Stockholm Syndrome
In which we become imprisoned and slowly begin to sympathize with our captors
After a nerve-wracking visit to the Mexican bank, Port Captain, and customs agency, Daniel and I celebrated a successful entry with ceviche and margaritas before he headed back to San Diego by bus.
The following day I navigated the boat to the Baja Naval boatyard to knock out some maintenance. This was mid-December and our planned splash-and-dash date was January 15th. I met with the boatyard’s project manager and handed him a list of projects to complete while we wrapped up our affairs in Seattle. New depth and speed transducers, bottom paint, rudder bearings, cutlass bearings for the prop shaft, new engine mounts, charge the refrigerator and freezers, and some rust busting on the hull.
Back in Seattle we sold our beloved Nacho and our less beloved Jetta, rented the house, took the kids out of school, and Sheena logged her last day at work. We sold, gave away, or threw away most of our belongings and packed a few boxes and pieces of furniture into the tiny workshop in our basement, locked the door, and headed off on a one-way trip out of Seattle-Tacoma airport.
The feeling of walking away from everything and starting a new life is an act that I can highly recommend. I can still remember the song that was playing on the radio when we left our lives behind the first time, 14 years ago. The whole affair is vividly tattooed across my brain in a maze of neuron paths like the map we subsequently followed around the earth. As we walked across the border at San Ysidro the smell of birria tacos and consomé, the cups of sliced mango sprinkled with lime and chile, and the excitement on Remy and Quinn’s faces carved out new paths alongside the others.
When we arrived at Baja Naval the boat seemed to have a ways to go, but at the time we couldn’t gauge just how far. We had expected to be dropping in the water within three days so we rented a hotel with a pool to coast into this new life in style and comfort. Three days later the boat was no closer. “One week,” they said.
We rented a beachside condo up the coast in Rosarito for a week to pass the time, but as the week came to a close they had done little. “At least one more week.” Now we were into February.
We extended our rental car and drove to Phoenix to visit family one last time before dropping off the map and to give the yard time to finish. When we arrived back in Ensenada a full two weeks after leaving, the boat looked more or less the same. It was clear it wasn’t even close.
We moved aboard in the boatyard, hoping that our presence would create some sense of urgency. Days came and went and workers might spend an hour here and there working on the boat. We became exasperated and irritated, climbing a 20-foot ladder to get into and out of our home, and we checked in daily with the project manager. Things were happening, but at their own pace. We found that each boatyard function had its crew, and each of those crews was involved in multiple boats around the yard. Having them on our boat in the necessary order in close succession was seemingly not able to be planned, and so it was in Allah’s hands. And Allah didn’t have the same sense of urgency that we did.
We had planned to spend a few months exploring the Sea of Cortez before embarking on our trans-Pacific crossing on April 1st to align our time in the Pacific to avoid the cyclone season. As the weeks went by and we sat captive and impotent on our boat on stilts, we frustratedly watched our hopes of exploring Mexico evaporate and we began to worry we may not even be out of the yard by our April departure date. We could miss the season and be set back a year.
We spent two unexpected months in the boatyard, and during that time we lived our lives. The boys fell in love with fish tacos, carne adobada, and birria. We argued over which taco stands we would visit each day, and the food purveyors got to know us. We established routines, went hiking, ran errands, went shopping. In a way it helped us slow down and remember that neither Allah nor Baja Naval cares about our plan. When Nacho’s transmission failed in Colombia we became stranded on a farm in the Andes for two months and learned to slow down and stop living according to a plan. This was our reminder of that, and it happened to come on day one.
At long last, with just two weeks to go before our cast-off date, the benevolent Travelift lowered us back into Bahia Todos Santos. We had 850 miles ahead of us down the Baja peninsula to re-learn how to sail and shake down all of the repairs. We would be picking up a crew member in Cabo San Lucas who would fly in from Sweden. Exploring the Sea of Cortez by sailboat was no longer in the cards; we had instead spent our time exploring the backstreets of Ensenada on foot.
I used to get invited to present at overland gatherings following our circumnavigation. Sheena and I had been awarded the Overlanders of the Year and were, for an instant in time, relevant. Whenever it came time for audiences questions, the questions were invariably about planning. People love to have a plan. What sequence of steps should I follow to cross each border between here and the end of the road? Where do I procure the proper insurance and permits to enter foreign lands? Which areas are best avoided and which are optimal for road conditions by season? Can you drink the water? Can you drink the freshly-squeezed juice, or should I drink only sterilized, manufactured liquids? I think my answer was supremely unsatisfying, but it was sincere and I still adamantly subscribe to this advice: the best preparation for adventure is to plan as little as possible, and just let things happen to you. Overplanning is the antithesis of adventure. If you already know what is going to happen, how to do everything, and what to expect, then what is the point in going?
It may be Stockholm Syndrome, or it may be a purposeful acceptance of following the path that opens before us, but we were sad to see Ensenada fading away in the distance under full sails. Up ahead: 824 miles of open ocean, five days, 30 night watches, maybe more, maybe less, and then something much bigger. The details of our plan are inconsequential. Stepping out and putting ourselves in the path of something different is the real plan.
Christ! All of this is giving me PTSD about our seemingly impossible Ecuadorian bureaucratic situation. 😆 I note that you will also will be keeping the exact details of the resolution quiet. Good to see you back on the move. We’ve also taken off again, but are sticking to roads! we’re @trailing_ivy_ on Insta but I’m planning a move to Substack too as the socials are not sparking joy. Safe travels. Paula & Jeremy (formerly 17x6).
Fair winds! We're looking forward to following your journey!