February 2016

As Bill and I revel in the paradise called the San Blas Islands, the locals are in turmoil and could potentially cause distress with the cruisers after we depart next week. We have met many locals and have found them to be extremely peaceful, nature-loving, and culturally rich people. But they are poor and the Panamanian government keeps increasing fees that impact them greatly. The San Blas are officially part of Panama, but Panama agreed, back in 1925, to allow the Gunas to govern themselves.

One man we met has a great business idea, but cannot act on it unless he gets the okay from the Guna Chief of his village, and is prepared to swallow the fees from the Panamanian tax structure. He has been told maybe next year… Women struggle to make ends meet with selling Molas to Panama and cruisers. Again, Panama is applying more taxes… And the taxes on water and other living expenses are going up.

Gunas know that they have a gem of a cruising ground and want to capitalize on this to earn more money. They have proposed to increase cruising fees to $20 per foot per month, starting Feb 15, of this year. Panama has not approved of this fee structure, but the Gunas may try to impose it anyway. They have a mini office at Porvenir where they charged us, and all boats, $20 per boat, and $20 per person. We gladly paid the $60 fee, knowing that some refer to this as a “Happy Tax,” to make us, and the Gunas happy. But this new fee would be $840 per month for Alembic, making the San Blas a non-option for us and most other cruisers.

We were planning to leave the San Blas by Feb 19, but now the rally departure is likely Feb 15, to avoid any confrontations. Already, the San Blas officials have been traveling around by small boat, asking people to show their receipt

of payment at Porvenir or to pay the fee if they skipped that step. There is a lot of chatter on VHF, SSB, and other mediums, where people are escalating this and bringing in other panic messages. Some say they are trying to confiscate any scuba gear, as this is illegal in these waters. Others have talked about boardings, where Guna men get on a sailboat uninvited, and demand payments for visitors, scuba gear, or other taxes. Most of these messages are from larger boats, and people trying to conduct charter businesses aboard their vessels.

Sadly, we will be happy to depart. We also would like to return in future years, so we will be monitoring these fees and actions after we have left. My heart goes out to the local Gunas, as they are trying their best to live peacefully in their magical homeland of the San Blas Islands.

We recognize that this is one more example of learning a bit more about a community than first impressions. If I only considered first impressions, I would believe that the Guna Indians lived a carefree life, eating and growing with nature. I now know that they struggle as we all do, with financial and political problems that interfere with progress. My wish for all of humankind is that everyone reach out and help when they can, and be considerate and neighborly with everyone you meet. And be patient; wait for the story to unfold and be a part of the peace that can happen.

The last time we were in Snug Harbor we were the only boat and felt like early discoverers. We could imagine Columbus and the many other adventurers who had come to these islands and recorded their discoveries. This time, only a week later, we were accompanied by six other cruisers. From our rally were Beyzano, Balance, Moody Mistress, Horizons, and Alembic, and two other boats were Lady Elaine from Sweden, and Black ——(I forget the rest of the name) from Bavaria in Germany. The two experiences in Snug Harbor were completely different, both completely enjoyable.

Sören, from Lady Elaine, had been in the San Blas for four months, and had Guna friends nearby. The Gunas were eager to share their beautiful area and culture with us, so Sören arranged a tour into the Rain Forest and throughout the village of Playon Chico afterwards. The two hour hike into the forest was very hot and buggy, but well worth the trip. One of the Guna men, Thomas, was born in Panama City, so he knew some English and could explain details about the plants, burials, animals, and water supply as we passed.

Thomas also shared so many details about his culture as we wandered. I couldn’t help comparing him to Kenny, as he was the same age, and had the same temperament, very friendly and gentle natured. Thomas married at age twenty and already has a 5 and 2 year old, so Kenny has some catching up to do!

After a soaking rain as we left the waterfall, we were escorted to Akin’s set of huts at the far end of the village. He lives with his wife, her sisters, and many children. Just as all Guna women we have met, they set out their art work all over the ground, even though it had just poured and the ground was muddy. I had already purchased 5 molas, so I declined this time. Luckily, one woman in our group bought a few. I had purchased a Guna flag from Akin’s wife the night before, so I felt okay about helping them out financially a bit. My heart breaks every time I decline to buy molas; both because the work is amazing and I would love to have more, and also because I know it is their primary family income. But at $20-$100 each, I can’t afford more!

Walking around with Akin and Thomas, they showed me 7 churches on this tiny island. Many evangelists have come to set up Christian churches and the locals seem okay with this. The original Guna church is not Christian, but they seem to welcome newcomers who help the community. We even met two Mormon missionaries who you could spot from across the island; wearing black pants, a white button down shirt and tie makes you stand out here!

I wish I could have taken a picture of the Guna men working on three ulus. One was nearly complete, while the others were closer to looking as they did, standing in the forest. I didn’t have the camera at the time, and the people don’t like being photographed.

At this point, we decided that we should head back to Alembic, as the downpour we had experienced in the Rain Forest surely must have drenched our cabin. We had left open most of our hatches and were preparing for a long evening of mopping and hanging things to dry. Surprisingly, after our mile long dinghy ride back to Snug Harbor, we found Alembic dry! We see why they call it the Rain Forest. It only rains there!

Sören continued to educate us at Snug Harbor. He arranged a bonfire party, to burn all garbage. Disposal of garbage is a problem in the San Blas. The tiny islands do a poor job of this, often tossing it into the sea. Many Gunas will come to your boat, offer to take your garbage for a dollar, promising to dispose of it properly, only later to be seen throwing the whole bag overboard. Luckily, we and the Gunas don’t produce much garbage, as we eat mostly fresh fish and veggies, and there is minimal access to packaged food or goods. But we all have some, and burning it is the best option. Sören showed us how to gather dead palm fronds and build a thick base layer, place the garbage on and top with more fronds. He also made sure we did not do this on the pristine beaches, which would leave a black scar. Surprisingly, the lush green canopy didn’t burn, or even brown, as our huge bonfire leapt upward. We burned the garbage from our seven boats in a half an hour with zero trace of any remnants, even all plastic was gone.

We will remember Snug Harbor fondly for our many experiences there. Thank you, Sören for making our experience most enjoyable. Hopefully, you will visit us in Maine in your travels.

Being officially out of contact is exciting. A mixture of emotions is swirling in my brain. Thrill, fear, uncertainty, novelty, anticipation, eagerness, and openness take turns controlling my brain. Out of contact means that we have no wifi, no cellular coverage, no VHF contact because the nearest rally boat, is more than 20 miles away, and even our SSB was out of range. We do have our inReach device that allows us to text short messages. Being out of touch with everyone familiar allows us to get in touch with the locals here.

Our rally of 25 boats is hanging out in the San Blas Islands for three weeks and we can sail about as we please. Most of the boats are gathered in the Holandes and Lemmon Cays where the snorkeling is pristine, and the Happy Hours happen daily. While we love this group and participating in these activities, Bill and I were eager to venture out to the authentic Guna villages to learn about their way of life. A few others are doing the same, but we are the farthest east.

Three days ago, we were the only rally boat in Rio Diablo, but I think others will eventually make it here. This community no longer practices the Guna way of life; they are so modernized now that they are actually having a Super Bowl party next week!

From Rio Diablo, we sailed to Snug Harbor and remained the only boat in the anchorage. The closest islands surrounding us were uninhabited, but you could see Playon Chico in the distance. We were visited by many dugout canoes. My favorite was a pair of boats, tied together. The first had a Padre and Madre (father and mother) and eight children, one boy and seven girls, all about 9-15, and the other trailing boat had two lazy older boys without paddles and two adorable white puppies. They came to welcome us to the neighborhood. All were full of giggles and silliness as they explained that they were all one family. I told them that I had a huge family too, and that I had six brothers! The seven girls burst into hysterics and sympathy for me. Our language barrier made it impossible for me to tell them that my six brothers were wonderful siblings. It is becoming easier to say “Hello, How are you?” and other simple phrases in Spanish, but I have very few Guna words down at this point. And their Spanish is no better than mine. They clung to our gunwales (edge of our boat) and chatted with lots of hand motions and repetition until we understood vaguely what they were trying to say. When I offered cold water, they fell all over themselves to pass the cold beverages around. One child kept saying “Bastia” softly with an impish grin. We didn’t understand this word, but thought that he might be saying Boston, seeing we were from the northern US. So we launched into hand motions and words, telling them that we lived near Boston and that our home was covered in snow. They have no word for snow, so they call it “like ice”. We even gave them a tee shirt that showed handicapped skiers on snow. This made them all laugh again hysterically and we watched them pass the tee shirt up and down the line as Madre and Padre paddled slowly home. I looked up Bastia in my guide book and found out it meant candy. Poor kid; he was asking for candy, and all he got was a tee shirt to share with 7 sisters!

Next stop: Mamitupu. We are still here. I may not leave. We are so off the beaten path at this point; we haven’t seen a single sailboat since we left Snug Harbor, only dugouts. Entering this anchorage was challenging as we needed to sail in weaving between reefs with me on the bow for water depth watch and Bill at the helm.

The GPS chart plotter was useless, showing reefs where there was deep water, and vice versa. We could never have done that in low sunlight. As we rounded the corner of the island, children and adults ran to the shore, wildly waving. I was not sure if they were warning us of the reefs or welcoming us. As we dropped anchor, we could see that the children still kept examining this new boat in the harbor and many greeted us as we dinghied to shore. Three teenage boys offered to take us around the village. Two of the boys seemed eager to learn Spanish and English words for things, and kept repeating our words. The third boy saw a few cute girls walking by, and slinked away; the girls were much more intriguing than we were!

This village has about 1200 people, packed into a tiny island. Babies and small children peaked around every hut opening, curious to see such odd looking people. Most women were sitting out in the sun sewing molas, while the men seemed busy walking by us briskly. Most of them had spent the day rowing, singlehandedly, across the bay in their hand built ulus, hiking up into the rainforest to harvest bananas, mangos, yucca, or materials to use for building huts.

Then they paddled back with their ulus packed so full they looked like they were sinking. In fact, they were sinking! Constant bailing was necessary. Some bailed with their feet while paddling with their arms.

The boys brought us to the two schools but these seemed to be closed. One explanation was that they close for 3 months for harvest season. The Congresso was an impressive large hut, used for daily community meetings at 5 pm. All community members older than 18 must attend to hear the plans and grievances of the island. Chiefs of the island run the meetings, assigning tasks for members to keep life running smoothly. While the San Blas are officially part of Panama, the Panamanian government allows them to be autonomous, which seems to be working out nicely.

We were welcomed into both of the boys’ homes. In each home, they quickly found two plastic chairs for us to sit on, while most of the family members stood. Grandmothers hung in hammocks, and babies played naked on the dirt floor. There were no tables, beds, toys, curtains, or anything! Just bare huts with hammocks hanging out of the way, waiting to be hung more strategically for night use. One mom was sewing a mola when her one year old climbed into her lap to nurse, then climbed back down again to play in the dirt. The mom continued chatting with us, unfazed by the child’s clambering.

They offered us food, but we declined. I wish I could have said yes, both to be polite, as well as to sample what they eat, but we are not confident our delicate digestive systems are up for the challenge of this environment. Hand washing seems to be a foreign concept, refrigeration is nonexistent here, and food is stored and prepared on or near the dirt. This made me realize that our tidy lifestyle actually makes us weaker, rather than stronger!

While strolling through the village, we met Pablo, a Guna who speaks some English. We had heard about his coconut press which made coconut oil, and asked him how that worked. When he told us the machine was broken, I quickly jumped in to say that Bill was an Engineer, and could take a look at it. He asked us to come back the next day for a look. Bill later almost glared at me and said “why did you sign me up for this?” I knew that helping the Gunas would be a rewarding experience, and that Bill would be grateful in the end that I jumped in with the offer. And I was right!

Sure enough, working on the generator the next day was a gratifying experience for Bill. He felt like a “surgeon in a teaching hospital” as the village men gathered to watch this gringo operate on their machine. At one point, Bill was blowing on a small tube, seeing if the seals were tight, and I heard the men ask “why is he smoking it?” After at least an hour of disassembly, cleaning, and reassembly, the generator fired right up. It turned out that the coconut press worked fine, it was this generator that held up the works.

While Bill performed magic on the generator, I tried to connect with the community. Knowing that food is an important commodity, I had baked cornbread aboard Alembic that morning to share in the village. First, I offered it to a few children, then their moms, and soon old folks began emerging from huts to come sample this “strange food”. All eagerly reached out their hands for a sample. Soon, I was rewarded with the best looking mangoes, delivered to me by a naked little cherub.

When the bread was gone, I pulled out a bit of string I had in my bag and began placing it in the hands of small children, about 4-6 years old. I guided them wordlessly, with a light touch on their shoulder, into a huge circle, so the ends of the string could be tied in a knot while the children held the string in a circle. One bead was tied on the string, and could freely slide along the circle if the children could figure out how to make this happen. With a little encouragement, they discovered while one child held his hand high and the next held his hand low, the bead would slide down. Then the low hand had to go up, etc, so the bead could continue to travel in the circle. Watching the delight in these children was heartwarming. They have no TV, toys, bikes, or even art supplies. But they have imaginations, and eagerness, and teamwork and enormous gratitude. The boys continued to play this game for a long time, shrieking with delight as they gained power over the concept.

Last night, Pablo, his lovely wife, Jacinta, and their 3 year old grandson came to Alembic for a visit. Jacinta showed me how to prepare coconut and a few other local vegetables, while the boy played our Ukulele and Pablo and Bill had a few beers. I wish we had more time to stay at this island, as I definitely could see us fitting in to this community. Our acceptance was evident this morning, as we strolled through the village for the third day. This time, rather than peaking from behind hut entrances, the children bounced out in our path to yell “Ola!” as we walked by. Everyone seemed to greet us warmly today, not shyly as they had the first day.

I’m not looking forward to raising our anchor today…

Note: I wrote this on Jan 30, but didn’t have enough data connection to post until today, Feb 16.

While Colombia was the area that caused us the most anxiety in our planning stage, the San Blas Islands was our prize destination, what we looked forward to with unwavering anticipation. Now that we have been here for exactly one week, we can confirm that this archipelago is spectacular.

Getting here was surprisingly more challenging than we had expected. The first day was simple. Leaving Cartagena at noon, we sailed lazily eight miles down the river with many of the rally boats as if in a parade. You could hear each of us calling Cartagena Port Control on Channel 16 on the VHF. English was the spoken language for this communication, and you could sense the challenge from cruisers and Colombian radio operators as many tried to speak this foreign language. Of course the radio operators went back to Spanish when local boats called. It was necessary to report our exit, say how many people were aboard, and indicate where we were planning to make our next stop. Each of us said Isla Del Rosario was our destination. After exiting the river, we headed southwest for 15 miles and anchored well before sunset at Isla Grande, which is part of the Islas Rosarios. Here, we never even launched our dinghy, choosing to relax, make dinner, and go to bed early.

Our second day was not so easy. We raised the anchor at 7:30 after our oatmeal and tea, and headed out into very light air, with barely enough wind off the starboard bow to fill our sails. But by ten, we had 15 knots on the beam with all four sails working. At first, we were enjoying this ride. Dolphins joined us and Bill caught another tuna. The winds piped up a bit, up to 20 knots, and the seas built to 6-8 feet. By noon, we resolved into a rough ride. By 4pm we were hoping for relief. And there were still 18 more hours to go.

I don’t know why this trip was so miserable. Other rally boats reported that this was an unusually miserable ride for them as well. Here’s a comparison with our trip from Haiti to Colombia: From Haiti: 25-35 knot winds and 12 foot seas for 72 hours. From Isla Grande: 15-23 knot winds and 7 foot seas for 27 hours. Which sounds more pleasant? If you guessed from Isla Grande, you would be incorrect. By a long shot. Both were winds right on the beam (not winds coming from ahead or from behind, but exactly 90 degrees to the boat). This is supposed to be the best angle of sail, right? Again, wrong! Not this trip! Maybe the waves were steeper, or more confused or something; whatever the combination, it was lousy.

To make matters worse, we had rivers of salt water below in our cabin. Again, to compare to our Haiti trip, which was perfectly dry below, even when the waves were soaking us up in the cockpit, this made no sense. We came to a conclusion: most of our trip from Maine to Colombia was on a port tack (wind coming over the port, or left, side of the boat), while this trip was on a starboard tack. New leaks opened up to allow a steady flow of water in three places. One stream developed down the inside of our wet locker, where we, ironically, hang foul weather jackets and pants. The second came down from a chain plate and soaked all of my clothes. The third, and most concerning, dripped in from a small screw hole, enabling salt water to drip steadily on the SSB radio, channel across the top of the device, and spill over the front, causing a river on the floor below.

Dropping anchor in the San Blas, at 10:30 am the following day, was such a relief. I could not even reflect on the beautiful place we had come to; being so overwhelmed with the looming work of cleaning up all the salt water and assessing the damage. I have to admit that I was at such a low point, I almost cried, exclaiming “I hate Alembic”. Bill made some breakfast and tried to get me to eat, but I was in stubborn automatic cleaning mode. My first concern was the SSB radio, and my second task was to drag all of my clothes out of the lockers, rinse them with our precious little fresh water, and hang them up in the rigging to dry. Once I completed this, I collapsed into the cockpit and fell dead asleep.

Waking only 30 minutes later, I was surprisingly refreshed, and heartily ate what Bill had prepared. Relieved to hear Bill’s assessment that the SSB was still functioning, I realized that Alembic didn’t really deserve all of my pessimism. I had been simply exhausted from being up all night. Bill had been sick and I was on permanent watch for almost the entire trip. It’s amazing how just a nap can change your whole perspective. I now could look around me and let my jaw drop in wonderment.

I found out two days later, that the name of the anchorage we were floating in was the Hot Tub. How appropriate! Thank you, John and Georgina, for calling us on the VHF and suggesting we anchor here with you! We really needed the luxurious relaxation provided by this Hot Tub!

We reveled in the Hot Tub for two days, snorkeling around astonishingly beautiful reefs, and zooming about the “neighborhood” in our dinghy. Another anchorage nearby, called the Swimming Pool, had about 30 sailboats, with plenty of room for more, while our Hot Tub, was crowded with about 15 boats. This group of islands was called the Holandes, and one of the most popular areas of the San Blas.

Reluctant to leave, we moved on to another very popular set of islands, called the Lemmon Cays, only about 6 miles away, to attend a Jumble. This is a gathering of cruising boats where spare gear is shared, swapped, or sold, to other cruisers. It is a great opportunity to swap charts and guide books that you don’t need anymore because you are moving on to new areas. Another grand purpose for a Jumble is for cruisers to meet, have a Happy Hour, and trade stories and plans. Bill was intrigued by the kite sailing gear for sale, and I was enamored by the mola products an Italian woman was selling. She buys molas (fabric art which is the main product in the San Blas) and sews them onto handbags, iPad cases, wallets, or anything you can imagine. Her prices were ridiculously low. She had beautiful handbags, originally purchased in Italy, with full size molas for only $25! I had just purchased three molas from Guna Indians paddling dugout canoes up to Alembic and the prices I paid were $35, $40, and $60. And these were not on Italian handbags! This Italian woman explained that you can get a much better deal on molas closer to the mainland, in villages where they make them. This became my plan: sail to traditional villages, meet the mola makers, and purchase more to bring home to share.

Our private anchorage was peaceful; a small deep pool surrounded on all sides by mangroves. While most of the Lemmon Cays were crowded with cruising boats, this spot was challenging enough to enter, allowing us to enjoy complete solitude. We radioed our rally friends to welcome others here too, and the following day Echo and Shamal navigated the reefs to join us for a second night. Pelicans dive bombed the tranquil pool, like chubby people doing cannonballs, disturbing the peace and making us laugh as they gulped down their catch. They are so clumsy compared to the graceful terns and herons who delicately swoop and grab fish with their talons without even a splash. Eagles perched in the highest branches of the palm trees, watching the scene.

We continued to enjoy our rally friends, having Happy Hours and dinners aboard boats, sailing to nearby anchorages, and snorkeling on dramatic reefs. Luckily, we heard about the ten foot crocodile after we enjoyed one spot. I’m not sure I would have been brave enough to swim in the Swimming Pool if Michel and Brigette had told us of their siting beforehand! Many of the reefs have walls where the water depth drops from a few feet deep to over ninety feet straight down. We even saw a reverse wall, where the top was actually an overhang. One reef came so close to the surface that Bill and I suffered many scrapes crossing over it to get to the deep wall on the other side. It was hard to enjoy the deep side, knowing we had to cross the bar again to get back to our dinghy.

After enjoying these relaxing islands for four days, we decided to be fully legal, and sailed to Isla Porvenir to check in, a necessary evil. It was only evil to our budget. $465.00! Yikes! There were four desks to attend: first the cruising permit ($195), then the police who checked our passports, next the Gunas ($20 per boat and $20 per person), and Immigration ($105 per person). We felt so sorry for the twenty-something European guy who arrived to check in his boat and crew. He had 3 friends aboard who were leaving in a few days, and didn’t realize the huge fees he was facing. With his head drooping in despair, he headed back to the boat to get more cash. US dollars only, no credit cards. Who has this type of cash aboard??? And who is willing to part with it? At least we were only two and would be spending over a month in Panama and the San Blas Islands, so the expense was worth it for us.

After checking in, we considered visiting the little village to our stern, and should have, as we later found out that they had Digicel Sim cards for sale which we needed for any hope of wifi. Instead, Bill visited John on Oystergo to assist with starting his engine. Poor John, he is single handing and first he lost his steering, going in circles trying to enter Porvenir, then his batteries died and even a 3 hour charge by his generator didn’t help to start the engine. Jeff from Echo came over too and the 3 of them managed to get it going finally. Traveling in a group definitely has benefits. The next day, we heard John was repairing his mainsail. Always something on a boat, and I feel bad that he has had to face so many challenges.

Leaving Porvenir, we sailed back to the Eastern Lemmon Cays, another group of delightful islands and reefs. Snorkeling on the wrecked freighter was well worth the dinghy ride. Fish and coral have commandeered it over the past 60 years and have created a paradise for us to view. Happy Hour on Blue later that day was fun, as we reunited with Rhumb Runner who had sailed off to Panama to collect a new dinghy and pick up a visitor. We also met a wonderful family from Austria who are interested in sailing to New York and possibly Maine. The following day we visited with them to share our favorite areas and give them waypoints for excellent anchorages and our mooring in Maine.

Ready to leave these idyllic island groups, Bill and I were eager to seek more authentic Guna culture in islands further south and east. First we sailed to Green Island and enjoyed a nice swim and Happy Hour aboard Malika. Michel and Brigette are French and can barely speak English, so the three hour visit was entirely in French. I am surprised how well my French is developing chatting with the 5 French boats in our rally. I also feel bad for them because they mentioned that they won’t go further south, or through the canal because the language barrier is such a challenge.

We are spoiled that most cultures try to speak English and you can travel the world knowing only English. Bill and I are trying to learn Spanish, Bill with Rosetta Stone, and me with stumbling about with hand gestures, pictures, and efforts of speaking. Knowing French has definitely helped with my Spanish, as many of the words are similar, especially if you are reading. We are now at the point where we would feel comfortable landing in a Spanish-only community. A lot of confusion would ensue, but we could get by.

Rio Diablo was our next destination. There are two island communities, Nargana and Corazon de Jesus, linked by a walking bridge. Here the people have given up their traditions of the Guna lifestyle and even have a prison and police force, unnecessary with traditional Gunas. Nevertheless, the people had the same gentle personality and greeted us warmly. Federico was the first to greet us as soon as our anchor was settled. An older, roundish man with a huge smile explained that he would take our garbage for a dollar and could bring us gas and do our laundry. We took him up on the garbage disposal, always a challenge in remote islands. Some cruisers have bonfires on deserted beaches to take care of this; we will probably do this at some point too. You shouldn’t bring garbage ashore, or give it to a kid for a buck, because you will soon find it floating about the bay. We had heard that Federico would deal with garbage appropriately.

Exploring this community, we found our Digicel Sim card and also purchased two cards which allow us to import data for wifi. How much data this purchase ($19) amounted to has been a mystery. We barely have any connection and can’t figure out how to see how many GB we have. We have been able to connect to wifi but just barely, and incredibly slowly; I’ve decided it’s just not worth the effort. We also found a bank, but it had no money!  And the boat yard was busy with many repairs that looked much simpler than repairing Alembic.

Heading up the Rio Diablo was a great adventure.  Many ulus were headed up there too, collecting water, visiting their deceased, and harvesting veggies.  To sum up our San Blas Island experience so far: this is well worth the effort in getting here! Snorkeling and anchorages are second to none, and the Guna culture is fascinating. Tomorrow, we are leaving the most popular cruising grounds in favor of exploring more of this culture. More to come…