BARRACUDA: Mai 2012

This is an article that my girlfriend Amelia wrote about our trip from Cartagena to the San Blas islands. Thank you so much for this, it brings back vivid memories of an awesome time. To be continued!

Sit back, relax and enjoy, everybody!

Team Barracuda does the San Blas.

It was the heat that first got you. Heavy, smothering, all encompassing heat, as if the air had a life of it’s own. It made every-day activities such as carrying groceries into an endurance event. It was the sort of heat that, straight after a cold shower, the refreshing relief of the beating water is long forgotten. But I wasn’t going to complain. For I was in Colombia, South America, and in one of the places that, along with India, I had always told myself was going to be my next travel destination.

South America! Just those two words conjured up so many different images in my mind. Dusty, unmaintained roads surrounded by lush, wild jungle. Rugged old men in broad-rimmed hats playing local music in tiny bars. Market stalls, with everything under the sun being touted at high volume. Brightly coloured fabrics, a sense of chaoticness, a slightly surreal ‘other-worldliness’. Certainly the word shouted behind me or the feeling of being a ‘gringo’! And while I was only in Cartagena for five or so days, and didn’t travel anywhere else, my notions or pre-conceptions (always a bad idea to have, but one hard to escape) of what the place was like was generally, thankfully, true. Cartagena was loud, animated, hectic, multihued. I loved it. I felt at once out of place and at the same time very comfortable. Although of course there were tourists, and while aspects of the city were certainly catered towards ‘us’ (as much as I tried, unfortunately I just could not deny my tourist status here), the place felt real and uncontrived in a way that the yachting hubs that I was so used to frequenting just did not. The Colombians were friendly, and despite my shameful lack of Spanish, I felt welcomed and welcome in their country.

We had a couple of nights out in town drinking cuba libres and listening to loud salsa music, meeting other backpackers as always seems to happen when people in similar situations are thrown together in distant lands. By day I wandered the old town, content to get lost, take photos, drink in the new sights, sounds and smells of this place. Jewellery, hats, local clothes, bags, art, fruit, sweets…. Anything you desired to buy was instantly accessible, and more times than not forced upon you. Colonial architecture, bright tropical flowers overflowing from balconies, vibrant colours and dark wood comprised most of the town’s buildings. Local women sat making bead jewellery on the sides of the street, "Senorita!" desperately following behind me as I could not help but peruse their wares. I often felt an immense sense of guilt saying no to these people who had next to nothing and would probably live out the rest of their lives doing this exact thing.

As much as I would miss the insane traffic rushing around me, any sense of road rules long forgotten or never learnt, the raw mass of humanity that swarmed on the sidewalks and the blaze of latin beats that swelled from open windows wherever you went, I had not come to Colombia to stay long. The sailing adventure on Barracuda, the journey to the San Blas islands and then onto Panama, that was my ‘raison d’être’, the driving force behind my voyage here from Saint Maarten. That, and a certain someone called Laz. Team Barracuda would, for the most part of the trip, comprise of Laz – ‘el Capitano’, Olly – the guy of many a witty saying and a love of bright headbands, Marion – the German friend of Laz who happened to be backpacking in Colombia at the right time, and myself – the final, rather spontaneous addition to the motley crew! Marion and I both arrived at a rather ideal time – when the boys had worked themselves sick (literally, in Olly's case), and sweated at least half their body weight every day to get Barracuda ship-shape again, or at least in a good enough condition to take her out to sea. I can only say thanks guys; I know it can’t have been much fun doing such stimulating jobs such as grinding the hull or painting non-skid on the deck in 40+ degree heat in a windless, basic and probably altogether rather unenjoyable shipyard. Your hard work was really appreciated.

The San Blas islands are an archipelago comprising of roughly 370 islands and cays, of which only 49 are inhabited. They lie off the north coast of Panama, and east of the Panama Canal. For those interested in that sort of stuff, the coordinates are 9.57°N 78.82°W. We set out for the islands on a rather unremarkable day, cloudy and overcast but windy enough to get the sails up and get us moving in a satisfactorily steady fashion towards tropical paradise. What was special was the mutual feeling of setting out on an adventure, the mood elevated in all of us with the feeling of the wind in our hair, of the thought of lying on a white sand beach in the sun in only a few hours, and perhaps for some of us, of catching a big fuck-off fish!

One delicious mahi-mahi dinner, a couple of night-watch sessions under a bright moon, navigation by starlight, a lost Panama hat and several cups of tea later, we were finally in sight of the first islands – the Chi Chime cays. And what a place to roll into! Any lasting tiredness, grumpiness or general malaise was quickly overcome at the sight of these palm tree covered, perfectly formed bits of paradise. Turquoise water, small huts on the beach with local Kuna kids playing in the shallows, their laughter easily reaching our ears across the short stretch of water. The contrast of the startlingly blue sky and near-white sand combined to create such a joy in my heart that it was hard to keep the grin off my face.

Straight over the side, a slow crawl through the clear, warm water towards solid land, I completed the first walk around the edge of the island, coconuts and palm fronds littering the floor. The water licking my toes, I spread-eagled on the golden sand and lay there in bliss, the sunshine making patterns through the palms onto my skin. More than what I had expected, I felt nothing but extreme satisfaction with the world. Sand all through my hair, the salt already forming crystals on my skin, creature comforts far away, none of it meant anything and this pervading sense of contentment would prove to last the entire time of our San Blas experience.

After an evening spent on the beach with a bonfire, trips to the Kuna huts to get more beer and a boatload of mainly Dutch backpackers, we had some official business to attend to. Our hangovers were slightly soothed by a dip in the ocean and the indispensable fried egg sandwich so we lifted anchor and had an easy sail towards El Porvenir, where we would check in and out of the San Blas. The Kuna Indian people, a height-challenged, feisty and brave indigenous people who fought the Panamanians for control of their lands, self-autonomously govern the area. They were a proud and strong people, who as we would find out later, occasionally liked to drink and dance with the funny-looking, rather tall foreigners.

Business concluded, we headed to one of the only ‘restaurants’ on the tiny island (a kitchen with one dude, and one meal), for a Coke and some really good fried chicken. After having no real fridge on the boat, an icy-cold drink felt like a luxury, and one that we all certainly needed after last night’s antics. As the sun set over El Porvenir, I lay in the hammock with Laz watching the evening sky turn from blue to purple to black, the stars appearing one by one and the slight movement of the ocean gently rocking us from side to side. Our neighbouring ‘cruiser’ boats were all doing the same thing, relaxing in the calm and enjoying the quiet beauty of our surroundings. I wondered if it was possible to be any happier, and then immediately wondered how I could extend this journey. Secretly slash the genoa? Throw a few bolts into the engine? Maybe a chat with immigration could sort it. I dismissed my over-active imagination and decided to just make the most of every day we had in this magical place.

And that we did. Our days included sailing between various stunning islands (or motoring when necessary, much to Laz’s disgust), snorkeling adventures in which we swam with enormous stingrays and nurse sharks, fishing, relaxing and eating. After a promising start, the fishing was pretty uneventful despite Olly’s valiant efforts. He managed to get one wahoo, much to our and our digestive systems' delight, a welcome change to our diet of mainly rice, pasta and canned goods. Each new spot surprised and delighted us, such as anchoring right next to the island of Igudub and spending a night drinking rum from coconuts and making friends with the Kuna people. They welcomed us into their home, gave us free drinks and we had an awesome night, with Olly just narrowly avoiding a marriage proposal and my dancing making the chief of the island a rather happy man! On another deserted island, Laz and I walked right round the edge of it to the point and watched the sun set over a dramatic landscape of tall palms, their shadows cutting into the night sky and large waves breaking out past the reef. As night fell upon us we had a long swim through crystal clear water, the golden twilight making the ocean seem even more turquoise than before, to end up at a friends catamaran where we were met with cold beers and friendly conversation.

On the Carti islands we visited one of the villages, where walking down the dirt paths felt like trekking through a movie set or museum. Staunch old women were relaxing outside their huts, their tiny legs and arms engulfed by the bead jewellery that they make and sell. Clothed in bright traditional dress and with an enormous silver nose ring, the look one gave me encouraged me to avoid taking any photos of them. It was easy to be reminded that these people are truly a fierce, warrior nation. Laz and I were ushered into one of the huts by a friendly old man to look at the various molas, or traditional appliqué. Mola literally means clothing in Kuna language, and they are a colorful textile art form, which we could not help but get several of during our trip. Shells, carved coconuts and local jewellery were also enthusiastically demonstrated for our consumerist pleasure. Having no money on us, we had to promise to return.

The village was tidy, clean and a sense of orderly calm prevailed. A glimpse inside the huts offered a view into another world, hammocks as beds, families living as basically as they have done for hundreds of years, perhaps with the addition of big freezer chests. I felt privileged to be there, respectful of this completely foreign world in which I have never felt so out of place. I looked up at Laz and imagined what a giant he must seem in the eyes of the tiny Kuna people!

The days passed all too quickly in a blur of swimming, snorkeling, washing dishes in salt water and cups of tea. Despite being simple, the boat was cosy and I soon felt at home onboard. With a few days left of our trip, we headed towards the Hollandaise Cays to try and meet up with the Swedes Henrik and Kiki. Our VHF attempts to contact them as we got closer were finally answered, and they were there, right in sight as we cruised into the spot to anchor. Several fancy and slightly scary sailing maneuvers later, Laz got us right next to Birka and the celebrations got underway. The feeling that the end of the voyage was nigh started to overtake me the last night in the San Blas. How I did not want this magical trip full of unique sights and special moments to end. But end it had to, and the crossing to Panama was an unenjoyable one, full of strange things in the night such as a huge tanker sitting there with no lights on whatsoever. Thank God we didn’t run into it. Rain, squalls, near-death experiences, I knew the San Blas didn’t want Barracuda to go!

After towing the Swedes into the Shelter Bay Marina due to them losing their engine just outside of port (the crossing had not been kind to them, either), we finally stepped onto land in Panama. Although there was to be fun times in the next few days the feeling of absolute contentment had vanished. Soon I would be thousands of miles away in Europe, far from my boy and the sparkling vistas of the islands a hazy, shimmering dream. The heat in Panama reminded me of Colombia but we all satisfied ourselves with a swim in the pool and a big meal that no-one had to clean up after. The marina restaurant would be our home for the next few days, with beers on tap; a place to catch up with people back home and chill. Leaving Laz in Colon was not easy, but I know that in a few short months I’ll be writing the next installment of Barracuda life from the Pacific! And if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still feel the scorching sun on my eyelids, smell the salt and freshness of the air and see the vivid, translucent blues and greens that made up the environment