Eight days ago we woke up in Panama City to meet our first leg of transport to South America. It was an old, hardy Land Rover 4x4. Within two hours it had us miles from the smooth city streets, blasting through stone and mud in a thick, wet, jungle terrain. Various 80's hair-metal bands blared from the speakers, out the windows, and passed our mud spattered faces hanging out the windows as we fish-tailed our way up and down the increasingly mud-choked "road". We soon came upon a carravan of locals standing outside their vehicles, which were lined up a hill and around a sharp turn for about a quarter-mile ahead of us. As we stood there wondering why no one else was having as good a time as us at 9 in the morning, the entire line of people stared back at us, surely wondering the exact opposite. Our driver returned to us from around the bend, and simply said "Its bad...". So we joined a line of abandoned passengers, and began to trudge through the knee-deep mud. Rounding the corner at the top of the hill, it quickly became clear to us why we had to unload some weight from the Rover: A huge truck, full of bananas, had sunk about two or three feet into the mud, blocking the old road.
The locals had been working furiously along the side of it, creating an alternate path for those more fortunate. As we walked along contemplating the rapid change in our situation, the Land-Rover went screaming by us at full speed, floating over the mud like a skier in powder... slipping in and out of control. We met back up another half-mile down the road, a plume of steam erupting from the freshly cooled engine. With some extra stragglers packed in, we continued on down the battered course.
To be honest, we had no idea where we were going... simply the name. When we were told to get out of the truck and grab our gear, we were surrounded by nothing but jungle, and down the hill from us a river that cut across it. He pointed to it and told us that was how we were to get to CartÃ.
Our next ride came floating down the river about thirty minutes later, with a kid navigating from the bow with a long wooden pole. This longboat guided us down the crocodile-infested river for almost an hour before emptying out into the ocean. We had learned from others now traveling with us that we were headed for the islands. Las Islas de San Blas. Its a chain of about 400 islands, scattered about this northern part of Panama's Carribean coast, autonomously owned by the native "Kuna". This is where we were to wait for Capitan Javier, and our sailboat to Colombia.
Kuna and their Coconuts 
After arriving at our temporary island village, we found out that this first day was no where close to over....
(Playing a makeshift version of volleyball while awaiting the festivities)
(A parade of children from one of the islands comes to send us off, only to greet us later that night for the ceremony and celebration of a number of their girls entering into womanhood) The next morning we jumped on a longboat and headed over to another island in search of the infamous "Twyla D", which was to be our sea-worthy home for the coming six days.
Our crew included two German fellows: Simon and Simon; their Spanish companion Diego; Cheko the Mexican-hippie; and four dirty-dogs from the States. Eight all together. Captain Javier, a quirky, rarely-spoken Spanish man, and his Colombian lady-friend were our veteran hosts. For two days we meandered about the San Blas Islands enjoying more of the Kuna way of life: Swimming everywhere, eating fresh fish, and pooping in the ocean.
("Stuck on a boat with 7 savage men... a scary scene it was" -Gill)
("Stuck on a boat with 7 savage men... a scary scene it was" -Gill)
At about 11 in the morning on the third day, the sails let fly and our little boat opened up on the open ocean. It was unbeleivable. We were all out on the bow of the boat with a strong wind and a full sun, holding on to whatever we could as we sliced through these long, rolling waves. I remember looking over and seeing Cheko's dread-locked head bobbing along with the motion of the ocean....the biggest smile on his face. It would happen that that was one of the last times I would see Cheko until our trip was over....
After about 30 minutes on the high-seas, I noticed my stomach begin to lose its strength, and this weakness slowly flowing into all of my muscles and joints. I layed down on the bow, looking back to see some of the others beginning to take this same nap. No one admitted it at first, but the slimy, pale-green tentacles of sea-sickness had begun to grip us all.
After about 30 minutes on the high-seas, I noticed my stomach begin to lose its strength, and this weakness slowly flowing into all of my muscles and joints. I layed down on the bow, looking back to see some of the others beginning to take this same nap. No one admitted it at first, but the slimy, pale-green tentacles of sea-sickness had begun to grip us all.
Our time on the boat cannot be remembered in terms of days from this point on, as our brief and agitated sleep intervals were countless...we thought in terms of how many hours left. Day faded into night with the most unhealthy looking sunset I have ever seen. Time moved along at a slow, greeasy pace.
The next day at about five or six in the morning, I woke up incredibly delirious to what I thought was someone taking pictures of us in our huddled messes in the cockpit... It turns out we were actually in the middle of a thunderstorm, the likes of which I had never experienced. No wind, just a cold, constant rain and plenty of lightning. The bolts were so close at times that they would completely white-out our vision, and the thunder would deafen. Those of us who were awake stared about in a dreamy disbelief. The day dredged on like this for eternity. The only way to tell that time was moving forward was by the sky, as it changed from a pale shade of green to a light, fecal brown; signs that the sun was rising somewhere above it all.
The next day at about five or six in the morning, I woke up incredibly delirious to what I thought was someone taking pictures of us in our huddled messes in the cockpit... It turns out we were actually in the middle of a thunderstorm, the likes of which I had never experienced. No wind, just a cold, constant rain and plenty of lightning. The bolts were so close at times that they would completely white-out our vision, and the thunder would deafen. Those of us who were awake stared about in a dreamy disbelief. The day dredged on like this for eternity. The only way to tell that time was moving forward was by the sky, as it changed from a pale shade of green to a light, fecal brown; signs that the sun was rising somewhere above it all.
The next time I came-to, there was actually a bit of blue sky. I came up from one of the beds down below to a haggard looking bunch, adding to the ugliness with my arrival. That was the point at which it seemed we were all coming back around a bit. Cautiously engaging in a conversation or two, and a laugh if it was really worth it. The sunset that night seemed to even have a bit of luster to it.
(A brief taste of happiness: Cpt. Javier reels in two blue-fin tuna. The feeling is quickly ejected from our stomachs as we take turns going below deck to cut and clean the fish)I came back from nodding out again sometime after nightfall. I had the sensation of cookie crumbs sprinkling down on my face. I blinked up at our captain, watching as he finished a cookie as he stood above me. I then realized he was chuckling at something. As I tried to stand up and see what he was laughing about, I nearly stumbled overboard, finding out too late that we were smashing through some massive waves at a very high speed. I regained my balance and looked about the shadowy deck from all fours, assessing the situaiton. Javier was laughing at the Germans, who were sleeping below deck on the little kitchen couches. Anything that wasn't tied down (which was everything) was getting flung all around and smashed into their sleeping faces. I came out from below the cockpit cover at the stern, and stared out at what was to be one of the most insane nights of my life.
Mother Nature Climaxes
The moon was completely full, illuminating a silver-blue pathway perfectly in the direction we were heading. The sea itself was a deep black, salted white with foam from giant, breaking waves and the reflection of a starry night sky. We were charging it all head on; the boat at a constant 30 to 45 degree lean from gale force winds, blowing us along at highly uncomfortable speeds. Javier was loving it, and so quickly was I.
Up until this point Javier needed help from no one. Not even his girlfriend Esperanza, who had been missing in action for the passed twenty hours due to "woman pains" (as he put it in spanish). His first-mate and trusted companion was the Autopilot, who you could almost see steering merrily about the seas as Javier would be adjusting the sails, or sitting along side of while enjoying the cigarette glowing in his mouth. But that night his most vital of friends, the only one who I think truly understood what he was saying, decided it had had enough. As I stood there hanging on to one of the cables on the back of the boat, looking out over an endless desert of water, it felt as though the boat had suddenly lost its grip. It nearly stopped moving and began reeling off in another direction, apparently trying to align parallel with the wind and the waves. Everything below deck crashed and blew up towards the cockpit in a raucous explosion of noise. Javier went running about in an immediate blur of emergency procedures. At this point my adrenaline blinded the memory, and no specifics can really be given. The only thing that can be sure is that he pulled us out of the mouth of some very hungry looking waves.
Notes from below deck in gillian´s words--
Notes from below deck in gillian´s words--
Mind racing, head spinning, heart thumping... we´re all going to die. How the f··· did we end up in this situation? I laid down in the small bed that the four of us traded off ¨resting¨in, scared sleepless and at a total loss of what to do. One arm gripped a bar over my head that opened the window, from here on known only as my "oh shit" handle, as I struggled to keep my body horizontal and in one place on the bed. As each wave crashed and the boat lurched side to side, the boom, bang, boom reverberated throughout the cabin. The biggest waves sent water gushing in through the windows, soaking us all in sticky, salty sheen... My mind was blank, reduced to raw survival instincts to holdon,and hold on tight, and soon enough, (fingers crossed) this would all be over. Soon enough was not soon enough. Soon enough turned into the entire night, I found myself bracing and even whimpering a little bit as we were tossed around at the mercy of the open ocean. This angry monster´s thirst for our sanity was unquenchable, as we were all slowly drained of any intelligible thoughts or actions. We moved around slowly, and silently, if we tried to move at all. We were 8 zombies, raoming the cabin, almost afraid to make eye contact as we crossed paths, as the fear in our eyes was inescapable, and would only magnify if our eyes connected. Just keep holding on, this can´t last forever. This is survival. We will survive. We have to...
The night went on, wave after wave, with no real concept of time. With my eyes unblinkingly looking out over the ocean ahead of us, my trance would only be broken by the spray from waves breaking violently over the bow, or Javier´s voice calling me to take the helm. Without the help of the autopilot computer, Javier was also at the mercy of standard map navigation. So our focus remained on the horizon, awaiting the distant twinkle of a single lighthouse.
Hope that we were nearing land was not visible at first, but simply warm and soothing. The heated winds from Colombia´s coast was sweeping out to us, drawing us in. An hour later the glow of our destination city became clear. In the early morning light, my first glimpse of Cartagena was had....and six hours later we were all witnessing what we began to believe was just a figment of our imagination: Beautiful, solid, dry land.
The pictures can tell the rest of the story, but we had made it....and just in time for Christmas.
(The famous Blue Santa of Colombia)
(The youngest of our Christmas family cheers the day)
(The youngest of our Christmas family cheers the day)
