Clearing For Customs

We’re sitting in the pool at Rancho Acosta, on the outskirts of Álamos, Sonora.On a 99 degree day it feels a lot cooler than 112 degrees. 

“We need to figure out what day we’re going back to the States” Layne says out of the blue. 

“Why?” is the only thing I can say. Most of this five month trip we’ve been operating by-guess-and-by-God, making it up as we go along. Now suddenly it’s time to make a hard core plan. We’ll never stick to it, is all I can think. 

“We need to get the van ready to cross back to the US.”  Let’s face it: Layne the former lawyer is usually right on matters of financing, socializing, planning, cooking and stocking the Promaster with food. Indeed our whole retirement madness to drive around at random as houseless nomads is based on the plan she hatched in 2016. 

That comment in the pool was why we suddenly found ourselves emptying lockers, throwing out crap we hadn’t used since we left Key West October 25th last year. 

“A flour sifter?” I protested. 

“We’ll I might need it. You said it was a good idea,” the master planner  riposted. 

“I said it was a good idea on the boat when we were miles from a bakery and carried fifty pounds of flour,” I replied. I used to pride myself at being a pretty decent baker under way back in the era of paper recipes and metric conversions worked out in a long private mumble multiplying cups by ounces and converted by dividing the result by 28 to get grams. Or something like that. I let my phone do the work now. But we don’t bake in the van. There’s no room and Mexicans have become demon bread bakers in the last twenty years. They even make great pizzas. 

I put the flour sifter reverently next to the trash can. The following day a campground employee snagged it with great joy when I told him we didn’t want it. Next I got on my knees at the back of the van and put the official Florida tag on the door. We had been using a homemade tag ordered on Etsy to look identical to our official tag. Except it has no registration sticker. The idea was if it gets stolen we carry a few unofficial spares in the safe onboard. Saves dealing with the Florida DMV if we find ourselves in a distant land with a stolen tag. 

I’m not excited about going home. There’s the good stuff, friends and elaborate meals and a nostalgic go around checking places off my list of not yet seen wonders. But I like Mexico. I like being on the road. I get a thrill in the morning when we settle in for a few hours driving to places unknown to me. I love being a nomad. I love buying food at roadside stands, of learning to figure out currencies and customs. I love being treated like an adult in countries where your health and safety are protected by your common sense not by lawsuits and warning stickers. I love driving in Mexico where the most important rule is use your four way flashers if you’re going to do something idiotic. I’m dreading going back to the land of aggressive passing and instant road rage. Layne says I’m much happier than ever I was when we sailed from San Francisco to Key West nearly a quarter century ago. She says even when we end up doing unplanned stupid stuff like getting stuck in the sand or being  forced to back up a track because of a dead end, that’s when  I’m having the most fun. I guess I’m more a van lifer than a sailor. 

One thing both have in common is getting ready for customs inspections. We used to anchor out of sight before approaching the port of entry. We’d do just as we’re doing with GANNET2 getting the van ready for inspection by removing things that annoy customs inspectors like fresh food and alcohol and stuff. 

The date of said border crossing? Well, we are pretty certain it will be at Naco a tiny border post no one knows about. 

But the day? Gosh, that’s a tough one. We’re shooting for the fifteenth but anything could happen to delay us so we have some breathing room as our papers require us to leave by the 27th. “We don’t have time to go back and hit Morelia one more time do we?” The planner in chief looked at me in that way she has when I want to buy some extra coconut cakes from the vendor at the speed bump on the highway.  

No of course we can’t revisit Michoacán or Oaxaca or Veracruz or Chiapas. But I am assured we’ll get lunch at the Bisbee Breakfast Club with Bruce and Celia  when we finally do take the plunge. I’m easily bribed. Arizona here we come.Eventually. 

Panama 1999. Miki G and crew.