Adios to Hostal Mamallena. My room was in this little block of colour.
Sebastian had lost his dog. The cocker spaniel, his constant shipboard companion, had been dog-napped, or so went the story. Lots of energy was being expended by the sailboat community to find the dog, including a $1,000 reward, flyers, etc. I was sorry to hear about the loss of the pero. Little did I know that the pero's fate would impact me directly.
So, as you know, I left Panama City, ventured down the Penninsula Azuero, and then returned to the Ciuadad for an early morning departure on Monday, November 10th. Up at 4:30, showered and ready, the 4x4 driver arrived spot on time at 5:30. Despite warnings that the drivers were not particularly friendly or even helpful, we drew the ace on this one. Our driver was friendly and relaxed. So began the saga to the boats.
Sunrise over the jungle as we head out of town
Sleepy Gringo at the Super Mercado
First stop after departing a sleepy Panama City was a giant Super Mercado for last minute purchases of booze, snacks and whatnot. Five days on a sailboat without possibility of restock put the fear into some of the travelers. I wandered around the big Mercado, watching the touristas load up on bags full of stuff. All of the main meals are included on the voyage so I didn't bother with anything except a cafe' negro.
Back into the big Land Rover, we headed out of town, the road quickly giving way to jungle. Turning from the main route towards the Darien, we began climbing over the jungle-clad mountains that make up the isthmus of Panama. After much twisting and turning, we entered National Park land and the land of the indigenous Kuna people. Tax for the park was $10, and not the last fees we would pay this day.
Grinding down the East side of the isthmus, the Gulf of Mexico reflected the morning sun. Arrriving at the boat taxi area, we surrendered another $ 2 Kuna tax and, after much receipt writing, we were admitted. Here was the sorting out, with some people going to one or another of the San Blas islands while others were motored out to the waiting sailboats. 4x4 rigs pulled in, disgorged a few weary folks, and then drove off.
Waiting for the boatman to cometh.
There was milling, there was waiting, then some more milling. I spent the time bird-watching, knowing that no boat leaves before it is full and no boat leaves paying passengers on the beach. It would all work itself out as it eventually did. Seven of the folks bound for the Corto II were eventually rounded up, including yours truly. Along with some Kuna folks who were heading back to their home island, we eased down the narrow estuary and then bounced across the swells towards some absurdly small islands. Toothbrush heads is what they looked like, flat little tufts of palm trees improbably poking up just enough above the sea level to be called dry land.
The boatman cometh and we goeth
Kuna women commuting back to the islands
A Kuna village
The Corto II
After a stop for the Kuna commuters, we bounced across the surf between the little toothbrush head islands, guessing at which one we would stop. Fourty-five minutes later, with only slight kidney damage, we slid between a reef and a tiny islet in to sheltered water between two islands. With an island to the North, an island to the West, and a reef around the rest, we were in quiet waters, tying up to the Corto II. Bags were thrown aboard, we payed our $ 15 per persona to the boatman, people staggered about, and we stowed our gear. The motor launch disappeared to one fo the islands. There were seven of us, four Germans, two Aussies, and myself. We were destined to spend the next five days at the close quarters of the Corto II, a 53' fibergalss monohull sailboat. We were greeted aboard by ToTe, the mate and the sum total of the crew. Sleeping arrangements were dealt with by the German women, and, thus aboard, we settled in.
The view from the Corto II
You may be asking yourselves "Yes, but what does any of this have to do with the Dog? Will you get on with the real story, please?"
Sorry. Once assembled in the aft of the Corto II, ToTe informed us that El Capitan would not be arriving until tomorrow and that we were going to hang out where we were for the day and night. The reason for the lack of Sebastian's presence was that he was following up on a lead as to the whereabouts of the dog, as well as posting flyers, appearing on TV and radio, and generally scouring the country for the mutt.
Now mind you, we were not moving from where we were, but where we were was exactly where I wanted to be. The was snorkeling to be had be falling backwards from the stern, two islands to commute to by swimming in bathtub warm water, and ToTe playing host with good food and a quick smile. The lack of a skipper, however, was slightly disconcerting. We made jokes amongst ouselves about piracy or electing ToTe as acting skipper, but the truth was that the Corto II was going nowhere until Sebastian returned to the helm.
Grocery shopping was conducted and evening settled in. There was swimming and lounging and snorkelling and eating. As darkeness enveloped the boat, so then did the the rum begin to flow. Jacko and Matt, the Aussies, formed a trio with Enrico (The Stein Man) to kick off a true nautical party. I only watched the consumption as we settled down to the business of getting to know one another.
Rum, reggae and laughter escorted the night as it wandered on into the wee hours and a heat soaked sleep. Would El Capitan appear? If so would the pero be with him? If no pero, was the skipper to appear at all? More to come, more to come Chicas.
Ciao for now!!
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