Happy Holidays to you all from lovely Tenacatita on the Mexican mainland. It took us 4 days to sail here from Magdalena Bay on the Baja peninsula. The distance was about 500 miles, so, no, sailing is definitely not for speed demons. On the passage I found a new game, Dead Things on Deck. One morning Richard held up a squid about 4 inches long with a bright blue eye. This was a fairly unhappy squid since it had apparently flung itself up on deck during the night and was a tad crispy. Richard then tells me that we need to check the decks every morning for such things. Excuse me? No one disclosed the dead thing clause when I signed on for this. Hmmm, okay, every morning I wander the decks looking for squid that have absolutely no sense of direction. In addition you have to clean up the ink marks they leave. It seems that once they find themselves where no squid ought to be, they spray ink at the indignation of it all. Oh yes, and I am informed that I can expect the same behavior from flying fish as well. Goodness, at least you can eat the fish. We find ourselves in a bay of contrasts. Part of the coast is a series of long, surf pounded beaches. Another part is high cliffs covered in both cacti and jungle plants. Then there is the civilized part covered by a hotel and small town. The people who run the hotel seem to think that loud music makes it a more enticing place to stay. If it rains, the music is played louder as if the people won't notice the rain while Mexican polka or Springsteen's The Streets of Philadelphia plays. I wonder if this would work for hurricanes? "Dude, its blowing like 150 out here." "Yeah, but U2's Beautiful Day is playing really loud, so it must be okay." Oh well, the hotel is far enough away that the music is amusing rather than annoying. The dinghy is our primary vehicle. Cruiser's are always wet. These two statements are not as unrelated as they seem. We named our dinghy Splash, cause that's exactly what she does. It never fails,  you have fresh, clean dry laundry and a perfectly flat sea, then Wham, a stray wave zeroes in on you. Someone, somewhere must have a solution to wet butts in dinghies. We brave a surf entry in Splash on the beach in front of the town. The town, Manzanilla, is quite lovely. It is small with one primary square. The center of the square is home to a bandstand that is adorned with sculptures of sea-life. Mantas, seahorses, turtles all play on the roof and supports. The beach is lined with outdoor palapas - palm frond roofed cantinas serving cerveza and seafood. The one main road is cobblestone and is lined with small stores and cafes. I have discovered the joys of waiting in line with all the local women at the tortilleria. I can have either corn or flour tortillas fresh and warm wrapped up in a bit of paper. Oh the bliss of carefully unwrapping your little package and stuffing yourself full of the hot cakes. My next favorite discovery are bolillos. These are the equivalent to sandwich sized French baguettes. They are made and delivered every morning to each little abarrote or grocery store. You enter the dark little storefront and walk back into the cool shadows. Near the counter will be a basket covered with a brightly embroidered cloth. Lifting the cloth you find a pair of tongs and a nest of golden brown rolls. You select your victims and pay at the counter - they cost all of 5 or 10 cents a piece. Mmm, fresh made cheese, Mexican coffee and a warm roll - a breakfast of kings all in a sleepy little dusty town. The town does have its share of expatriates. They seem a tad clueless. They come here, mostly from Canada and want to retire. The story is the same, vacation where it is warm, decide to stay, decide to make a living 1) teaching yoga, 2)opening a boutique, 3) opening a restaurant, 4) practicing massage therapy. The trouble is, how many yoga massage therapists buying trinkets and eating out can a town of 200 gringos and about 1000 of less than wealthy Mexicans support? In one day I could learn 4 different types of yoga, learn Thai cooking, and get rolphed (a radical form of massage) for less than 20 bucks. The lesson is, if you want to retire to Mexico, you need to find a new skill to market - leave the massage table behind. The gringos have also decided that they will teach all the poor Mexican families English. The punchline is that the gringos don't speak Spanish and there is not an industry for which the Mexicans need English, except to serve the gringos. I know everyone has the best of intentions, however, I think it is a another case of acting before thinking. I'm not sure that speaking English is going to solve the social and economic ills of the Mexican countryside. All in all we've been bathing is sparkly blue water, have worn only bathing suits or shorts for days, and have seen amazing colorful fish while snorkeling or exploring beaches and mangrove swamps. Sweet. Jen (contemplating her next helping of coconut ice cream)