To say most of our blogs write themselves is probably a little harsh on our efforts, but usually a place, journey or experience has developed into a short story relatively easily. Or we've let the pictures do most of the talking. After 5 days on a sailboat from Colombia to Panama we're struggling to work out how to keep the story short, and the pictures alone certainly won't do it justice. I think it is a little unfair to judge the rest of Central America before it has had a chance to prove itself, but Angela has happily proclaimed this latest adventure as the highlight or our entire trip. If she's right, I certainly won't be disappointed. If not, we're in for one hell of a time somewhere in the next 6 weeks or so!So where to start? First, set the scene I guess:
The journey began in the colourful colonial city of Cartagena, with 200 miles of Caribbean high seas separating us from the San Blas islands off the coast of Panama. Our home for the duration a 43 ft yacht. Our berth one of four cabins (the room pretty much the size of the bed, but pretty much the size of a double at least; with its full load of 11, the people sharing one of the two small cabins would get to know each other pretty well as the beds/rooms are barely bigger than singles!)
Second, introduce the cast:
As mentioned, a full boat would be 11 passengers, so we were lucky to be 6 and everyone had a bed. We surely need no introduction. The other 4 were all in their early twenties: Bernard and Darlene two Canadian honeymooners, Donal a quietly spoken Irishman and Clarence a German with impeccable english. An then of course the leading man, Francisco. Born in Brazil to a French mother, learned to sail at 13 and spent his life on the sea ever after. From sailboat to fishing trawler to freighter, decades of salt from around the globe well-rubbed into the old seadog. And like all good characters, a man of layers. At first a little strict, at the end (after we'd warmed him up) pretty saucy. More than a little self-confident (be it sailing or cooking, the French mother, remember?) Often opinionated. And at all times a storyteller.
So, finally, to tell the story. Forgive me in advance, accomplished author I am not. But I shall try...
We set sail on Saturday evening (thereafter most struggled to recall what day it was; no-one cared). With a probable 48 hour crossing ahead, it seemed like we were just wasting valuable time to spend in the islands, but we had patiently waited out the day as Francisco had explained his preference for a late start: once you get sick, you can sleep it off. As it was, only Bernard succumbed, although he claimed to rather enjoy his experience bent over the back of the boat; location is everything I guess! And our departure time meant we enjoyed a spectacular start to our journey as a dramatic sunset coloured our path out of the harbour. Then we hit night, dark skies and dark seas all that surrounded us. Eerie isolation.After a hot, swaying,broken sleep it was a great surprise to find we had escaped the head-on current and were making great time. We'd probably make the islands by the next night, nearly a whole extra day to spend there than expected. Excitement tempered by the increasing swell however, all subdued and a little queasy. Francisco laughed it off, the season calm to him. Big enough for us rookies. Bernard took his position at the back of the boat for most of the day.
It's a long day on the open seas when you're not feeling A1. Francisco also subdued, trying to catch up on sleep; his alarm set every 15 mins during the night to keep an eye out for ships that would eat up a teeny sailboat in the dark. Also a little stressed no doubt. 70% of man-overboards lost to the sea. Not too many stories to amuse us that day then, although I do recall one. Many captains require their passengers to keep watch through the night. A few years ago, a captain was startled awake by the sound of his fishing reel unwinding. He jumped up to fight the line; there are huge monsters lurking in the dark, tuna 100kg or more. Then it struck him: where was his nightwatch? She survived. Her face wasn't quite what it was though.
Francisco starts out strict, yes. In context though, all makes sense. There is more than one reason he doesn't fish at night; he landed an 80kg tuna once. It filled the saloon of an already packed boat and he'd no idea what to with all the steaks! The carcasses of boats strewn around the reefs also atest to why he sacrifies his sleep.
We followed orders to the letter and arrived in the San Blas safely about 2am, Angela first to hear the engine change and up to guide us through the sandbanks, torch in hand. All arose as the anchor dropped and beer cans were cracked (alcohol forbidden on the passage, loss of balance likely fatal).
Soon we all went back to bed for a couple of restless sweaty hours below deck but before long the smell of breakfast lured us out. And my what a place to wake up to. Sea a mix of blue and green and turquoise. Palm covered islands. White sands. Gentle surf breaking on the reefs protecting us from the open sea. Every bit the paradise we'd expected.
The next 3 days are a bit of a blur, all mingling into one. We raised anchor. We sailed. We dropped anchor. We snorkelled with majestic spotted eagle rays and nurse sharks. We watched a couple of turtles popping up for air during lunch. Early one evening a dolphin cruised right by. By night the rays serenely glided around in the light from the boat.
We strolled along sandy shores admiring the galleries of starfish in the clear waters. We tucked into fish and rum around a fire on the beach. We gazed at stars. We dived from the roof. Lightening flashed. Thunder clapped. We watched it rain. We visited the indigenous Kuna. They visited us (with fish or crabs or octopus or handicrafts). We ate. And we ate some more.On the way to the islands we had hooked a fish. It looked like a magnificent fish. Francisco said it was the best. A Wahoo. What a name. Perfect for our beach bbq. Unfortunately due to human error it was lost in the landing (i.e. someone dropped it!) Francisco was not a happy man for a short while. A fisherman pained to lose a fish. The culprit was soon forgiven though and it just meant we had to pop onto one of the islands to shop for one (i.e. barter with a man in a dugout canoe). So we bbq'd a snapper instead. Perhaps due to a little karma, a squid just jumped onto the boat that night so we enjoyed it as a pre-dinner dip. Dinner itself a delicious octopus stew. The highlight for some was our seafood platter: a couple of crab and lobster to hammer at. For me, it was our dinner on the last night: plain old fish and chips. Shark steak in a beer and thyme batter with bread-fruit chips that is. A little more exotic than our usual on Porty beach! So all in all, we ate pretty well. Francisco doesn't need our admiration of his culinary skills, but he gets it anyway.
And as for our wonderful captain, I said by the end he had become more than a little fruity. So to end this story, here are some of our favourite Francisco quotes (for full effect when reading, add a french accent)...
Whilst explaining why our boat was anchored in a current:
"Notice we point a different way to the other boats? The wind comes from this way, so I use the current to balance it and lessen the strain on the anchor. Oh my god, when I hear myself talk like this, it is so good. I give myself an erection."
I bit my tongue the next morning when the wind had changed and we were facing the same way as everyone else, the current now increasing the stain on our anchor!
When serving up octopus stew:
"Do you need anything else? You want ketchup? I bring you ketchup. F*#! you I will not bring you ketchup!"
Previously, whilst preparing octopus stew:"I call it octopussy, as it has one between each of the legs. And one in the middle!"
Later, correcting Clarence taking about the stew:
"On my boat it is always called octopussy."
Later still, said from afar in a matter of fact way, half way through Donal's sentence as he again referred to it as octopus:
"Octopussy."
On colonialism:
"The spanish came. Killed all the men. Took all the gold. Raped all the women. Good job!"...(add uncomfortable pause)..."I don't mean the rape."
And finally, here's one from a passenger and possibly our favourite of all. On the subject of french regency:
"I thought the Louis' started at about the 13th."
Might want to lay off the dope a little Bernard if you're going to make it through law school!
