Pulling out of La Paz at three-thirty in the afternoon, with shoes off, shirt off, and the slow business of getting salty again.
Feb 5, three-thirty in the afternoon. I finally got it together to leave La Paz for the next leg toward the Galápagos. I made some good friends in La Paz, and I look forward to the next round of adventures with them somewhere along the way.
The feeling pulling out of the bay is bittersweet, but it was nice to shed the shoes and the shirt, and start the slow process of getting salty again. It has been a while, and my heart is genuinely excited about this next stretch.
A quiet email when a new dispatch is filed. Nothing else, no schedule, no clutter.
Confirmation by email. One click to unsubscribe at any time.
A goat named Billie, a church far too big for its island, and the well-practiced grammar of leaving.
An evening in the hall at Rikitea for Fete des Meres, where the mothers of every age were the entire point.
A planned departure becomes a foot-bound circumnavigation, a chicken-killing support dog, and a porch full of pearls.