The cost of the mooring in Balboa Yacht Club was ridiculous - about US 20 per night. The ship traffic together with shifting winds and strong tidal flows made the motion restless. Aliisa was pointing at every possible direction, except that of the next wave, ship's wake or wash from a passing speedboat. We stayed one night and then moved to the other side of Amador causeway to drop anchor amongst the 15-or-so yachts there. Not the perfect place either, occasionally rolly, but better. We devoted the first few days just for getting used to the situation. Tidying up, playing with the local wifi signals and putting the dinghy into water.
We eased into the local scene - Albrook mall, local taxi drivers, the little corner shop near the dinghy dock and their free wi-fi. (Thanks Janet!) But it was easy not to ease into it too much. In fact, I was surprised how many yachts had been easing into it - into Panama City - for months or even years. The city - as lovely and lively as it was - was still just a traffic-jammed chaos, too far away from a quick walkaround from the anchorage.
We used Roger - an ex-employee of the now destroyed yacht club in Colon - for transport and help. With a cheerful nature and good english, he was a pleasure to have as a guide. The Ferrari-team in the local propane gas company laughed at our bottle (the bottom was almost rusted away) but swapped it to a new one for a few bucks anyway. Cheap and easy!
Roger drives a taxi for living but prefers to deal with yachties. He knows where to get all the boatie bits, he is fair, honest, reliable and much recommended by all yachties that have used his services.
There were no showers or other facilities at the trillion-dollar dream marina, who's hypothetical future location we were anchored at. Apparently the building of the "boater's ultimate paradise" had been halted by the new government, who are still waiting for a few hundred million dollars in unpaid taxes from the developers. The artist's impressions painted in massive billboards around the large empty parking lot looked as beautiful as they looked impossible. We reluctantly helped the advancement of the project by paying our US 5.00 per day landing fee. A bit of a rip-off, I think, but there were no other dinghy landings and the guy living in the 1m² security hut with his radio and coffee percolator would not let me past until I forked out the money. The fee included a water tap on the jetty and a friendly smile with the typical Panamanian "thumbs up".
There were a few wifi signals, unfortunately none of them open or even WEP-secured, something I may have been able to crack. The only marina was Flamenco, about 100 US per night. We saw zero cruising yachts there but plenty of vessels that would use the same amount of dollars each hour they run their engines and chase that big Sailfish or Marlin.
Some months back a yacht clearing out in the Port Captain's office got caught for actually having his boat somewhere else illegally and using Panama as a fake in/out country. Since then the authorities have become more alert. This boarding officer came as close to the Yacht as the nearest cafe in the waterfront. He never asked to see Aliisa but was quite happy with his free soft drink.
Panama City, Plaza Concordia is one of the popular shopping areas for working class. There are a glossier malls, fashion and glamour too. Most people favour the massive Albrook Mall, which is good for everything but a cold beer.
After polishing the magnetic strips of our visa-cards to the max and over-staying our cruising permit, it was time to move on. Unlike in the Atlantic side, the port captain in Balboa would not give us any extensions to our permits, the immigration too told us to leave. Despite the new anti-corruption president Panama still suffers from "make your own rules" -kind of authorities. Different offices in different districts tend to make and change their own rules as they go. Money talks and we only had a whisper. They didn't hear us. I managed to clear out on a Monday after our permits expired but the smoothing only worked with the Port Captain, not with Immigration. Despite all other paperwork being done, the young official needed twenty bucks to put stamps on our passports. I suppose slipping a carton of beer between the folded photocopy of my passport would have been a bit too Australian in this part of the world. Maybe a bit more difficult too.
Sky scraper wall in Panama City
I'm not very good with rule books and even worse with people who live their lives reading them. The ultimate nightmare is to deal with authorities that have thrown away the rule books and are now writing their own. I too like to write my own rule books, so checking out didn't really mean that we had to leave. The Panamanian authorities ruled our check-out but we still ruled our departure. A fair deal, really. We checked out and stayed another week in the city and then another three weeks exploring the first of what could technically be called the Pacific Islands. A bit of practise doesn't hurt. Polynesia was only months away...
Taboga
The easy way out of Panama City is between the anchored ships, straight to the island of Taboga, a whole 7 nautical miles away. You can still see the skyline of the big city, yet you're a world away from it. Anchoring may have been possible for those with windlasses. I don't really fancy pulling the 10mm chain from any deeper than 5 meters, so we picked up one of the moorings floating infront of the rather cute looking village ashore. It took a few hours for a friendly old man to come and collect his five bucks. We later met Chewy, a Panamised American who lives on the island and looks after yachts and provides his own moorings. If you're heading that way, email: tabogaislandmoorings@gmail.com. It may get busy in the season.
Taboga Island beach
The "streets" are narrow and quiet. There seems to be one or two slow-moving utes and mini vans for transporting luggage to the small b&b's and boutique hotels.
Taboga was charming. In fact, I was semi-seriously looking for a plot of land to buy. The "semi-" prefix indicates the kind of "half-heatedness" that you feel when there is only the desire, but no means to fulfill it. Our wad of US dollars was rather thin..) You see, I'm only half-nomadic and I sometimes have a longing for a solid home. You know, having friends that are actually present in person, not just online. Neighbour's that haven't just parked their boat next to us for a week. Belonging to a community that doesn't just exist in the high frequencies of my SB radio. And not having to worry about a million different possible disasters that might be caused by equipment failure, shit weather, inaccurate charts or some little human error that would put us on the rocks. Yeah, I know, I worry too much. And these feelings tend to pass. I would probably last one month in a house and then be compelled to move back into anything that floats in salt water.
Everything in Taboga Island seems nicely kept, painted and looked after. (Compare to Isla Gonzales, only 40 Nm away)
A view from the hill. Aliisa on a mooring, Panama skyline in the background.
Isla Contadora
While we no longer really wear watches, the calendar is always ticking. It's crazy how a ticking calendar in cruising life can produce a feeling of hurry almost comparable to the one caused by the hour-hand of the watch for someone living a city-life, (The hour hand is the shorter one, yeah?). Oh, or the second-hand for someone waiting for the toilet to become available. As we were in a hurry - kind of - to do lots of stuff and see lots of places before we die, we dropped the Taboga island mooring and motored into the rain early in the morning, destination Isla Perlas - the "Pearl Islands". Someone said they are the San Blas of the Pacific. (WTF?) Perhaps it was said by someone who doesn't really want to meet any indians, just sit on board and watch a pretty beach. Well, alright, we don't mind doing that either.
There was more work to be done. The bastard aft-cabin hatch had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. Leaking and falling apart, fixed once more. The screw is original, and perhaps begs the question: did the guy who made this hatch cut some corners?
Good functioning toilet but why did they use mild steel washers and metal parts inside? I gave the shit-department a good service, including the cleaning of all hoses.
We entered our fourth month under the ITCZ and although there had been plenty of sun and lovely weather throughout our 3-month stay in Panama waters, the constant humidity and heat was slowly starting to get under my skin. I love the tropics, but when you're anchored up with no facilities (we have no shower on board) or laundry, dryers etc. things get a little ... mouldy. I seemed to have developed a skill to pour several litres of smelly sweat from my body each day. We had to use towels on our seats and I even used a small towel on my pillow to avoid saturating the cushions with sweat. And what it did to our activity levels was a problem too.
I like doing things, but the heat kinda makes you just sit in front of the fan. Another serious problem with the heat was the lack of intimacy between me and Annina. When you're hot and sweaty to start with, it's no good pressing against your partner and enjoy a long tender cuddle. I sometimes had to sleep in the saloon and leave Annina alone in the aft cabin just so that we could both get some air around us. In the cool European autumn early on our trip we spent most of our time cuddling and huddling. Of course back then we complained about the cold, but being close to the person you love is... hmmm... lovely!
The rain and convection just seemed to sit at the bay of Panama. Some very light squalls could be used for a bit of sailing, but mostly any forward motion was only guaranteed by Yanmar.
Right, back to our travels: We got to Isla Contadora through pouring rain and head winds (caused by the rain area). Our guide book and charts were a bit dodgy and navigation amongst the reefs in poor visibility made for a nervy approach. Fortunately one of those 100-litres-per-hour game fishing boats made a slow approach to what seemed to be the anchorage of the day. We followed our "pilot" and found a whole community of "better people". You know the kind that buy their 10-year-old kid a jet ski for Christmas and who have two staff (always of African descent) to continuously polish their decks and sleep outside, while the family watches satellite TV in air-conditioning.
I don't like segregation, including the division of boaters into yachties, fishermen, motorboats, charterers etc. We are all one big family of boaters and with that in mind, I cheerfully greeted everyone and drove boldly through the spray of passing jet skis and little smart-ass looking 10-year-olds. Their moms were looking equally unfriendly, standing on the back deck, wrapped in a sarong and peering at our rust-stained home from behind their gin-tonics. They were all hanging off a mooring. Hmmm... that's a great idea, I thought and headed for the last vacant one. We expected to get chased out, but much to our surprise all the boats arriving after us (all being Panamanian mini-mega yachts or sports fishing boats from the high end of the market) humbly dropped their anchors and left us alone. Sweet. Brilliant.
Isla Contadora on a holiday weekend.
Our exploration of the Las Perlas didn't really take off. I kept the dinghy on deck and we remained inside, sheltered from the rain. There was apathy in the air. Boring. Constant wake from the water sports department outside and eventually even the swell found its way into the anchorage, making it just about untenable. Drop the line and go. We wanted something nicer, even though we had no idea how lovely the island may have been.
Isla Pedro Gonzales
We motored into the calm and got greeted by head winds caused by more large rain areas. Not squalls as such, but shitty nevertheless, with a few knots of negative current to top it off. Never mind. Let the Yanmar scream, apparently that's what it was made for. As always (so far), we made it. Isla Pedro Gonzales is a huge island, moist and rain forested with fertile soils and at least one beautiful beach. We started from the village side, where the shore was not so pretty. Marcel arrived alongside very soon after we had anchored, glassy eyed and smiling. A nice chap with his bag full of lemons and marijuana. We took the lemons but instead of money, he wanted rum. "Rum is finished in the village so could I have a small bottle of rum, no money", he said. I poured some into an empty flask and promised to come and visit the next day. The village boasts about 400 people. I don't wish to make it sound like a slum, but it was rain forested a little bit on the rough side.
Dying dog with its nose falling off, in Pedro Gonzales village.
Broken concrete houses, smelly and dirty, sick and dying scabby street dogs, drunken men and pregnant girls. That's a bit rough, to put it that way. Fair enough, we were visiting during the national holidays and independence day parties and that may have influenced my experience. I'm not sure if there was any economy on the island, other than welfare, but the tourism had already started to creep in. Yeah, the kind of tourism that is made out of someone's impossible dreams, again. A resort village, covering 1/3 of the island? Five different areas with fantastical theme names: (I let the masters of sales and marketing, the great lords of wank-words do the talking)
Marcel and Lauri in the village at Pedro Gonzales
The villages follow the island’s curving coastline, radiating outwards from the marina and Town Center. Named for their chief recreational features, these villages include the Golf Village, the Beach Village, the Forest Village and the Existing Fishing Village, each of which includes its own mixed-use component, such as neighborhood shops, civic space and parks tailored to their sites’ natural features. Architecture, which is inspired by the local vernacular, features generous outdoor spaces such as galleries, balconies and porches designed to both serve as community gathering places and respond to the local climate. The island’s trail network connects these villages and follows the island’s topography to maximize views, running between the villages, the natural reserve, beaches, golf course, and the larger “hacienda” lots. In addition, a vehicular network scaled for electronically-propelled golf carts offers an intimate pedestrian experience at the scale of a medieval, European village.
"Mixed-use components?" "electronically-propelled golf carts?" "balconies and porches designed to ... respond to the local climate?" "architecture... inspired by local vernacular?" "intimate pedestrian experience?" Let me say no more. In fact I'm pretty speechless. I know I should have gone into sales and marketing. My shit-dribbling skills would be put into proper use. But instead, I show you some of the artists impressions of the "local vernacular".
Gonzales boys in front of a bar.
Little soldiers and beauty queens
Village streets
And this is the way it will be soon. For a complete text and fantastic example of dead language, wank-words and meaningless corporate talk, see Project Pearl Island
Look at the tiny boat garages under the houses and lagoons. Nevermind the 4 meter tidal range. And doesn't it all blend beautifully into the existing village and surrounding nature, providing such an intimate experience of medieval Europe...
Well, as far-fetched as this vision seems, I sincerely hope it will change life to the better. Employment, new skills and training, better infrastructure, better opportunities for the villagers. I'm sure that's what the project is all about, no? As I write this in Ecuador, I'm sitting in a tightly guarded hotel / resort / marina compound (onboard Aliisa on the hard-stand) where a few low-paid Ecuadorians have some work but where all the "beautiful and wonderful" village-type life is handily isolated by 4-meter-high steel doors and boom gates from the real world only 100 meters away. Call me cynical, if you like. I can't wait to check out Pedro Gonzales 10 years from now. If I follow the same route from Australia, I can re-check the space station project on Christmas Island too... And maybe they'll both be operating smoothly.
The Panamanian islander's waste management system is very simple. Take all rubbish on the beach at low tide. After high tide most of it will be gone - onto another beach. Village rubbish waiting for high tide in Pedro Gonzales
Right, let's move on, shall we? It's taking me 100 hours of fiddling again, to get one lousy update online. Like I've got nothing else to do?
We tried to get vegetables on the island but the festivities, our poor spanish and our impatience reaped no results. We pulled anchor and moved to the .... was it the Beach Village?...on the other side of the island. Lovely long beach. On one end of it was a large B-class Hollywood actor size trailer, some tarps and an outdoor cooking area around it. The first islanders were at work for the future development. Some wide paths had been cut through the jungle and there were cleared areas of planted grass and small seedlings of palm trees in straight lines. Palms in straight lines will probably enchance the sites natural features. It was time to enjoy it before we would be denied access. And enjoy we did. Another yacht (something we hadn't seen for a while) called Beau Soleil joined us in the anchorage and provided some social life with a common language. The twice-circumnavigated lifestyle cruisers Mike, Karen and their adult son Falcon were a welcome break in our social life. In addition to english, we also shared the common language of frisbee throwing and the language of beach picnics and travel-talk.
Low tide at E Gonzales
Aliisa at anchor off Pedro Gonzales
Now that we had a new compass-unit for our autopilot, the fantastic Simrad DD15 was able and ready to continue it's favourite activity: arm wrestling the with the rudder. That's important, because it was time for an overnighter. Yeah, it's been a while. We moved down to Isla San Jose for one night and then started to make our way a little closer to Costa Rica. An overnight motoring in calm sounds good, but turned out to be hellish. Courtesy of tidal flows and three different swell directions, the windex no longer indicated the direction of travel but instead the direction of sway. There's bugger-all good anchorages along the Azuelo peninsula - the Lego brick lump of Panama pointing south. The first 24 hours were almost the worst I've ever experienced. No wind and all swell. The motion was chaotic in all directions. I spent most of the trip wedged between the saloon bunk and the table. Annina, on the other hand, had an unusual episode of energy and managed to cook, eat and do long night watches. (Unfortunately her condition hasn't turned out to be chronic)
We finally got around the corner and seeked shelter in the tiny bay behind Punta Naranjo. Brown beaches, rolling swell at the anchorage and grey drizzly skies. It was time for a good sleep. I pulled anchor early in the morning and much to our delight the sky opened up and a light breeze filled in from the land. The swell was gone and we enjoyed a quiet sail / motorsail until we got drenched in the late afternoon downpour again. I don't mind tropical rain, it's lovely and you can wash yourself and so on. But our intended anchorage only 200 meters away disappeared completely.
Viz in tropical rain can be as poor as in a dense fog
We ended up moving deeper into Bahia Honda where a friendly Domingo paddled out and guided us to the "best" anchorage. We stayed two nights but with a slow apathy setting in, we didn't even go ashore. Everything felt like too much effort and we were content to just laze around in the boat with a little tidy-up and stuff. I don't know where the days go...
It's interesting how one gets fixated with something and then that thing becomes important. If you decide to hire a particular movie or go to a particular restaurant and then that movie is not available or the restaurant is not open, you get bitterly disappointed. But only because you had become fixated with that one thing. We were now fixated with getting to Costa Rica and every stop seemed to me a bit like a train stopping on a small station - a pretty little place - but all I cared was the destination in my mind. It's a crazy way of thinking and does no good for cruising. Cruising should be about enjoying each place without a rush? Nah, cruising should be whatever you make it to be! I almost got caught in some pre-determined "rule" of cruising. That would negate the whole leading philosophy of cruising: Freedom.
Domingo and his son Kennedy in Bahia Honda were friendly and helpful, though the junior was a little greedy and asked for a lot of little gifts. For us it was the same re-occuring frustration with language. Many people in Latin-America will keep talking to you at their normal speed even after you have have indicated that you do NOT understand. It's like they think you will learn if they keep talking to you for long enough. It didn't work for us and we had another reminder of how frustrating traveling is when you cannot form a contact with locals.
We pulled anchor and continued, next stop was Isla Cavada, a privately owned resort island with the world's most expensive camping ground. Miniature circus tents were erected along the shores and even on some of the off-lying islets, cost apparently about US 400 per night. Just as we were tucking into the calmest looking little bay I spotted a mooring buoy. Brilliant! Within minutes we were well secured with a slimy 20mm line looped over the bollard, very close inshore.
After a surprise invite onboard a beautiful 65ft luxury yacht, parked around the corner, we returned by a little luxury tender back onboard after dark. Annina noticed something odd: waves were braking behind the boat. I mean RIGHT behind the boat. And there was hardly any swell. I took the torch out and fair enough / fear enough, the rudder was almost touching the bottom. Back to the bow. I pulled the mooring line shorter and felt it rubbing against rocks. There was a good 2 meters slack in it - unusual. Perhaps we were not on a mooring at all, just hanging on a loose mooringline gently caught between some rocks. I made sure not to pull too hard. I made sure not to sleep too tight either, that night. The tide was on the rise, we had not a breath of wind and with a bit of luck we should be fine until morning. We were fine allright, but wasted no time taking off at first light.
Fishing in Pacific is good. Much better than Atlantic. With no freezer onboard and a love of variety in food, I was often banned from fishing. At least until the last one is eaten.
Our last stop before Costa Rica was a tiny island called Isla Bolaños. A national park where fees are often collected, except this time. A pleasant place, nice weather and the whole island for ourselves. I took a dunk in the water this time, to check the anchor. A quick look at the bottom confirmed an urgent need for a haul-out. There was hardly any anti foul left and a number of spots showing bare metal. I had already purchased a 20 litre (5 gal) tin of some International 640 ship anti foul. No tin, so should be legal too, though judging from the price the produce may have fallen out of a truck. Who knows. Who cares? We all pay for it together in the form of increased shipping costs for imported goods. (Buy local!)
The tidal range was still big and exiting the beach on a flooding tide turned out a little tricky. No picture of the brakers here, but I did manage to lose my prescription sun glass lens in the heat of the moment, pushing the zodiac out.
That's it. I'm sick of this update now. I can't even bother reading it. I'm glad you did. Why? No idea. Catch ya later dudes. I'm off to do some real boat work and then maybe... yeah, the next update.
Some Panama trivia:
- In 1903 the United States government helped Panama, then a province of Colombia, to become an independent nation. The United States then acquired permission from the new republic to build a canal. (Just kidding, it was all part of the same deal!!)
- From 1903 on, Panama had two governments, one for the republic and another for the American controlled canal zone. Panama took full control of the canal on December 31, 1999, after a 20-year co-management period with the US. This ensured all aspects of the canal could be run by local, fully trained and experienced Panamanians.
- ships that transit Panama canal rise up only 26 meters, before being lowered down to sea level again.
- The Canal contributes more than 10 percent of the nation’s GDP (compared to europe's record 3.5% by Nokia in Finland.) In case of greenhouse emissions, as probably as important as sheep farts in New Zealand. It's all relative, you see, so next time someone tells you that Panama Canal is important, you can reply: "yeah, about as important as a sheep farting in New Zealand."
- Panama has a population of little over 3 million, representing almost all major races on the planet, many of those races already pre-mixed. The various indian tribes make up about 6% of the population, white caucasians about 10%. Chinese and Indians feature prominently in the business life.
- The Atlantic side coastal ranges receive almost 3000 mm a rain annually - about twice the amount of the Pacific side of Panama
- Plant and animal life is more diverse in Panama than almost anywhere else on Earth.
- about one-third Panama's land area is covered with rain forest.
