Brian phoned Donisha once we'd hurricane-proofed the boat. "Doni," he greeted her happily, "hi, Honey! I need you to turn on your computer and go to the weather site. Check the current conditions around Manzanillo. Yeah, M-A-N-Z-A...."
Brian repeated what Doni read to him: "A tropical depression centered 180 miles south of Manzanillo....just off Zihuatanejo....Has been upgraded to Tropical Storm Eugene!"
So our Tiger had a name. Wow.
Brian continued, "....moving west....not expected to threaten the coast...."
Huzzah! We were, it appeared safe. There was much rejoicing as we crawled below, shifted books, movies, equipment, et cetera to hollow out sleeping spaces that were, miraculously, dry. We passed into the world of dreams grateful to be still a part of this one.
On the morrow the three mariners of the good ship Faith could be found checking in at the Las Hadas Marina office with Ruben the Harbor Master at his desk.
"How was last night?" he asked us, "You guys are lucky you made it in."
He swiveled his computer screen toward us. On it was displayed Tropical Storm Eugene at 7:00 pm the night before. Its black eye was centered just west of Zihuatanejo. The enormous disk around the eye extended two hundred miles in every direction, encompassing Acapulco to the south and Manzanillo to the north. With the press of a button, Ruben advanced to the current satellite image. Eugene was thrashing its way out to the west, out to sea.
"We're glad to be here," was our sentiment.
Ruben signed us in, gave me directions to the Port Captain, showed us where bathrooms, showers, laundry, and food could be found. We arranged for two nights, then went to find the food.
Marina Las Hadas is located at the food of a warren of a resort, the product of some designer's dream. Las Hadas Resort is a stacked set of rooms that climb the low mountain at its back. It resembles a pueblo of the Southwestern US on steroids or a colony for people-sized insects. In a way it is genius and beautiful, if confounding to navigate for those unacquainted. It is also famous. Blake Edwards used it as the setting for one of the best movies of the seventies: "10" with Dudley Moore, Julie Andrews, and, who could forget? Bo Derrick. (It was also this author's first encounter with gratuitous onscreen boobs. Sorry, but it's a great memory...) Anyway, it has a strong remnant of the supercool feel of the jet set seventies.
We meandered around looking for the restaurant Ruben had recommended. This required crossing a swinging rope bridge slung above a pool complete with in-water bar, avoiding the splashes produced by the native young, and marching up and down several flights of stairs until we finally found ourselves seated outside with a breathtaking view of the bay and marina. We relished our hot coffee, orange juice, and steaming eggs. One thing about harrowing experiences: they really make you appreciate the simple pleasures of life....
After the scrumptious breakfast I took off for the Capitania on the other end of town. The crew attended to the duties on ship: Brian squared the cabin, Eric got the laundry started, together they filled up what gas we lacked, and together they checked out the wildlife wandering the breakwater to the light at its end. Eric was especially captivated by one particular feline-sleek form. "Hmmm," he considered scientifically, "this may require further research..." But that perhaps later.
The appeasing of the Port Captain of Manzanillo was a painful process. First it took over an hour for them to recognize my existence from behind the bulletproof, tinted glass. Then it turned out I had to go upstairs, give copies of our crew list, passports, and registration to Migracion, get them to stamp a copy of the check out paper from the Port Captain. They too took an hour to get this otherwise simple process completed. Back to the Officina de Capitania, which was closing. I'd have to go pay the bank the fifty bucks they were demanding, get the stamped receipt, and bring the lot back in the morning. Hoy.
Back at the boat I traded my briefcase for my computer bag. I ambled over to the tourist trap next to the marina office that advertised internet access on the wall. In a small back room there was a single computer with a modem connection. Not the best link, but it would serve. There was sufficient time to get in one upload to the website, then I checked the weather. This proved complicated....the power kept getting interrupted, causing the computer to shut off and reboot....at intervals of ten minutes. Finally, I gave up trying to download pictures of the forecast. The coast was clear (a literal turn of phrase in this case!) all along the length of Pacific Mexico. Eugene was dissipating as he spun westward. Our tormenting tropical Tiger would not mature into a hurricane. The next day looked promising for our departure � we certainly knew where the tropical wave was at the moment (right on top of us).