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Every day they appear at the same time, two stately white ferries calmly gliding through the warm, blue, Sea of Cortez on their way to Mainland Mexico. We watch them longingly, daydreaming about the day that we can sail aboard one of those elegant ships on the way to another of our great adventures.

We’ve been discussing our friends’ experience from last year. They drove their RV on to the ferry and went from La Paz to Mazatlan in 18 hours. They had a beautiful stateroom, gourmet meals in the dining room, small orchestras serenading them and romantic starlit nights. They had found the cost to be reasonable in the winter of 1996 and are planning to repeat the experience this year.

However, the ferries have been taken over by the Japanese and we are told there are new rates this year. There is a great deal of confusion about the cost and we were finally able to get a rate sheet from the ferry office. It will cost us approximately $600 Canadian from La Paz to Mazatlan one way or $300 Canadian from La Paz to Topolobampo one way. They charge by the length of your vehicle and since we’re driving a 17 1/2 foot 1987 GMC van we get away cheaper than most.

Now we must decide whether to stay on the Baha or go to the Mainland as we have always discussed. We also have to decide which ferry to take. The Ferry to Topolobampo wins, we can’t afford the Mazatlan route. Besides, we reason, Mazatlan is just an easy four-hour drive down the coast.

Getting our tickets and reservations is an adventure in itself. We set out for the ticket office on Monday. To make things more difficult the ticket office is in downtown La Paz while the ferry terminal is 25K’s out of town. After standing in a very slow lineup we are told that we cannot go on Tuesday, as there is dangerous cargo. No women, no children, no married men, just single men. We can get on the Wednesday ferry but we must return tomorrow to have our RV measured. Could they not measure our RV today? “No senor, it must be tomorrow.”

We drive 25K’s back to the ticket office Tuesday morning. They are annoyed with us. Apparently we had been issued tickets for Tuesday’s ferry and we had missed it. Never mind that that particular sailing took no women or married men. Are my husband and I beginning to look like single men or better yet, am I beginning to look like a man? Perhaps two months of camping in a small space will do this to me. Now we must start over again.

We return to the ticket office each day, sometimes twice a day until we get a confirmed booking on Friday’s sailing. We vow never ever to criticize the B.C. Ferry System again. “Be at the Ferry Terminal at 8:00 AM sharp on Friday” we are told. The ferry departs at 11:00 AM and arrives at 7:00 PM. In our imagination, it will be a lovely daylight trip, we’ll be seated outside on comfortable deck chairs watching the calm blue ocean for dolphins, nibbling a gourmet lunch and sipping a tall cool drink. Ahh. . . beautiful Mexico!

With great anticipation we arrive at the terminal at 8:00 AM precisely. We are herded into a lineup to have our tickets checked. That done, we are sent off to the tarmac area to join the other vehicles waiting for the ferry. At this point, we are curious about the people who are travelling with us and wonder if we will be the only RV on board. We needn’t have worried. A gentleman from Britain arrives, introduces himself, points out his RV and assures us that he will guide us to a camping spot on the Mainland side. We are grateful. Next comes an American couple banging on our windows and in a great state of agitation. They are driving a huge motorhome and towing a new car. They are in a panic as they have just been told that they must unhook the car and drive each vehicle on to the ferry separately. She cannot and will not drive. They get into a heated argument, she telling me her side of the story and telling my husband his. We don’t even know them but I think we got chosen as marriage councilors because we speak English.

Next to us we spot a possible solution to their problem. There is an old beat-up car with three young men hanging out the windows, very quiet, very pale and very hung over. They are German tourists and one of them says he would be delighted to drive the American car on board for them. It all works out and everyone is happy.

We notice that we are all on Mexican time. There is no sign of the ferry and it is already three hours late. None of the officials have any explanation for this. It is getting hotter and hotter and people are seeking shade wherever they can find it. Obviously, the Mexican people are used to this and take it in their stride. We watch with amusement as a trucker climbs down from his cab, slings a hammock under the truck, opens a cold beer and then drifts off to sleep.

Finally at 3:00 PM the ferry arrives and begins unloading. To our horror the ramp is very narrow and very steep and many of the vehicles are backing off. Unloading takes a long, long time. Suddenly, the lineup begins to move. We are really loading. Each time a truck is loaded the ferry leans to the right or left so much that we are convinced that it is going to top over.

Now a new snag emerges, women passengers cannot drive onto the ferry. We must all hike across the tarmac, stand in line, present our tickets and walk on board. I can never find an explanation for this. Thinking that my husband will drive on board right behind me, I grab my tickets and leave my purse behind in the RV. I board the ferry and stand on deck watching the ferry load. Our RV is a little speck at the far end of the tarmac and it is beginning to look like my better half will not be taking the same trip as I am. He is one of the last vehicles to board and I am delighted to see him as I have visions of arriving alone at Topolobampo with no I.D. and no money. I wondered if the Americans would take me on as a cook for a day.

Next, we encounter the number scenarios. There is much to do made about having our numbers ready for our numbered seats on board. These numbers are checked several times by various officials and we are finally led to our numbered seats. Our seats are occupied by a friendly, smiling Mexican family who waves happily at us. In fact, all the seats are taken and there is no order to anything at all. The numbers must be a Japanese rule.

Finally, the ferry sets sail and we retire to the dining area. Visions of our friends’ gourmet dining experience linger in our minds. This is not to be, we have after all chosen the economical trip. We are offered self-serve tacos, tostados, enchiladas, coca-cola and beer and are ushered into a small, windowless room with old wooden tables and chairs. The Captain sticks his head in the door and begins waving a small package in the air. Several people put up their hands, pay him money and receive what looks like pills to me.

As we finish our “gourmet dinner” I begin to feel queasy. I should have paid more attention. Obviously the Captain had informed everyone that it will be a rough crossing and he was selling motion sickness pills. My husband quickly moves me outside to the rear deck. “You’ll have to sit out here in the fresh air for the next eight hours” he says. But where are the deck chairs? There are no chairs, only deck. I settle in beside a small Indian family, gingerly sitting on my Spanish dictionary wrapped in a plastic bag, my back against the wall. It is now pitch dark, windy and cold. The truck drivers are seasoned ferry travellers. They had brought bedrolls up from their trucks, rolled out their sleeping bags, plumped up their pillows and were sleeping soundly at one end of the deck. I want a blanket, I want a pillow, I want a jacket, and I want to be warm too. Unfortunately, after we came up on deck we were informed that we were not allowed back into our vehicles. All our creature comforts are so near and yet so far.

I do not realize that the evening’s entertainment is about to begin. Suddenly, the quiet of the night is broken by several truckers who begin shouting and pointing excitedly. We are overlooking the deck where the vehicles are parked. Immediately below is an old open truck with a load of goats. In that small, crowed truck right in front of us a goat is giving birth to twins. We watch in fascination, the language barrier gone and the seasickness forgotten. As the goat gives birth all the other goats turn their backs on her and jam themselves against the sides of the truck giving her room for delivery. Quickly the news spreads throughout the ferry and people crowd in to see the new passengers. I somehow think we were having more fun on this trip than I anticipated and maybe we do not even miss being serenaded by an orchestra.

After all that excitement we realize it is midnight and we are finally pulling into the dock. We arrange to rendezvous with our fellow RVers after we unload. We end up boondocking on a quiet service road near a well-lit service station (PEMEX). Typically, the Englishman suggests a cup of tea. Here we all stand in the middle of an empty road, at midnight, we know not where, drinking mugs of tea with total strangers. Ahh–– we say, “only in Mexico”.

We awake the next morning to a great commotion and a terrible smell. We have camped at the entrance to a huge fish packing plant. I remember the anticipation of this trip, the daylight hours, the sparkling blue water, the warm sun high overhead, lounging on comfortable deck chairs and sipping a tall cool drink. You know – some experiences are just more fun than others and who knows – we may even do it again next year!