The San Blas Islands, Panama with Angus

Well I never. Out waltzes Dad from Panama airport arrivals with suitcases bulging with fishing gear; its always a miracle to rendezvous when your sailing, but even more astonishing that family or friends would travel so very far to spend time on board.

The three of us spent the rest of the day having a look around Panama City. We taxied across the bridge of Americas; did some shopping at Allbrook mall as the tropical rain roared down and toured the crumbling historic part of town, now a dangerous ghetto with leaning balconies and hairballs of electrical wiring sagging into boarded up plaster shacks. Men in bottle green uniforms holding automatic machine guns stationed throughout the narrow streets stood at arms to secure the arrival of President, Martin Torrejos to his palace, a white stucco three story building overlooking tidal brown waters and wooden fishing boats. The silvery city skyscrapers prickled the skyline behind.

Flying from Panama to El Porviner took in glimpses of the mountainous green isthmus through towering cumulous clouds from the De Havilland Twin Otter, finally circling over the flat islets of the San Blas before a rapid decent on a strip that was only a little longer than it was wide and disappeared into the surf.

Just as I suspected Dad could not fit his shoulders through the bulkhead into his cabin; he didn’t take much time to crack his head a couple of times on the bulkhead; "best sleeping pill available" he said.

We made full sail to the Lemon Cays, Dad on the helm, Nick up the mast spotting the reef passes, and me on the sheets. Within minutes of anchoring we were swarmed by Cayuca’s (dug out canoes) and mola selling ladies. Mola’s are squares of material decorated with intricate reverse appliqué needlework that are traditionally sewn as pairs on the front and back of the ladies colourful tops. Dad purchased a traditional style mola with a marlin pattern (a charm for his pending fishing tournament in Kona, Hawaii) and I struck a deal on two, one depicting kangaroos of all things! and another of donkeys. The Kuna ladies swayed around laughing when Dad showed them photographs of real kangaroos; maybe to the novice eye they are rather ridiculous looking animals or perhaps they found it funny that one roo was reclining on plush carpet with a vase of flowers near by, all but sipping ice cold beer. Whenever Nick disapproves of my purchases I tell him “it’s for the nursery” and any further discouragement is strangled by mute silence.

As the toast coloured sun sank below the horizon the constant disruptions from mola pushers trailed off. We ate fresh giant crab on crackers and slurped gin and tonics in the cockpit as the breeze caught our voices and strung them out towards the bristle of coconut trees to leeward. First thing I heard when I woke was Nick saying “ola” to a passing Cyuca, boy they start early. Venacio, the master mola maker and his brother Edelfonzo dropped in for a coffee and explained to us many things about Kuna culture, Up until about 6 years ago coconuts were the going currency and most Kuna’s today choose to live in bamboo walled thatched huts without electricity. The men fish for food and grow yucca (a yam like root), bananas and pineapple in shifting agricultural plots on the mainland while the women look after their numerous children and lie in hammocks making mola’s. More mola purchases including a particularly fine example of Venacio’s as a birthday gift from Dad to me. Dad insisted that Venacio sign his, he was not going to pay top dollar for an unsigned original.

We spent a couple of days at the Hollandaise Islands and occasionally it rained heavily particularly on Nicks BBQ chicken. The cruisers in the San Blas were particularly paranoid about “Chocosanas” (30+ knot line squalls) and woke us up on the VHF in the middle of the night to let us know the breeze was blowing where they were. It afforded some amusement and a nice sit in the cockpit in the cool watching the sky. The yanks would flash lights, blow horns, make VHF calls and shout across decks all through the grapevine so that no one could be caught unawares of these vicious storms.


The fish must have heard the rumour that Dad was coming. Despite us casting a whole battery of arsenal past that shimmery surface morning and at sunset our total catch was unimpressive; a remora, one barracuda, one yellow tail snapper, one bar jack and a little grinner hardly worth mentioning. But the San Blas are not renowned for fishing and we fairly proved that that the mangrove clad shores and reef estuaries do not harbour many hungry tarpon here. Near a delightful little sand cay I fossicked up one good size conch, but this was hardly enough for dinner so we bought some lobster and conch meat from a bunch of thin muscly Kuna men paddling their Cyuca between dive spots.

In the little community of Nargana we managed to book flights back to Panama and have a meal of chicken and chips at Nali’s bar. The older folk were mostly hidden behind the low bamboo homes, kids kicked balls around the concrete court and the young men congregated under verandas to drink hard liquor. Only one person, a man, seemed fixedly occupied chipping away at a great log under a makeshift shade of fronds, painstakingly revealing the Cyuca he dreamed was trapped inside.

We trolled that evening until we found the mouth to the Rio Diablo, hidden behind many mangrove islands, meandering bays, sandbanks and barriers of heavy driftwood. The next day we made a morning start on the winding waters in the dinghy, trolling ever hopeful. If we’d known then that the river was inhabited by crocs perhaps we would not have plunged in as we did, but then we would never have removed the sweat and heat in the cold sweet water and felt so invigorated. Jesus lizards, kingfisher species and many beautiful tropical flowers. No monkeys or tapirs.

Back out to the Coco Bandera’s Islands. Four tropical islands, no one there other than a few yachties. Baitfish schooled right up to the white sand in thick schools, darting to avoid the pelicans’ plunging bills. Dad, Nick and I snorkelled through them parting them as a negative pole of a magnet would on silvery iron filings. We explored the steel ship wreck on the outer pass by dinghy and dived on various reefs where the current was tolerable. However the fish life does appear to be lacking the large predatory species and the schools of juvenile jacks are edgy. It appears to have suffered from inordinate fishing pressure. The nights were perfect sleeping temperature and the anchorage was comfortably flat.

Every Monday in the Hollandaise the cruisers hold a pot luck evening and Dad, Nick and I were not going to be outdone or go hungry so we pulled together to prepare the crab and aubergine rounds in good time to greet the other dishes as they beached. The turnout of people was fantastic, the finger food was meagre. Crackers and topping turned out from cans, our crab dish disappeared in seconds flat, luckily Dad scooped up the last pieces for me otherwise I’d have nothing in tumtum to soak up all the lovely cabernet Nick was kindly poring. We mingled amongst the spectrum of people gathered until the darkness closed in and then headed home to chuckle in reflection of things said.

After some early morning trolling out the back of the reef on Tuesday morning we pulled anchor on PC and Dad drove us back to the island of Nargana, supplies were getting low and we had an early plane to catch the following day to Panama. We were in the first Cyuca load to “Airstrip Island” and stood near the wreck of the Arrivals hut watching the Kuna man try to start his outboard to collect the next load. “Give it the buoyancy test” was Dads advice.

In Panama we had PC’s alternator fixed, bought a shirt to have mola-ed, Dad bought Nick a delightful spanner set and we took an educational trip to see the Miraflora Locks on the Panama Canal. As it was my birthday the next day and the red meat eaters amongst us could have eaten the back end out of a rotten fox, we dined at an Argentinean restaurant that night.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such a glum birthday. Nick and I said goodbye to Dad on the street before he stepped into his cab and headed off to Hawaii. My melancholy only lifted that evening when I hooked two nice horse-eyed jacks off the yacht flicking poppers.

PHOTOS

Ok, so find below the photos that match the text of the last post.... enjoy.
Nick and Blue

Nick and Graeme near the Tower of London where we left 11 months ago

Thor and Sonia........

High ropes days at the wedding in France

The rental racer in Aruba

Karels Bar in Bonaire

Nick shot this horse eyed jack at 80 foot

Boobie Chick at Aves de Sotovento

European Escapade

On the 26th of May we dropped anchor at some small off lying Venezuelan islands, Aves de Barlovento, where we stayed four nights before heading onto Sotovento 10 miles west. West always West. Some of the best diving we have experienced to date was had in blue water off the leeward drop off. Enormous schools of horse-eyed jacks, whopping great rainbow runners, mackerel and lively schools of baitfish were patrolling up and down the deep drop off every time we flopped over the side of the dinghy. On top of the exiting fish life, the kite-surfing here was great and we could anchor alone in mangrove lined lagoons if we wished. Some, but not all of the islands in this group were busy with Brown Boobies and Red footed Boobies nesting in the 20m tall mangrove trees. The nests were also on the ground and even in the mysterious decrepit stone cairns. Nick and I speculated why not a single bird could be found on some of the islands while on others they were abundant; the absence was possibly due to the presence of dogs, rats or other introduced predators.
3 June 2006. We had to get a move on, Thor and Sonia were to be married in France on the 17th of June and we had to get the boat securely into the SeaPort marina in Aruba, catch our KLM flights to Amsterdam, then drive to Paris before the big day. The islands of Bonaire, and Curacao provided interesting stopovers on route to Aruba. The Spaniards 'discovered' the islands and their American Indian inhabitants at around 1500. Around 1640 the Dutch took over and Aruba is still part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Being so close to South America all three of the ABC's have a strong Latin American influence. The locals speak Papiamento, a Creole incorporating seven languages, none of which we could recognise.
Bonaire is renowned for its diving. Other than small scale salt production, dive tourism drives the economy. The island has low rainfall (520mm), no rivers and emerges steeply from the Caribbean depths. The costal area was declared a marine park in 1979. Anchoring is totally prohibited so that visiting yachts must pick up any one of a hundred or so mornings along the lee shore. Consequently the coral and fish life directly under the boat and all along the shore was spectacular. Nick and I put our bikes together to explore the large estuaries that wind through karstic limestone and thorny scrub. A large National Park protects the estuaries which are an important breeding site for pink flamingos. We peddled vigorously into headwinds on a hot straight road across the island to see one of the worlds best windsurfing locations, Lac, and were impressed by the gymnastic moves a couple of adolescent freestyle sailors were pulling off.

Another day sail and 25 miles further west. Curacao's two huge estuarine inlets are both navigable. Nick and I crept into the narrow entrance to Spanish water to get out of a 25 knot wind for the night and could not believe the number of convoluted bays hidden behind the barren scrubby shore. Spanish water is highly developed and had little to offer other than protection from the elements. The private residences along the shores are super luxurious. Huge modern multi-level condos with private jetties are situated dog to dog around the inlet. This eliminated the possibility of us making a shore landing.
Aruba is the westernmost and the smallest of the three ABC's. We anchored with one other yacht at the capital of Oranjestad and a couple of days later we moved into our marina pen in the heart of the town which is full of duty free shops, casinos, dive and game fishing boats, hotels, bars and restaurants. It's colorful, cheesy and expensive. Nick and I signed up for a time share apartment presentation and received a 4x4 hire car for a day as a free gift. Brilliant! It happened that the timeshare presenter was not available but we still got the car; Perfect!! Couldn't have worked out better. Nick got the clapped out suzie sideways on all the dusty dirt roads from one end of Aruba to the other. We went so fast we saw everything in one day which included the highrise area, the lighthouse, the donkey sanctuary, the granite boulders and Aruba's most spectacular tourist attraction; a natural bridge on the windward coast. Only, the natural bridge had collapsed quite a while ago so it's really just like the rest of the windward shoreline apart from the acres of parking and the kiosk. After a quick photo Nick got us squealing off in the direction of the butterfly farm.

In 12 hours we traveled the same distance by air as it has taken us 12 months to travel by boat. It felt peculiar to be sleeping two up across four airline seats and not in the aft cabin of Pina Colada. The following night we slept in a VW fox rental car on the side of a Belgian motorway and that was even worse. But later that morning we were in Paris, it was warm, elegant and lively with old friends with Antipodean accents. Thor and Sonia's civil ceremony was performed by the Mayor of Paris, an old family friend of Sonia's. Afterwards French champagne and appetisers were served in a grand marbled chamber of the Marie. Ask Mano how good the appetizers were; he ate most of them. Thor had a flip top head he was smiling so broadly, quite understandably too; Sonia is a gorgeous Parisian girl, who is super clever with an unruffelable temperament. It was heart-beatingly beautiful to be there. Everyone rejoiced by drinking and eating late into the night at a little wine bar. The next morning I awoke with Nick wafting a Palmier under my nose. Palmier's are my priority boulangrie purchase. Ahh, I love France.

Samantha, Sonia's sister, arranged a surprise high ropes adventure the following day. Everyone had a "Thor and Sonia" t-shirt issued and we took over the canopy of the forest like a bunch of kookaburras. Later on that night the party split in two for a belated hens and stag night. Forget the cocktail umbrella; Sonia was made to have her cocktail with a "sexy dance". This is a brilliant marketing tool, for just 5 Euros extra you get a nubile boy to cavort around wearing only a tiny blanket! Think of the sales potential if this were applied to other markets. I'm not 100% sure what the boys got up too although I did hear it stopped traffic.

Friday the 16th of June was a travel day; everyone made there way south to the wine district of Beaune where the Church wedding was to take place on Saturday. Nick, Jonas, Mano, Irene, Lurch, Tim, Anne, Stephano and I all got together at our rented gite, which was a lovely converted barn house, and watched Brazil vs Australia play football in the World Cup on telly.

After eating Swiss chocolate for breakfast, thanks to Irene, the gang from the gite drove to the Chateau de Demigny to help decorate the marquee with lanterns and kite tails of colourful paper. Nick was nabbed to assist the groom prepare; Thor apparently had a belly wog. I never saw Nick again until half way through The Wedding Ceremony when he and Jonas, Thor's Best Man, crept past the aisles like a couple of pedigree dogs who'd been chasing roo's and just as sweaty. In his immersed state Thor had forgotten the rings and had sent his Best Man and his Groomsman on a hair-raising drive through the French countryside to get the rings, ten minutes before the bride was due to arrive. Nick, Jonas and Dutch navigator Sol first drove to the wrong B&B, then broke into the wrong room! A stray couple noticed the car skidding to a halt in the hotel carpark then moments later saw the men jumping out of the second story window and naturally enquired what they were doing?'. After another death defying drive back to the Church Jonas and Nick made it to Thor's side at the alter with the wrong rings (borrowed from the enquiring couple) only to learn by way of discrete mutters from Thor that Sonia had found the rings before leaving the hotel and brought them to the church. The proceedings sailed along and Thor and Sonia were as happy as croissants when the flashes clicked and the petals fluttered down.

The reception took place at Chateau de Demigny. Everyone mingled and chatted on the lawns and under the giant oaks. Seven courses were served, concluding with Onion soup at 5am. Goodness knows how we all managed to dance after so much delicious food but we did. The merriment continued the next day with all the guests re-convening back at the chateau for beer, brunch and a game of soccer, France vs La Monde. Nick kicked the opening goal.

That night after saying goodbye to old and new mates Nick and I drove back to Amsterdam, Schipol airport and caught a plane to London in the early hours. Planes and underground rides. We saw the Australian embassy to renew my passport. More trains, before legging it to Greame's apartment in West Hampstead where we collapsed thoroughly exhausted. Soccer passion was at fever pitch and Graham, Nick and I were able to soak some of it up in the form of crowded pubs and amber ale over the next three nights waiting for my passport application to be processed. We also had a look in the archives at Greenwich Maritime museum for records of Nick's Great-Granddad Chrystal's maritime career. Saying goodbye to Greame wasn't that hard because he was asleep when we crept out at daft o'clock and also because we are planning to get together again soon somewhere in South America for more good times. I think I slept the entire flight back to Aruba. The boat was where we left her; bonus.