Mar 16, 2012
It is humbling to be on a sailboat with thirty individuals. It is even more humbling when that boat finds a temporary gateway to land and that gateway is a resort filled with endless buffets, screaming kids, margarita drenched middle-agers, infinity pools, and fake rocks. When the shipmates of Argo see the closely guarded, cash-driven madness that is the resort we realize how lucky we are to be on this adventure.
We love the fact that we are packed into a steel boat like sardines in a tin can, that we spend sleepless nights on watch and in study, that we feed a small army of shipmates and then some every single day; that we all pump heads, bilges, and fists whenever duty calls. We sail this boat, we move this thing forward, we stick together.
The small, post-officeless town of Puerto Morelos is beautiful. The sun-drenched landscape of coastal Mexico is hot. The people here have the kindest faces this skipper has ever seen. All of this beauty and enjoyment of travel and learning is given to us and intensified by Argo. She is our gateway. And there are now armed guards checking for hotel-guest wristbands on her passerelle.
We all come together at the close of each day to pose questions, eat, and reflect on the day. Shipmates emerge from nearby towns, from underwater, from the engine room, and from the galley. We meet and we know that we have luxuries and experiences that no all-inclusive can offer and no margarita can drown. This here trip is darn tootin.