Alembic

Two harbors worth visiting between the San Blas Islands and the Panama Canal are Isla Linton and Portobello. The sail to Isla Linton was about 50 miles and only ten more to Portobello. Both are part of Panama, so no clearing in and out was necessary. We have found clearing in and out of every port to be expensive and challenging. Most places take your passports for a day or more and getting them back means finding the person who has them. We are a bit spoiled because Suzanne, our rally leader, often arranges for this to be done as a group. Once, in Santa Marta, we left port without them because they took so long, and Suzanne arranged for them to be delivered to our next port, Cartagena. We would never have risked this if we were on our own.

The sail to Isla Linton was wonderful, but the swells were huge. Shamal, sailing beside us, kept getting swallowed up by the swells. Once we all arrived, the harbor was quite full with so many rally boats; other cruisers hadn’t seen so many boats in one place but welcomed us to the group. Onshore, there wasn’t much to do in the tiny town, but exploring by dinghy was great fun. Our first day, we traveled down a mangrove tunnel to another anchorage, Panamarina, and enjoyed a French restaurant, and on the second day, we hiked to a rickety old lighthouse on Isla Grande, a nearby island which was close enough to reach by dinghy.

Staying in the safety of our dinghy one evening, we watched monkeys frolic. They have developed a reputation of being overly friendly, so we didn’t go ashore near the abandoned home they have taken over. It was hilarious to see monkeys hanging out on the porch, coming and going through windows, as if they were having a party. Seeing them walk so rigidly upright, with tails straight up, made me think they were marionettes. I was surprised to see them scoop salt water with their hands and drink it while they hung from branches dangling over the water. Developing the ability to tolerate the salt is impressive; I wish I could do this.

Bill has not developed the ability to tolerate drinking saltwater, or maybe he just hasn’t tried, but he has proven to be able to tolerate man-o-war stings. While swimming near Alembic, Bill suddenly switched directions and headed quickly back toward our boat. Not knowing why he made this turn, I followed, aware that something was amiss. We climbed into our dinghy and began pulling tentacles from the man-o-war off his legs and arms. He had so many wrapped around him; I couldn’t believe I didn’t get caught up in this, swimming so close to him. The stinging began as soon as the tentacles hit him, and continued to sting for a few hours. Even though the tentacles were gone, they left fine pink tracks which within an hour turned into inch wide paths of goose bumps which were cold and wet to the touch. Weird. Cortisone and aloe relieved the sting somewhat and he was fine the next morning.

Next stop, Portobello, was a wonderful, historic harbor known for its pirates, music, theater, and Christo Negro (Black Christ). The harbor is large and deep, perfect for many galleons to anchor and bring or steal vast quantities of gold.

Huge forts were built to try to stop the pirates from repeatedly raiding the Spaniards here. Much of the music and theater revolves around the marauders. Even the Christo Negro is central to much drama when they bring the statue out for new outfits and parades.

A long bus ride to Nuevo Colon was only $1.80 and provided lively entertainment, as it stopped every 200 yards to collect more people, packing us in to a point where you couldn’t move your arms. We were wedged in so tightly, that we didn’t budge even when the driver sped up and flew around tight turns. No seat belts needed for this old school bus ride!

Unfortunately, the snorkeling was only mediocre due to the huge swells stirring up the water, but Casper, our ten year old rally member, speared his first fish, making our explorations well worthwhile. Our next stop, Shelter Bay Marina in Colon, would be less ideal for snorkeling as we heard there was a resident crocodile wandering about the boats! This I was looking forward to seeing, but from the safely of a dock.

My favorite moments at Portobello were meeting and reuniting with foreign friends. A French family with four girls under ten came aboard one day. What an outgoing bunch! They are overlanders, traveling the globe in a VW van, which has been shipped from Europe to the US and to South America. Their next stop, Fiji and the South Pacific, is too far to ship their sweet home, so they will rent an alternate for this section of travel. Each family member was eager to learn about our unique lifestyle in their own way. Even the youngest, only two, explored the boat with wide eyes while her sisters went on a treasure hunt to “find the refrigerator, the toilet, the silverware, and the ukulele”. And reuniting with Daniel and Drika was a pleasure. We met them in Santa Marta, again in Cartagena, and we always hoped to visit with them again. Something about Drika… she inspired me to think deeply about health, food, yoga, languages, family, and many more things. Lounging on the bow of her boat and taking in her benevolent perspective on life has warmed my heart to a new level.

Now, off to our next adventure: to the Panama Canal!

Knowing we had less than a week left to explore this magnificent archipelago of the San Blas Islands, we headed off westward, toward Ensenada Mandinga, deep in the Gulf of the San Blas, the most western of the islands. With howling winds and an 8 foot swell, we flew along with only a reefed jib (our most forward sail was partially rolled up to make it small). As we rounded Ubicandup, our planned destination, we marveled at this beautiful island, almost submerged by the breaking waves. All of the homes, made of reeds and palm fronds, were getting slashed with salt water. These are hardy people.

Not feeling as hardy as the Guna here, we decided that the anchorage would be far too rolly for comfort, so we carried on past a few more islands to find a completely protected spot to settle for the next few days. Only two boats were in sight, other than the dozens of ulus: one catamaran resting at anchor while the owners were traveling inland, and another sailboat which left soon after we arrived, leaving us the only cruisers in the whole bay.

Within an hour, we had five visitors, coming by ulus. Armando offered us bananas, Barna passed us a juicy papaya, Breddio came to offer us a guided trip into the forest, another guy offered us fish, and a sweet young girl paddled up for curiosity. The fresh food cost less than five dollars, and would last us many days.

Breddio and his ten year old son, Freddie, had been sailing about the harbor, with Freddie hiked out on a trapeze made of a piece of strapping attached to the top of his mast made of a tree branch. They were traveling at very high speeds, tacking expertly in their leaky dugout canoe. Gunas could win any sailing competition, I am convinced. And the curious girl shyly paddled toward us, but didn’t grab onto our boat the way all of the others had. I tried to speak to her in Guna and Spanish, but she barely responded. When I asked if the two babies in the front of her ulu could swim, she shook her head “No!” I offered them a Solo cup of milk “leche” and the older of the two, gleefully nodded approvingly. Since the paddling girl (Mom?) was too far back to reach them without tipping the canoe, I climbed into the water with the cup, and passed it to the outstretched arms of the two year old. She took a huge gulp before carefully pressing the cup to the lips of the one year old. She adeptly braced the younger baby with a hand on her back as she held the cup with her other hand. Both babies shared happily as the girl smiled and paddled away. I wanted with all my heart to take a photo of this lovely scene, but I respected the Gunas’ desire to have no photos, and left my camera in its case.

We were welcomed ashore by many community members who helped us tie up the dinghy. On the water’s edge, they were preparing a fruit press that would begin operation the following day. A Coming of Age ceremony was planned for a girl, and the beverage would be a large part of this celebration. The pressing and fermenting process takes more than a week. Women came out of their huts to offer their molas and other beaded artwork. Bill caved and bought me a bracelet. He has a harder time saying no than I do sometimes!

Construction of a building on stilts seemed out of place: the man working on it was very well dressed, unlike any other Guna I have met, the materials were of sturdy lumber, not branches chopped in the forest by machetes, and chain linked fences lined the deck. Progress! And Who is ruining this island?! Bantered back and forth in my head. We introduced ourselves to the gentleman builder and he explained that he was a Guna from another island and was building a school for young children. The chain link fence would keep the youngsters from falling into the water! This construction had some religious affiliation, but our limited language proficiency prevented us from understanding much more.

Breddio seemed to approve of the project, so I let go any judgements. How dare I claim to know what is best for the Gunas. They are the inhabitants here, so they should be the ones to judge. Breddio seemed to be well informed about all historical progress and future plans for this island group. Mark my words: he will be a Saila (Chief/Island leader) someday. For now, though, he is focusing on his family, two boys and a girl with albinism. We have met many people in the San Blas who have this condition, which some say is caused by too much inbreeding. Regardless, the individuals seem to be treated just like everyone else, despite their white hair, pink skin, and pale eyes.

Our forest tour was informative; Breddio shared his knowledge of Guna culture and farming habits while pointing out the names of every tree and wild creature we saw. He is such a generous man, truly embracing all cultures as he meets so many foreigners. And foreigners have embraced him in return, even paying his way for a flight and two week stay in France! I tried to imagine this small indigenous man strolling the streets of Paris and dining at fine restaurants. He is the epitome of willingness to embrace all humanity.

Breddio’s wife washed our clothes. Washing clothes aboard Alembic is a challenge with our limited water and crazy clothes lines strung up in the rigging. Employing the Gunas helps them inch along. Unfortunately, the clothes were not exactly clean when we picked them up. The entire island had a haze of woodsmoke from all of the families trying to dry their sea-sprayed homes, and our clothes, hanging on the line, collected this aroma. We will be reminded of this sweet family and their lovely community as we sniff our still-smokey clothes for weeks to come!

After bringing sunscreen for Breddio’s daughter, we reluctantly said our goodbyes, and dinghied back to Alembic to prepare for departure. The wind was still blowing a near gale, but we had to get back to the Lemmon Cays for a party and to bring our starter motor to Projection, a boat which was stranded with minimal hope of getting out of the San Blas. While everyone loves the lovely people and scenery, we all recognize that we might as well be in outer space, with the lack of any banks, groceries or nautical supplies. All you can find in the San Blas is locally grown or caught food, and oodles of molas. So, we raised anchor, crawled between the islands and reefs until we were back in the open sea, then crashed our way through wind and waves back to the delightful anchorage at Banedup.

Mark and Lilly on Projection we very happy to see us sail into the anchorage and dinghied over to collect our spare starter. Within a few minutes they called back on the VHF to say “can you hear that sweet sound of the engine running?!” Replacing a starter is one of the simplest tasks and such a critical item to have as a spare. I must admit that I felt we had a 50/50 chance of ever seeing our spare again, but Bill was sure we would meet them again in Shelter Bay Marina in a few weeks and they would return our part, having arrived safely where they could buy their own spare. My doubts revolved around the ridiculous expense of this part. Clever Bill found this starter as an aftermarket part for only $67, but a new one at a Yanmar dealer costs closer to $600, and in Panama?? Who knows?

After preparing a seafood dish with the lobster and crab we bought from the Saila the previous day, we cleaned up, donned some of our smokey clothes, and headed for shore for a Valentine’s Party with the rally. The potluck meal was marvelous but the hilarious games and dances prepared by members of our rally were even more remarkable. Celebrating Valentine’s Day, appreciating our last day in the San Blas, and playing these crazy games, all made me recognize that this journey is so packed full of amazing experiences and emotions, I could hardly contain my own thoughts.

Leaving Mamitupu was difficult. We followed our track that brought us carefully into the harbor, which made navigation easy, but our hearts were somewhere on the island still. The children, mothers, Pablo and the rest of the Kuna Coco men had all captured a piece of us. Jacinta raising her voice and almost shouting in Guna “I make so many friends and they always leave. They promise to come back and they never do!” while sitting in our cockpit, has left a permanent impression on my heart.

We hope to come back and maybe we will… But I didn’t make any promises…

We sailed a very challenging course through reefs to get to Snug Harbor again. We could have gone north of the whole area, which would have added only an hour to the trip, but the challenge was appropriate. It gave us something to concentrate on while we refocused our thoughts and built up the desire to cruise onward.

In Snug Harbor, we were greeted by Rally friends and two other cruising sailboats, which was a perfect welcome back to cruising with gringos. Quiet evenings back on Alembic, however, were full of conversations about our next venture away from the group and back into more Guna Yala (the land of the Guna Indians). Our next adventure would be deep into the Gulf of the San Blas, the islands furthest west of this archipelago. But first, a few more rally adventures.

We sailed back to Green Island for the Sunday Picnic organized by our intrepid leader of the rally, Suzanne. Arriving there to find the anchorage already packed with rally boats, kite surfing charter boats, and plenty of other cruisers, was disconcerting. There appeared to be no place left to drop anchor. Of course this wasn’t true, but we were frustrated as we dragged our anchor across the hard ocean floor a few places before we found a spot that was protected from the incessant wind, shallow enough for our length of anchor chain, and soft enough ground to dig our anchor in.

Unfortunately, we heard a bump in the night, though. Panic struck me awake in a flash. It’s amazing how you can be sound asleep one moment and running around deck the next. We probably only touched a small sand bump beneath our keel, but my thoughts jumped to Alembic getting stuck in the mud and no one able to pull us off. There is almost no tide to help us rise up, and no rescue boats like you see everywhere in the US and even in the Bahamas. Instead of running the engine and re-anchoring, we just shortened our anchor chain, pulling us closer to the anchor, which we knew was in 35 feet of water. We would reset the anchor in the morning when the sun was up.

Anchoring in the San Blas is challenging because many of the islands are very tiny and we all want to huddle behind these to be out of the wind. Reefs provide excellent blocks to keep the large Caribbean Sea swell out of the anchorage, but they also create hazards to go aground as so many of them are just below the surface. Finding a place to set the anchor is tricky because you don’t want to damage any coral with your anchor or your long chain, and many areas are very hard, almost like cement, which is useless for anchoring. You have to find soft sand, mud, or light grass in depths of 8 to 20 feet. The depths are so different from the Bahamas, which was generally all less than 20 feet. Here in the San Blas, you find the islands and reefs often have drop offs, going to well over 100 feet in a distance of only 20 feet! You have to set out five times as much chain length as your depth, to have a proper angle for holding your boat in place. Less than this can cause you to drag. Of course, you must add more in a lot of wind, and can use less for a quick lunch stop.

Once settled, we enjoyed the snorkeling, the beach party, and the general shenanigans of fellow cruisers at Green Island. We continued with bonfires to burn trash, and more excellent snorkeling at the Coco Bandero Cays the following day, and Cambombia the next.

From Cambombia, we sailed back east to Rio Azucar to buy water. Bill and I are conservative with water, using only 7 gallons per day, and could easily make it to Shelter Bay in ten days with what we had on board, but we thought topping off is easy, an adventure, and an extra precaution in case we, or someone else, may need more water. We use salt water to bathe, wash dishes, and clean the boat, giving all a fresh water rinse to wash away salt. Probably most of our fresh water is used for drinking, as we are always thirsty in this heat!

Rio Azucar was easy to sail to, but challenging to get water. When we arrived, there was a small Colombia freighter, delivering goods, at the only dock. We knew that they sometimes stayed tied up for hours, so we anchored nearby. As soon as we dropped anchor, we watched a catamaran arrive and tie right up to the freighter! We realized that the man shouting from shore when we arrived had been telling us to do this. Ah, live and learn. So, Bill rowed our dinghy four times to shore, filled our gerry jugs, and returned to Alembic to fill our tanks. Meanwhile, I wandered the island looking for fresh veggies, only finding eggs aboard the freighter. For $20 and a few hours of labor, our tanks were full, we had 30 eggs on board, and we set off west again.

Leaving Rio Azucar, we headed for Salardup, on the western end of the Naguargandup Cays, near Gorgidupdummat. Gotta love the names here in the San Blas! Tupu and dup mean island in Guna, while dummat means small. Gringos or other non-Gunas have renamed most of them (like Corazon de Jesus is really Akuanusatupu) which seems unjust, kinda like the renaming of immigrants as they cleared into Ellis Island. Just because we can’t pronounce it, doesn’t give us any right to change a name. There is history and love woven into every name.

After enjoying the splendid snorkeling at Salardup, we headed once more to a community of Gunas where cruisers rarely go. I’ll save this for my next post. It was too special to tag it to the bottom of this week’s report.

Ciao! (Everyone says this, Italians, Latinos, Gunas, and now me!)

As Bill and I revel in the paradise called the San Blas Islands, the locals are in turmoil and could potentially cause distress with the cruisers after we depart next week. We have met many locals and have found them to be extremely peaceful, nature-loving, and culturally rich people. But they are poor and the Panamanian government keeps increasing fees that impact them greatly. The San Blas are officially part of Panama, but Panama agreed, back in 1925, to allow the Gunas to govern themselves.

One man we met has a great business idea, but cannot act on it unless he gets the okay from the Guna Chief of his village, and is prepared to swallow the fees from the Panamanian tax structure. He has been told maybe next year… Women struggle to make ends meet with selling Molas to Panama and cruisers. Again, Panama is applying more taxes… And the taxes on water and other living expenses are going up.

Gunas know that they have a gem of a cruising ground and want to capitalize on this to earn more money. They have proposed to increase cruising fees to $20 per foot per month, starting Feb 15, of this year. Panama has not approved of this fee structure, but the Gunas may try to impose it anyway. They have a mini office at Porvenir where they charged us, and all boats, $20 per boat, and $20 per person. We gladly paid the $60 fee, knowing that some refer to this as a “Happy Tax,” to make us, and the Gunas happy. But this new fee would be $840 per month for Alembic, making the San Blas a non-option for us and most other cruisers.

We were planning to leave the San Blas by Feb 19, but now the rally departure is likely Feb 15, to avoid any confrontations. Already, the San Blas officials have been traveling around by small boat, asking people to show their receipt

of payment at Porvenir or to pay the fee if they skipped that step. There is a lot of chatter on VHF, SSB, and other mediums, where people are escalating this and bringing in other panic messages. Some say they are trying to confiscate any scuba gear, as this is illegal in these waters. Others have talked about boardings, where Guna men get on a sailboat uninvited, and demand payments for visitors, scuba gear, or other taxes. Most of these messages are from larger boats, and people trying to conduct charter businesses aboard their vessels.

Sadly, we will be happy to depart. We also would like to return in future years, so we will be monitoring these fees and actions after we have left. My heart goes out to the local Gunas, as they are trying their best to live peacefully in their magical homeland of the San Blas Islands.

We recognize that this is one more example of learning a bit more about a community than first impressions. If I only considered first impressions, I would believe that the Guna Indians lived a carefree life, eating and growing with nature. I now know that they struggle as we all do, with financial and political problems that interfere with progress. My wish for all of humankind is that everyone reach out and help when they can, and be considerate and neighborly with everyone you meet. And be patient; wait for the story to unfold and be a part of the peace that can happen.

The last time we were in Snug Harbor we were the only boat and felt like early discoverers. We could imagine Columbus and the many other adventurers who had come to these islands and recorded their discoveries. This time, only a week later, we were accompanied by six other cruisers. From our rally were Beyzano, Balance, Moody Mistress, Horizons, and Alembic, and two other boats were Lady Elaine from Sweden, and Black ——(I forget the rest of the name) from Bavaria in Germany. The two experiences in Snug Harbor were completely different, both completely enjoyable.

Sören, from Lady Elaine, had been in the San Blas for four months, and had Guna friends nearby. The Gunas were eager to share their beautiful area and culture with us, so Sören arranged a tour into the Rain Forest and throughout the village of Playon Chico afterwards. The two hour hike into the forest was very hot and buggy, but well worth the trip. One of the Guna men, Thomas, was born in Panama City, so he knew some English and could explain details about the plants, burials, animals, and water supply as we passed.

Thomas also shared so many details about his culture as we wandered. I couldn’t help comparing him to Kenny, as he was the same age, and had the same temperament, very friendly and gentle natured. Thomas married at age twenty and already has a 5 and 2 year old, so Kenny has some catching up to do!

After a soaking rain as we left the waterfall, we were escorted to Akin’s set of huts at the far end of the village. He lives with his wife, her sisters, and many children. Just as all Guna women we have met, they set out their art work all over the ground, even though it had just poured and the ground was muddy. I had already purchased 5 molas, so I declined this time. Luckily, one woman in our group bought a few. I had purchased a Guna flag from Akin’s wife the night before, so I felt okay about helping them out financially a bit. My heart breaks every time I decline to buy molas; both because the work is amazing and I would love to have more, and also because I know it is their primary family income. But at $20-$100 each, I can’t afford more!

Walking around with Akin and Thomas, they showed me 7 churches on this tiny island. Many evangelists have come to set up Christian churches and the locals seem okay with this. The original Guna church is not Christian, but they seem to welcome newcomers who help the community. We even met two Mormon missionaries who you could spot from across the island; wearing black pants, a white button down shirt and tie makes you stand out here!

I wish I could have taken a picture of the Guna men working on three ulus. One was nearly complete, while the others were closer to looking as they did, standing in the forest. I didn’t have the camera at the time, and the people don’t like being photographed.

At this point, we decided that we should head back to Alembic, as the downpour we had experienced in the Rain Forest surely must have drenched our cabin. We had left open most of our hatches and were preparing for a long evening of mopping and hanging things to dry. Surprisingly, after our mile long dinghy ride back to Snug Harbor, we found Alembic dry! We see why they call it the Rain Forest. It only rains there!

Sören continued to educate us at Snug Harbor. He arranged a bonfire party, to burn all garbage. Disposal of garbage is a problem in the San Blas. The tiny islands do a poor job of this, often tossing it into the sea. Many Gunas will come to your boat, offer to take your garbage for a dollar, promising to dispose of it properly, only later to be seen throwing the whole bag overboard. Luckily, we and the Gunas don’t produce much garbage, as we eat mostly fresh fish and veggies, and there is minimal access to packaged food or goods. But we all have some, and burning it is the best option. Sören showed us how to gather dead palm fronds and build a thick base layer, place the garbage on and top with more fronds. He also made sure we did not do this on the pristine beaches, which would leave a black scar. Surprisingly, the lush green canopy didn’t burn, or even brown, as our huge bonfire leapt upward. We burned the garbage from our seven boats in a half an hour with zero trace of any remnants, even all plastic was gone.

We will remember Snug Harbor fondly for our many experiences there. Thank you, Sören for making our experience most enjoyable. Hopefully, you will visit us in Maine in your travels.

Being officially out of contact is exciting. A mixture of emotions is swirling in my brain. Thrill, fear, uncertainty, novelty, anticipation, eagerness, and openness take turns controlling my brain. Out of contact means that we have no wifi, no cellular coverage, no VHF contact because the nearest rally boat, is more than 20 miles away, and even our SSB was out of range. We do have our inReach device that allows us to text short messages. Being out of touch with everyone familiar allows us to get in touch with the locals here.

Our rally of 25 boats is hanging out in the San Blas Islands for three weeks and we can sail about as we please. Most of the boats are gathered in the Holandes and Lemmon Cays where the snorkeling is pristine, and the Happy Hours happen daily. While we love this group and participating in these activities, Bill and I were eager to venture out to the authentic Guna villages to learn about their way of life. A few others are doing the same, but we are the farthest east.

Three days ago, we were the only rally boat in Rio Diablo, but I think others will eventually make it here. This community no longer practices the Guna way of life; they are so modernized now that they are actually having a Super Bowl party next week!

From Rio Diablo, we sailed to Snug Harbor and remained the only boat in the anchorage. The closest islands surrounding us were uninhabited, but you could see Playon Chico in the distance. We were visited by many dugout canoes. My favorite was a pair of boats, tied together. The first had a Padre and Madre (father and mother) and eight children, one boy and seven girls, all about 9-15, and the other trailing boat had two lazy older boys without paddles and two adorable white puppies. They came to welcome us to the neighborhood. All were full of giggles and silliness as they explained that they were all one family. I told them that I had a huge family too, and that I had six brothers! The seven girls burst into hysterics and sympathy for me. Our language barrier made it impossible for me to tell them that my six brothers were wonderful siblings. It is becoming easier to say “Hello, How are you?” and other simple phrases in Spanish, but I have very few Guna words down at this point. And their Spanish is no better than mine. They clung to our gunwales (edge of our boat) and chatted with lots of hand motions and repetition until we understood vaguely what they were trying to say. When I offered cold water, they fell all over themselves to pass the cold beverages around. One child kept saying “Bastia” softly with an impish grin. We didn’t understand this word, but thought that he might be saying Boston, seeing we were from the northern US. So we launched into hand motions and words, telling them that we lived near Boston and that our home was covered in snow. They have no word for snow, so they call it “like ice”. We even gave them a tee shirt that showed handicapped skiers on snow. This made them all laugh again hysterically and we watched them pass the tee shirt up and down the line as Madre and Padre paddled slowly home. I looked up Bastia in my guide book and found out it meant candy. Poor kid; he was asking for candy, and all he got was a tee shirt to share with 7 sisters!

Next stop: Mamitupu. We are still here. I may not leave. We are so off the beaten path at this point; we haven’t seen a single sailboat since we left Snug Harbor, only dugouts. Entering this anchorage was challenging as we needed to sail in weaving between reefs with me on the bow for water depth watch and Bill at the helm.

The GPS chart plotter was useless, showing reefs where there was deep water, and vice versa. We could never have done that in low sunlight. As we rounded the corner of the island, children and adults ran to the shore, wildly waving. I was not sure if they were warning us of the reefs or welcoming us. As we dropped anchor, we could see that the children still kept examining this new boat in the harbor and many greeted us as we dinghied to shore. Three teenage boys offered to take us around the village. Two of the boys seemed eager to learn Spanish and English words for things, and kept repeating our words. The third boy saw a few cute girls walking by, and slinked away; the girls were much more intriguing than we were!

This village has about 1200 people, packed into a tiny island. Babies and small children peaked around every hut opening, curious to see such odd looking people. Most women were sitting out in the sun sewing molas, while the men seemed busy walking by us briskly. Most of them had spent the day rowing, singlehandedly, across the bay in their hand built ulus, hiking up into the rainforest to harvest bananas, mangos, yucca, or materials to use for building huts.

Then they paddled back with their ulus packed so full they looked like they were sinking. In fact, they were sinking! Constant bailing was necessary. Some bailed with their feet while paddling with their arms.

The boys brought us to the two schools but these seemed to be closed. One explanation was that they close for 3 months for harvest season. The Congresso was an impressive large hut, used for daily community meetings at 5 pm. All community members older than 18 must attend to hear the plans and grievances of the island. Chiefs of the island run the meetings, assigning tasks for members to keep life running smoothly. While the San Blas are officially part of Panama, the Panamanian government allows them to be autonomous, which seems to be working out nicely.

We were welcomed into both of the boys’ homes. In each home, they quickly found two plastic chairs for us to sit on, while most of the family members stood. Grandmothers hung in hammocks, and babies played naked on the dirt floor. There were no tables, beds, toys, curtains, or anything! Just bare huts with hammocks hanging out of the way, waiting to be hung more strategically for night use. One mom was sewing a mola when her one year old climbed into her lap to nurse, then climbed back down again to play in the dirt. The mom continued chatting with us, unfazed by the child’s clambering.

They offered us food, but we declined. I wish I could have said yes, both to be polite, as well as to sample what they eat, but we are not confident our delicate digestive systems are up for the challenge of this environment. Hand washing seems to be a foreign concept, refrigeration is nonexistent here, and food is stored and prepared on or near the dirt. This made me realize that our tidy lifestyle actually makes us weaker, rather than stronger!

While strolling through the village, we met Pablo, a Guna who speaks some English. We had heard about his coconut press which made coconut oil, and asked him how that worked. When he told us the machine was broken, I quickly jumped in to say that Bill was an Engineer, and could take a look at it. He asked us to come back the next day for a look. Bill later almost glared at me and said “why did you sign me up for this?” I knew that helping the Gunas would be a rewarding experience, and that Bill would be grateful in the end that I jumped in with the offer. And I was right!

Sure enough, working on the generator the next day was a gratifying experience for Bill. He felt like a “surgeon in a teaching hospital” as the village men gathered to watch this gringo operate on their machine. At one point, Bill was blowing on a small tube, seeing if the seals were tight, and I heard the men ask “why is he smoking it?” After at least an hour of disassembly, cleaning, and reassembly, the generator fired right up. It turned out that the coconut press worked fine, it was this generator that held up the works.

While Bill performed magic on the generator, I tried to connect with the community. Knowing that food is an important commodity, I had baked cornbread aboard Alembic that morning to share in the village. First, I offered it to a few children, then their moms, and soon old folks began emerging from huts to come sample this “strange food”. All eagerly reached out their hands for a sample. Soon, I was rewarded with the best looking mangoes, delivered to me by a naked little cherub.

When the bread was gone, I pulled out a bit of string I had in my bag and began placing it in the hands of small children, about 4-6 years old. I guided them wordlessly, with a light touch on their shoulder, into a huge circle, so the ends of the string could be tied in a knot while the children held the string in a circle. One bead was tied on the string, and could freely slide along the circle if the children could figure out how to make this happen. With a little encouragement, they discovered while one child held his hand high and the next held his hand low, the bead would slide down. Then the low hand had to go up, etc, so the bead could continue to travel in the circle. Watching the delight in these children was heartwarming. They have no TV, toys, bikes, or even art supplies. But they have imaginations, and eagerness, and teamwork and enormous gratitude. The boys continued to play this game for a long time, shrieking with delight as they gained power over the concept.

Last night, Pablo, his lovely wife, Jacinta, and their 3 year old grandson came to Alembic for a visit. Jacinta showed me how to prepare coconut and a few other local vegetables, while the boy played our Ukulele and Pablo and Bill had a few beers. I wish we had more time to stay at this island, as I definitely could see us fitting in to this community. Our acceptance was evident this morning, as we strolled through the village for the third day. This time, rather than peaking from behind hut entrances, the children bounced out in our path to yell “Ola!” as we walked by. Everyone seemed to greet us warmly today, not shyly as they had the first day.

I’m not looking forward to raising our anchor today…

Note: I wrote this on Jan 30, but didn’t have enough data connection to post until today, Feb 16.

While Colombia was the area that caused us the most anxiety in our planning stage, the San Blas Islands was our prize destination, what we looked forward to with unwavering anticipation. Now that we have been here for exactly one week, we can confirm that this archipelago is spectacular.

Getting here was surprisingly more challenging than we had expected. The first day was simple. Leaving Cartagena at noon, we sailed lazily eight miles down the river with many of the rally boats as if in a parade. You could hear each of us calling Cartagena Port Control on Channel 16 on the VHF. English was the spoken language for this communication, and you could sense the challenge from cruisers and Colombian radio operators as many tried to speak this foreign language. Of course the radio operators went back to Spanish when local boats called. It was necessary to report our exit, say how many people were aboard, and indicate where we were planning to make our next stop. Each of us said Isla Del Rosario was our destination. After exiting the river, we headed southwest for 15 miles and anchored well before sunset at Isla Grande, which is part of the Islas Rosarios. Here, we never even launched our dinghy, choosing to relax, make dinner, and go to bed early.

Our second day was not so easy. We raised the anchor at 7:30 after our oatmeal and tea, and headed out into very light air, with barely enough wind off the starboard bow to fill our sails. But by ten, we had 15 knots on the beam with all four sails working. At first, we were enjoying this ride. Dolphins joined us and Bill caught another tuna. The winds piped up a bit, up to 20 knots, and the seas built to 6-8 feet. By noon, we resolved into a rough ride. By 4pm we were hoping for relief. And there were still 18 more hours to go.

I don’t know why this trip was so miserable. Other rally boats reported that this was an unusually miserable ride for them as well. Here’s a comparison with our trip from Haiti to Colombia: From Haiti: 25-35 knot winds and 12 foot seas for 72 hours. From Isla Grande: 15-23 knot winds and 7 foot seas for 27 hours. Which sounds more pleasant? If you guessed from Isla Grande, you would be incorrect. By a long shot. Both were winds right on the beam (not winds coming from ahead or from behind, but exactly 90 degrees to the boat). This is supposed to be the best angle of sail, right? Again, wrong! Not this trip! Maybe the waves were steeper, or more confused or something; whatever the combination, it was lousy.

To make matters worse, we had rivers of salt water below in our cabin. Again, to compare to our Haiti trip, which was perfectly dry below, even when the waves were soaking us up in the cockpit, this made no sense. We came to a conclusion: most of our trip from Maine to Colombia was on a port tack (wind coming over the port, or left, side of the boat), while this trip was on a starboard tack. New leaks opened up to allow a steady flow of water in three places. One stream developed down the inside of our wet locker, where we, ironically, hang foul weather jackets and pants. The second came down from a chain plate and soaked all of my clothes. The third, and most concerning, dripped in from a small screw hole, enabling salt water to drip steadily on the SSB radio, channel across the top of the device, and spill over the front, causing a river on the floor below.

Dropping anchor in the San Blas, at 10:30 am the following day, was such a relief. I could not even reflect on the beautiful place we had come to; being so overwhelmed with the looming work of cleaning up all the salt water and assessing the damage. I have to admit that I was at such a low point, I almost cried, exclaiming “I hate Alembic”. Bill made some breakfast and tried to get me to eat, but I was in stubborn automatic cleaning mode. My first concern was the SSB radio, and my second task was to drag all of my clothes out of the lockers, rinse them with our precious little fresh water, and hang them up in the rigging to dry. Once I completed this, I collapsed into the cockpit and fell dead asleep.

Waking only 30 minutes later, I was surprisingly refreshed, and heartily ate what Bill had prepared. Relieved to hear Bill’s assessment that the SSB was still functioning, I realized that Alembic didn’t really deserve all of my pessimism. I had been simply exhausted from being up all night. Bill had been sick and I was on permanent watch for almost the entire trip. It’s amazing how just a nap can change your whole perspective. I now could look around me and let my jaw drop in wonderment.

I found out two days later, that the name of the anchorage we were floating in was the Hot Tub. How appropriate! Thank you, John and Georgina, for calling us on the VHF and suggesting we anchor here with you! We really needed the luxurious relaxation provided by this Hot Tub!

We reveled in the Hot Tub for two days, snorkeling around astonishingly beautiful reefs, and zooming about the “neighborhood” in our dinghy. Another anchorage nearby, called the Swimming Pool, had about 30 sailboats, with plenty of room for more, while our Hot Tub, was crowded with about 15 boats. This group of islands was called the Holandes, and one of the most popular areas of the San Blas.

Reluctant to leave, we moved on to another very popular set of islands, called the Lemmon Cays, only about 6 miles away, to attend a Jumble. This is a gathering of cruising boats where spare gear is shared, swapped, or sold, to other cruisers. It is a great opportunity to swap charts and guide books that you don’t need anymore because you are moving on to new areas. Another grand purpose for a Jumble is for cruisers to meet, have a Happy Hour, and trade stories and plans. Bill was intrigued by the kite sailing gear for sale, and I was enamored by the mola products an Italian woman was selling. She buys molas (fabric art which is the main product in the San Blas) and sews them onto handbags, iPad cases, wallets, or anything you can imagine. Her prices were ridiculously low. She had beautiful handbags, originally purchased in Italy, with full size molas for only $25! I had just purchased three molas from Guna Indians paddling dugout canoes up to Alembic and the prices I paid were $35, $40, and $60. And these were not on Italian handbags! This Italian woman explained that you can get a much better deal on molas closer to the mainland, in villages where they make them. This became my plan: sail to traditional villages, meet the mola makers, and purchase more to bring home to share.

Our private anchorage was peaceful; a small deep pool surrounded on all sides by mangroves. While most of the Lemmon Cays were crowded with cruising boats, this spot was challenging enough to enter, allowing us to enjoy complete solitude. We radioed our rally friends to welcome others here too, and the following day Echo and Shamal navigated the reefs to join us for a second night. Pelicans dive bombed the tranquil pool, like chubby people doing cannonballs, disturbing the peace and making us laugh as they gulped down their catch. They are so clumsy compared to the graceful terns and herons who delicately swoop and grab fish with their talons without even a splash. Eagles perched in the highest branches of the palm trees, watching the scene.

We continued to enjoy our rally friends, having Happy Hours and dinners aboard boats, sailing to nearby anchorages, and snorkeling on dramatic reefs. Luckily, we heard about the ten foot crocodile after we enjoyed one spot. I’m not sure I would have been brave enough to swim in the Swimming Pool if Michel and Brigette had told us of their siting beforehand! Many of the reefs have walls where the water depth drops from a few feet deep to over ninety feet straight down. We even saw a reverse wall, where the top was actually an overhang. One reef came so close to the surface that Bill and I suffered many scrapes crossing over it to get to the deep wall on the other side. It was hard to enjoy the deep side, knowing we had to cross the bar again to get back to our dinghy.

After enjoying these relaxing islands for four days, we decided to be fully legal, and sailed to Isla Porvenir to check in, a necessary evil. It was only evil to our budget. $465.00! Yikes! There were four desks to attend: first the cruising permit ($195), then the police who checked our passports, next the Gunas ($20 per boat and $20 per person), and Immigration ($105 per person). We felt so sorry for the twenty-something European guy who arrived to check in his boat and crew. He had 3 friends aboard who were leaving in a few days, and didn’t realize the huge fees he was facing. With his head drooping in despair, he headed back to the boat to get more cash. US dollars only, no credit cards. Who has this type of cash aboard??? And who is willing to part with it? At least we were only two and would be spending over a month in Panama and the San Blas Islands, so the expense was worth it for us.

After checking in, we considered visiting the little village to our stern, and should have, as we later found out that they had Digicel Sim cards for sale which we needed for any hope of wifi. Instead, Bill visited John on Oystergo to assist with starting his engine. Poor John, he is single handing and first he lost his steering, going in circles trying to enter Porvenir, then his batteries died and even a 3 hour charge by his generator didn’t help to start the engine. Jeff from Echo came over too and the 3 of them managed to get it going finally. Traveling in a group definitely has benefits. The next day, we heard John was repairing his mainsail. Always something on a boat, and I feel bad that he has had to face so many challenges.

Leaving Porvenir, we sailed back to the Eastern Lemmon Cays, another group of delightful islands and reefs. Snorkeling on the wrecked freighter was well worth the dinghy ride. Fish and coral have commandeered it over the past 60 years and have created a paradise for us to view. Happy Hour on Blue later that day was fun, as we reunited with Rhumb Runner who had sailed off to Panama to collect a new dinghy and pick up a visitor. We also met a wonderful family from Austria who are interested in sailing to New York and possibly Maine. The following day we visited with them to share our favorite areas and give them waypoints for excellent anchorages and our mooring in Maine.

Ready to leave these idyllic island groups, Bill and I were eager to seek more authentic Guna culture in islands further south and east. First we sailed to Green Island and enjoyed a nice swim and Happy Hour aboard Malika. Michel and Brigette are French and can barely speak English, so the three hour visit was entirely in French. I am surprised how well my French is developing chatting with the 5 French boats in our rally. I also feel bad for them because they mentioned that they won’t go further south, or through the canal because the language barrier is such a challenge.

We are spoiled that most cultures try to speak English and you can travel the world knowing only English. Bill and I are trying to learn Spanish, Bill with Rosetta Stone, and me with stumbling about with hand gestures, pictures, and efforts of speaking. Knowing French has definitely helped with my Spanish, as many of the words are similar, especially if you are reading. We are now at the point where we would feel comfortable landing in a Spanish-only community. A lot of confusion would ensue, but we could get by.

Rio Diablo was our next destination. There are two island communities, Nargana and Corazon de Jesus, linked by a walking bridge. Here the people have given up their traditions of the Guna lifestyle and even have a prison and police force, unnecessary with traditional Gunas. Nevertheless, the people had the same gentle personality and greeted us warmly. Federico was the first to greet us as soon as our anchor was settled. An older, roundish man with a huge smile explained that he would take our garbage for a dollar and could bring us gas and do our laundry. We took him up on the garbage disposal, always a challenge in remote islands. Some cruisers have bonfires on deserted beaches to take care of this; we will probably do this at some point too. You shouldn’t bring garbage ashore, or give it to a kid for a buck, because you will soon find it floating about the bay. We had heard that Federico would deal with garbage appropriately.

Exploring this community, we found our Digicel Sim card and also purchased two cards which allow us to import data for wifi. How much data this purchase ($19) amounted to has been a mystery. We barely have any connection and can’t figure out how to see how many GB we have. We have been able to connect to wifi but just barely, and incredibly slowly; I’ve decided it’s just not worth the effort. We also found a bank, but it had no money!  And the boat yard was busy with many repairs that looked much simpler than repairing Alembic.

Heading up the Rio Diablo was a great adventure.  Many ulus were headed up there too, collecting water, visiting their deceased, and harvesting veggies.  To sum up our San Blas Island experience so far: this is well worth the effort in getting here! Snorkeling and anchorages are second to none, and the Guna culture is fascinating. Tomorrow, we are leaving the most popular cruising grounds in favor of exploring more of this culture. More to come…

Bill and I had stayed in a hotel in the old city of Cartagena twice before, one night each on our way to and from the airport at Christmas-time. So sailing to Cartagena should’ve been very familiar, right? Wrong! My impression of this city had been that of a very old, low to the ground, walled city. Upon entering from the sea, it looked like New York City with huge, modern sky scrapers. I was completely disappointed. But I got over it. I love this city!

We entered the harbor as if in a parade. 25 sailboats, single file, maneuvered around cargo ships in transit, small fishing boats with long fishing lines out every which way, speeding motorboats with far too many passengers aboard, and even a submarine under way! Our rally organizer, Suzanne, had arranged with the Colombian Navy to be escorted to an anchorage right beside the old city. When we had visited before, this anchorage was empty; all cruising boats were anchored further south in a crowded area.

We were instructed to call the Cartagena Port Authority to gain permission to enter the nine mile long channel, so the VHF radio traffic was a steady stream of rally folks chatting in several languages. The Port Authority called each of us back again to give us exact latitude/longitude positions to drop our anchor. This created quite a comedy scene as we all entered the tight area, dropped anchors and backed down with 100 feet of chain. Alembic’s designated waypoint to drop the anchor was right under a catamaran’s boat, because they had dropped in their position and backed down 100 feet to our position! This boat had a young boy aboard, so I asked him to watch out as I dropped a huge anchor on his feet. He was entertained, not worried, as we splashed our anchor right beside him. It all worked out. We settled like ships on a battleship board, each of us lining up with the wind and spaced about 100 feet apart. I’d like an aerial photo of our formation. Luckily, the wind has continued to blow, keeping us lined up facing the breeze. If this wind stops, and we drift about our anchors in random circles, there will likely be collisions!

As soon as everyone settled in their assigned spots, we launched our dinghies and headed to shore for a welcome party at Club de Pesca. This yacht club rivals any fancy club in New England. Elegant drinks, exquisite hors d’oeuvres, and beautifully dressed people filled the tiled outdoor establishment. Bill and I are not yacht club people; we have found them to be stuffy and unwelcoming to the “underdressed” or “simple” people. But this was breaking all of my negative images of hoity-toity clubs. They welcomed all of us warmly and made it clear that they would do anything to make our week long stay in their city enjoyable.

Festivities began the next morning with the club’s first Regatta of the year, where all of the captains of the sailboats welcomed any rally sailors to hop aboard. Many of our group took this offer, and experienced this race, with screaming Spanish captains, blaring latin music, a myriad of shots of tequila, many close calls, and even a collision at the start. Most of the rally guests had no idea what was being screamed to the crew, and were entertained by the back and forth shouting followed by plenty of jolly cheering. After the race, we all sat at tables with our boat crews and enjoyed free beer, margaritas, delicious latin food, and hilarious recounts of the day’s race.

We were instructed by a crew member to go to Club de Havana that night for live Cuban music and salsa dancing. Following orders, we headed out at 11 pm. Music started closer to midnight, but we were glad to have arrived early to find a space in the crowded club. True to his word, this was an authentic experience with a bona fide eight member Cuban band. Surrounding us, were Colombians, aged 21 to 71, dancing to the lively beat. Bill, John, and I danced along with them, but I’m afraid it was obvious that we were gringos who wished they could salsa!

The next day, Sunday, was scorching hot at the outset. Hoping to experience a Catholic mass at the old Cathedral, we opted to take a taxi, rather than walk, so we wouldn’t be dripping with sweat upon arrival. The service was serene, with a priest speaking Spanish so quietly, that I could barely hear him from our pew near the back. Throughout the cathedral, fans blew wildly, whipping my hair around, further hindering my hearing, but keeping us cool throughout the mass.

A vagrant, whom we have seen every day in Cartagena, sat in the pew right in front of us, leaving and returning throughout the mass. This particular man can be seen walking in and out of many establishments throughout town, begging for money. Colombians show no signs of frustration when nonpaying guests come in to their restaurants, stores, museums and churches. Most of these wanderers have something to sell, and will approach each customer to ask for money. Many people play music, dance, or try to sell jewelry, flowers, cigars, or handmade art. We have given many people money for their unsolicited performances, but rarely pay for any items. Teenage rap singers, a 12 year old opera singer, a family dressed up as gold statues, a group of street funk dancers, and a violin player were among our favorites. This bum in the church, unfortunately, had nothing to sell, and was clearly seriously mentally disabled. I am curious about the social programs offered for the homeless. Santa Marta and Cartagena seem to have few seriously disturbed homeless people wandering the streets, at least less per capita than I have seen in Portland Maine.

On Monday, we walked to the fort and learned about how many battles the people of Cartagena have endured. This gave me even more reasons to love the people here. The views from the top were amazing.

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent traveling around the city on foot, trying to find many boat parts. We needed a piece of cable, a new cap for our diesel jug, rechargeable batteries, and a few other things. What is a simple task in the US is a full day task here, and we often come up empty handed. That’s okay, though, as we have learned to improvise with everything we do. And the experience of going to a ferreteria (hardware store), drawing pictures, using our Spanish dictionary, and lots of hand signals is fun. Each ferreteria is unique and only carries a few categories of items. They usually have a counter a few feet from the sidewalk, and employees go to the shelves behind to fetch what you are interested in buying. When we do find what we want, we are always shocked by the low price, like the mini batteries for 30 cents a piece.

Today, Jennifer, a local woman who speaks fluent English and French, came to Club de Pesca, to show us the many fruits in season here in Colombia. We tasted all of them while learning about the culinary and medicinal benefits of each. Now we are all better prepared to select offerings from the San Blas folks who paddle around in dugout canoes, trading their produce for items we have on board. Locals in the San Blas don’t need money, but are always interested in our fresh water, canned vegetables to stretch their locally grown choices, and other items for fishing, art or learning.

We will be sad to leave this vibrant city, and plan to return someday soon. We have plans to leave tomorrow, and sail toward the San Blas Islands. But first, we are heading off now to a farewell dinner, put on by the wonderful Club de Pesca. More latin food and drinks and lessons in Salsa!

While we loved Santa Marta, we were eager to untie the lines and sail again. We left at first light on Friday, and entered the harbor with 24 other sailboats. Two swimmers grabbed a navigation buoy and held on, hoping to avoid being run over by the parade. We often saw these swimmers in the early morning, getting in a long workout. The times we tried to do this, my mouth filled with gasoline-tasting water, and Bill got tangled in plastic bags! We were not brave enough to try again.

The harbor was soon filled with catamarans and monohulls traveling in zigzags, as we headed into the wind to raise sails, and heading off the wind to get on course. Once underway and on our course, we lost much of this great wind, and started engines to keep up the pace. We all wanted to get to the anchorage in Porto Valero, 55 miles ahead.

Approaching the Barranquilla River, was bizarre. The water had a clear line marking the fresh river water flowing on top of the Caribbean Sea salt water. I would like to do a study to see why this water doesn’t mix more, giving a gradual color change. We were almost three miles out to sea from the mouth of this river, and there seemed to be no mixing. Bill caught a tuna as we approached this line, as did several other sailors nearby. Apparently, this water causes a wall of sorts, where the tuna swim with the current, hit the wall, and turn around. In their confusion, they bite on lures more frequently than they tend to during the more steady water patterns.

As the water changed from a clear turquoise to a milky cafe au lait, the wind also changed from a docile breeze to a spirited ride. We moved along briskly at this point, and witnessed too much wind as we turned the corner to head into the anchorage. No matter, the sea state was calm, and the boats settled nicely at anchors.

Luckily, Bill noticed, even in the dim light, that we had blown out another luff tack. This mainsail is only a few months old and we’ve already blown out three. We have sliders that run up the mast with webbing to attach the sliders to the mainsail. The webbing doesn’t tear, but it becomes unstitched. I just stitch them back in place, hoping my stitching will last longer than the original. This time, however, the slider actually broke, allowing the webbing to slip right out. As the sun went down, I stitched the webbing back on to a new slider and ran it up the track. Fingers crossed that this fix will hold.

The Colombian authorities came around to each boat to check us in. The officers must have been new to this job, because they caused damage to the first boat they visited. They tied their small vessel to a cleat on Bayzano, and with a rolling swell in the anchorage, the boats lurched, yanking on the cleat, loosening it. Luckily, they just did drive by’s for the rest of us, taking pictures of the boat and calling it good.

Knowing we would be rising well before dawn to complete our passage to Cartagena the next day, we all turned out lights, except the mast heads, and went to sleep. I would have liked to have gone to shore to explore this new place, but there was no time.

Rising at 4 am, we found the air completely calm. After a quick bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea, we raised anchor, and set out into the dark. Raising the mainsail was a waste of time, and we soon dropped it back down again, resigned to a day of motoring. Slight breezes came and went throughout the day, and you could see all of us raising sails, only to find them mostly drooping lazily. This confused me. We had worried about the coast of Colombia since the start of the trip in Maine. We had been warned that the coast had stormy weather with huge seas all the time, and to prepare for this accordingly. Well, we have sailed along this coast on three separate days so far, and each day has been so mellow and barely enough wind to fill sails.

This journey has been all about surprises. Nothing is as we expected. The books and charts are guidelines, but each day brings new weather patterns and conditions to deal with. So far, we have found that Alembic has outperformed all of our expectations. Bill and I have found many surprises with our relationship as well. After being together for 34 years, we thought we knew everything about each other. I am happy to report that all of our new findings have just brought us closer, and stronger. We are looking forward to seeing all of our loved ones, and our favorite home, Maine, but we also have learned that we want to keep sailing. We are now making plans to revisit some of the places we have seen, and explore new ports as well.

Hopefully, some of you will come along for parts of our journey. Kenny and Jenna just booked tickets this week to be with us in Belize, Cay and George will also be joining us for another week in Belize, and Ben and Pat are trying to arrange a time that works for them as well. We are a moving target, so booking flights can be challenging, but we are always hopeful to share this amazing experience with others. Alembic is ten feet longer than our last cruising boat, Wings, a Westsail 32, giving us space for more on board. Come help us fill this space!

Seven days ago, we returned to Santa Marta after a full three weeks away. Now my mind is in a bit of a jumble trying to switch gears from the Maine way of life, to that of Colombia. In addition to formidable efforts to speak Spanish and stay cool in this sweltering heat, we are adjusting to sailing in the company of 24 other boats. Well, we haven’t sailed yet, but this is the plan, starting on Thursday. A few days ago, Bill said “It feels like we are freshmen in college all over again”. Yes, it does. We are trying to remember names of people, names of boats (dorms?), and who is paired with whom (remember how important this knowledge was in college?!)

Back in August, we joined an OCC (Ocean Cruising Club) Rally which was to begin in Curacao Jan 2 and end in Belize May 1. Knowing we would be in Maine at the time of the introductions and first sailing legs from Curacao to Aruba and on to Santa Marta, Colombia, we decided to sail to Santa Marta early (arrived December 10), fly home to Maine, and be back in the marina when they arrived.

First to arrive was Shamal, with John and Georgina on board. They, like us, sailed directly from the Bahamas, and were eager to meet the rest of the Rally goers. Having a full day to get to know our new friends was wonderful, and easy. The next day, four more boats arrived, and I managed to learn each of their names and on which boats each person resided. I was thrilled to learn that Michel and Brigette, from France, were eager to converse with me in French. Then came the remaining boats and everything went blurry. Names, countries, boats, and languages, were all in a big pot of confusion. Luckily, someone had organized a cheat sheet with all of the boat names, people names, hailing ports, and boat types. They even had photos of the people! The Swedes’ photos were swapped, and a few pieces of information were missing, but receiving this by email was much appreciated. Editing the document as I learned more about each person, I used this chart like flash cards, where you memorized your new vocabulary words in school.

I believe I have most of the names down now, but which boats they are on is still somewhat of a mystery. We have already had a few Rally meetings, two pot luck dinners, and a jam session up at the marina headquarters area and many of us have gone to town and beyond together on foot, taxi, or small bus. Bill and I are having a grand time traveling beyond Santa Marta in small groups. It’s a toss up to decide which is more fun, amusements with the Rally folks or adventuring inland.

On Sunday, eight of us hired two taxis to take us to Minca, a small town up in the mountains. From there we set off on foot, up a dusty road, to a coffee plantation.

Too bad I don’t drink coffee; the others told me that it was excellent. We gave ourselves our own guided tour of the coffee factory because we couldn’t wait the twenty minutes for a tour guide. As a result of El Nino, it has been exceptionally dry lately and we noticed that the water wheel was not running. There was a small electric motor running the huge drive shaft which is normally run by hydropower. Up here in the mountains, the power is scarce, so using it for processing the coffee beans meant that the espresso machine upstairs couldn’t be used.

After a delicious lunch at the coffee plantation, we headed back up the forest trail and down the dusty road back to Minca. The sweet little town, which seemed more of a crossroad than a village, was packed with locals celebrating their last night of the Three Kings holiday week. Buses, taxis, and motorcycles with far too many passengers on each, crowded the tiny intersection. As we threaded through the throngs of vacationers, we wondered how we would get down the mountain. No one in their right mind should travel up that winding road unless they were sure of a customer willing to pay to get down. A clever old man spotted us, calculating the fare he would collect if he could manage to cram us all in his jalopy. Christian, the best at speaking Spanish, got the front seat, four of us squeezed into the back seat, which was built for two, and two contortionists, Nigel and Bill, folded into the back, the space meant to carry a few bags of groceries. As soon as the tinny doors were closed and secured by rope (!), we began plummeting down the mountain. In our broken Spanish, we tried to tell our ancient driver that we were not in any hurry, but he insisted on playing slalom with every vehicle on the road. Many times, oncoming trucks had to slam on their brakes to avoid a head on collision with us, as our intrepid driver wove through the continuous line of cars heading down. The winding road, with switchbacks almost dangling over the cliffs, would be scary even at slow speeds and with no other vehicles.

Maybe it was the prayers, maybe it was gravity, but we made it down to the bottom of the mountain. I wondered if our driver was as relieved as we were to have arrived unharmed. I also wondered if he could take passengers up the hill, or if the old clunker had to go back up empty.

The following morning, we again assembled at the marina office, this time with 11 different people. We headed off to Tayrona National Park to hike and swim in several beach areas. The stop at the fruit stand was beautiful, and tasty. The selection was much better than any of the grocery stores we had visited. Lucky for us, the line to get into the park was ridiculously long, and we stood a chance to be told that the park reached max capacity for the day. Our tour guide, Andres, came up with a new plan, which proved to be much more fun.

First, we hiked into a waterfall where we swam in a crystal clear pool while watching the water plummet from the sky and also continue to fall well below us to many more pools and the river. After another short jaunt in the bus, we began another hike, this time into an indigenous village and toward a river where we jumped into tubes and floated for over an hour while watching howler monkeys and birdlife in the branches hanging above us.

The river carried us to the mouth, where it dumped into the Caribbean Sea. Here, we were advised not to swim because the waves were rough; our legs were getting sand blasted while just wading.

Shallow draft boats took us back up the river to where we had begun. Here we enjoyed a five star lunch. I really wanted to snooze in the nearby hammocks after the filling meal, but we were escorted back to the boats to the “bus stop”.

Back home to the marina, we showered off the dust and prepared for the jam session. This group knows how to have fun! We had several guitars and shakers, and Jeff’s masterful skill on his enormous keyboard kept us on tempo. Finally, the day’s events caught up with us and we began dropping with exhaustion.

Another day of boat chores and trips to town to provision our galley and our mechanical spares, we are ready to head off. But first another BBQ! The marina provided us with music and DJ’s who sang and we provided the food. Now I can say that I know everyone’s names and will be looking forward to leaving tomorrow to sail on to new places.