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Adventures in Mexican Health Care: Part 3 - Down for the Count

1/25/2015

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Picture
Leave me alone!
I hate hospitals. I try my darndest to stay out of them. But occasionally they are a necessity. I just wish not so soon! Uggh! Exactly one week after my retinal tear surgery, I was flat on my back with a bacterial infection. We had eaten dinner out with a new friend two nights in a row. Apparently, some uncooperative food offended my poor stomach.

I got up Monday morning with stomach cramps and, without going into gory details, the marina bathroom seemed light years away. (You just don’t do THAT in your boat head if at all humanly possible. I mean you’d (Brian) have to clean it afterward and well, that’s just disgusting. I’d have to be literally dying (…or drunk ;)) Well, luckily I made it there and back to the boat to sleep for another couple hours. I thought I was fine, drank some water, and as I walked down the dock to the bathroom again, hurled all over the dock. Dizzy, I sat there, back against a dock box and rested. It just took too much energy to move.

Costa Baja actually has a small medical clinic. Brian helped me back onto the boat and went to see if it was open. I can see it from the boat; it is literally the equivalence of walking 1 city block, but it felt like a mile. I had to sit down half-way so I wouldn’t pass out. When we arrived, the on-call nurse only spoke Spanish, so I was forced to utilize my newly-ingested (no pun intended) 2 full weeks of Spanish lessons on her. To my surprise and relief, despite my woozy brain, I could actually understand. It was 10:45am; the doctor could not get here til 11:30. She said I could come back, but the boat seemed so far away, I just wanted to lie down. She sensed my apprehension and said I could stay and wait. Whew. I told her that I think if I tried to walk back to the boat, I would pass out on the floor. At this point she understood, called the doctor again, did some tests and started a fluid IV.

After about an hour, Doctor Salvador walks in looking like a young 30-something Oregon hipster, complete with flannel shirt and bushy beard, speaking perfect English. He apologizes for his attire; he was doing something else when he was called. I imagined him constructing a barn… or a website, could go either way. But he was great and after asking me some questions stated that it’s probably a bacterial infection and would like to transfer me to the hospital for tests. He wants to do blood tests and a stool sample to make sure I don’t have any parasites. Eewww.  Apparently they can’t do tests at the clinic; I have a feeling it is there simply for minor first aid for hotel visitors and as a perk of ownership for the expensive Costa Baja condominiums. The clinic seems to be an arm of a local private hospital called “Medical Center” (doesn’t get any more clear than that), as the doctor and nurse both work there.

At this point, a hospital bill sounds like yet another crap-ton of money. Ching, ching, cha-ching. He can’t even estimate what it would cost but assures me “it’s not like in Cabo San Lucas, which would be way worse”. Great, I guess I’m glad I’m not in Cabo then. But I don’t have any dollar reference except what I just shelled out for eye surgery. So, if I paid $400 for 10 minutes of specialized laser surgery, several hours in the hospital might run over $2000 is what I blindly estimated. Jesus.
But I don’t want to go back to the boat. I am still dizzy, but the IV is helping. Last May, I got sudden food poisoning, actually passed out twice from the massive fluid loss and almost stopped breathing my blood pressure was so low. Had to be ambulanced to the hospital and given IV for a few hours. So I did not want to go back to the boat, have it get worse, and put Brian into that emergency fiasco again. Plus I just want this alien in my stomach to go away. Begrudgingly I decide we should go, but refuse to stay overnight. I can’t imagine the cost of that.

They were about ready to call a cab, but to save money, Brian ran and asked our new friend (who has a car) to see if he could drive us. We then found out that Mike, our double-dinner comrade, had awoken with similar symptoms. In his case, after the initial bout, he had felt better. This confirmed the doctor’s suspicions of food-related bacteria (and proved to Brian that I wasn’t a hypochondriac). We all basically had the same thing to eat both nights, but Brian only had a few cramps. Must be made of steel, that stomach.

The team closed up the clinic, Mike and Brian pulled the car around, and I kid you not, the nurse and her assistant went with us, all three squeezed in the back seat, holding my IV. That would NEVER happen in the US. EVER. What a memorable ride. I spoke with my nurse, Angelica, (Ahn-HAY-lee-kah) most of the way. She was the complete opposite of “Miss Frosted Flakes” from a week ago. Calm and steady, she spoke very slowly and when I didn’t understand, she tried to say it in a different way. She was so kind she even would pet my hand in comfort whenever I winced in pain from the alien. Angelica truly was an Angel.

Typical US emergency rooms are not rooms at all, but 6ft x 8ft spaces enclosed by a microscopically thin curtain. They are disconcertingly loud, activity is constant and you can hear the diagnoses of the adjacent patient. I expected that atmosphere, or way worse.

But I was pleasantly surprised. The hospital was very clean, spacious and undergoing renovations, with freshly painted walls and new tile floors. Activity-wise, there didn’t seem to be much going on. I was wheel-chaired into a real hospital room, one twice the size as normal with only one patient bed, a flat screen TV, a couple chairs + table, couch, puffy lazyboy recliner, another long lounger to sleep on and its own bathroom w/ shower. There was even an Eddie Bauer crib. More like a surgical or post-baby recovery room. Great, I think. They take the gringo here to get the big bucks. But I was told all the rooms are that big. Well, it is what it is.

A male nurse redoes the IV. I have tiny veins, so I hate being poked again and again for blood, but he gets it done the first time. Then a swarm of 5 aides arrive to take temperature, blood pressure and whatever else. They speak in rapid Spanish that I can’t understand. At this point, I want them all to just go away so I can sleep. But they keep holding up the “cup” and gesturing at it. Both Brian and I think they want a stool sample as the doc had stated that earlier. She kept saying ‘Tiene que ganar’ which, as far as I know, means I must earn or win something. What? I must win you a stool sample? Agggh my brain hurts. Where is my Angelica? She doesn’t start work at the hospital until later that night though, I’m out of luck. How do I get across that I cannot ‘win’ you a sample as I am ‘out’ of samples to give? Finally we just say OK ‘no puedo ahora… luego’, or ‘I can’t now…later’. They give up and leave me alone. Finally, sleep.

Later, while waiting for the doc and the blood tests we watch Spanish TV. We’ll see bits and pieces here and there but never get to sit through a whole show since we don’t get a good TV signal at the boat. We land upon Animal Planet’s The Dog Whisperer. Watching Cesar, even dubbed in Spanish, makes anyone feel better. The subsequent program was the cat equivalent, starring an Elvis imitation in swoopy sideburns, carrying a guitar and wearing kooky glasses; we were not impressed. Listening to him blather in dubbed Spanish tired me out. So I nap again. Then the guy who runs the café downstairs brings me cranberry juice, tea and pineapple jello, pronounced “hay-yo” I think. Later, I begrudgingly “win my sample” and give it to the aide to keep them from bothering me again.

I also get a new male nurse who took the longest time fixing my IV after I bumped it. He was super careful not to peel the tape back harshly and reseated it much more securely. He told me my blood pressure is too low and that I need to be very careful getting up. He spoke pretty good English and we started talking to him, half English/ half Spanish. Aaron has two kids and has worked there for 8 years. He went to nursing school up In Tijuana to specialize as a therapeutic nurse and worked in Cabo as well. He was definitely good at his job - as calming and helpful as Angelica. I told him we never visited TJ due to the violence. He said TJ gets a bad rap but it’s a good town and if I ever go there to make sure and get tacos, they have the best tacos in Mexico. Noted. When we asked him when his shift ended he said 10:30pm, but he had started at 7am. Wait, what? Aaron works 2 jobs, but apparently that is the norm. All the nurses work 2 shifts a day he tells us, usually each at different hospitals or clinics, just to get by. We were shocked that a skilled professional would make so little here. (The controversial differences in employment practices and wages could be a whole blog, so I won’t comment further, yet). Anyway, Aaron was pretty interested that Brian was a helicopter pilot & had been to Iraq/Afghanistan. He also was shocked that we lived on a boat and didn’t own or rent a house. Loco? Yes.

Later, Doc came back and said I had a strong bacterial infection, 86 I think, on a scale of 100. He made it sound like it was a bit worse than standard; but no parasites. He declared I should take Cipro antibiotic for 10 days and I can go in a little bit after he tallies the bill, gets me some anti-nausea and anti-stomach cramping pills and I have some more IV fluids. After being there 7 hours (twice as long as the ER visit back in May when I actually passed out), I was released.

Total bill…
Ride to hospital: courtesy of our new friend Mike on s/v Impulse
Hospital bill: 6600 pesos. I was there for about 7 hrs (1pm-8pm). This included the cost of IV, Cipro and the other pills. Cipro is available at pharmacies here without a prescription. We plan on picking up some extra in case we are away from civilization next time. But getting the IV for my sudden dehydration made the difference for a quick recovery, I think.
Doctors bill: 3000 (includes both at the clinic and hospital)
Taxi back home: 200
Total: 9800 pesos/14.5 exchange rate = $676.
Yes, you are reading that right. $676 for an ER visit. My U.S. ambulance bill alone was $1900, for a 3 mile trip!

Interestingly, the doctor told us he would like to be paid separately as the hospital won’t pay him for over a month. That could be taken as either a scam or as fact; we felt he was trustworthy. In reality, his bill took place on the iPad much like a Square account, and was the first time I had seen anything so “high-tech” down here. We actually got an instant receipt via email. The hospital bill was a normal credit card receipt and I then must pick up the itemized statement in a couple days from the clinic. We rarely use credit cards in Mexico, purely for caution against identity theft. But after my cash laser payment, I decided I needed to make sure there was a credit card record of what we actually paid for any medical care, solely for potential Tricare reimbursement.

The experience, while a bit unnerving, was actually a positive one, enlightening us to the potential of quality Mexican health care at low prices. While visiting 2 doctors within one week was highly annoying, it significantly reduced our fears regarding further unforeseen medical problems. We were quite pleased with what we deemed competent and professional care (Miss Frosted Flakes from blog#2 was a bad apple). On top of that, we were pleasantly surprised at their efficiency and lack of bureaucracy. (Tricare & VA = bureaucracy + inefficiency.) Finally, I am truly thankful for two great doctors and my two nurse angels.


Where I was… Medical Center La Paz
Interesting link from an ex-pat about health care in Mexico.
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Adventures in Mexican Health Care: Part 2 - Laser Surgery in the Barrio

1/21/2015

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Normal vision
Snow + large floater. Seek a doctor immediately if you see anything similar or if you experience flashes.
Continued from yesterday...

After the appointment I had to get to the “surgical center”. They don’t do procedures in the medical office, we go to the place where the equipment is located. We think this “office” is where multiple doctors go to use the equipment.  They call us a taxi. We arrive 20 minutes early for my rushed appointment at 2pm. Bueno.

The place is supposed to be across from Banorte (a bank). We recognize the bank, but the street number on the building facing it indicates a small, crumbling house-like structure attached to other dilapidated buildings on either side, with no front entrance. There’s a skinny carport with a car in it. No signs. Highly confused, we go up to the carport door and knock. The lady comes out and blabbers in Spanish and we don’t know what she is saying. She is not helpful. She acts like she doesn’t know why we are there, even though I am pretty sure she was the one doc called while we were sitting in the medical office to check on being able to do my procedure that day. We figure out this is indeed the place, as strange as it may be, and she reluctantly lets us in.

This woman was the first person I have met here in La Paz who was not nice. Period. She asked why we were here and I had no words to tell her I needed surgery, all I could say was “laser”. I could not even remember the word for eye which is “ojo”. I know it, but her severe impatience exacerbated my brain freeze. Only one week into our Spanish classes, I couldn’t think of even the basics. I became tongue-tied which frustrated the hell out of her apparently. She huffily told us to sit and wait. Brian went across the street to get cash, they don’t take credit card.

While he was gone, I was alone with the dragon-lady and she proceeded to rapidly grill me in Spanish. I couldn’t understand her. But I understood one sentence very clearly. “How can you possibly live in Mexico and not understand the language?” How is it that you communicate?” I was floored at her rudeness. It wasn’t a question of curious intent; it was more of a statement with a haughty implication of ‘how stupid are you’, plus a little bit of ‘how dare you’ thrown in there. Stuttering, I tried to explain that we were taking classes at a school but she pretty much stopped talking after that, not being worth her time.

I asked where the bano was and couldn’t stop the tears from coming I was so mad. Mad at her, mad at not being able to understand, mad at not being smart enough to remember faster what I DO know, mad at not having a good comeback (it’s hard enough in English), scared of whatever this procedure is going to involve. I’m in a f’ing broken down house, in the barrio, with no sign of any sort, I am paying in cash like it's a drug deal, and the receptionist is a complete b”””###. I return to the stark living room/waiting room sporting just 3 couches, a worn desk with nothing on it but a phone, one lonely filing cabinet and completely blank walls and stare at the cold, dingy, tile floor.

Brian is back by now but I can’t help my tears from continuing. He asks me what is wrong and I have to wait to tell him after she is distracted by another customer. There are 6 of us in the waiting room and this receptionist does nothing but jabber for an hour about food to the other 4 people. I have no idea why she gets paid other than to watch the equipment and make sure no one comes in to steal it. I’m sure she would scold them out of it.

I seriously begin to question my decision. Brian is worried, asking me if I want to leave, am I uncomfortable? Yes, I am uncomfortable. But we think through this logically and the thing that is making me uncomfortable is this person. My dentist’s office was in a former home, as was even my cataract surgery, performed in an old turn-of-the century mansion in Hillcrest complete with waiting room in the former living room w/fireplace and optician in the parlor. I can get over the starkness, deterioration (probably from Hurricane Odile) and non-hospital like qualities of the space. I like the doc and I think I trust him. I have heard only great things about him from several Americans and locals alike. Ok. Breathe. Ignore little miss ‘didn’t eat her frosted flakes this morning’ and focus on why I am here. (Bonus points to anyone knowing who coined the ‘frost flakes’ phrase.)

Doc finally gets here and we go into the equipment room (former bedroom) that Miss Frosted Flakes is guarding. I make Brian come with me. I sit on a stool and face the laser. He puts a small hockey puck over my eyeball so it doesn’t move and starts looking for the tear. Then it’s several minutes of consecutive bright flashes. During every one my left eye closes or squints due to the brightness, forcing the right eye to try closing but it can’t. It doesn’t hurt, I just feel some pressure, but the bright lights force an automatic blinking reaction that you just can’t control. I feel like my eye is moving wildly but he says I am fine. I have a death grip on the table, my forehead jammed against the headband and I am sweating profusely. I am thinking to myself “calm down, you’ve done similar procedures before, stare straight ahead, it’ll be over in a few minutes… just don’t f’ing move”.

After 10 minutes of “lasing”, or creating several circles welding around the u-shaped tear, he declares me done. That's it. Easy, peasy. Could have been much worse. Rest for 2 weeks, meaning no sailing. The strength of the patch comes from the scarring afterwards, not the initial zapping, so exertion is prohibited. I can walk the few blocks to class the rest of the week but only if I go slow. The rest of the time I am to sit and not do much…AKA watch movies. I should heal in about 10 days.

Some interesting comparisons to all my other surgeries/procedures: No assistant during the procedure (low overhead). No signing waivers of who is not liable if I die or become blind. I never saw an actual "medical chart" so I am not sure there is one. No prescription drops afterwards for anti-infection or anti-inflammatory. I didn’t need pain meds, but I wasn't offered any either. Before the procedure, I got a numbing drop and I am guessing another for infection (oh yeah that was the only other thing Miss Frosted Flakes did was put in drops, which she did not bother to try and explain and she almost put them in the wrong eye until I stopped her, after which she got all huffy.)

All in all, it was an experience I hope not to repeat, but if so, at least I know what to expect.
I tried to photoshop the above picture to somewhat replicate it from my perspective, but it's more blurry than that. Plus the floater moves around and blurs wherever it falls as I move my eye, so it's in constant motion.

If you get anything out of reading this blog, it should be to immediately seek an ophthalmologist if you notice large sudden floaters and/or what I can only describe as snow or thousands of tiny black dots falling. If you get bright flashes or partial vision shading (I did not), that could be much worse and could already be a retinal detachment or well on its way. See your doctor the same day and do not take no for an answer, or find someone else. Here is a good link to explain retinal tears and posterior vitreous separation.

Ride to the office: courtesy of the gracious Andrea from Se Habla La Paz
Office consultation: 600 pesos
Taxi to surgical center: 80 pesos
Procedure: 6000 pesos
Taxi back home: 200 pesos
Really nice dinner w/ drinks + dessert after a difficult day: 600 pesos
Currently at about 14.5 pesos to a dollar made the entire day about: 7480 pesos / 14.5 = $515

The procedure itself was about $414. I read one blog whose uninsured retinal tear procedure cost $2000 in the states and that was 4 years ago. No telling what it is now. I am under TriCare standard, living outside the US, which means I pay for everything out of pocket. Will see if I can get reimbursed for any of it, but I'd say this was a pretty good deal regardless. My mistake was paying for the procedure itself in cash. I failed to understand that I could have pre-paid it via credit card at Dr. Ortiz's office before going to the "surgical center". The center was cash only and although I have a typed receipt, I do not have a credit card statement, so I am not sure if that will be an issue for getting reimbursed.

Update:

Just went back yesterday (Tuesday, a week later) and am healing up nicely. Doc says perfect scarring is occurring (70%) which is what makes the tear patch hold strong. The snow has diminished significantly but the floater remains. I have read about others retaining floaters for months afterwards with subsequent dissipation. Or, the floater might always be there with the same intensity or just diminished. Cross fingers it goes away! I'll go back for another follow-up in 3 months, most likely with my surgeon in San Diego in April. For anyone requiring an ophthalmologist in La Paz or Cabo, I highly recommend Dr. Ortiz.
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Adventures in Mexican Health Care: Part 1 – Friggin’ Retinal Tear

1/20/2015

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Two Saturdays ago, I noticed my right eye was super blurry. By Sunday morning I felt like something must be wrong. It wasn’t going away, but I was afraid to think about it. I was seeing a huge floater, like a spider crawling across my eye every time I moved it. On top of that, throughout my entire field of vision I saw “snow”, tiny black spots appearing as though I am looking through a fuzzy television screen, or watching the Matrix (not kidding).

Brian doesn’t like it when I get on WebMD as I tend to overreact (noooo), even though I diagnosed myself correctly last time around. But I was worried. When it didn’t clear up on Sunday, I looked up ‘floaters’ and ‘snow’ and ‘vision’ and scared myself to death. The phrase “retinal detachment” does not inspire hope. Stories of blindness and horrible-sounding surgeries with long recovery times are everywhere. Brian made me stop looking at the computer; just call your doctor he says. Except it’s Sunday.

A bit of medical background… I am extremely near-sighted and have already had 3 different eye surgeries: PRK (to correct astigmatism) and then IOL (intraocular lens implant) to correct the near-sightedness (-17 diopter), both with perfect results. I had saved up thousands of dollars and waited years for this type of surgery to be perfected for someone of my bad vision. I could finally read my alarm clock 2 feet away and recognize immediately that it truly was my husband waking me up after a night flight. I was ecstatically contacts-free…for a year.

Then, a double whammy: my vision gradually blurred and I was diagnosed with minor cataracts in both eyes. That put me squarely in the 3% category of folks who have had IOL and get early-onset cataracts as a result. Boooo. So I had cataract surgery last year, 30 years before the normal age of 73-75. So let’s just say I’ve had more eye exams and surgeries than most people ever even dream of; I’m also a bit leery of problems. Bad vision and actually glass eyes, run in our family; not good odds.

So that Sunday, I got the number for the on-call ophthalmologist  - busy, busy, busy. So Monday, we decide to attend our Spanish class anyway. It’s not like I am in pain, and I AM paying for these classes (yes we are taking Spanish classes, more on that later). Plus I have to wait ‘til offices open to call anyway. I already scoped out a local ophthalmologist online, Dr. Fausto Lechuga Ortiz. During the morning break I called to make an appointment. The receptionist spoke no English, all I got out of her was that I could see him on Thursday at 11. Well, not too bad but I wish it was sooner.

Then I call my Dr. in San Diego. I should have done that first but honestly, I didn't think I'd get through to my doctor as he is constantly in surgery. After passing me to several people I get his assistant on the line who remembered me and she tells me to make them see me right away, like right now. Now I am panicking. Tears in my eyes I can barely write down what she tells me to tell them: possible beginnings of retinal detachment. My eyes, being abnormally long, are susceptible to this more than most.

What is the best thing about being in a Spanish school when you need to get across to a Spanish-only person that this is an emergency and you can only hablo un poco? Spanish teachers who can blabber away like there is no tomorrow. I grab my Spanish teacher Marcela who has lived here her entire life and ask her to speak to the receptionist for me. She recognizes the doctors name and reassures me this guy is good (another plus), then starts in with the receptionist. She gets her to let me come in right now, even if I have to be seen between patients.

While we are getting ready to leave I speak with the owner of Se Habla La Paz who has actually had cataract surgery by this doctor and highly recommends him. Another instructor volunteered to drive us to the office and on top of that, went in with us to make sure they understood why I was there. Unbelievable. I cannot more highly recommend  Se Habla La Paz for having gone above and beyond to help me. SO thankful.

I get to the office around 11am and wait only about an hour to be seen, get dilated, and by noon I have my diagnosis. Doc says in perfect English ‘good news, it’s a tear’. Wait, what? That’s good news? Yes, because it not detachment. It’s only a tear, easy to fix. Just zap, zap, zap with a laser and that’s it… like sewing a round patch over a U-shaped tear. But he wants to do it today, literally in 2 hours… don’t waste time and let it get worse. Tears become bigger with delay and will eventually become a detachment, which is much harder to fix and with decreased vision definitely possible, if not probable.

OK decision-time. Do I have it done here, in a foreign country with a doc I don’t know, right now, and get it fixed so there isn’t any chance of tearing further? Or get a flight back to SD. Problem is flights to SD from La Paz are not direct, so I’d have to take a 3hr bus to Cabo, get on a plane and get a car, etc. Logistics would take us the rest of the day, then I’d spend all day traveling the next day, then maybe I’d see my American doc by Wednesday, if I’m lucky. I have already heard good things about this doctor from several people. We met another American couple in the waiting room who live in La Paz and have each had several successful procedures there. She even knew what I meant by seeing “snow” and reassured me it would be fine. Mostly, I am afraid to let it go much longer (it’s already been 2-3 days) and to aggravate it by traveling. Decision made. Let’s do it now. Cross your fingers.

TO BE CONTINUED...PROBABLY TOMORROW
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Baja Ha Ha - Part 2.  Recommendations to First-Timers

1/12/2015

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Picture
There's our boat name on the back of our t-shirt! Upper left corner.
Here are our recommendations if you are thinking of coming down here on the Ha Ha…

  1. We recommend 3-4 people on board, even if it is tight quarters. You will have more fun that way. We didn’t have “fun” per se. I would call it a “necessary challenge undertaken and completed to get to the fun and relaxation later on”.  I think we would have enjoyed it much more with someone else to share watches, allowing us to be better rested.
  2. That being said, make sure you can get along in tight quarters for 2 weeks with this 3rd crewmember. I don’t think asking any ‘ole person is a good idea, even a good friend and even if they are a great sailor. Compatibility and congeniality ranks higher than sailing knowledge. Multiple type A personalities on one boat are probably not a good idea. This was not what I would consider “charter boat sailing”, either, so don’t bring those just-wanna-get-drunk-and-party types. I honestly don’t know how people take on crew who they don’t know from Adam - just seems like a recipe for disaster. This is from what we have observed so far, not our personal experience… so sorry to those really good people out there looking to crew. It just seemed to us like the boats that had the most fun together either had their adult kids as crew (great bonding experience) or really good friends that they’ve known forever and have done similar sailing with prior.
  3. Sign up on the first day the Ha Ha opens. If it’s the first time you have done a trip like this, don’t dismiss this advice. We only got a slip at the Cabo Marina because we signed up on the very first day: number 28 on a list of over 170 boats. Normally the marina can accommodate well beyond 60 boats but due to hurricane Odile, I’d estimate at least a 1/3 of the docks were wiped out or damaged. On top of that was a fishing tournament and a second impending hurricane which caused many more boats to stay in Cabo San Lucas Marina longer than normal, so slips were severely limited. We were elated to have respite from the rolling ocean, hot showers, laundry facilities and easy access to all the bars and restaurants, groceries and immigration. Plus it seems anchoring in Cabo can be uncomfortable in blowing weather. Trust me, you will want a slip.
  4. We wouldn’t do the Ha Ha if we had to leave the day after we were scheduled to arrive in Cabo. Weather is unpredictable. Hurricanes happen. Schedules change. I don’t envy those boats that had to turn around and bash right back a couple days after arriving in Cabo without seeing anything else. And if you have crew that must get back north, purchase their return flights for a few days after the fleet is due to arrive. Due to impending hurricane Vance, most of the fleet stayed in Turtle Bay 2 more days than scheduled. This caused a dilemma for crew who ended up arriving late on a Friday to a closed immigration office (need entrance visa stamp) with a flight out on Sunday (can’t fly out without that entrance stamp). Bottom line is if you can stay and cruise down here for a month or more and get to La Paz, that is an infinitely better option.
  5. Get your boat as ready as you can get it. Do the hard stuff (electronics) and save the easy stuff for later (paint/varnish). We worked like madmen trying to finish all the hard stuff before leaving and it paid off big time. Adding a windvane or solar panels or finding ANYTHING electronic like AIS or radar in Mexico is going to be difficult. Everything boat-related is expensive. We redid our standing rigging right before we left. Went to buy a replacement turnbuckle in La Paz; it cost twice as much and takes over a month to get here. Try doing the entire rig with that cost and non-expedience. Can't be fun.
  6. Take lots of spare parts. Cabo has nothing in the way of good spare parts. La Paz is much better, but all are EXPENSIVE. At least 30% more and sometimes double. We could not find a specific type of 200amp fuse and ended up asking our friends to bring it down when they visited. Wire, hoses, maintenance goos like Tef-Gel and Lifecaulk, boat cleaning/varnishing supplies are easy to find. 
  7. Get an SSB, if you can afford it. If you get away from the pack and no longer have line of sight through VHF you are on your own. In one case the fleet leader called the family of a boat as we (the fleet) hadn’t heard from them in a couple days. Although the boat was fine, this was a good wake-up call showing that VHF line of site only can do so much. Plus SSB was our only weather source since we did not have internet.  SSB is not essential and the boats that went without one were able to relay via VHF, most of the time, through boats that did.  A few boats had inexpensive SSB receivers.  They couldn’t talk but were able to hear conversations, and download SSB weather fax.

As a side note, we were impressed with the way the Grand Poobah handled the fleet. Managing that many boats is like herding cats, but imagine only being able to yell at them from around a corner out of sight. And the introduction of Hurricane Vance to the equation made his job even harder. Yet he was somehow able to corral 130 boats over SSB and get their positions each morning… do his info net and not get frustrated with people asking to repeat what he just said 3 times… rearranging all beach parties after Vance had delayed us… and getting slips at the marina for as many people as possible, even if it meant side-ties and end-ties to the wrecked docks and relaying the slip info to all those boats.

We were all watching Vance’s track in Turtle Bay and the weather pros were giving opposing opinions on whether it was ok to continue to Cabo. It was sort of a toss up to stay or go. The weather would have been better going down if we left as planned but there was a remote chance Vance would still be a factor once we got to Santa Maria. The Poobah took the democratic approach. He called a meeting over VHF, did a roll call of each boat in the fleet and we indicated “stay” or “go”.  There were enough people uncomfortable with the weather, so he held the fleet in Turtle Bay. A small contingent of 20 or so boats decided to go on without the fleet in hopes of better wind and at that point they were “on their own” until we met up again. I think this was the most prudent action and we are happy with the way he handled the situation.

We heard from a few people who criticized the Ha Ha for various reasons.  But, I have not met a single Ha Ha participant who said it wasn’t worth it. Over and over, before we left we’d hear…. oh it’s the best, it’s so awesome, you’ll love it, you won’t regret it…Them’s good odds.  In fact, I was really surprised at how many people had done it 5 or more times.  We appreciated the efforts of  the Ha Ha team - thanks Richard. You give people like us the motivation and the deadline to cut the docklines. Keep it going.

Link to the Latitude 38’s blog about the obstacles of the 2014 Baja Ha Ha.

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Baja Ha Ha - Part 1. Was it worth it?

1/2/2015

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Picture
Bright orange HaHa t-shirts were everywhere in Cabo. We could spot another participant a mile away!
After 2 months of contemplation, as I sit here next to the infinity pool with a drink in my hand. Hmmm. Let me think about that for a second. Yes.

We had decided to do the 2014 Ha Ha rally years ago, knowing Brian would retire earlier that year. It mainly served as a deadline for leaving. Not because we like people, parties or anchoring in the midst of 150 other boats. Also, cruising to Mexico was a bit intimidating. Not only did we lack true blue-water experience, but we just started living on the boat a month prior. Throw in the discombobulation of ending our previous lives, lack of Spanish skills and minor fear of immigration and boat TIP complications. Sometimes things are easier with a group… this is one. It was the right decision for us and despite some cons, yes, it was worth it.

The biggest con of the Ha Ha is the contracted timeline. I wish I was able to visit Magdalena Bay, a prime whale sightseeing spot. Bahia Santa Maria was pristine gorgeous, yet I had no time to explore its beaches. And there are several islands and other remote areas along the way. Supposedly you can day-sail most of the way down except the last portion to Cabo which requires an overnight.
But we've also heard of difficulty anchoring and coastal weather phenomena (less than 5 miles to land). One cruiser, when he learned we were going with the Ha Ha, lamented that the most beautiful parts of Baja are on the Pacific side.

The pace of the Ha Ha was grueling for us since we had done no overnight sailing with watches and we were only 2 people. Our overstay by 2 extra days in Turtle Bay (due to avoiding Hurricane Vance) meant we got no extra days in Santa Maria, when I was dead tired. We seriously considered abandoning the fleet there to rest another day. I wanted to. Brian did not. He won. But we are glad we continued. We had the best weather for that last leg and probably one of the best sailing days of our lives. Yin and yang. The good thing about the schedule is it really did force us to DO overnight sailing and get that much-needed watch-standing and night sailing experience. I can admit that now.

So if we ever did it again, we would probably choose to go slow and do it ourselves, now being more familiar with the coastline, weather, check-in procedures, etc. But we feel the Baja Ha Ha was a good experience for us newbies and we would definitely recommend it to anyone who has not traveled to Mexico with their boat. Why?

Travel with a group has its advantages.
  • Weather/sea state info. Over VHF we got good weather and sea state conditions from fleet boats miles ahead, especially helpful for us slower boats.
  • Position reports. Each day at 8am we relayed our coordinates to Richard, the fleet captain, or Grand Poobah as he is known. Having someone know your last daily position would, I assume, help in any potential rescue if you didn’t show up to the final destination.
  • The VHF fix-it fleet. Ha Ha cruisers are remarkably helpful. If you desperately needed a specific size wire or a certain bolt to fix your whatchamacallit, just call the fleet over VHF. Someone was bound to have it and would just give it to you, or let you borrow a tool or give advice as to how to troubleshoot an issue. Several boats had major failures: broken booms, torn sails, dead autopilots, electrical failures, etc. One boat had a medical emergency while sailing. Immediately, there was a nurse, an EMT and a doctor on VHF to talk out the situation, in the middle of nowhere. You just don’t have that kind of support on your own. 
  • Reassurance in numbers. I have heard so many naysayers about traveling with a group. False sense of security, yadah, yadah, yadah. And believe me, Brian and I are not the group traveling types. But I think most cruisers are smart enough to know that we cannot count on anyone but ourselves in an emergency. Period.  That being said, all that VHF net chatter kept us company. And psychologically it was nice to see (whether visually or on radar/AIS) other Ha Ha boats in our vicinity. Because there is really no one else out there along the Pacific Baja coast except a few fisherman and an occasional cruise ship (we saw two the entire time). Leaving each anchorage, the fleet would charge out of the bay like a naval war armada but within a few hours disperse to a trail of breadcrumbs. We were in the slow pack in the back much of the time and there were no other boats within line-of-sight. The rest of the time there’d be 2 or 3 within 3 - 5 miles that we’d pick up on AIS or radar. So few boats, in fact, that the only thing I worried about running into at night 20 miles offshore was a submerged container or a whale (a Ha Ha boat hit a whale and sunk a few years ago). Despite the vessel spread, I was comforted just by proximity alone through VHF. And tracking the bright masthead light of a ship a couple miles away in the middle of the night while on watch, knowing it was Sparx or Cool Change over there, sure didn’t hurt….
  • The Ha Ha t-shirt phenomenon. We had no internet the entire way down to Cabo. And once we got to Cabo we could only access it at a bar for a limited time. We had so many questions that needed answering. So just spotting someone walking down a street with a Baja Ha Ha hat or t-shirt on (and they were everywhere), makes you feel as though you can just start a conversation, even if you hadn’t met them yet; they are part of your pack. “How did you get to Walmart? What did the taxi cost? How did you hail to get fuel from the panga guy and how much did he charge? Where did you get your laundry done? What Telcel phone package did you get?” The list goes on.
  • The immigration shuffle. The immigration check-in procedure at Cabo San Lucas was a case in point of all “being in the same boat” since much of the fleet had to accomplish that task within the same couple days. While walking to the immigration office, we recognized and interrogated Ha Ha folks having just come from there and who were moving onto the next step. At immigration we met several other Ha Ha boats starting their paperwork. We ended up seeing these same boats at the 2nd stop (Port Captain), and the 3rd stop (bank), and the last stop, (Port Captain again)… or just walking along the way. At each place we would ask them questions as to what to do, where to stand in line, what papers they were looking for, how do I get to the right bank, etc.  Knowing someone has already figured it out before you made the arduous task of getting acclimated to living on a boat in a foreign country much easier.  
  • Deadline-city baby. This is the single most important reason for doing the Ha Ha. If we did not have the deadline of leaving with the Ha Ha, we would have put it off. Absolutely. At least a month, maybe longer, who knows? Too many people put it off indefinitely. 170 boats signed up and only 130 boats actually left. We refused, probably were downright afraid, to be in that 25%. Mentally we were ready; we just weren’t quite ready with the boat. Would have liked to finish some sewing projects, varnish the caprail, etc. But you will never be ready, and everybody, EVERYBODY says that. So we prioritized. That deadline forced me to get the car sold, forced our last frenzied haul out, forced us to move onto the boat, forced us to leave the comforts of our Camp Pendleton slip and get down to San Diego.  The Ha Ha for us was akin to crossing the Rubicon... there ain't no going back.

Speaking of deadlines, we’d like to thank the staff of Del Mar Marina Camp Pendleton. They put up with our dock clutter, loud power tools and thousands of pounds of stuff traversing the docks every day as we continued to sink the waterline.  In particular, we thank Ann and Michael. Our long journey began with them as our sailing instructors years ago and both have encouraged us towards this voyage. Although I’m sure at times they didn’t believe we’d actually get the boat out of the slip.  For the last year, every morning we arrived at the boat to work on a project, Michael would greet us: “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.” with his finger wagging back and forth… He was our hourglass keeper and kicker-in-the-butter when we just wanted a beer and a nap or when we got distracted chatting with our wayward friends. Now that we have “done it” and succeeded, I can finally credit you! Thanks, you guys. We will miss you.

Now here are some more photos of the Ha Ha that I didn't post the first time...
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