Living in Mexico is like going back in time

My three sisters, one of their friends.  I'm the smallest kid.

"Make sure you are home in time for dinner!" 

That was rule number one when we were growing up in a small gold-mining town located in the coastal mountains of British Columbia Canada.  We got up, hurriedly spooned down our bowl of porridge sweetened with brown sugar and reconstituted Pacific-brand evaporated-milk.  Maybe we slowed down long enough to snag a piece of toast and peanut butter before heading out the door on weekends. 

Accompanied by our willing, but slightly dim Cocker Spaniel, we ran up and down the dirt streets exploring our neighbourhood, swung out on rope-swings over rocks and blackberry brambles, and fooled around on abandoned bits of mining machinery.  During summer vacation, once mom and dad were able to afford a rustic summer cottage on a nearby lake, we were turned loose to explore the shorelines, and hillsides.  At sunrise my third oldest sister would drag me out of bed to go fishing in dad's canoe.  We'd troll up and down the lake for several hours - finally bringing in enough Rainbow Trout for breakfast.  Rule number two was "clean and eat what you catch." 

Lawrie's first bike, before the 2-wheeler.

Lawrie's childhood memories of growing up in the City of North Vancouver are similar.  From the time he was old enough to ride a two-wheel bike, he frequently rode eight to ten miles a day exploring the surrounding city.  Or he and his friends played cowboys and Indians in the nearby forest, once tying his hapless sister to a tree as their captive. 

Hours later when he returned home his mom asked: "Where's your sister?  Oops!"  His forgetfulness earning him a spanking.  Other times Lawrie and friends would try their luck with fishing in nearby rivers, using a simple hand-held line with a wooden handle. 

He explored from sunup to sunrise, coming home at dusk, hungry, tired and happy. 

We were free to roam.  Free to explore.  Free to do as we wanted. 

Friends out watching the release of baby turtles

That's what Lawrie and I really like about Mexico.  The children are out doing things, playing, and exploring. 

Not many of the local children have electronic games, or televisions that would keep a North American child spell-bound, and house-bound. The older siblings let the younger ones tag along, no quarrels.  It's their responsibility to look after the youngsters. 

There is a large group of young ones living just down the street in the Colonias.  Once the nearby North American home owners have left for the summer season a group of five, six, seven, or a dozen youngsters will explore various swimming options before invading a pool - clothes and all.  If they were a touch more stealthy in their approach no one would be the wiser.  However, the gales of giggles emanating from the pools are always a dead-on-clue that something is up.

An intense game of Foosball

Other groups of children, made up of various brothers, sisters, and cousins play in the surf with an older sibling keeping an eye on their antics.  There is a little 'tienda' in the Colonias that has an outdoor foosball table set up on their veranda.  The local kids spend a few pesos for hours of raucous fun. 

And when the storms bring the Soisin fish close to shore a group of three brothers and a sister will cooperate and fish together, reeling in dozens of fish for a family dinner.




For us, living here is like stepping back to a more innocent time - to when we were kids. 

Riding double on a bike

The one improvement over mom's rule number one: "Make sure you are home in time for dinner!"  We can go out for dinner, or eat in.  Our choice.  We're all grown up now.

~

Murder and Mayhem on our favourite island in paradise!

Sam  5.0 out of 5 stars

Exciting adventure, a must read.

January 6, 2018

Treasure Isla was a great book. Trouble Isla picks up where the 1st book leaves off. I'm hooked, I can't put it down. I'm excited to see how this plays out. Lynda thank you for the adventures and Sparky you're a star.

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Escape From Cuba

Home-built boat for Cuban refugees

The wooden hull scrapes on the coral, stalling in the shallow water.  Men scramble overboard, pushing and pulling the small wooden boat to shore - allowing the others to disembark.  Voices whisper softly in Spanish, shushing those that speak too loudly.  Scrabbling over the rocks they swiftly change into dry clothing, discarding the wet pants, shirts, shoes on the sand.
 
Pirates invading Isla?  No, they are Cuban refugees arriving on the east side of the island in the pre-dawn hours of the night. 

We, and the two watch-dogs that sleep in our driveway, peacefully snoozed through the night completely oblivious to the excitement happening a few hundred feet away.

Naval officers investigating

In the morning Lawrie noticed two naval officers plus two heavily armed enlisted men walking purposefully along our beach. 

Naturally curious he popped his head out the door to see what was happening.  The group had stopped in front of the neighbours' house, peering over the rocky ledge to the beach.  Lawrie raced upstairs to our bedroom patio for a better view and spotted the boat pulled up on the sand beneath the ledge.

A few minutes later, camera in hand, I wandered down to the beach to chat with our neighbours’ handyman, José.  He said that the boat had arrived sometime during the night, and that he had reported it at seven in the morning to the Navy officials.  

Discarded wet clothing

José thought there were around 20 people on board judging by the amount of wet clothing left behind along with space-blankets (thin aluminum sheets that are used to retain body warmth) and the amount of empty water bottles in the bottom of the boat.  José said the eighty-five mile trip would have taken them at least five days, even accounting for the easterly winds. 



Plastic fan blades for a propeller



 It was a primitive, open boat, with no shelter from wind, rain or sun.  Their only means of propulsion were two long home-made wooden oars, and a tiny motor out-fitted with a plastic fan blade for a propeller.  Fortunately for the refugees the weather had been mild for the last few days - overcast, windy, not the strong storms that can occur in the winter.



The next night, during a driving rainstorm, we could hear loud banging and bashing noises coming from the direction of the grounded boat.  In the morning we discovered the abandoned carcass of the boat had been picked clean.  The local people had recycled all the wood, the motor and most of the wet clothing.  What was over-looked were the two long wooden oars.  These now decorate our living room wall.  Our little bit of recycling, otherwise known as beach scavenging.



Cuban oars as wall decoration



A quicker, but vastly more expensive, way for Cuban refugees to arrive in Mexico is via fast sport-fishing boats, powered by two or three 250-horse outboard motors.  These boats are typically stolen from coastal American marinas and taken to Cuba where the operators sell passage from Cuba to Mexico at approximately $10,000 US dollars per person.  

The operators will then make the drop-off somewhere on the Mexican coastline - hoping to avoid detection by the Mexican Navy or Coast Guard cutters.  Not all escape detection.   There are currently about forty boats moored at the Naval docks on Isla Mujeres.  They remain here, year after year, rotting at the docks, mired in a legal battle between American insurance companies, and Mexican officials. 



All of these boats have been intercepted by the Navy



Spanish speaking Cuban refugees can assimilate quite readily into the Mexican population, but for the most part they eventually try to make their way north to the US border.  When researching on the internet to see how many refugees attempt this crossing I found an interesting news item.  It described an incident in June of 2008. 

A group of armed men "kidnapped" thirty-four Cuban refugees who were being transported by police to a detention centre.  The thirty-four refugees had been detained by the Mexican navy on a beach near Cancun. They were turned over to the immigration department, and were to be transported to the refugee camp at Tapachula near the border of Chiapas and Guatemala.  The article suggested that the kidnapping was likely a rescue operation by either friends or paid associates, preventing the forced return of the refugees to Cuba.

This journey is not for the faint of heart.

The next time the wind blows from the east, the sea is calm, and the moon is bright we'll be keeping our eyes open, and listening.  Listening for the arrival of refugees.  This journey is not for the faint of heart.

Escape to Cuba

Russian Yak 42 - probably built in 1960's

We ducked our heads, clearing the low doorway bulkhead as we entered the plane - an ancient Russian Yak 42 - still in use by Cubana Airlines.  The flight was three hours late leaving the Cancún airport.  Strange, considering there are only two Cubana Airlines flights per day; one from Havana in the morning, and one from Cancún in the afternoon. 

This is 'completely normal'  Really?

We secured our seatbelts.  Lawrie buckled his, I knotted mine, unable to adjust it to a different size.  The plane was completely full, with no other seats available.  As the pilots started to taxi the plane onto the runway, the air conditioning and lights were turned off.  The flight attendant cheerfully announced; "Don't worry.  It is necessary to turn off all extraneous power to assist with takeoff."  Seriously? 

When the plane cabin filled with a white smoke, she made another cheerful announcement.  "Don't worry.  This is completely normal.  It is condensation forming as we climb into the atmosphere."  Really?  Completely normal?  A few minutes later a loose armrest from another seat slid past our feet.  By then we were laughing in nervous acceptance of flying inside a mechanical disaster.  One hour to touchdown.  Perhaps we will survive.

Office buildings are used a apartments

Landing in Havana we scrambled off the death-trap, refusing to think about the return flight.  That was three days away, there was lots to see and do in the meantime.  The bus ride deposited us in the centre of Old Havana at the Hotel Plaza.  The one-hundred-year-old Hotel Plaza is rich in history.  

At one time is was a home to a wealthy Cuban family, later a luxury hotel with famous guests such as Albert Einstein, Isidora Duncan, and Babe Ruth.  The hotel has retained some of its historical features, bas-relief ceilings, impressive white columns, and colourfully tiled floors - but the rooms are plain, tired, and functional. 

Lawrie and a beer - Bacardi building behind

Our favourite place to spend an hour or two was at the roof-top bar, overlooking the city, and the impressive former Ron Bacardí corporate building. Bacardi Rum was started in Cuba in 1862 by Spanish born Don Facundo Bacardí Massó.  His descendents grew the company ever larger with each generation.  Bacardí family members initially supported Fidel Castro and the revolutionaries, donating tens of thousands of dollars to the movement, and acting as intermediaries between the revolutionaries and the CIA. 

Shortly before the takeover on January 1st 1959 the Bacardí family realized their holdings were in jeopardy,  moving the ownership of the Company's trademarks, assets and proprietary formulas to the Bahamas.  The Castro regime confiscated the remaining Bacardí assets on October 15th, 1960 - while nationalizing all private property on the island as well as all bank accounts.   All over Havana, abandoned offices that were built for bankers, accountants, lawyers, and corporations have now been put to use as apartments for Cuban nationals.

Riding in a coco-taxi in Old Havana

We spent the next three days exploring the city.  We joined a tour bus for a guided tour around the old embassy sites and mansions.  We walked to Ernest Hemmingway's favourite bar the La Floridita where he is said to have invented the Daiquiri drink.  We explored along the Malecón (seawall), through the art flea market.  We toured the city by night in a coco-taxi, a yellow egg-shaped two-person contraption attached to a motor bike. 

Whatever transportation was available we used it.  With the American trade embargo in place since the revolution there are dozens of 1950's and 60's American cars limping along, lovingly repaired with bits and pieces, anything to keep them working just a little longer.  New cars have quite recently been imported from France and Germany.  While new motorcycles and tour buses have been brought in from China.

Many old American cars still in use

As we toured the city, one feature struck us as quite odd.  There are no signs, no advertising, nothing.  No signs to indicate a grocery store.  No signs for restaurants.  No signs for gas stations.  We saw a few posters depicting the famed revolutionary Ernesto"Che"Guevara, but none of the living, and equally famous Fidel Castro.  Visually it was a treat to not be bombarded by advertising, but really confusing when trying to find a restaurant. 

Our first night in Havana we asked the doorman at our hotel for a recommendation for dinner.  He handed his door duties off to a fellow worker, and said; "Follow me."  We walked down dark streets, along a twisting confusing route, blithely trusting that we wouldn't be robbed - eventually arriving at an unmarked door.  The doorman indicated we should follow him inside, up five floors of progressively narrower stairways, and through another door.  A restaurant!  We would never have found it ourselves.   We tipped him - and he left us there.  Was that a good idea?  The food was good, not quite the spicy mix that we thought we would find in Cuba.  We were told that because of the ongoing trade embargo spices are too expensive, and hard to find.   Cubans had become accustomed to blander food.  We drank local beer, ate local food, watched local people enjoying their dinners.  Eventually we knew we had to attempt to find our hotel again.  Fortunately Lawrie has a good sense of direction and he led us back to the hotel - via a slightly more circuitous route.

Various forms of transportation in Cuba

At the end of our three day mini-vacation we headed back to the airport - dreading our return flight on Cubana Airlines.  We arrived in the airport, the requisite two hours before departure time.  And waited. 

We watched while the flight crew wandered out on the tarmac, coffee cups in hand, to chat with the maintenance crew.  Work stopped.  The group increased to a dozen people.  They sipped coffee, gestured, laughed, sipped more coffee.  

We waited.  Two hours!  Ah, that explains the why our Cancún flight was behind schedule. 

In the end we made it safely back to our home on Isla Mujeres, Mexico.


Hasta Luego
Lawrie, Lynda and Sparky

~

Want more adventure stories?

Isla Mujeres Mystery series is available in e-book format on Amazon, B&N, Kobo and iBooks. 

Or if you prefer paperback - copies are available on Amazon and here on Isla Mujeres at Jenny Penny Boutique,or  Isla Retreats or me.

Riders on the Wind

A cloud of frigatebirds over North Beach

On a puff of wind the large, iridescent black shapes float past, slowly gaining altitude as the warm air updrafts, or thermals, lift them higher and still higher into the atmosphere.  A slight adjustment to the tilt of a wing, the position of the tail and the bird effortlessly climbs higher still. 

Dozens of frigatebirds glide past our house joining the hundreds that are arriving from all directions.  They enter the thermal spiral, sliding in place without interrupting the flight pattern of others - all playing, soaring in the updraft.  I lean backwards, craning my neck into an uncomfortable position, trying to count the birds.  It's an impossible task with hundreds more joining in.  The spiral looks to contain a thousand or more black birds, soaring, gliding, spinning upward until they are mere specks in the sky. 

3 feet tall, and a wingspan of up to 7 feet

These enormous birds stand about 3 feet tall (about a metre) and have wingspans of up to 6 1/2 feet wide (about 2.3 metres).  The females are black with white underbellies, and the males are black with a bright red throat pouch that during mating season is inflated to attract a female. Once the birds have paired off and mated the throat pouch on the male changes to a deep pink. Groups of males will put on a spectacular courtship display with their throat sacs inflated, clattering their bills, bobbing their heads and quivering their wings. 

Apparently it works - the females think they are quite handsome.  The pair will remain monogamous for the season.  Both parents share in feeding the one or two chicks for the first three months.  Then the chicks will stay another eight months with the mother, noisily demanding to be fed even though they are nearly as big as the parent.

Coordinated flight paths over Ray carcas, discarded in surf.

Unlike most ocean-going birds, the frigatebirds can't swim, can't walk well on land, and have difficulty taking off from a flat surface - but, they can stay aloft for more than a week at a time flying as much as 225 kilometres before they land, catching 30 second naps while drifting in the updrafts.  When hunting over the ocean surface they snatch small fish, or baby turtles, using their long, hooked bills. 

When food is plentiful, the birds aren't aggressive with each other.  We have seen them coordinate their flight paths - flying in an orderly pattern from right to left over a ray carcass, picking off bits of meat.  Not squabbling, but cooperating.  All of them feasting. 

Flying in a pattern, right to left. Everyone eats!

Other times they perform like fighter pilots, using speed and manoeuvrability, attacking the another frigatebird until the food is dropped mid-air.  I have had the experience of a bright blue still-flopping fish landing beside me - the lost prize from a battle between two frigatebirds.  I put it back in the ocean, but the drop from several hundred feet guaranteed that it was not going to live.  It flipped over on its side, stunned, not moving. 

Unfortunately the two squabbling birds had lost interest in the hapless fish, and had moved on to another battle.

Peace returns when the updrafts are perfect, and another 'fly-in' begins. 

The birds once again start drifting past, slowly gaining elevation. Heading up, up and away.  Like Peter Pan and Wendy.

I recently found this interesting bit of information on another blog site:

"Occasionally, the birds even entered into REM sleep. You may think this is a crazy thing to do while flying but unlike us, where bursts of REM sleep are lengthy and involve complete loss of muscle tone, REM sleep in birds lasts for only a few seconds. That said, the resulting loss of muscle tone caused the heads of the birds to dip during flight, but amazingly it doesn’t affect their flight patterns." http://blog.londolozi.com/2017/12/23/how-do-birds-manage-to-sleep-on-the-wing-and-not-crash/

When you are on the island, look up and enjoy the show of the giant frigate birds.

Hasta Luego

Lynda, Lawrie and Sparky

~

Join the adventure! Isla Mujeres Mystery series

CA reviews reviewed Tormenta Isla: Murder and mayhem on a tiny island in paradise (Isla Mujeres Mystery Book...  Storms and lovers! July 12, 2018 Book 3 of the Isla series follows the crowd as they survive a punishing storm that not only strands islanders and endangers their homes, boats, and businesses but also introduces a drug kingpin's operations there. Realistic storm sequences kept me flipping pages. Relationships are the glue that gets everyone through the turmoil, with new characters expanding the ensemble I loved in Books 1 and 2. Nice set up at the end for Book 4, which hopefully will be out soon!

available as e-books and paperback!

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Isla and Nola enjoying their copy of Treasure Isla - photo Heather Yush

Diá de la Marina - June 1st



Naval Officers, participating in Dia de la Marina


Exuding confidence in their smartly pressed dress-whites three naval officers relax on the upper deck of the UltraMar ferry. 

A flotilla of boats, both public and private, is headed out to Manchones Reef between Cancún and Isla Mujeres.  It is June 1st, the Diá de la Marina, a floating remembrance day celebrated with speeches, prayers, and the laying of colourful floral wreaths on the ocean.
  
The Diá de la Marina was created by the Mexican government on June 1st 1917 in celebration of the first time a Mexican merchant vessel - the Tabasco - departed with the officers and crew composed totally of Mexican born seaman.  Before this date, the captains, chief engineers and officers of the Mexican vessels were all foreigners, presumably Spanish born, but foreigners all the same.  The Diá de la Marina wasn't celebrated nationally until June 1st, 1942.  That's when the crews of various ships - torpedoed by German submarines in the Second World War - were honoured. 

Local flotilla headed to Manchones Reef

The modern Mexican Navy has approximately 56,000 personal plus volunteer reserves.  It boasts a total of 189 ships, and 130 aircraft that are used to patrol 11,122 kilometres of coastline.  The naval base on Isla Mujeres was established in 1949 with an eye to help protect the mainland, assist with protecting the PeMex oil fields near Campeche if needed, and in later years to intercept Cuban refugees or arrest drug-runners. 

The naval officers and crews also respond to any natural disasters, specifically the cleanup after powerful hurricanes such as Gilbert and Wilma.  Mexico City is home to the Naval Medical School, while Veracruz has the Aviation School, and the Engineering School.  Members of the Navy as well as state police officers, and firefighters are trained for marine search, rescue and diving in Acapulco.   

Laying wreaths on the water

Our local celebration of the Diá de la Marina was well-attended. The colourful flotilla of pleasure boats, over-loaded with family and friends, jockeyed for prime positions.

Everyone wanted to be close enough to hear the speakers and able to see the flower wreaths being lowered onto the water. 

There were a few close calls. Passengers using their hands and feet pushed away a-too-close boat, shouting instructions at the captain in rapid-fire Spanish.  

"Get back.  You're too close.  Stop!"


A few boats were too close for comfort


One young ensign stood proudly at the rail of the UltraMar ferry, smiling at the sight of so many people paying their respects to his colleagues. 

I asked; "May I take a photo of you?" 

He beamed a smile at me. 

"Si, si."  

For me, his quiet pride was the best part of the experience.



Proud Naval crew member



Our Robinson Crusoe Tree House

Our second floor ocean-view tree-house perch

While sharing a bottle of wine (or two) a few years ago, we sketched with pen and paper what we envisioned for our new home on Isla Mujeres. 

Our design included a Robinson-Crusoe-style palapa for our upper deck.  Palapas are thatched-roof, open-sided structures made of either dried palm-tree leaves, or grass. 

We love our palapa. 


It's a cool, inviting, romantic place for staring at the ocean, reading books, stargazing, or sipping wine by candlelight. Last year we asked Patricio Yam, our builder, to re-furbish the palapa as it was starting to look a bit ragged. 

Benito, Manfred, and Miguel removing old palapa

Day One: Patricio and his crew of brothers, sons, and nephews arrived to dismantle the existing thatched roof. 

Patricio decided that the original job done by a crew from Cancun was not up to his standards particularly since some of the wood was already bug-infested, and starting to disintegrate.  He had his crew remove most of the original framework, with plans for new crossbeams. 

Day Two: They peeled, sanded and varnished small logs before attaching to the larger beams using stainless steel screws.  The rust and corrosion on the windy side of the island creates havoc with all things metal, so stainless steel screws are a perfect choice for building wooden structures.

Re-thatching the palapa

Days Three to Five: The new thatching was applied.  Angel and his brother Ishmael spent 8 hours per day, working shoulder to shoulder, balancing bare-foot on the small wooden crossbeams. 

No safety harnesses, no boots, no hard hats.  They hand-sewed each small bundle of thatch onto the sticks using a very strong twine, the same type used for making fish nets. 

My hands ached, watching them work. 



Re-thatching the palapa



Day Six: Patricio's brother, José, was in charge of attaching the fish netting to the outside of the thatching. 

The netting is necessary to keep the grass from blowing away during wind storms, and it gives the finished product a smoother look. 



José - balanced on board adding netting


Late in the afternoon of the sixth day I went upstairs to the roof deck to take more photos of their progress.  I discovered that José was balanced on a 2 x 8 inch plank thirty feet off the ground, on the ocean-side of the palapa. 

The plank was inserted through the last rung of two ladders laying sideways across the new thatching. 

The two ladders were then held in place on the roof side of the house by a 4” log.  Juan and Manny were leaning on the log - holding José and the entire contraption in place.  

Both Juan and Manny were exhorting José to hurry up as their arms were getting tired holding the combined weight of ladders, boards, and José. 

I hopped up onto the log, adding my weight to the counterbalancing efforts, and sat there for the next hour while José dangled three-storeys up over our stone patio - his bare toes gripping the edge of the plank. 

José thought it was pretty amusing that I was so worried about his safety.  Joking and perpetually smiling, José is usually the one that takes on the worst, and most dangerous jobs.  Angel, his nephew, was balanced on his stomach, wedged in under the top of the palapa - passing José the twine to sew the netting in place. 

My stomach was doing flip-flop, thinking about their lack of safety equipment. 

A few final touches!

The next night we sat under the finished palapa enjoying a glass of wine, the full moon reflecting off of the rolling waves and were very, very happy that these wonderful, and slightly crazy, people build such romantic structures.

Our Car Dilemma - Lawrie's turn to write

Leaving Isla Mujeres - to drive to Progresso

After four years of living on Isla Mujeres - it was time.  Time to sell the car.  Our 2008 Nissan Altima Hybrid that we had driven down from Canada was as close to perfect as we could get.  It's inexpensive to run, and trouble free - except for a few small details. 

And as you know it's all in the details.

We live on the oceanfront where clouds of airborne sea salt roll over the island and we are constantly battling rust and corrosion on anything made of metal.  I had to wash the car daily to stop the rust.  Plus ours was probably the only Nissan Hybrid in Mexico, so future repairs could be a problem.  And finally, with four people in the car, we were barely able to drive over the, topes, speed bumps that are very common on roads in Mexico.  The car just didn't have enough ground clearance.


Linea Peninsula Shipping

What to do: We couldn't sell the car in Mexico, as it had been imported on a temporary permit.  We couldn't sell the car in the USA as the gauges were in metric and the car didn't have the correct EPA stickers.  So the Altima had to go back to Canada.  How to do this?  We didn't want to drive it back as we aren't comfortable crossing the USA-Mexico border right now, and as much as we love driving trips we had other plans for a holiday this year.  I started investigating on the internet for an alternative means of getting the car back to Canada. 

Step one was to drive the car to Progresso, about four and a half hours north-east of Cancun and register with Linea Peninsula a container shipping company.  The staff were great!  They helped us navigate the complex rules to process the car through Mexican Customs, clear it through American Customs, and truck it to the USA-Canada border. 



Banjercito - paperwork

 Step two was to export the car through Mexican Customs.  We used Angie Winegar at Banjercito in Progresso, to process the paperwork.  Angie was fantastic.  She advised us that we had a slight delay before she could organize our permit.  The bank computers were being updated and were off-line until later in the afternoon. 

Angie suggested we have a nice leisurely lunch at one of the beach restaurants, and return at 1:30 in the afternoon.  We did.  She was late getting back to the office, but hustled and had our paperwork completed in twenty minutes. 

Step three was to drive the car back to Linea Peninsular and continue the checking-in process, eventually driving the car out along the seven kilometre pier in the port of Progresso to leave it at the container ship.  Linea Peninsular services were about five hundred ($500.00) US dollars.  I would use them again, in a heartbeat. 


Port Authority in Progresso

When the ship arrived in Panama City Florida, another extremely helpful person, April Parrish of Page & Jones Customs Brokers, expedited it through American Customs.  They charged $300.00, but later advised me that they would be refunding $150.00 as it was not necessary to have the car inspected.

For the next part of the journey from Panama City to Blaine Washington, near the Canadian border, I used Montway Shipping.  I found this company though a website called "U-Ship" where I requested on-line bids from several trucking companies before setting on Montway.  They picked up our car from the docks and in short order it was in Blaine Washington. The total cost for trucking was one thousand and four hundred ($1400.00) US dollars.
 

So for around two thousand ($2100.00) US dollars we got our Nissan to the USA-Canada border.  Sound like a lot to pay? 

Well considering the shortest route via Goggle Maps is 3940 miles it would take us a minimum of ten days to drive back to British Columbia.  We like to stop frequently.  Plus we would have to pay for gas, food, lodging, a few cocktails, and return airfare to Mexico - we think the cost was a bargain!

The only wrinkle in this whole process was caused by our previous insurance carrier ICBC, operated by the province of BC.  When we moved to Mexico they would not continue to insure our car, so we let it lapse and instead purchased Mexican insurance.  Before leaving Canada in 2008, I had been advised by an ICBC agent that when we wanted to return they would re-insure the car and send us the decals so that we would be insured on the drive back. 

Chuck Watt, inspecting the car in Blaine WA

Change of administrations and a change of regulations, and our car had been purged from the ICBC system.  Their response was "sorry, tough luck, but maybe you can find an insurance company in California that would sell you a policy."  No.  No one would sell such a policy.  Thank you so much, ICBC. 

I had such fantastic service from the Mexican shipping company, Mexican customs, US customs, and US trucking company - only to be told by our Canadian insurance company that we were on our own.

There is a happy ending.  The final step required the assistance of good friend, Chuck Watt, who arranged Canadian insurance and drove it across the border for us. The car is back in Vancouver, living at Chuck and Marcy's house, just waiting for a new owner. 



Sparkling clean and looking for a new owner