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September 8 – September 22,
2008, These past two weeks have been a
sweaty blur! Stowing,
prepping, inventorying, readying, waiting – anxiously awaiting the arrival
of our new mattress. I should probably explain that first. In my summer email I mentioned
that I’d become chemically sensitive. It’s gotten to the point where I
can’t sleep on conventional mattresses without a carbon-filter mask on
because the flame retardants affect me. In the 5th wheel in
I knew I wouldn’t be able to
sleep on the new foam bed I’d made last season (see February 24 and March
15-17 in Archives), especially with the memory foam topper. Our friends on Finisterre, who
were also leaving their boat in The day we left We were fortunate to find a
u-turn place in the highway divider, and sped back down the highway; about
two miles down, we saw a car pulled to the side of the road, the driver
just shutting the lid on his trunk.
Yup. He’d picked up
our mattress. Fortunately he
was a nice guy, and had planned on hanging there a few minutes to see if
anyone came looking for the mattress. We dragged it out of his car – it
was actually the wool topper portion of the bed; there were a few road
burns on it, but it didn’t appear to have tire tracks or
tears. Jeff spent a good hour
rearranging and tying the thing back on, adding shock cords to it as well.
(Guess we wouldn’t have had any problem if we’d done that to begin
with!) It stayed put the rest
of the trip to The other item we were waiting
for was oil. We had brought a
new water-maker pump down but when Jeff went to install it, he realized
the factory had shipped it without oil in it. Several emails back and forth with
the factory rep revealed it takes a special hydraulic oil that’s not
available in Before starting our days of
work, three days a week we would take a power walk around the former fort
grounds, stopping half way for three sets of push-ups and bar dips,
finishing at the end of the walk with walking lunges and stretches. The first time I did it, I made
the mistake of not bringing any water. I thought, “it’s only an hour; no
problem.” Wrong! I was really dogging it by the
time we got back – figured I was just out of shape from weeks on the road
without exercise. But when we
passed the dry storage yard, the fumes coming from the paint and solvents
hit me like a punch in the face.
I started getting dizzy and seeing spots of black. We walked away from the yard area
to the far side of the lagoon, but by the time we got there it was too
late. My head went black, my
knees buckled; I grabbed onto Jeff’s arm, and seemingly in slow motion,
collapsed onto the ground. It
took quite a while for me to recover enough to walk back to the boat,
feeling embarrassed and stupid at the same time. After that, I always brought a
bottle of HEED, an electrolyte replacement mixture we’d brought down. What a difference! If I drank some before the start
of the walk, I found I could improve my time and not feel totally drained
at the end. J Good thing because I’d packed
on a few too many pounds while “in As much as we love This is technically the rainy
season here, though we haven’t experienced nearly as much rain as I was
expecting. Thunder rolls
across the sky, cracking and booming loudly like the fireworks barge, but
so far the lightening has been off in the distance. It’s warm, often very
muggy, particularly after a squall has come through, but it doesn’t seem
as oppressive as it was in the spring. When we left the boat in April,
we’d set up a dehumidifier, which drained into the galley sink. Moises, one of the yard workers
here, was hired to check the boat regularly. When we arrived on the
11th, I was happy to discover no mold; all was as we had left
it. In fact, the dehumidifier
did SUCH a good job keeping things dry, the sole (floorboards) and some of
the teak joinery actually shrunk.
We’re told in this humidity, they should return to their normal
size in about a month. The
only other mishap was the Formica counter top in the galley, which cracked
and lifted in several places.
I’d been wanting to replace that ugly counter top, but Jeff always
said “no.” Now we HAVE to do
it. The marina workers have been
building a pool, hotel rooms above the office/restaurant, and replacing
the shower units in the bathrooms with a simple, glass-block stall shower;
no more fancy shower heads, no more whirlpool tubs. Guess they had too many
malfunctions with the units.
In any case, everything is torn up, under construction; not exactly
the most pleasant place to hang out, especially in the
evening. Why? Because that’s when the no-see-ums
come out. THAT’s why! It’s worse now than it was in the
spring; even though we’re on the water, away from the jungle, the little
buggers are still feasting on me.
My problem is now compounded: natural insect repellants don’t work
for me – I’ve tried and tried – they just don’t work. The ONLY thing that works is
DEET. But now, I have a
reaction when I put a Deet-containing product on. So I have a choice of getting sick
from insect bits, getting sick from insect repellants, or getting sick
from sweltering below in socks, long pants, and long sleeves. I end up trying combinations of
all, trying to minimize the discomfort. One of our dock neighbors
though, has been a bright spot in our dreary marina delay. Stewart Stovall on the 47 Stevens
Imagine is from the same
marina in Since we flew from the States
into Tuesday, September 23, 2008,
We are FREE, FREE, FREE!!! Oh, it feels so GOOD to get out of
that dang marina!! We only
had a short run to our first stop, and we actually got to sail the whole
way! Seas were only about a
foot, wind averaged 15 knots, perfect angle – great sailing
conditions. True to its name, Portobello is
travel magazine picturesque.
First discovered and named by Christopher Columbus in 1502, it
later became the primary site for transferring the riches out of South and
 
There are only 5 other boats
here, Imagine arriving late this
afternoon. Stuart decided to
hang out in anchorages for a week or so until Sheila, his wife, flies
down. He came over for dinner
and we chilled in the cockpit; rain gently pattered the bimini and dodger,
and instantly the scent of moist, rich earth filled the air. The anchorage is amazingly flat,
very little rocking motion, and the tides on the Wednesday, September 24, 2008,
Portobello to Isla Linton, 09˚36.768N, 79˚35.273W This was only a couple hours
motor-sail (no wind today, unfortunately) from PortoBello, and we only
stopped here because some friends told us it was one of their favorite
places. But dang, it must be
a favorite spots for LOTS of cruisers because there are over 45 boats
here! Many of them appear to
be temporarily laid up, perhaps their owners are doing in-land tours. It’s certainly a pretty enough
locale, lush palms and vegetation crowding the edge of the bay, and it’s
quiet too. The mainland is
just a short row-boat ride from the island; there’s a small, quiet resort
and some large private residences, but not much else. Only a few bugs bothered me in the
evening, so I was able to use the natural insect repellant and go below
for extra safety. I can’t
believe how flat this anchorage is – so different from the Pacific
side. Thursday, September 25, 2008,
Isla Linton, 09˚36.768N, 79˚35.273W Imagine arrived mid morning; Stuart
picked us up in his dinghy and we took a 20-minute ride through the
mangrove-lined channel leading to Panamarina, a mooring-ball only marina
just to the north of this locale.
They have a tiny French restaurant that serves surprisingly decent
food considering it’s out there in no-where; simple but tasty.
As we watched each other, I got
to thinking about her and feeling sorry for her. The abandoned building had a faded
insignia painted on the side, “Research Station, It rained again this evening;
hot below with all the hatches closed. Friday, September 26, 2008, Isla
Linton to Isla Chichimé, 09˚35.21N,
78˚52.90W Not enough wind to move us
today; had to motor sail again.
This archipelago of the San Blas is a confusing jumble of tiny
islets, some no bigger than an automobile, furry tufts of palms jutting up
from the flat surface like hairy warts on the sea face. Each island is surrounded by coral
reefs and sand bars, and both electronic and paper charts are inaccurate,
so navigation must be done by sight – no night moves here. As soon as we entered the narrow
channel between the islands, the Kuna Indians paddled out in their
dug-outs. We weren’t even
anchored yet and five of them were sidled up to our boat, each loaded with
women and children ranging in age from infant to ancient. By the time we’d set the anchor,
they each had their molas spread out on our decks, calling to me to
buy. They pile their molas in
5-gallon buckets that are seemingly bottomless, and pull out more to
entice you away from their competitors. (Molas are a San Blas specialty:
intricate layers of colored fabric cut out in reverse appliqué to reveal
the colors in detailed designs.
The best have fine, evenly spaced color reveals, and the stitches
are invisible. You use them
to decorate pillows, bags, shirts, etc.) There were so many to look at it
was almost overwhelming.
Slowly I went through each woman’s handiwork. I found the younger ones did more
appliqué and top stitching rather than reverse appliqué, designed more for
tourists than their own use.
(Traditionally the women wear them around their midsection.) I particularly liked the work of
the oldest lady there; she was also the most respectful – the younger ones
were pushy and mouthy, rudely talking amongst each other and laughing, I
suspected at my expense. When
I didn’t buy from them they asked for chocolate, which I didn’t have but
gave them all Guayabitas (individually wrapped guava paste squares that
can be eaten like candy or dried fruit sheets); they also asked for
magazines and nail polish, which I just happened to have. The younger ones don’t wear
traditional clothes, and they put big circles of rouge on their cheeks,
and paint their fingernails.
The modern world is encroaching. They speak their own Kuna
language, but understand some Spanish, no
English.  
A few hours after we’d settled
in, another dug-out paddled over with a young man, two women and a
baby. He spoke proper Spanish
so I was able to understand him pretty well. He wanted to trade; in exchange
for a couple of poorly-crafted molas I gave them a set of sheets that we
no longer use and a new tee-shirt, plus a tube of eye gel for one of the
women who had a problem with her eye, infection perhaps; the gel was only
to relieve dryness, but maybe it will make her eye feel better at
least. He invited us to visit
his family on the island.
Nice kid. 
In addition to the mola sellers,
two other dug-outs (dug-outs are to Kuna what cars are to us) came by
wanting to sell us lobster and crab; we bought some lobster to grill, but
just didn’t feel like tackling the crab. They were BIG, red, mean looking
things too.
The Kunas are tiny people – the
tallest ones about four foot high - brown skinned, coarse-looking
espresso-colored hair, and all are slender. The men and teenagers dress in
western attire, but the women – I assume the married ones – are dressed in
their traditional, colorful garb: red/yellow bandanas covering their hair,
blousy-sleeved print shirts, molas wrapped around their mid-section, a
wrap of print fabric for their skirt. Their arms and legs are laced all
the way up with colorful beads woven into a design that is only apparent
when the strands are wrapped around the limb. They also have a thin black line
painted vertically down the center of their forehead to the tip of their
nose. They don’t like their
picture taken, but the lady I bought the mola from acquiesced so I have
one shot of her and one of the baby. 
There are four other sailboats
in the little channel where we’ve anchored between two islands. If you put our four boats end to
end, bow to stern, we would probably equal the length of the larger
island. Each island has one
or two huts, and I don’t know how many families. Night falls around 1830 here; we
can hear singing on the island, but don’t see any lights. I marvel at the simple life these
people lead. It’s raining again this
evening. How ironic – we’re
finally in an anchorage where there are no bugs, but we can’t stay out in
the cockpit because it’s too wet. We’d planned on going to Isla
Porvenir today (the final Immigration office in 
We had a visit from the famous
Venancio, Master Mola Maker known through out 
Venancio’s younger brother,
Delfonso, was just the opposite – muscular, jovial, out-going; he gives
waterfall or rain forest tours; speaks excellent English. The third and older brother never
said a word the whole time. I
think his job was to run the motor on the dug-out and chauffeur his
brothers around. The crab sellers came back with
the same two crabs, but they were looking pretty lifeless, and we still
didn’t want to tackle them.
Had a salad for dinner instead. Sunday, September 28, 2008, Isla
Chichimé to Eastern Lemon
Cays, 09˚33.68N,
78˚51.74W When you’re cruising, it’s easy
to lose track of the days. We
realized that today is Sunday; if we went to Porvenir to check in today,
we’d end up paying overtime.
Instead, we moved to another island group, less than an hour away,
and that long only because you have to go way around to dodge all the
reefs. This must be a more popular spot
– there are nine boats here.
Supposedly the snorkeling here is great, and we’d planned on
checking it out, but we ended up doing projects – again. Poor Jeff; he spent the day
replacing the bilge pump, which had malfunctioned. No sooner did he get that finished
when the water-maker quit working.
Gorgeous and sunny outside, he was sweating down below all
day. I worked on my log. No snorkeling for us. More mola ladies came to the
boat when we arrived, and Jeff told them to come back in the afternoon,
which they did. They had some
great shells they were selling, and one of the ladies had fairly nice
handiwork – not up to Venancio’s standards, but nicer than the other
ladies’. It started to rain
while they were here; all seven of them climbed aboard when I invited
them, and I spent quite a bit of time looking all their stuff over, but
they didn’t budge on their prices, not even on the shells. I bought several things, gave
everyone Guayabitas, and asked to take their picture. Even after buying molas and shells
at no discount, they still wanted to charge me a dollar to take their
picture. HUMPH! I
passed. Tough ladies. Funny thing about the Kunas – they
never say thank you, never say good bye. They just leave. And they’re persistent. They won’t leave your boat until
you buy something; it’s quite annoying to have them hanging on your
cap-rail, the dug-out banging on your hull all day. While I had the brood in my
cockpit, another dug-out came up, a mola-seller with her toddler and
“chauffeur, a young boy.”
They looked rather poor – dirty, unkempt, poorly dressed compared
to others. They waited and
waited; even after I went below, they were still there waiting. When I came up again, she had her
molas laid out on the deck, and I could see why the family looked poor –
her work was pretty lousy compared to everyone else’s. “One Dollar,” she
said, “one dollar.” Boy,
she’s REALLY hard up if she’s going to sell that cheap. Of course, the $1 ones were small
size, and pretty simple; I gave her $5 for one of the mid-size ones, and
Guayabitas.
Less than an hour later, we
heard another boat banging our hull.
I came up to shoo them away but it was the same kid who was with
the poor mola lady; he’d gone back somewhere to rustle up some shells –
great, big, beautiful things – but oh-so-stinky. I asked him if there was still an
animal inside; “no animal.”
Hmmmm, it would make sense that they would eat the critter before
selling the shell; maybe it was just because the kill was fairly
fresh. He hit me at $10 to
start; we negotiated down to half; he probably would have even gone lower,
but heck, poor kid was really trying, and I think they needed the
money. Hopefully with the
help of vinegar the smell will vanish soon. Rain and lightening came up
again this evening. Lightening particularly freaks me
out. Three boats that I know
of have been hit by lightening in Monday, September 29, 2008,
Eastern Lemon Cays to Isla
Porvenir, 09˚33.53N, 78˚57.05W to
Many cruisers have told us they
don’t bother to officially check out of Porvenir has a Kuna restaurant,
hotel and air strip, and the island immediately across from it is a Kuna
village, huts and houses built wall-to-wall covering every inch of the
island all the way to the shore; they are packed like sardines. Surprisingly we only had two mola
vendors come to the boat, one selling baskets made out of gourds so I
bought one just to get rid of her; we also had men coming to the boat
looking for work, one with an eye infection so Jeff gave him some
sunglasses to at least help shield his eyes. I wish we had antibiotics for
them. Finishing our business in a
couple hours, we left Porvenir for the eastern-most islands, the Holandes
– just a three hour passage.
As soon as we got into the channel, the wind died to nothing; we
had to motor the whole way, making the salon and cabins below like a
sauna. To make matters worse,
along the way the water-maker quit working. Again. This time it’s not the pump, it’s
the ETD (electronic transfer device); MAJOR PROJECT. There were three other sailboats
already in the anchorage when we arrived, so we decided to drop anchor in
a different spot, away from the pack. Though it’s a dinghy ride to the
outer reef for snorkeling, we at least have a little privacy. There are no huts on these
islands, no mola vendors came to our boat on arrival. What a pleasant anchorage! After opening hatches below,
stowing gear, etc., we finally hoped in the water for a bit of snorkeling
– our first dip since we got back to the boat. The water is crystal clear, blue
as the sky, and warm as bath water.
At this location there wasn’t much to see but grass and a few bits
of coral; Jeff saw a large ray, and I unfortunately swam into a school of
jelly fish; pretty things, but oh did they sting. Back on the boat, I’m showering
on the swim platform, mindful of the trickle of water to conserve; here
they come – two Kuna fishing boats.
Wouldn’t you know it??
I suppose they’re probably used to seeing naked women on the back
of yachts. We’re using a bar
of soap-on-a-rope that my sister found when she was cleaning out a
cupboard in my mom’s house; it’s positively ancient and hard as a rock; Avon
Blue Blazer Shower Soap for Young Men. Maybe I’ll smell like a young man
now; or maybe I’ll just masturbate a lot. Just as night started to fall,
so did the rain. We left the
hatches open as long as we could for ventilation, but within minutes it
was a hell-bend downpour, heavy drops spattering so hard the entire
cockpit was wet even under the bimini/centerpiece. We had to go into the sauna. Ugh. Forget cooking; Greek salad for
dinner again. I put bowls and
pots out on the deck to catch rain water – we may need it if Jeff can’t
get the water-maker fixed. Tuesday, September 30, 2008,
What a miserable night! This
anchorage isn’t so pretty NOW!
It was SO hot, muggy,
stuffy, I couldn’t breathe! I
kept tossing and turning in bed, until finally about 2300 I got up and
tried to sleep out in the cockpit.
Though it was still raining, it wasn’t quite as hard, and the wet
cushions were actually cooling to my skin. But no sooner did I lay down when
I started feeling sharp stings all over my arms and legs. Yikes! Back down I went; I was just
standing forlornly in the salon, my pillow hanging in hand when Jeff got
up and took pity on me. He
switched sides in the bed with me; instead of being against the wall, I
was now on the outside, under the hatch, closer to the fans. When the rain stopped, I opened
the hatch and BREATHED. Oh
blessed relief! I must have
nodded off right after that. This morning I woke with bites
all over my arms and legs.
Again! They’re not
quite as swollen and itchy as no-see-um bites, but they’re aggravating
none the less. Jeff sweated
and cursed his way through the water-maker repair, replacing the seals and
putting it all back together again.
It’s working now, but not at the output that it should. Don’t know why, or what to do
about it. I worked on getting the
expensive charts we’d paid for loaded onto our handheld GPS. I’d tried it several times before,
but even though the wizard said transfer is complete, it wasn’t
loaded. It took me half a day
to figure out how to do it correctly, and of course, I read everything I
could but the solution wasn’t in any manual, tutorial, help section, or
wizard. I’d tried calling
tech support, but I didn’t have my computer set up and ready to go, and at
$1.50 a minute, I didn’t want him waiting while I dragged it out, so the
technician wasn’t able to help me.
When I called back later, the queue was 20 minutes so I hung
up. We’ve used up over 150
minutes so far, and we’ve only been on the boat a few weeks – most of it
has been calls trying to get support for parts, electronics, etc. Speaking of satellite phone, I
called my service provider to get the number to call and instruction to
access voicemail.
“Oh, didn’t you get the
instructions from us?” “No-o-o-o.”
“It’s complicated so it’s better
if I email them to you.”
“Remember, I can’t get email
because I need a new cable.
Did you send the cable to the marina in
Cartegena?” “I couldn’t find an address on
the website. Do you have a
phone number? “No, all I have is an email
address, and since I can’t access the internet, I can’t get a phone number
or address for you. Could YOU
email for me and get the address????” This is a company that
definitely needs customer service training! More phone calls I’ll have to make
to stay on top of this cable thing.
Can you tell I’m
frustrated? Neither of us has
really enjoyed our cruise yet; we’re not relaxed, we’re on a tight
schedule to make a weather window; we’ve got too many things that still
need to be fixed, and it’s just too hot, wet and muggy. I miss the cool climate of
Another dugout came banging on
our hull. This time the guy
spoke English; said he offers services to cruisers – will supply diesel,
gasoline, vegetables, tours, event planning such as island barbecues, Kuna
dances, etc. Asked if I
needed any molas -no, thank you - though his wife was still laying them
out in the dugout. I think
I’m mola’d out. Wednesday, October 1, 2008,
 
No wind, had to motor the whole
way, although fortunately it was a short passage. When we arrived, there were two
catamarans in the anchorage, but as soon as we finished anchoring and
straightening up from the passage, they’d disappeared. We finally had a lovely anchorage
to ourselves……..except for the Kunas who came in their sailing dugout
trying to sell seafood. They
had lobster, crab and conch – we had fresh grilled lobster for
dinner. There are three tiny islands and
one mini islet surrounding the anchorage, all white sand and coconut
palms. Coconuts are Kuna
money – all trees are owned by individual families, even way out here, so
you cannot pick up coconuts from the islands. Even though these islands are
deserted, the owners come periodically to collect their harvest. In fact, one island we rowed to
had a Kuna homestead in the center – hut, fireplace grate for cooking,
boards for table or workbench.
It’s probably their home-away-from-home. 
There’s the wreck of a
commercial vessel on the reef surrounding the islands; don’t know whether
it was for fishing, hauling freight or what, but it’s definitely a solemn
reminder of how treacherous these islands and their surrounding reefs can
be; even the professionals have difficulty. Navigating through them can ONLY
be done during bright sun, unless you know the area
well. Those bug bites that I thought
weren’t too bad yesterday have now become full-blown misery. I counted 73 bites on one leg
alone; multiply that by three other limbs, back, hands and feet, I must
have well over 300 bites, and every one of them itches to the point that I
want to claw my skin off. The
headache has begun, though thankfully I haven’t reached the nausea stage
yet. Even Jeff has lots of
bites; his don’t itch as bad as mine. During our passage here we had a
frank discussion about our cruising plans. Both of us are already tired of
the heat – we miss the cool air of We did a little snorkeling in
the afternoon. Though the
seawater seemed to relieve the itch of the bites momentarily, it was a
bust as far as sights go.
Yes, the water is crystal clear, but there’s not much to see; a few
silver-colored fish, a plethora of sea stars – some a good foot in
diameter, but not much else.
We would probably have to put the motor on the dinghy and go to the
outer reef to see any colorful fish.
We’re just not up to it.
Before getting back aboard, Jeff scrubbed the black marks off the
hull made by the dug-outs.
Not fun. Rain, thunder and lightening
again this afternoon. Unplug
and bury electronics again. Thursday, October 2, 2008, Cocos
Banderos Cays, 09˚30.82N,
78˚37.07 After the rain yesterday, there
was no breeze, and the night was so hot and muggy it made my bites nearly
drive me insane. I couldn’t
lie still for the life of me!
So I took Benedryl and half an Ambien, and at least I got some
sleep, though it took me awhile this morning to wake up from the brain fog
they caused. Though nothing quells the itch, some
creams offer a little more relief than others; of course, I’ve run out of
those. I’m down to the old
bottle of Calamine Lotion (“I’m gonna buy an ocean of calamine lotion” as
the song says) and Sarna.
I’ve been applying one or the other every half hour. Some of the bites are festering,
some are drying, ALL are itchy.
I look like a small pox victim! Another gray day today, still
hot, somewhat breezy. Gray
days are “project” days. I
worked on cleaning the range, planning our next waypoints, creating a
maintenance log to keep track of Jeff’s repairs, and the Mate’s Log. Jeff tried to repair the leak in
the aft head, but wasn’t able to do it. Poor guy, he had the thing all
pulled up from the floor, and knew exactly where the packing that needs to
be replaced is located, but the screws for the unit were on so tight,
there was no way he could take the housing apart to get to the
packing. He was SO
frustrated, and I don’t blame him.
We’ll just have to live with the leak until he can get better tools
or something to leverage that unit open. I followed up with Ocens on
sending the cable I need for the Iridium in order to email; got a message,
no, she hadn’t sent it yet; said the email address she had was no
good. Criminy! It worked when I used it! She must have entered it wrong or
something. I left a voice
message back, spelling out three email addresses for her to try. Boy, am I burning through these
pre-paid satellite minutes!!! Friday, October 3, 2008, Cocos
Banderos Cays to Aridup ,
09˚21.91N, 78˚15.51W Another short passage, another
group of small, flat islands, white sand beaches, tall slender coconut
palms. There is a Kuna hut on
the island, though it appears to be only a part-time residence. No Kunas
came out to our boat with the exception of two dugouts loaded with lobster
divers asking for water.
(They always want water, but never have anything to put it in. I have only a few small bottles of
water left, and don’t plan on buying any more because I don’t like
drinking water out of plastic, and there’s so much of it washing up on
beaches, I hate the possibility that it may end up in the sea if I give it
to a local.) These guys seemed to want to chat with the “yatistas.” I think this and the islands
further east get fewer cruisers anchoring here. To me, this is actually a nicer
anchorage – more remote, peaceful, every bit as pretty as the more popular
stops, and it has a coral reef easily reached by swimming from the
boat. We spent about an hour
snorkeling over the reef.
There was certainly more to look at here – interesting coral
varieties, numerous fish, but still the underwater life wasn’t as
populated and colorful as we saw in the western Panamanian islands. Jeff spotted a big shark, and I
saw a yellow and black eel, but the rest were pretty
standard. Rain again, muggy air again,
bugs in the evening again.
Whoever it was told me there were no bugs in the San Blas was
obviously not allergic to their bites. It was so miserably muggy below
after the rain, sweat was pouring off my body while I was preparing
dinner; my clothes were drenched.
Boy, I HATE the heat! Happy Birthday, Mom! Long passage today, without
enough wind to propel us, so we had to motor sail. Funny, in all this time, we’ve
never seen any sea turtles, no rays, no fish jumping, only one lone
dolphin a few days ago. There
just doesn’t seem to be as much active sea life on this side compared to
the Pacific; everything seems “toned down.” 
Isla Pinos is dramatically
different from the other San Blas archipelago islands we’ve seen so
far. It’s probably four or
five times larger than the others; it’s high – maybe 450 feet or so, with
a communications tower at the top of the hill; it has palm trees on the
white sand shores, but the rest of the island is densely covered in lush
trees and plants. The
contrast of the bright green rising on the hill behind the coconut palms
is quite beautiful. 
The guide book says there are
two villages on the island, though we can only see one from where we’re
anchored. We weren’t here
long when a dug-out came out to us, manned by two Kunas. The old guy in the boat spoke
English fairly well, and was there to collect an anchorage fee - $8. Seemed a little step; Jeff tried
to get him down to the standard $5, but he wasn’t going for it; said the
fee gave us the privilege to walk on the island as well as anchor. Ok. Help the
economy. Since we got here around 1500,
we had plenty of time to relax and enjoy the beautiful scenery. To my way of thinking, this is by
far the prettiest placed we’ve seen so far during this cruising
season. There weren’t many
bugs; the natural insect repellant and a burning mosquito coil in the
cockpit were enough to protect me from bites. The soft breeze kept us cool while
we dined in the cockpit, the crescent moon looked like one you’d see in a
children’s book with a cow jumping over it, or like that movie production
company with the guy sitting on the bottom corner of the crescent with a
fishing pole in his hands.
Since we decided to stay a day and enjoy the beautiful locale, we
cracked open a box of wine – yes, a box – with dinner, and chocolate for
dessert. A small
shoe-box-looking cargo boat came into the channel and anchored; we could
hear the deck hands softly laughing into the night. We talked for hours about our high
school days – or actually, Jeff talked and I listened. J I think at some point in your
life, you start thinking back to all the “what if’s” and “whatever
happened tos.” Finally, we
were relaxed, enjoying a lovely evening in the balmy Sunday, October 5, 2008, Isla
Pinos, overnight passage to Isla Fuerte Clear, sunny, windless morning,
we lowered the outboard onto the dink and motored to the pier in the
village. Heck, we’ve paid for
the privilege, might as well use it.
The group of young boys playing on the water off the pier said
“Hola,” but didn’t pay us much attention. A woman with her two little girls
was sitting in a covered area at the top of the pier, working on a
mola. The little girls kept
calling to us, “Hola! Hola,” over and over. I asked her where the tienda was,
and she said it was up there on the right, but they don’t open until 1230;
we had about 45 minutes to kill. One of the first buildings in
from the pier must have been the tienda because there were two old
telephone booths, Superman style, and two windows with counters in the
wall facing the path. 
The village is composed of
clusters of fenced compounds, each holding several individual huts, narrow
dirt trails leading between the compounds. Kunas are a matriarchal society,
and my guess is each compound holds enough huts for one extended
family. Some had adobe walls,
others were more traditional pole-style, but all had thatched roofs except
one with metal. The family
pigs each have their own individual huts, the slatted floors raised on
stilts so the waste just drops down.
I don’t think the pigs get let out much for exercise, but they’re
awfully skinny, and the hairiest swine I’ve ever seen. There were lots of flags bearing
the Democratic political party insignia, and we even spotted a gigantic
satellite tv dish. Here also,
only the women wore traditional garb. Other than the children, no one
spoke to us; some didn’t even respond when we said “Hola,” or “Buenos
dias.” We smiled, tried to be
friendly and polite, but didn’t get like response. I was surprised to see trash all
over the village – not only on the shore, but also along the paths and
outside the huts. The general
impression is these are rather trashy, careless people.
We started to walk to the church
at the far end of the village, but Oracio, the old fee collector, came out
of his hut to greet us, never once smiling. I asked him about buying Kuna
bread because we’d heard it was good. He happened to have some for sale,
and invited us into his courtyard to sit and sign the “guest book” - a
simple, lined, spiral-bound notebook – while he got a bag for the
bread. I also asked about the
trail up to the top of the hill; he said we would have to get permission
from the chief, and it would cost $2 each. I guess our $8 fee didn’t include
walking on an incline, only on the flat areas! I hate being nickel and dimed to
death. As we stepped out of his
courtyard, a group of children playfully demanded we take their
picture. The boys all mugged
for the shots, doing karate kicks and what not, the girls stood stock
still, no smile or expression what-so-ever. As soon as the shutter clicked,
they came back to life. All
wanted to see themselves in my camera. Right then, the sky clouded over
and almost instantaneously we were engulfed in a deluge. The squall came on so sudden, and
so strong, it was amazing. In
seconds we were drenched.
“Uh-oh. We left the hatches open.” We scurried to the dink and back
to Musetta to find that wonders
never cease. Not even a half
mile away, Musetta was still under clear
skies; she felt nary a drop!
Boy, did WE luck out!
 
And the Kuna bread? Unimpressive. It’s made with white flour, has
lots of some sweetening agent – I couldn’t tell whether it was sugar or
honey. It’s shaped into flat
personal-size logs, about 2- by 6-inches, and baked until slightly golden,
and dark brown on the bottom.
Can’t say I’d go out of my way to buy it, but what-the-heck – I had
to try it. It’s a 16-hour run to our next
stop so we’re leaving at 1700 today, to arrive in daylight. Next
stop: Columbia!
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