WELLNESS AND WILDERNESS
New fitness-focused cruise in Mexico converts a non-cruiser
IF you think doing yoga on land is challenging, try doing it on the deck of a boat. The gentle rocking and rolling of the swell make even the simplest poses infinitely more challenging. When our instructor cues tree pose, I curse him in my head as I wobble on one leg. It’s barely 7 a.m. and there’s the added distraction of the scenery. Yoga is an art of attention, and mine has wandered off my mat and across the Sea of Cortez to the bright full moon, glowing brilliantly above the rusty red cliffs of Isla Espíritu Santo, our playground for the next four days.
It’s Jan. 2, and, like most people, I’ve resolved to improve my fitness in 2018. My second resolution is to do more things that scare me, which is why I’m aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird. I have a fear of cruises. Just the word “cruise” makes my stomach tighten. Cruises were for my grandmother and people who loved all-inclusive resorts, not young adventurous types whose normal travels include surfing in Nicaragua and trekking in Nepal.
But Lindblad Expeditions is not your typical cruise company. Exploration and conservation are at the heart of every sailing, and ships are staffed with naturalists and equipped with kayaks and stand-up paddleboards. I was intrigued, but it wasn’t until recently, when Lindblad announced a new partnership with the fitness brand Exhale, that I decided to give cruising a chance.
Wellness and wilderness are two of my favorite things, and the new Base Camp Baja voyages combined both in a four-day itinerary that explored Mexico’s magical Espíritu Santo National Park. These trips also have the added lure of an open bar, which would allow me to indulge my third passion, wine.
“Active” means different things to different people, and as we boarded the bus at Los Cabos airport to make the two-and-a-half-hour journey north to La Paz, I was still dubious whether I’d really break a sweat from anything other than lounging in the sun. The New Year’s Day departure meant we had a smaller than normal group, just 28 guests aboard the 62-passenger ship. Ages ranged from teens to late 50s, and there was a mix of mother-daughter pairs, couples, families and girlfriend getaways. Fitness levels varied, but everyone looked game for an adventure.
“Good morning, good morning passengers, this is your 6:15 a.m. wake-up call,” announces expedition leader John Mitchell, in his radiosmooth NPR voice. Luckily, the trip is called Base Camp Baja and not Baja Boot Camp. You are encouraged to challenge yourself as much or as little as you like, and caffeine is available as early as 6 a.m. About half of our group emerges on the bridge deck for a sunrise fitness class with John Nelson, a sassy Exhale instructor from Chicago. One hard-core guest requests that he “make her cry,” and I notice a few others immediately move their mats to the back row.
Exhale is known for its barre classes, made up of ballet-inspired, core-centric exercises that I would never have the motivation to do at home. The movements are small and slow, and our weights are only 3 pounds, but we are all groaning as Nelson instructs us in his Richard Simmons peppy voice to continue pulsing our back leg in the air. By the end of class, I’ve discovered a new body part, which Nelson informs me is my thass, the area where your butt and thigh join.
The great part about an active cruise is that you’re always hungry, and the food aboard the Sea Bird is delicious, sustainably sourced, and just the right balance of healthy and indulgent. As my friend Shannon and I fill up on coconut chia pudding and poached eggs with smoked salmon, Mitchell preps us for the day’s activities. Overnight, we had sailed 14 miles from La Paz to Archipelago Espíritu Santo National Park, a haven of marine biodiversity introduced to many by John Steinbeck and Ed Ricketts in their famous chronicle “The Log From the Sea of Cortez.”
The uninhabited islands of Isla Espíritu Santo and neighboring Isla Partida feel worlds away from the luxury resorts of Cabo, as if we’d traveled back in time. We’re docked in Ensenada Grande, a protected bay on the west side of Isla Partida that could easily be mistaken for the Caribbean, with its crystal clear turquoise waters. Mitchell describes our 5-mile hike as strenuous, with some sections of “microwave and refrigerator-size boulders.” Nearly our entire group is game,
and we don our life jackets and board small Zodiac-like boats to be ferried ashore. The sandy beach glimmers with pearl oyster shells, and Adrian Cerda, a naturalist and native of Mexico, informs me this was once home to the world’s first commercial oyster farm.
Eight staff, ranging from photo instructors to natural history buffs, accompany us, ensuring everyone can go at their own pace. Wellness expert Michelle Brugiere, a compact, uber-fit Frenchwoman, takes off through the steep, rocky arroyo with the nimbleness of a mountain goat. When Mitchell mentioned “refrigerator-size” boulders he must have been referring to the industrial-size fridges aboard our ship, jokes one guest. We climb and scramble and boost each other up onto the towering rocks. It’s a two-hour trek to the crest of the island, but the expansive view of the Gulf of California makes every sweaty step worthwhile.
We’re encouraged take a moment of silence and stillness so we can fully soak in the power of our surroundings. The group spreads out, and I take a seat on a rocky ledge marveling at the endless expanse of sea. The spout of a gray whale breaks my reverie, and I join Brugiere and the speedy group for our slightly treacherous descent back down the boulder fields.
Nature is humbling, and when you come face to face with a wild animal, your sense of human invincibility evaporates immediately. Los Islotes, a grouping of volcanic rock islets at the north end of Isla Partida, is home to a colony of California sea lions. Their deep bellowing barks sound like an odd symphony of belches from the rocky outcrops, just 20 feet away from us. In recent years, their numbers have been on the decline, so the Mexican government requires snorkelers to now wear snorkel vests to prevent them from diving beneath the surface to chase, and possibly stress, the animals. But I’m the one feeling stressed as the pups playfully dive-bomb beneath me, nose kiss my mask, and even nibble and tug at Shannon’s flipper. When I’m not distracted by the darting pups, I geek out on the vibrant marine life — giant damselfish, blue-chinned parrotfish, Gulf sun star — which naturalist Emily Pickering, a self-described marine nerd, helps me identify.
On our final afternoon, we drop anchor on the west side of Isla Espíritu Santo and ferry to Bahia Bonanza, one of the island’s largest stretches of beach. Most guests opt to try stand-up paddleboard yoga, but myself, Shannon and three others join Cerda on a 5-mile, cross island hike described as “requiring adequate stamina and endurance.” Cerda’s wealth of knowledge makes it feel as if we’re part of a National Geographic documentary as we cross over white sandy dunes and enter the Marslike landscape of the Sonoran Desert, carefully weaving around massive colinar and jumping cholla cacti. A black jack rabbit startles us all, leaping out from beneath a jojoba plant. Shannon jokes that this should probably be called a trek, not a hike. The terrain is flat but the sun is high, and we are completely exposed, wearing towels beneath our caps to protect our necks. It takes us four hours to complete the round-trip hike, and we return exhausted and elated and just in time for sunset.
Shannon and I can’t even muster the energy for a “chill yoga” session on the beach, so we shuttle back to the boat just in time to hear Mitchell’s announcement: “Good evening, good evening passengers. Joe the bartender will only be serving frozen drinks this evening. I urge you all to order frozen margaritas.”
In four days, I’ve experienced more than most people do in a year, if not a lifetime, fueling mind, body and soul with knowledge and nourishment and a few frozen margaritas. If this is cruising, then I’m a convert.