Our singular reprieve from non-stop boat projects has been keeping ourselves well fed, and Ensenada has had a lot to offer.There seems to be a proud culture of food trucks, specifically, shellfish food trucks. The first few times I walked by them, and food trucks are on just about every corner surrounding the marina, I was a a little put off by the idea of eating ceviche out of a large plastic bin in the middle of the road, seemed to be asking for an upset stomach. But we noticed swarms of people eating at them everyday and remaining seemingly unscathed; and then the women in the tourist information center said everyone eats ceviche for breakfast ("It is a great cure for hangovers!"), and chefs from around the world travel to El Guerrense, the most famous of the food trucks, to learn the art of ceviche. So we were sold, and have been eating ridiculously tasty ceviche tostadas, topped with avocado and salsa, ever since. I ventured into the fresh oysters and the fish patés, while Dominic has developed a liking for the smoked marlin tostada as well. 

[An oldie but goodie! I wrote this on the eve of our departure from the Bay Area, but am just now getting around to editing pictures and giving it a second read though…but it's a timely revision as this morning marked my first adventure to a Mexican Costco!]Helios is currently slated to depart on Wednesday. It's insane, and really, really exciting. Tomorrow will be the final day of what has been a bonanza of projects, chores, provisioning, errands, and organization. Since leaving work on December fifth, Dominic has replaced our entire head system, mounted the solar panels, finished installing the windlass, run the first and second reef lines into the cockpit, tuned the engine, and is patching the dinghy as I type this. My life has been a whirlwind of sorting, labeling, and purchasing, and then sneaking off to my parent's house in Martinez to enjoy a choice beverage, an enormous puppy, and a bubble bath. 

Dominic confessed early on in our relationship that if he had complete control over his living situation, he would live in a garage. He went on to describe a large cement room, filled with precisely organized tools, a refrigerator stocked with meat, and an assortment of fine Italian cars (by way of contrast, we were apartment hunting at the time, and I was eliminating any options without a claw-foot bath tub and marble countertops).

The people of Ensenada don't seem particularly impressed with my Spanish.Our first order of business when we arrived was to navigate the various bureaucratic formalities required for sailors to visit Mexico: we needed temporary nautical visas, then tourist visas, finally we had to go through customs. We also had a boat specific requirement, as Helios needed her own temporary import permit. We were a little anxious about getting the paperwork right as a year and a half ago there was a huge fiasco when the paperwork process got revamped, confusion ensued, and somewhere around 240 boats in Western Mexico were impounded.