "Jesus," I said to Brian as his eyes came open, "it's like this Nazi torture I read about where they'd let you fall asleep then wake you up as soon as you did... do you think this will ever end?"
"Arriba!" was the cry from without, "tu, vamanos!" I looked up at the sky � yup, the first blue had appeared on the eastern horizon. I'd taken them to mean we had to go when the sun was actually up, silly me.
But we got the engine going, which got rid of my tormentor, and hauled anchor. As it turned out we only had to move a couple of hundred yards further east toward the gas dock. Once there I went back to my bunk to catch a couple of decent hours of rest before beginning what I knew could be a long and arduous task � clearing into Mexico.
The crew and I did manage two or three hours of genuine sleep. It was a Sunday, but it is said the Port Captain's office never closes, and we'd already had our Navy inspection. We brought the boat back to the entrance channel and threw the anchor once again, this time in a miniature bay with a warren of outdoor eateries and pools lining the beach. Eric and I inflated the new inflatable and relished the roomy bottom, the solid sides, and the ease with which the paddles serving as our oars worked in the oarlocks. We paddled to shore, uncertainly pulling the dingy up at the foot of one of the small restaurants. "Hello!" called the young concierge, "you guys hungry? Thirsty? Need a place to put your boat?" "Yes! Could we leave it here while we go up to the Capitania? We'll be hungry and thirsty on the way back..." He was pleased to show us a protected spot where we could store the dingy under his watch and helpfully pointed the way up to the Port Captain's building.
As luck would have it the Port Captain's office was closed. The Maritime Office was open, however, and the officer on duty collected the necessary papers from us. He said the Capitania would be open the next day and for us to come back then. We'd get sorted through immigration then as well. In the meantime we were welcome to anchor in the north anchorage, just be careful not to get in the way of the massive dredge (our mystery ship) that worked constantly to keep the harbor at functional depth.
The 2nd mate and I used the radio in the Maritime Office to inform the 1st mate that we'd be purchasing lunch for all of us, then wandered back down to our landing spot. We ordered three cold beers and a seafood plate for each, then dragged the dingy back to the water. A few minutes later we were finishing our meal and scooting back to the east wing of the harbor to get gas and water. We swung into the gas dock, bought two gallons of gas, then maneuvered the boat around the dock so our hose would reach the water faucet. Restocked, we headed over to the north end of the harbor. We anchored once again, this time near a mostly sunken barge. As evening came on I decided to go ashore in the hopes of finding an outlet so I could charge my computer's batteries. Eric came along as oarsman and fellow explorer. Brian stayed with the boat. We were as yet uncertain of the safety of the anchorage � plenty of fisherfolk plying the area in homemade canoes, and an uncertain anchorage with a perhaps tenuous hold on the muddy bottom. We found no accessible outlets but we did get mount an expedition across the enigmatic recreational area. It was made up of outdoor eateries, as we'd accounted from the boat, but each had a saltwater pool and a upper story, above the kitchen, where the family running the place lived. The habitations/workplaces were packed in close enough that you could take a single step from one to the next almost without noticing. The only signs of public life we found were three people watching television in a late night convenience stand. We bought a couple of cokes and watched a commemorative for John Paul II.
Fascinating an anthropological experience as all of this was, Eric and I headed back to the Faith after two hours ashore. Well, almost. As we came up to the boat we noticed that a group of three fishermen had taken up residence on the wrecked barge. Perhaps our research was not over yet!