Sunday, March 5, 2006

We were the last two to board the sailboat . The bus that was supposed to take us from Panama City to where we could transfer to a bus to Portobelo crept along for an hour at walking pace.  We couldn't understand what was going on.

We seemed to be going in circles. We passed our hotel, after having taken a $2 taxi to go from our hotel to the bus station. Once we stopped at a gas station and the driver opened the hood, climbed onto the engine and poured in... gas? water? Sometimes we would stop and some guy would get on and the driver would have a long chat with him before he'd hop off and we'd get going again... slowly. There were fewer than ten passengers on the bus.

Michael and I were squirming with impatience. We would have gotten on another bus if we'd seen another one bound for Colon, but we didn't. So we just complained to each other and worried. We worried the boat was gone. We worried that Captain P. had given our spots to the hordes of backpackers he said were clamoring to get on the boat. We worried that he was already mad at us because we'd asked for so much information and now would be even madder. (That last one was pretty much just me. Michael doesn't much care if people are mad at him.)

At last we picked up a bunch more passengers and we also picked up speed. When we got to the transfer point, we were packed. Our next bus was there and we hopped right on. It proceeded at a nice, normal pace to Portobelo.

Portobelo looked like an interesting little town when we finally got there, narrow between the bright green hills and the water, but we didn't have time to do much sightseeing. I waited at a restaurant with our stuff while Michael picked up a few more supplies: toilet paper, water, beer, and then while he went down to the dock to figure out how to get to the sailboat.

When he came back he said, "There is a very drunk gringo down there, so look out." That was Dennis. He was holding a bottle of beer and yelling at the guy who was to take us to the sailboat in his panga. I don't know why he was yelling.

"Por fa-f-king-vor!" he kept saying. "Por favor! Por fa-f-king vor!" I was dismayed when he and his quiet but also beer-drinking friend got into the panga with us. He calmed down somewhat in the panga, but he still had an edge of belligerence to him. It turned out we're neighbors in New York. (Goody.) And he had his own sailboat, so he would not be mixed up in our trip.

So we got to the sailboat and Captain P. knew us. ("Michael and Megan?") We climbed on and there they all were. Other travelers, tons of them, sitting on every available surface, tanned and half naked, like they'd been at sea for weeks. They seemed nice, but I'm not at my best in large groups and I felt out of place in my black pants and heavy hiking boots. Everyone else was barefoot. I took my boots off right away.

They started talking to us and introducing themselves and I tried to do a discreet headcount. The sailboat is a 52 foot boat. Captain P. had said she slept ten, but this was more than ten people. I flicked my eyes around, counting. Eight, ten, twelve, fourteen...

There are sixteen of us on the boat, including the captain and his girlfriend, M. It's a very international group. One of them is Peter, the Dutch guy we met back on Big Corn. Two of the others, an American couple named Sam and Sepi, were also on Big Corn. We saw each other, but didn't interact. It seems like a bizarre coincidence. I mean, I know about the gringo trail, but Big Corn Island, Nicaragua is not exactly Antigua, Guatemala. And then a sailboat to Colombia?

Dennis putted up in his dinghy. He came on board and drank a bunch of Captain P.'s rum while ranting about this and that. He said he used to do this trip, Portobelo to Cartagena, but didn't like Portobelo anymore because there are too many gringos. (He did not say "too many other gringos.") He had to get out of this area, he said. I was afraid of him and glad we weren't on his boat and glad when he went away, still swigging from his cup of rum.

The captain gave us his bedroom. He said all the other couples had already found spots and that we could have this bed, but that we should be willing to trade with someone if they felt uncomfortable where they were. I feel guilty in the master bedroom, especially since P. said M. would be sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed. That's not good.

Why are there so many people on this boat? It's a nice sailboat. Very streamlined and full of clever little nooks and crannies. There are two bathrooms and two showers. The boat is Finnish, so there's a sauna, but though it's still functional, the Captain uses it as a workshop. There is a lot more to the boat than it looked like from the outside. But I still don't see where everyone is supposed to sleep.

We surrendered our passports and $270 each ($250 for expenses and $20 for immigration formalities). We ate a good meal and I followed it up with some nasty-tasting raw ginger.

Shortly after 5:00, which is when the Panamaian Coast Guard leaves for the day, we raised anchor and started our trip. This was about two hours after we'd boarded, so who knows why Dennis had screamed, "What are you doing? Hurry the f-k up! You'd better get down there right the f-k now!" when he found out Michael was looking for the boat.

It was exciting to be going at last. All of us were perched in various spots on the deck and music was playing. It's amazing how different and amazing any given song can sound when you're pitching on the roof of a sailboat en route to Colombia.

This is my first sailboat trip, so I have no frame of reference, but it seemed like a rough ride, lots of up-and-down swells. I started to lose faith in the ginger, so I added a chewable Dramamine to the mix, and gave one to Michael as well.

The Captain seems really nice. I was afraid he'd be mad at us for not trusting him, but he seems to have put that episode behind him. He spent some time showing me the radar, and explaining the autopilot screen where he'd plotted our course through the islands.

It was neat to see the tiny little red boat inching along the screen and following the course the Captain had set. That tiny red boat represents us. And we are on our way to South America!

HOURS ON THE BUS: 189

 

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View of Portobelo, from the sailboat.

Learning about the autopilot screen.

Autopilot screen. (This shot is a little cheat-y because it was taken much later in the trip. You are looking at the San Blas Islands, not Portobelo.)

On board the sailboat.

Albin steering the boat.

Late in the day, preparing to leave Portobelo.