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| Eleanor and Frances in front of our new temporary home in Ajo. I took this yesterday, early in the morning as they started their walk to their first day of school--Eleanor's first day since leaving kindergarten in D.C., Frances's first day ever. The prospect of attending school while in the States was a highlight for both of them. Note the fleece! I'm wearing socks for the first time in years. |
Nearly
two years ago, we left Mexico and sailed straight into the middle of the
Pacific Ocean.
“What’s
your plan?”
“How
long are you going to be in the South Pacific?”
“Are
you circumnavigating?”
People
asked these questions and we didn’t have answers. (I certainly didn’t imagine
we’d spend multiple seasons in the South Pacific and make two trips home from
the South Pacific.) Not only did we not have answers regarding our plans, but
we cast off faithfully heeding Hayden’s oft-quoted admonition that our voyage,
“must rest on a
firm foundation of financial unrest.” (I don’t think
anyone would credit Sterling Hayden for his financial wisdom, but the dude had
a pretty good pulse on what matters in life, and he certainly lived it the way
he saw it.)
So
there we found ourselves in the Marquesas, five years into our cruising life
and running out of money and writing, writing, writing to offset some of the
outlay. When I got out and about, I noticed that we were among a new community
of cruisers. Yes, there were the familiar Canadians and Americans who’d crossed
that year like us. Yes, there were the unfamiliar Europeans who’d been banded
together for months, since the funnel of the Panama Canal served to acquaint them
all. But then there were the boats that were just there, denizens of the South
Pacific who’d arrived many seasons ago. They could answer everyone’s questions
and mine was: “Is it possible for an American to find work in the South
Pacific?”
Someone
pointed out a green steel schooner at the end of the bay. “Go talk to Vagrant, they’re
Americans and they’ve worked for years in the South Pacific.”
I
couldn’t row over to Vagrant fast enough.
Tina
and Shane were pleasant, but their answers weren’t encouraging. They’d lived
and worked in the Kingdom of Tonga, Guam, and the Marshall Islands, but in
years past. They told us we might get lucky, but they’d found most of their
success chartering their own boat and doing work I wasn’t qualified for:
managing the construction of a hotel and teaching SCUBA. “You’ve got to have
pretty specialized skills that are in demand and be in the right place at the
right time.”
But
despite the let-down, Windy and the girls and I liked Tina and Shane a lot. And
we kept running into them. Months later, in the Tuamotus, we crossed paths again
and Tina came by in her dinghy.
“You
love garlic?” I said to her.
“Huh?”
“Your
hat, it says Ajo on it.”
“Oh,
no, it’s a place, in Arizona—Ajo, Arizona—we have a little house there.”
So
we talked about Ajo. Later, Windy and I talked about Ajo. In the months that
followed, Windy and I read and talked more about Ajo. We asked more questions
about Ajo. We were intrigued by Ajo.
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| The girls walking to school on our mesquite tree-lined street. I think ours is the only house for blocks without a tree in front. |
Ajo’s
a small, former copper mining town in Southern Arizona, right on highway 85.
It’s two hours south of Phoenix, in the heart of the Sonoran Desert, 35 miles
north of the Mexican border. It’s surrounded by BLM land and national parks.
It’s depressed and charming. It’s desolate and beautiful. It’s a 2-hour drive
from dipping my feet in the water of the Sea of Cortez, at Puerto Peñasco. It’s
relatively close to our West Coast families. It perfectly fits into a future
Windy and I have imagined for ourselves, in which we cruise the Sea of Cortez
for a part of each year with a home base we can visit in the States.
Ajo.
The
nearest town is Why. Somebody didn’t waste any syllables naming these places.
“What
if we bought a little house in Ajo, something that is really decrepit, at a
price we can afford? We fly there and fix it up really nice, rent it out, and
then return to Del Viento with a tiny
income stream to add to the others.”
“No
way.” I said to Windy.
Less
than a month later, we were in a Suva, Fiji, lawyer’s office getting our
signatures notarized on closing docs sent to us by an Arizona title company.
Our firm low, low-ball offer on a 3-bedroom, 2-bath house we’d never seen in a
place we’d never been, had been accepted. Because I guess that’s the way we
roll.
This
is a project. The house was foreclosed on years ago and has been vacant since.
All the appliances—everything including
the kitchen sink (and countertops)—are long gone. There is no heating or air conditioning.
Even the gas company disconnected service and removed their meter (good thing
because all the gas lines are cut off behind walls. We might be able to save
one window.
We
expected this, we knew this is what we had gotten ourselves into. We’re ready
to tackle it.
The
bigger questions loomed: How would we get to Ajo from Fiji? And, what would we think
of Ajo when we got there?
---MR
