Easy Living

We headed back to Guatemala just before Thanksgiving to begin another “vacation” aboard Mañana. The debate we have each year is whether this is a vacation (Tom) or simply a change of venue to stay in a second home which happens to float (Andrea). The difference is that I am looking for bars, beaches, and restaurants because I am on vacation while Andrea is looking to “nest”, fix meals aboard, read, and relax. Actually both sides of this debate sound good.

As usual it was a long trip back to the boat involving 12 hours of planes and airports, an overnight stay in Guatemala City, 6 hours on a bus, and a boat ride down the river to the marina. Getting there may be half the fun, but it still takes a long time. The boat survived the summer nicely with only minor rain leaks and minimal mold. We bought new batteries (again), did some routine maintenance, cleaned the hulls and accomplished this all while enjoying very pleasant temperatures. If the weather were like this all the time I would live here. We even got a chance to haul Andrea up the mast for a bird’s eye view of the country (and to get the mast cleaned).

Mario’s Marina in the Rio Dulce River has turned out to be a pleasant and secure safe place to leave the boat. The restaurant has a great staff, very good food, and beers and Cuba Libres that cost about $1 each. We dinghy to town occasionally, and we find ourselves looking for breakfast or lunch at riverfront restaurants with large decks almost daily. 

  

We got a pleasant surprise at the battery store (actually a small, riverfront tienda) when our credit cards were declined. Seems we had failed to notify the bank that we would be spending large $$ in a foreign country. Chiqui, the tienda owner, told us we could take the batteries with us and return the following day to pay for them. We had access to the ATM, but the owner of the tienda said “no problem” he could wait for us to return when the credit card got straightened out. In the meantime we were free to take the batteries with us. That’s a lot of trust and, needless to say, we shop with Chiqui regularly now.

Lest you think this is all paradise we will also mention that our friends on Salida (they were the ones who got boarded last year when we entered the river and were struck by lightening on our crossing from Roatan) managed to get robbed while staying in a local hotel while their boat was getting bottom painted. They lost jewelry, cash, phones and computers in less than 15 minutes away from their room. We hope this is the trifecta of “bad news in threes” for them and that the rest of their sail will be worry free.

We took an overland trip to the town of Flores and then on to the Mayan temples at Tikal last week. The trip got off to an inauspicious start when we waited almost 2 hours for the “first class” bus to Flores which was a little late. Flores is a small resort town located on an island in the middle of a large lake. We arrived well after dark and scrambled to find dinner and a hotel for the night. The following morning we were wakened by one of the noisiest mornings I can recall. About 4 AM a tour guide knocked loudly on the front door of the hotel (think very small hotel) because his passengers were late (not us). His knocking set off all the hotel alarms. Then at 5 AM the birds started. Thousands of birds wanted to announce the dawn. At 6 AM we heard shotgun blasts and sirens. Andrea woke me to tell me there was a gunfight and that apparently the police were coming. It turned out to be “recorded” shotgun blasts to scare the birds. The blasts were about 5 minutes apart for nearly an hour and each blast immediately set off someone’s car alarm (hence the sirens). By 7 AM when the tuk-tuk cabs started with their two stroke motors there was little hope of getting back to sleep.

 

We were amused by the signs in our room which we could read very easily in Spanish but which became cryptic when we tried to decipher the English translation. For your information the signs in the pictures below ask you to throw toilet paper in the waste basket and to get towels at the reception desk if you want to go to the beach… I think.

Flores was preparing for Christmas while we were there. In a fantastic feat of advertising the town Christmas tree was topped not with an angel or a star, but with a lighted chicken, which is the logo for the largest beer company in Guatemala.  This would be very much like putting a Budweiser sign on the top of the tree at Rockefeller Center this Christmas. But, hey, I guess it paid for the tree. 

Flores is the jumping off point for Tikal which is deep in the Guatemalan jungle. We lingered over coffee and breakfast at Cool Beans and then strolled around town just long enough to miss the last shuttle from Flores to Tikal. With the prospect of an expensive private cab looking at us Andrea decided that a local “collectivo” was the answer. The collectivo’s are mini vans packed with little people. When you see them unload it looks a lot like the clown car at the circus. But they are cheap. We walked to the town of St Elena, found the crowded main market place, and negotiated for a place on the next collectivo to Tikal. Hah! Every time I thought the van was full another little person would peer in the door and decide there was plenty of room. We were in a Toyota van with 34 people crowded together. Because they were short, three people were able to stand in the mini van. We might have gotten more people in but there were only 5 people in the front seat. This was apparently because the driver needed extra room to text on his cell phone while he drove. While I was contemplating how difficult it would be to get out of the van quickly in case of an accident (and how difficult it was to breathe) we pulled over at a gas station. One of the passengers wanted to buy some gas to take home. He gave the driver’s assistant some quetzales and the assistant proceeded to fill a 5 gallon water jug with gas, stuff a rag in it, and tie it to the top of the van. I was no longer worried about getting out after the accident. This is where I would die. Remarkably the rest of the trip to Tikal was uneventful. After a few miles some passengers got off the van and the remaining 28 people spread out with the “extra” space.

Tikal is magnificent (for ruins). Huge temples rise from out of the jungle on the site of a Mayan village that once had over 100,000 people, but which had disappeared suddenly some 1500 years ago. This is the source of the Mayan calendar which comes to an abrupt end this month, and TIkal is expected to be packed for the equinox, but right now the crowds were small. Tikal is also a marvel of engineering on a par with the Great Pyramids of Egypt and the Incan ruins at Machu Pichu in Peru. Under every mound they find another temple, home, condo, apartment, etc. The excavations look like they could continue forever, but funds are limited and everything they uncover begins to erode quickly when exposed to the weather. If they stop working the jungle quickly reclaims everything. We entered the park in the late PM, checked into the very rustic Jaguar Inn and then hiked to the largest of the temples for the sunset views. At dusk the animals started to come out and we followed the tamest ones as we toured the ruins. At dark we headed for the safety of the Inn. We had been warned that this would be a noisy night because of all the wildlife and because of the monkeys on the tin roof of our bungalow, but the animals were disappointingly quiet. After our night in Flores we truly appreciated the peacefulness of sleeping in the jungle.

The following morning we spent several hours exploring the ruins and climbing the temples before heading back to Flores in our own private collectivo. We spent one more night in Flores enjoying happy hours and street tacos and then caught an AM bus to the Rio Dulce and home. To get an idea of the transportation problems here I will point out that it took us three nights and four days to visit the ruins which were less than 100 miles from the boat. This is sort of like needing a four day trip from Santa Cruz to visit the Golden Gate Bridge.

When we got back to Mario’s they were busy planning the Burning of the Devil.  December 7 is a day of infamy in Guatemala also, although they have little memory of Pearl Harbor.  Instead they use that day to burn effigy’s of the devil as part of a cleansing and cleaning process.  Throughout Guatemala they burn paper devils (and explode large amounts of fireworks) to burn their troubles and excess baggage.  They also take the opportunity to burn their household trash. At Mario’s our host, Marco, had purchased a paper devil for the cruisers to burn (as if we had any troubles to worry about).

We also scheduled a trip to the Caribbean town of Livingston for a Garifuna festival that coincided with the Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe (Dec 12). The Feast of the Virgin is a huge holiday in all of Latin America. The Garifuna are a black population. In Guatemala Livingston is one of the only Garifuna settlements. Freed slaves and migrant laborers populated the mainland coast of Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala bringing with them their African dances and traditions. Today there is some conflict between the Spanish culture and the Garifunas as the Spanish have begun to dominate the businesses and the language in Livingston. This time 20 of us piled into a 20 foot open boat (a panga) and cruised 30 miles down river to the mouth of the Rio Dulce. Accommodations at the “best” hotel were modest, but we enjoyed a fantastic Garifuna fish stew with shrimp, crab, and a whole fish in a coconut broth. We also took a l-o-o-o-ng hike to the local waterfalls known as the Seven Altars for the seven pools of water in the stream. When we entered a bar near the falls we were greeted by “Hector” who was very excited that we were from Santa Cruz. He had lived in CA in the 80’s, and on the wall he had a nicely framed diploma from Watsonville High School Adult Education program for completing an English course. I had also taken the Adult Education course for beginning Spanish several years ago. Hector’s English was decidedly better than my Spanish.

The Garifuna Festival was less than advertised and consisted largely of a lot of noise and some dancing reminiscent of the scene in “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They” which featured depression era marathon dancing when everyone started running around in a large circle (think roller derby). We did spend the evening in town and got an opportunity to share our table at one bar with what can best be described as a “street band”. Two drums, marimbas and a coke bottle were the prominent instruments. My comment was that we had found the only four black guys in the world with no sense of rythmn.

The return trip up river to Mario’s was highlighted by the arrival of three small canoes with children selling souvenirs, jewelry, and crafts. These kids were out in the river flagging down the tourist boats and then hanging on to the pangas while they showed their goods. These were VERY young kids and in the US none would have been out of sight of their parents. The oldest girl was certainly under 10 and the youngest kids were no more than 2 or 3 years old, yet they were in the middle of a large river in leaky canoes.

We leave for Roatan, Honduras tomorrow (weather permitting). We have spent too much time here tied to a dock, but “the living is easy”. We arrived at Thanksgiving and we are getting out just before Christmas, and we are the ones moving quickly. With all of the amenities this is a very easy place to get stuck.

Merry Christmas to all. We hope you enjoy the holidays 2012.

Tom and Andrea

Killer Tomatoes

With temperatures nearing the unbearable range we decided to cap off our springtime sailing adventure with a bus trip to inland Guatemala. Mountains, lakes, cool evenings...  they all sounded great compared to the heat and humidity of the Rio Dulce river. We started the trip with a long, air conditioned bus ride to Guatemala City arriving late in the evening. As I have noted Guatemala appears to be a little more dangerous than some of the other countries we have visited on this trip.  An embassy travel advisory noted that Guatemala has one of the highest violent crime rates in Latin America and that “rule of law is lacking”. Nowhere in the country is night time travel advised and if you should arrive at a bus station after dark make sure the cab you get is radio dispatched and in good condition, don’t hail cabs, and avoid the numerous red buses that transit the city and are referred to as “Killer Tomatoes” (probably for the quantities of exhaust they emit as much as any other dangers). Andrea told me all of this shortly after I had hailed a parked cab that we then had to push down the street to jump start.  But our hotel was clean and modern and, excepting the two guards with shotguns stationed at the door it might have been anywhere in the U.S.

The following morning we took the opportunity to walk cautiously around Guatemala City (at least the small area of the city near the clean, modern hotels) before we made our second travel faux-pas.  We decided to take the “chicken bus” for the three hour trip from Guatemala City to the market town of Chichicastanengo where Andrea was eager to see the largest vendor’s market in all of Latin America. We have ridden the chicken buses in several countries usually with good results and interesting stories, but this bus trip was an adventure to itself. We were packed in three to a seat on both sides of the ancient, colorful school bus. In the aisle riders sat on paint buckets, and then they loaded the standees. There must have been 100 people on the small bus at one time. Baggage went on top of the bus, and whenever anyone boarded along the way the bus assistant would grab their packs, climb to the top of the bus and then (because the bus never actually stopped moving) re-enter the bus via a window. Our driver was absolutely crazy.  He never slowed down, passing everyone on the highway in ditches, on curves, in stalled traffic, even causing two oncoming vehicles to dive off the road to avoid the head on collision. We decided that Curvas Peligrosas did not actually mean Dangerous Curves but could more literally be translated as this is a good time to pass while everyone else is using their brakes. We had visions of a newspaper headline “American tourists among dead in chicken bus tragedy”. So what was the faux pas you ask? Another part of the embassy advisory said, and I quote, “Avoid low-priced intra- and inter-city public buses (recycled U.S. school buses). They are often attacked by armed robbers and are poorly maintained and dangerously driven.” You don’t say.



Chichicastanengo was worth the trip however.  The town is the center of commerce for the very heavily Mayan population in this rural area. Everywhere women in the traditional, colorful Mayan outfits offered goods for sale. Many of them carried their embroidered cloth, blouses, scarves, and other hand made items on the top of their heads. The biggest market is on Sundays and on Saturday night we watched as they set up market stalls in all of the streets surrounding the central church. Small  holes are permanently set in the cobblestone streets to hold the wooden supports for the tarps and roofs that will provide protection from both sun and rain, and small men and boys carried huge loads of goods and produce into the streets on their backs. A torrential downpour that cascaded water onto the table of our restaurant that evening delayed the setup only briefly. Sunday morning the town was bursting at the seams with crowds of buyers and sellers. Everything you would need for daily living seemed available. There were food vendors, farm produce, livestock, meats, pots, lots of hand made textiles and art work and, of course, a great amount of mass produced goods like T-shirts, bags and backpacks, shoes, clothing, etc.  Wall to wall people, wall to wall booths, wall to wall bargains, however we have no pictures of this colorful market because SOMEONE forgot to recharge the camera batteries.

The Catholic church in Chichi is located in the center of all of the activity on Sunday mornings.  It seems that the Mayans and the Pope have reached an understanding regarding their religions, and the Catholic church in Guatemala incorporates many Mayan beliefs and traditions. We saw large quantities of flowers and incense being burned on the steps of the church as offerings, a distinctly non-Catholic tradition.  This compromise arose when the Spanish priests arrived to teach the Mayans their new religion.  Unfortunately the Mayans could not speak Spanish and the priests could not speak Mayan so neither really understood what the other believed and a compromise of “you do your thing, I’ll do mine” was reached.  But the church did provide the basis for one very distinct cultural icon, the Mayan tradition of colorful weaving. The church was the source of a very strict dress code under which the inhabitants of any given village were required to weave and wear a style of clothing unique to that village. Mayans still wear clothing particular to their village, but few visitors to Guatemala realize that the bright, distinctly ethnic clothing one sees everywhere evolved out of an edict from a most non-Mayan source: the Roman Catholic Church. After an interesting conversation with two young Mayan women we found we were able to identify the colors particular to the nearby town of San Antonio La Lago. We got smiles all around when later we would meet someone from San Antonio and correctly identify their village.

After Chichicastengo we took a van (no more chicken buses for us) to Panajachel on Lake Atitlan for our final 3 days in Guatemala before heading home. Panajachel is a lakeside tourist town (although not many American tourists apparently) that provides access via boat to several other Mayan villages on the lake. We took advantage of our stay here to visit several villages, walk the cobbled streets, shop, and generally relax.
We noted that much of the population of Guatemala and many of the workers seem to be a very young. We took a canoe trip where we were guided by a thirteen year old boy and we had a long conversation with a very mature thirteen year old Mayan woman selling goods in San Juan La Lago. We met another thirteen year old accompanied by her five year old brother selling in Panajachel. It seems that this is the appropriate age in Guatemala to begin contributing to the support of your family, and there are children working everywhere.

Our springtime trip for 2012 ended with one more night in Guatemala City and a memorably romantic dinner. The restaurant (Kacao) served Guatemalan traditional dishes and was housed in a beautiful palapa constructed in the middle of the city. Kacao had been recommended to us while we were still in the Rio and it was a great recommendation. Costumed waiters, delicious food and a beautiful setting combined to make this one of the best dining experiences we had ever had in any country.  

Our two month trip covered over 1200 miles of sailing, and we were in and out of four different countries (Panama, Colombia, Honduras and Guatemala). We got to figure out our expenses in four different currencies (dollars, pesos, lempira and quetzales), and we saw so many different places and lifestyles. We love it. It is sometimes difficult to leave friends and family for such an extended period of time, we sometimes worry about our safety, we’re sometimes confused trying to cope with day to day happenings in a foreign language, and sometimes we even get on each others nerves in our small floating home, but the adventures, beaches, bars, boats, islands, jungles, people and leisurely pace make it all worthwhile (at least for a little while).  With that said we are definitely looking forward to CA for the summer.

Tom and Andrea

Against the Wind

The decision was made to run for the Rio about two weeks earlier than planned. We do not have an SSB radio for weather reports so we are dependent on other boats to get us the latest information. Best guess was that a short weather window would allow us to reach the Rio Dulce River before some very strong winds settled into the area for a long stretch. Bad weather for us is not rain, but wind. Wind on the nose is not good even in sunny, blue skies, and when our buddies on Silver Sea and Salida said “go” that was good enough for us. The Rio, or rather 26 miles up the Rio, will be the boat’s summer home for the 2012 hurricane season. We left Roatan, Honduras at 8 AM for a 24 hour trip to Livingston in Guatemala. The trip was marred by the aforementioned winds that came up early the following morning PLUS the fact that Salida was struck by lightning just two miles ahead of us on the crossing. Minor electrical damage and some frayed nerves was all that was reported, but it gave us pause for thought.

Livingston is the port of entry on the Carribbean coast of Guatemala and after a quick check-in in a driving rain storm we motored into the river. The lower river winds through steep canyons with thick jungles on each side. This canyon was the scene of numerous Tarzan movies and it is a truly awesome sight. Texan Bay was our first stop in the river allowing us to anchor just before dark. Because the crossing to Livingston was a little rougher than expected we spent several days relaxing here before motoring on. Again our buddy boat Salida had all of the excitement. On our second night in Texan Bay they were boarded by two young men with evil intent. Fortunately these “pirates” fled as soon as they were confronted. Salida put out a call to us since we were anchored only a few hundred feet away, but the intruders were gone before we could respond. Guatemala has a bad history for crime and violence, and this may be the first place on our entire trip where we have felt a little uncomfortable. We will not be anchoring on our own in this river.

The town of Fronteras aka Rio Dulce proved to have at least one danger on a par with the pirates. This one road town lies at the foot of the lone bridge that crosses this extensive river system. I can’t call it a one cow town however because the road is a shipping lane for dozens of cow transport trucks each day that move bovines from field to field and field to slaughter. The real danger in Fronteras is the cows! Packed tightly on the trucks, one facing left the next facing right, with tails against the rail side boards on both sides, the cows regularly “shoot the shit”. The street is a walking disaster. The danger here is being too close to the passing cow trucks when the shit hits the fan… so to speak. I’d rather the pirates. 

The river is thick with small marinas for the cruising boats, attractive vacation homes and motor yacht for the wealthier Guatemalans, and waterfront restaurants for all. River life is a stark contrast between the small canoes that fish the river daily and the expensive boats that we call home. You can see women washing clothes on a rock in the river just around the corner from your favorite tiki bar. A remarkable contrast.

We moved the boat into Mario’s Marina on June 1 and spent the next several days enjoying happy hours, good food and a cool pool ashore while we cleaned and repaired Mañana after a long sail. We have found waterfalls for swimming and smaller rivers to explore by dinghy and always another cold beer to help us pass the time. Mario’s provides an armed guard on the dock all night long. Paradise?

Unfortunately the weather is extremely uncomfortable right now with temperatures in the 90s and a heat index of over 110 each day so the pool is a godsend, but it will take a change of venue to really cool things off. Our next adventure will be a week long road trip into the Guatemalan interior before we head home.

Honduras, Hurray!!!

The last stop in Colombia was the tiny island of Providencia, a short 60 miles north of San Andres.  This island was first settled by the Pilgrims and until very recently was still called Providence Island. For those of you familiar with Rhode Island I will note that the ancient fort defending the harbor was named Fort Warwick. The pilgrims were followed by the British, Spanish, pirates, and finally the coconut growers so the culture here is “diverse”.  The islanders have put considerable effort into creating a clean, eco-friendly environment (including bio-degradable bags in many stores) and there is a good deal of local public art decorating the streets, parks, and bus stops. We spent evenings at the Bamboo Seafood and days walking the single road on the island. In a feat of sheer stupidity we managed to walk the entire length of the road (about 12 miles) around the island in the midday sun (only mad dogs and Englishmen… ). Were it not for the frequent beer stops we might have perished on this far off island.  These are the true dangers of sailing… walking.





Honduras beckoned, and we set sail for the Honduran Bay Islands of Vivarillos, Guanaja and Roatan.  The route took us northwest around top of Nicaragua and then west along the coast of Honduras running about 40 miles off shore. This leg of the trip was some of the best sailing we have ever had.  We managed to sail for 34 hours of the 36 hour trip to Vivarillos resorting to the motor only in the last two hours as we tried to reach our destination before dark. Part of the trip was a full spinnaker run that lasted for over 6 hours. We got another 24 hour down wind sail to Guanaja and a shorter 8 hour down wind sail to Roatan. For once we were going in exactly the right direction and we couldn’t have been happier. To top it off we experienced one of the most awesome sunset/moonrise evenings I have ever seen. We were headed due west as a spectacular red globe sun set in the water ahead of us.  As we glanced aft we then saw an equally huge yellow moon just lifting from the water.  The two perfect balls of light rested on their respective horizons at precisely the same moment. The sight was so impressive, and it seems so futile to try to describe it adequately. I have never seen anything like it. Calm, colorful, “fishless” seas and good winds are what I will remember of this part of the trip. (Note the term “fishless”:  I may have set a futility record of some kind by dragging a rubber fish for almost 900 miles and catching “nada”.  We buy all of the fish we eat.) 

Vivarillos is an uninhabited island with a long reef providing protection for anchoring. Just another white sand beach with turquoise water. Ho-hum. The only sign of life were the stacks of lobster pots hidden in the palms.  Lobster is out of season in the Caribbean right now and the fishermen store their traps here until they return in July. Deserted. From Vivarillos we sailed on to Guanaja where we would check in to Honduras. Guanaja is a pretty large island surrounded on all sides by ocean reefs. There are about 8,000 residents on the island and they almost all live on one small Cay that is the main town of Bonacca.  The whole island is only about 12 miles long and is is dotted with small, struggling-to-survive resorts that occupy the bays on the island as well as the small cays that dot the reefs. Supplies come from the mainland so availability and prices are very reasonable. This island is a beautiful destination resort, but no airstrip or ferry service comes here so you need to make private arrangements through the resorts to come by boat. That does keep the crowds down. The resorts are very quiet right now, but they are very beautiful places. The “season” is January to April.



We anchored in a beautiful bay called El Bight on a Sunday afternoon and found a German palapa bar ashore that provided much information about the area. The following morning we headed to Bonacca to check in. Friendly people everywhere. The town has no vehicles (no streets either) and everyone walks the narrow lanes between buildings. The economy is afloat. Fishing is the primary business with many large shrimp boats moored across the bay that provide most of the employment. Tourism seems to be the only other industry, but with the lack of ferry service this consists of cruisers stopping in and the resort visitors taking a day ashore. Immigration and the port captain were easy stops and we sampled the local boleados for breakfast (thick tortillas with beans and cheese) before returning to the boat. Much later that night we found that El Bight had been misspelled. Apparently El Bite would have been much more appropriate.  Although we were anchored several hundred feet off shore and the winds were strong and gusting all night we woke the next day with MANY mosquito bites. No wonder the resorts struggle. We abandoned El Bite that day and spent the next few nights anchored behind the reefs and far from shore.



Roatan was next. French Cay, West End, some of the best diving and snorkeling in the world. Our buddy boat needed to keep moving since Dana wanted to reach the Rio Dulce River by late May for her trip home. We are leaving her in Roatan and will be joining other friends who left Bocas earlier in the winter for the next month of our trip. Winds are beginning to pipe up in this portion of the Caribbean and all of the boats have a weather eye cast for signs of an early hurricane season.  Our last night in Guanaja was constant 25 - 30 knot winds and the sail to Roatan, while downwind, was made in 20 knots. Mañana has sailed flawlessly the entire trip and we feel safe and comfortable. Our only malfunction this entire trip was some bad gas from Bocas that fouled our fuel filters. We had gotten lazy about filtering all of our gas before putting it into the tanks and since I had just changed the fuel filters in late January when we put the boat away I had seen no need to get new spare filters just yet.  The result is that on one of those “great sails” we spent several hours hand pumping and filtering all of the gas in our tanks. 

Roatan is still another island ringed by ocean reefs (albeit a much larger island). This is the premier dive center of the Caribbean with hundreds of dive spots and many, many businesses catering to the dive market. We found an anchorage in French Harbor Cay just inside the reefs and we are sitting pleasantly afloat enjoying the warm, sunny days.  The winds are strong here, but the reef buffers the seas very nicely.  Ashore we found a very modern super market (much appreciated) as well as a friendly cruisers’ marina offering regular happy hours, pot luck suppers and an opportunity to connect with other boats who have anchored in the area. Since the winds have kicked up so much we rented a car visit the famed West End which is a little more exposed to the weather.  West End is a seemingly  endless beach lined with dive shops and restaurants and bars. We also found time to visit the local iguana farm where large iguanas roamed freely.  In the wild they are a bit skittish (remember iguana tastes like chicken) but at the farm we could even pet the cute little creatures.



When we return to the Caribbean next year Roatan will be our primary destination, but for now the quick visit will have to do. Everyone is worried that the bad weather will close out the opportunity to run for the river and its good protection so we anxiously read weather reports on the internet each morning while we debate the accuracy of each prediction. We are cautious enough to realize that our very small boat is better avoiding rough seas so an early visit to the river is probably in our future. Next time you hear from us we expect to be “up the river” so to speak. The Rio Dulce River in Guatemala.

Tom and Andrea

Albuquerque and San Andres

It was a perfect day in Bocas (clear, sunshine, vivid colors on the water and on the hills) for our departure to the Colombian islands of Albuquerque Cays and Isla San Andres. We are buddy boating with another Catamaran (Vida Libre) and their crew of three.  We met Dana who owns Vida Libre in Puerto Vallarta some years back and her crew will be Sam (Australian) and Kalia (Panamanian) who were just married last month and are on their first sailing trip. The two boats motored out of the Bocas anchorage on a Thursday afternoon for the first leg of our trip to Guatemala. We expected to reach Albuquerque in about 40 hours, rest for a day or two, and then sail a leisurely day sail to San Andres. The first night had us sailing to windward, and it was  bumpy and rolling, but the following day the seas calmed and we sailed along comfortably. Albuquerque Cays turned out to be a gem (a decidedly turquoise gem). We arrived in the AM and worked our way through the reefs and coral heads to a beautiful anchorage near the northern most of the two small cays. We are in Colombia.




The southern island has only a few fishing shacks ashore, but the small northern island (about the size of the backyard where I grew up) is occupied by a Colombian Navy unit. Eight very young sailors and a commandant who must have been almost 25 years old are defending this island from God knows what. They are rotated out every 30 days, and there are actually several sand bagged, machine gun bunkers from which they maintained that they could repel any invaders. I think they are worried that if the island is left unoccupied that it will fall into the hands of the Nicaraguans (the island is much closer to Nicaragua than to Colombia), but only a few fishermen and about 20 sailboats manage to arrive here each year. The uniform of the day for the marines was black tees, black bathing trunks and flip-flops, and all of the sailors were friendly and apparently very glad to have company.

   

We walked their island, snorkeled on the ocean reef, and collected fresh conch for dinner (a highly overrated delicacy). I also attempted to set up my new hammock on the bow for the evening. I dreamed of fresh breezes while I swayed gently back and forth over crystal clear waters. Or so I thought. I got the hammock slung about 4 feet above the deck and climbed in. A slight sideways motion on the boat started the hammock swinging, gently at first, then building momentum. By the time i screamed for Andrea to save me I was swinging in an long arc about four feet left, then four feet right, with no way to grab anything to slow myself down. Andrea might have been a little quicker to help if she hadn’t been laughing so hard.

A weather forecast of high winds to come got us moving the next morning for San Andres. We had a beautiful spinnaker sail for most of the 25 mile trip to San Andres arriving just before dark. San Andres is a resort island for the Colombian mainlanders (sort of a mini Hawaii). The island’s economy revolves around the water sports, tour boats, and scooters for the tourist population. It is hard (impossible) to describe how clear the water is in this part of the world (to call it swimming pool water or bath tub water would be a disservice), and San Andres is a popular snorkel and dive spot.  The main town is clean and modern, but the island is small.



There is a considerable Jamaican influence, but Spanish is the language, and we may very well be the only Americans on the island. We rented a golf cart to tour the island and made a complete circumnavigation in about 4 hours with stops along the way for beers and coconut drinks. The rental manager was very impressed that I already knew how to drive a golf cart.  Now I know where old Club Cars go to die. Our first view of Colombia is very favorable.  Everyone has been very friendly, the stores are modern and full of goods for sale, the music is loud and raucous, and the prices are suited to tourists (a little high) though a bottle of Colombian beer only costs about $1.50 at the bars. 

   

We are settled here for a few days waiting for a good weather window to sail to Providencia 60 miles to the north. Winds have been blowing 15 to 25 knots from the north since we arrived, and the seas are up, so we will wait patiently for a good opportunity to sail this final short leg before setting off on the long trip to Guanaja and Roatan.