It is Friday at 1pm, and our journey was just beginning.

1:15pm

  A big flashing arrow and an English speaking worker would be helpful, but instead the Chinook rolls into an industrial lot with buildings omitting any form of signage. We’ve learned that the easiest way to make yourself look like a tourist is to drop your jaw part way, enough to catch a few flies, then hold your phone up to your face and turn your head so many times you’ve rubbed the tan right off the back of your neck. This is a spitting image of us, a neon sign hangs above our truck that screams “I’m lost!”

  After locating a small sign that reads TMC, we gather our binder of all things, hold it close to our chests like we’re back in high school and make our way into the building. Calm, cool and collected, right?

1:30pm

  Wrong building. We are directed towards inspection. Three big yellow arches give shade to the police and guards awaiting our arrival, but which one do we go to? A sign, would, be, sigh, NICE. My intuition chooses the furthest to the right and we come to a stop at the guard’s hand gesture. Immediately he comments on the truck in relatively good English. Him and Matthew discuss Toyotas, and once again, this machine we slapped together in a garage has taken the massive load of stress donkeys and put them out to pasture. Our inspection consisted of opening the back door, he didn’t even peak inside, hilarious.

1:45pm

  We are directed to another very small building to get our tickets. At this moment we are unsure whether they will consider us a motor home or a truck/camper. The price difference is staggering, and I’m pretty sure Matthew has now measured the length and height of the Chinook five times in hopes of the latter.

2:00pm

  Sticking out like sore thumbs again, we are crammed into a small room filled with Spanish conversations and a heavy stench of the air conditioning putting in work. A couple of men attempt to converse with our broken Spanish while we wait, and that comforts us.

2:30pm

  Still in the tiny stuffy room, we can’t figure out why there are six females behind the desk all in uniform, yet only two are actually working. And then, a cake appears. Yes, a cake. The next thing we know we are shoo’d out of the small kiosk while the girls take photos with the cake. Honestly, I would love some cake right now.

2:45pm

  I guess this is why they ask you to show up at 1:00 for your 6:00 boat ride. We are let back into the ticket room, and when our turn finally comes, we are pleased to pay 7,000 pesos for our truck/camper.

3:00pm

  The instructions from the girl who handed us our tickets on where to park and wait for the remaining few hours we’re vague. We learn very quickly that this is not like our ferry system back home on Vancouver Island. There are no signs, no lanes, no designated areas, no P.A. Speaker announcements, no direction at all. Back and forth and back and forth, the Chinook has checked every corner of the lot for another overland vehicle, but only cargo. Workers gaze at the confusion radiating off of us, but seem to be more amused than helpful. To our hilarious, and awesome surprise, the gentlemen that had attempted conversation in the kiosk are driving a semi filled to the brim with fresh oranges. As they wave us over, one of the men jumps up and grabs us some. They may not know where we’re supposed to be either, but this small act of kindness sure cheered us up.

4:30pm

  Using our finger binoculars, we can see our boat loading in another bay. The hurry up and wait game continues. Watching the men load each container in an orchestral manor is oddly satisfying.

5:00pm

  Up the Chinook goes on the ramp to the top deck. We are directed in between a breast height wall, a semi on our left, and another behind. Ahead of us is the anchor’s intimidating rope. Watching in our mirrors as the workers chain everything down, we both look at each other and hope they do the same to us ha ha. To put in perspective how similar this is to a sardine-filled can, Matthew has to get out through my door due to the closeness on his side.

6:00pm

  The air on the top deck reeks of truck exhaust, brake pads and an assortment of either fruit trying to make its last attempt at an escape, or the fish hanging out of the lingering seagull’s mouth. Men are dancing around the main deck finishing up tasks, so we make our way into the single room communal kitchen. We are served tacos, and share brief interactions with some of the drivers. It’s special experiencing the every day life side of this journey for some of these men, and as the roar of the boat fills the cabin, we can’t help but breathe into our new reality.

  A sunset filled with strawberry custard helps us say goodbye to Baja, and hello to Mainland Mexico.