Tuesday, May 25, 1993

Strange day.
Got up at six and were surprised to see a humungous cruise ship anchored a few hundred yards from us. Quite a startle. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
While we were eating breakfast, another cruise ship came in. It wasn't quite as big as the first one, but it anchored closer. Ferries were busy shuttling passengers ashore. What a bonanza for the merchants!
By 8 o'clock, we were all ready for Fernando. He didn't show. 8:30, 9:00, 9:30, no Fernando. We were puzzled, because he had been so eager. Finally, we paddled down to the hotel. There was no place to land our Royaks, so Roy swam ashore, and I held his Royak. The dive shop was locked, and there was no one around who knew anything about Fernando. We figured we'd done all we could, so we might as well leave. Besides, the wind was picking up, and it was starting to rain.
From down there, the big cruise ships looked as if they were anchored in front of the ferry dock, not near us at all. But from Jofian, they sure looked close.
As soon as we got back to the boat, Roy radioed the agent, told him we were going to leave today, and arranged to meet him at the Port Captain's office by 11:30.
The agent was a man of few words. He told us to get in his car, but he didn't say where he was taking us. We ended up at his house, which was attractive and well-built, with a lovely shady yard. He took us into his nicely furnished, air-conditioned office and told us to sit down while his clerk typed up the papers. The port fee was 20 pesos, and the agent charged us $20 U.S. Roy gave him an extra $10. The agent broke into a big smile and became talkative, so it was $10 well spent. While he was driving us back to our Royaks, he told us about the terrible hurricane of '89 that practically wiped out the entire island of Cozumel. All the buildings along the shore were destroyed, the windows of buildings farther inland were smashed, and houses were flooded. The agent's house had water nearly up to his knees.
We went to a public phone and tried to call Fernando, but there was no answer. We phoned the hotel and talked with someone who spoke English. He had known that Fernando was planning on going sailing with us today, but Fernando had had to take out a boatload of SCUBA divers instead. We asked him to give Fernando the message that we had waited for him and tried to contact him, but now we had to leave.
By the time we got back to the boat, it was raining again. It came down pretty hard for a while, so we were able to nearly fill our water tank. The entire sky was full of dark clouds. We decided it would be pretty stupid to leave a safe anchorage and go out into a storm, so we'll wait until morning to leave. Earlier, a man on the VHF had told us he'd just come down from Mujeres in a 55' cabin cruiser and had encountered 25-30 knot winds and 8-10 foot waves. We'll stay put.

Monday, May 24, 1993

Wow, did they throw us a curve! Eastern Mexico is certainly different from Western Mexico.
We went into town, futilely looking for a copy place. Finally, Roy asked someone who spoke English, and he told us there was one two blocks up, so we went there and had a bunch of copies of our boat papers run off.
Walked back to the Port Captain's office. As soon as we got inside, we were told that by Mexican law, we had to use an agent. Since when? We never used an agent on the west side. But they insisted and told us to sit down and wait; an agent would be there in ten minutes. When the agent showed up, we were pleasantly surprised; he turned out to be a really nice guy. We were over a barrel; he could have charged us $100, and we'd have had to pay it. Instead, he tried to save us money! He advised us not to check in and out of Cozumel at all, to do it at Isla Mujeres, but we were afraid we'd get in trouble if we did that. Then he told us to go out to the airport and clear immigration and customs ourselves; he said we didn't have to go to the immigration office at City Hall. He told us to call him on VHF channel 16 when we were through.
We hopped in a cab and zoomed out to the airport (7 pesos). Found what we thought was customs, but they told us to go next door to immigration. The immigration officer stamped our passports, looked at our tourist cards, and told us to go to customs in the big building outside the terminal.
We had a lot of fun finding the building, which wasn't very big and was way out in back. Looked like a storage building. When we found the building, we had a hard time finding the door, but we finally found it and went upstairs to the office. Fortunately, the clerk spoke English and knew what to do. She typed up the form we needed and had it signed.
We took a cab back to where we'd left our Royaks (6 pesos). Roy paddled to the boat and VHF'd the agent. He said we couldn't check out until just before we left, so he'll meet us at 8:30 Wednesday morning.
Roy and I walked downtown, looking for a "Diver Down" flag. Found several, and Roy finally bought one he liked. Then we went to the plaza and found the fishing office. Roy bought a one-week fishing license for 47 pesos.
By then we were hot and thirsty, so we went to Maxi's Super Market and pigged out on popsicles. Boy, were they good! Cold and wet and delicious.
Picked up a few groceries at the market near the Port Captain's office. Returned to the boat and ate lunch. Took the boat down towards the hotel where Fernando works, and Roy paddled in. Fernando and his friends had seen us coming and were waiting by the seawall. Fernando was delighted when Roy invited him to go sailing tomorrow. He said he'd be at the boat at 8 o'clock.
We took the boat back to our previous spot and re-anchored. Roy loaded his Royak with his diving gear, and we paddled to what we thought was a reef. Roy dove for a while. Saw a lot of fish but didn't find a reef. He said he needed more weights, so we returned to the boat, taking some pictures along the way.

Sunday, May 23, 1993

This morning, Roy fiddled with the tuner, and all of a sudden, it started working again, even though he didn't do anything! He said the problem was in the Send/Receive switch. So now we have shortwave again. All the damage from the squall has been repaired, except, of course, the Belize flag, which we'll never see again.
We paddled to a small marina called Club Nautico to see if we wanted to move Jofian there, and immediately decided that we didn't. It was very crowded. Nearly all the boats there were cabin cruisers.
After lunch, we paddled to the ramp and started walking to the airport, but we saw a bus and hopped on it. The bus took us on a grand tour. We went all around the town. Even the poorer sections here are clean and neat, with almost no litter. They must have really had a big "Don't Litter" campaign here. Once, when we were walking across the plaza, we saw a couple of little kids kicking an empty cereal box around. They started to walk away and leave the box on the ground. Roy said to them sternly, "Basura!" (trash), and the little boy went back, picked up the box and put it in a trash receptacle.
We did the whole circuit and then got off at the airport. We were really impressed. The terminal was large and modern. Looked like many terminals in the U.S. Even had the usual line-up of car rentals: Hertz, Avis, National, etc.
When we left the airport, we asked two cab drivers what the fare would be to the Mayan ruins. They both said, "Thirty dollars," so that must be the standard fare. I said, "Demasiado," (too much), and one of the drivers said, "Si."
A city bus came by, so we rode it to the waterfront. We had seen a big map at the airport that showed all the places of interest on the island. The Archeological Park seemed fairly close, so we were going to walk to it. We walked and we walked. And we walked. Came to a ritzy waterfront hotel, so we wandered around the grounds for a while. Walked some more. Saw a really nice-looking ice cream parlor, so we went in. The place was immaculate and very attractive. In fact, I've never seen as nice an ice cream parlor in the U.S. It was air-conditioned, too. We each had two scoops of delicious ice cream. The scoops were larger than the ones we had yesterday, the ice cream tasted better, and the ambience was far nicer, yet the bill was 10 pesos less!
We walked some more. Then we saw a bus coming, so we flagged it, and it stopped. It turned out to be a hotel bus; the driver thought we were going to one of the hotels. We told him we had thought it was a city bus, and we were just sightseeing, but he let us ride anyway. There was no charge for the bus, but Roy tipped him 12 pesos for being so nice. He drove us miles and miles into the countryside, practically to the south end of the island. The last stop was an ultra ritzy hotel for the rich and famous. There were security guards in immaculate white uniforms all over the place. They wouldn't even let us walk around the grounds, so we had to content ourselves with peering through cracks. This place had everything: tennis courts, volleyball courts, grassy lawns, and a lot more we couldn't see.
We got back on the bus to return to town. This time the driver went down a lot of side roads. We hadn't seen any sign of the Archeological Park on the way out, but all of a sudden we went right by it on 65 Avenida Sur. We never would have found it the way we were going. It was too late in the day to visit the park, so we stayed on the bus, but at least now we know where it is. We keep wishing we had some way to get our bicycles ashore, so we could ride to these interesting places.
The driver let us off back at the Malecon (waterfront walk). We needed to renew our Mexican fishing licenses, so we went in a dive shop to see if they sold them there. (Cozumel is noted for its excellent SCUBA diving; there are zillions of dive shops.) The young man at the counter, Fernando, told us in English we could get fishing licenses from the Port Captain. When we told him we live on a sailboat, his eyes lit up, and he begged us to take him sailing. He loves to sail. So we might stay here an extra day to take him sailing. We don't want to arrive in Key West on a three-day weekend anyway.
Back in town, we passed a small shop on a sidestreet that had attractive hand-woven blankets for sale. When we found out they were only 20 pesos, we bought two. The shopkeeper presented me with a bar of Swiss chocolate.
We finally reached the boat ramp and paddled back to the boat in time for a refreshing swim before dark.

Saturday, May 22, 1993

The Mexican island of Cozumel, 12 miles from the Yucatan Peninsula, is a famous tourist resort. The town of San Miguel is the cleanest, prettiest, most prosperous-looking city we've seen in a long time. When we first came to Mexico from the U.S., we thought Mexico was a poverty-stricken country, but after visiting Panama, Colombia, and Honduras, Mexico looks wealthy. It is certainly the most prosperous of all the Central American nations.
There was a 25-knot wind out of the northeast this morning, so we were able to sail all the way to San Miguel. First we sailed due north, and then, when we were at the same latitude as the town, we changed tack and sailed due east. We anchored just off the Port Captain's building, which is an attractive, white, two-storey building that actually has "Capitania de Puerto" painted on it in letters large enough to be seen from the sea. Of course, Migracion is at the opposite end of town, and Customs is at the airport.
There's no harbor here; we're anchored out in the open. The land protects us from east winds, but we have no protection from any other direction.
After lunch, we fought the wind and paddled over to a small boat ramp. We didn't expect any of the offices to be open on Saturday, but we took our papers with us just in case. We walked over to the Port Captain's office; it was closed. Went a little farther and found a variety store that had a large display of sunglasses. To my delight, they had clip-ons! Bought a pair. What a relief!
Walked to the south end of town looking for Migracion, which is in the same building as the City Hall and the Police Station. Found it, but it was closed.
When we passed the town clock, we realized Roy's watch was off by an hour, so he reset it.
This being a tourist resort, it's also rip-offville. We went in a little ice cream parlor for a couple of scoops of ice cream. We were leery when we saw no prices posted, but we thought, How much can ice cream cost? Ha! We each had two small scoops of ice cream, and Roy bought a can of Gatorade, which tasted so awful, he couldn't drink it. The bill came to 28 pesos! Over $9! We could have bought a gallon of ice cream for less. No wonder the place was empty. We'll never go there again.
Walked over to the ferry pier. They have ferries going to Playa de Carmen to visit Mayan ruins. The fare is $54 per person!
Got on a bus (fare 1200 old pesos, about 40 cents) and rode around looking for the native vegetable stands. Found a whole bunch. Bought two big bags of fruit and vegetables for 20 pesos, 8 pesos less than we'd paid for that little dab of ice cream. Then we went to a super market and bought milk, fish, and orange juice. They had a freezer full of popsicles, so we each bought one. One peso each! And they tasted every bit as good as that exorbitant ice cream.
The wind had died down when we returned to the boat, so it was an easy paddle. Enjoyed a delicious supper.

Friday, May 21, 1993

Several days ago, Roy finally succeeded in getting the generator to work properly. Guess where it was during last night's downpour. Yup. Out on the deck.
We also lost our new twenty-dollar Belize courtesy flag. It went with the wind.
The tuner for the shortwave radio no longer functions. We're lucky we didn't lose all our electronics, as much lightning as there was last night.
Today was calm and pleasant. A light breeze blew from the north, so we had to motor most of the day.
Roy repaired the generator again. It works better than ever. What a genius that guy is!
We didn't want to reach Cozumel in the middle of the night, so in the late afternoon we turned off the engine and drifted for a while. Roy fished and I swam. So refreshing! We had canned sardines for supper.

Thursday, May 20, 1993

Half Moon Caye, Lighthouse Reef, picture courtesy of islandexpeditions.com below.

Weighed anchor at 8 a.m. and carefully wended our way back to the open sea. Then we turned north towards Cozumel.
Lovely day. Light breeze out of the northeast, so we were able to sail most of the day.
I kept trying to get weather forecasts on the shortwave radio, but I couldn't get one for our area.
By evening, the sky was overcast, and we could see lightning flashing far ahead of us. Looked as if we were going right into a storm.
Shortly before 10 p.m., Roy woke me and asked me to come up to the cockpit. He was unable to steer the boat and was afraid the rudder had broken. Fortunately, the rudder was fine; we had suddenly been hit by a 35-knot gale, with the headsail and staysail still out. With considerable difficulty, Roy rolled up both sails. They got in a big tangled mess, but at least they were secured. Luckily, the mainsail and mizzen had already been lowered. As soon as the sails were furled and the engine revved up, we were able to steer normally. We headed northeast to avoid the reef we knew was northwest of us.
The wind peaked at 48 knots. The rain came down in torrents, lightning lit the entire sky, and the sea was churned to froth, but there were no super-large waves. We could see the squall on the radar screen. It formed a circle with a two-mile radius and us right in the center. No matter which direction we went, the squall seemed to follow us.
Fortunately, squalls never last long. Within an hour, the wind was down to less than 20 knots, the rain had stopped, and the lightning had moved on. The sea was still flopping around, but nothing we couldn't handle. We were still on course and making 5 knots.

Click to see pictures and touring information at islandexpeditions.com

Wednesday, May 19, 1993

We approached Lighthouse Reef with some trepidation. It surrounds an atoll 25 miles long and 4 1/2 miles wide. Far too many ships have come to untimely ends on its hard coral. We had a good chart, though, that showed where the passages and anchorages were.
We dropped anchor in 20 feet of water about 1/4 mile from Half Moon Cay. This place is just like the travel brochures. The water is several shades of the most beautiful blue and so clear we can easily see the anchor and chain lying on the bottom. The air is clean and sweet. The little islands or "cays" are covered with coconut palms. The sky is clear blue, the sun warm, the breeze caressing. This is the sort of place people go cruising to get to.
The area we're in is a bird sanctuary and ecological reserve. There's a lighthouse on Half Moon Cay that was built in 1849 and is about to fall apart. No one lives on the cay except the lighthouse keeper, the park warden, and their families. Dive boats bring scuba divers here from the mainland. The diving is excellent.
We paddled to Half Moon Cay and walked over to the old lighthouse.
It's a shame it's been so neglected. Then we paddled out to the old freighter that grounded on the reef decades ago and is gradually rusting away.
When we returned to the boat, we swam and snorkeled for a while.
Then we ate lunch and relaxed in the shade.
Later in the afternoon, we paddled back to Half Moon Cay and walked out the trail to the observation platform. It's made of wood and has recently been rebuilt, so it's in good condition. We climbed up to the platform and were at the level of the treetops. Saw lots of large birds perched in the trees or flying around. Most of them were red-footed boobies, cousins to the blue-footed boobies we saw on our trip to Acapulco three years ago. These didn't seem to be as clumsy, but then, we didn't see any running over the ground, trying to take off. These took off from the trees, which is much easier.
Walked down the trail to the Southern Beach. Saw an iguana scurrying over the rocks and some bright red land crabs, carrying big shells on their backs.
Returned to the boat and swam and snorkeled some more in this lovely clear water. What a delightful, lazy day!

Pictures and touring information on Lighthouse Reef

Tuesday, May 18, 1993

Got up at five. Ate breakfast. Cast off from the dock at 6:30. Went a short distance to the fuel dock. The man used an electric pump to transfer the diesel from the drum to the jerry cans. Roy also bought 3 gallons of oil.
When we left the fuel dock, we went over to Laurie's boat, "Endless Weekend", and blew the horn. Laurie had been taking a shower. She threw a towel around herself and leaped up on deck, thinking a big freighter was bearing down on her. When she saw it was us, she laughed. We said good bye and left her a Royak brochure. She's very much interested in Royaks.
Then we headed out the harbor entrance. Roy was at the wheel, and I was putting the fenders in the lazarette. That turned out to be a mistake. The fenders could have waited; I should have been watching for shallow spots. All of a sudden, BLUMP! We were aground. We were good and aground. And the tide was going out.
Roy took an anchor out in his Royak and dropped it about 100 feet ahead of the Jofian. Then he tried to winch the boat up towards the anchor, but she wouldn't budge.
I VHF'd the yacht club. They sent out three guys in a dinghy, and another man showed up in a small motorboat. They put our anchor astern of us and tried to pull us off backwards, but to no avail. They made several attempts, gunning their engines, Jofian's engine going at 2200 RPM in reverse, and Roy cranking up the anchor as hard as he could. She didn't budge.
The men in the boats gave up and left. One of them had told us the tide wouldn't be high again until 3 p.m., so we figured we'd be sitting there until then.
An islander in a dugout canoe came by and tried to help. The water was only three feet deep on our port side, so he and Roy went down and checked out our situation. Roy decided he could dig us out, so he got his old army shovel. Just at that point, a slightly larger boat with a more powerful engine arrived on the scene and offered to pull us off. He was sure he could, and he did. Free at last! He didn't want any money, but Roy gave him $15 anyway. Unfortunately, he didn't have any money left to give the guy in the dugout. He gave him a ride in his Royak instead. The guy was thrilled.
Went the rest of the way very slowly and carefully. I stood on the roof and watched out for shallow spots. What a relief when we finally reached deep water!
It was a calm, sunny day. No sign of rain. In the afternoon, a light breeze came up out of the north, so we enjoyed a pleasant, leisurely sail.

Monday, May 17, 1993

This was sort of a mixed-up day. We wanted to do all the things we needed to do to leave tomorrow morning. Cashed another $100 travelers' check, so we'll have money to buy diesel. We don't want to be stuck with a bunch of leftover lempiras, but we want to be sure we have enough for the things we need, so it's a little tricky.
Went into Coxen's Hole in the morning, but the Port Captain was out. Went over to migracion, but he couldn't do anything until we got our zarpe from the Port Captain.
I'm nearly out of Dramamine, so we went to a pharmacy, but they didn't have any. Next door was a tiny hole-in-the-wall drugstore. To my surprise, they had Dramamine and also had Robitussin, so I got both.
Walked around trying to find a nautical chart of the island, but all we could find were maps. Bought a few souvenirs. Went back to the Port Captain's office. He was still out, so we waited on a park bench in the shade. A young man who spoke perfect English came up to us and took over. We didn't ask for his services; he thrust them upon us. Apparently, he earns a living performing services for yachties. We found out later his name's Ralph, he's 22, and he has a wife and child to support. When he was a child, he lived for several years with a Canadian family and learned English.
Ralph found the Port Captain and interpreted for us. (The Port Captain only speaks Spanish.) We had to pay four lempiras for our zarpe, which the Port Captain typed up. Then Ralph took us to Migracion, as if we didn't know it was right next door. The office was closed. Ralph found out it would re-open at two.
We had asked Ralph if he knew where we could get a nautical chart of Roatan. He took us to a gift shop we had already been to. We told him we'd been there, but he took us in anyway and showed us the same maps we'd looked at before. Then he took us to a store with the weird name of Yaba Ding Ding. Lo and behold, they had a chart of Roatan! So we bought it.
Roy made the mistake of offering Ralph a two lempira tip (about 33 cents). Ralph was insulted. He told us that's what you'd give a child; he was a man with a family to support. We apologized, and Roy gave him twenty lempiras.
We thought we only had an hour or so until Migracion opened, so we decided to eat some lunch. Ralph took us to a fairly decent restaurant at a hotel. He kept hanging around, and we wondered how we were going to get rid of him. Finally he came right out and said he was usually paid thirty lempiras, so Ralph gave him another ten, and Ralph finally left. $5 seems like quite a bit to pay for services we didn't ask for and didn't really need, but at least he found a chart for us.
We ordered fish and orange juice. The juice arrived immediately, but the fish took forever. We began to think he'd had to catch the fish before cooking it. The rain started coming down in torrents, including through the roof, but fortunately not where we were sitting. We had the restaurant all to ourselves. Time kept ticking away. Finally, two guys brought in huge platters of fish, French fries, lettuce, and slices of tomato. There was also some white bread wrapped in paper napkins, which we didn't eat (neither the bread nor the napkins). The best I can say for the food is that it was edible. The bill came to 98 lempiras.
By then, it was two o'clock and the rain had let up, so we returned to Migracion, but the office was still closed. We went to the Port Captain to see if he knew when Migracion would open. He told us two o'clock. We said it was already after two, but the Port Captain said it was 1:13 and showed us his watch. Then Roy realized his watch was still on Panama time! If we'd known that earlier, we could have returned to the boat and eaten a decent lunch.
Roy was anxious to get the diesel we needed, so we took a cab back to the marina. We had talked with Laurie in the morning and found out exactly where the fuel dock is. They don't have a regular pump there. They get diesel in drums and somehow convey it to boats' tanks or jerry cans. Since we needed 55 gallons, Roy figured he'd buy a drum and have the diesel put in our jerry cans. Roy paddled over to the fuel dock to see if he could do that. They were out of diesel but said they could order a drum and have it at seven in the morning, so we'll take the boat over there at seven, get the diesel, and then take off for Belize.
We returned to Coxen's Hole. By now the Migracion office was open. This time, he charged us only ten lempiras each to stamp our visas.
Took the bus back to French Harbor and got off at the super market. Bought milk, bread, eggs, and orange juice. Roy bought mangoes and--ugh--bananas. I told him he'd have to eat them.
Went to the yacht club and settled our bill there. Returned to Jofian, and Roy tried to eat one of his "bananas". Heh heh. They weren't bananas at all; they were plantains, or whatever you call the things. They're supposed to be cooked. We gave the rest of them to a little kid who came by the boat selling peanuts.
Fortunately, Roy's mangoes were delicious.

Sunday, May 16, 1993

What a fun day! Roy's feeling much, much better. Almost back to normal. In the morning, we went paddling. We hated to put our Royaks into this filthy water, not to mention our feet, but we soon got to the outer harbor, where the water is clean and clear. Paddled to a lagoon, inside a reef and between two islands. The water was the most beautiful shade of blue, as warm as a heated pool, and so clear, we could practically count the grains of sand on the bottom. Roy snorkeled, and I floated around, enjoying. We saw some tiny, brightly colored fish, yellow and purple, about an inch long. Also saw some slightly larger fish, some white and some black or dark brown. A couple of young boys were playing nearby, having a ball. Black rainclouds moved in, cooling the air. It was so pleasant and refreshing.
Returned to the boat just as the rain began coming down in earnest. Took showers to rinse off. It's interesting taking a shower in the rain. (No roof, remember?) It's even more interesting trying to dry off in the rain, but somehow I managed. Roy didn't bother.
After lunch, we took a fun ride on a local bus. We wanted to go towards the north end of the island, but the bus headed towards Coxen's Hole. However, instead of going to the "downtown" area, it went down residential streets, so we got to see a lot more of the town. It's a lot larger than we thought. Most of the streets are narrow dirt roads, and most of the houses are on stilts. Coxen's Hole is a lot cleaner than French Harbor.
When the bus reached the end of the line, we got off and walked back through town. All the stores were closed for Sunday, except for a few tiny little "grocery" stores, and I mean tiny. Roy was thirsty, so we went in one to get him a cold soda. To our surprise, the clerk was a gringo! He was from Florida and has lived here five years. He certainly can't be making much money in that broom closet of a store. We speculated he might have come here to avoid arrest for something or other in the states. He was in his fifties and seemed to be of normal intelligence. I just can't imagine any U.S. citizen wanting to live here for any length of time, but some do. There was a man in front of me in the bank yesterday who said he's lived here for twelve years, and the people who run the yacht club are gringos. There are also a lot of gringo missionaries.
We walked out the other side of town to the highway. Came to the airport. They have a good airstrip here and an excellent traffic control tower.
After exploring the airport, we continued walking along the highway. No buses came by, so we finally took a cab back to the yacht club.
Finally managed to get Barbra on the phone. This was my third attempt. We invited her to fly down to Belize and sail with us for a few days, but she wasn't able to do so.
I still don't know when my high school reunion is going to take place, but I've about given up hope of being able to attend, so we're going to slow down a little and enjoy the beautiful islands and atolls of Belize.

Saturday, May 15, 1993

What luck! On the ham radio Breakfast Club, we contacted a woman on a sailboat at Old French Harbor, Roatan. (By the way, Roatan is an island off the coast of Honduras.) From what we'd read, we thought we were required to go into Coxen's Hole to clear immigration and the Port Captain before going anywhere else in the Bay Islands, but she said we could go directly to French Harbor and then take a cab to Coxen's Hole to check in. She was just as nice as could be. Her name is Laurie, and her boat is the Endless Weekend. We didn't have a chart for French Harbor, so we were worried about going in there (reefs). Laurie came out in her dinghy and led us in. Then she and two of her friends helped us tie to the yacht club dock. We actually have dockside electricity! What luxury! The yacht club looks a thousand times better than the ones in Panama, though it's still not up to U.S. standards. But they're only charging us $6 a day plus electricity, which is a real bargain.
After we signed in at the yacht club, we took a cab to Coxen's Hole, about ten miles for $2. We were in luck again. Right across the street from where we got out of the cab was a bank that was open until 11:30. It was then 11:15. Went over and cashed a travelers' check. Got 600 lempiras for $100 U.S.
Checked in with the Port Captain and Immigration. Immigration charged us $20 U.S. to stamp our passports!
Walked around a little. Bought a few groceries, some Contac, and a courtesy flag. Roy started feeling really bad, so we took a cab back to the yacht club (ten lempiras). As soon as Roy got on the boat, he lay down and fell asleep. We'll probably stay here until Roy is well.
As in all Central American countries, most of the people live in utter squalor, while surrounded by scenic beauty. The contrast is dismaying. Worst of all is the trash and garbage strewn all over the place, even in the yards of private homes. (There are some nice, well-built houses with clean, fenced-in yards.) I walked by a stretch, maybe 200 feet wide, along the ocean, where there were no buildings. If they removed the trash and a few rocks, it would be a lovely little beach. There's no surf, and the water is crystal clear. A couple of guys with a pickup truck could clean it up in a day or two. It's so sad to see it messed up.
There was a devastating fire here a few weeks ago. Wiped out the equivalent of a city block. Must have destroyed at least a dozen homes, and I'm sure the people have no insurance. They had nothing to start with, and now they have even less.
There are very few private cars here but a great many taxis, similar to the ones in Puerto Madero. In other words, piles of junk.
Many of the people here are bilingual, but some speak only Spanish, so it's hard to know which language to address someone in. If you speak Spanish to someone who knows English, they feel insulted, but if you speak English to someone who knows only Spanish, they're totally uncomprehending.
The yacht club actually has a shower! An outdoor shower. It has walls but no roof. And of course, no hot water, but who needs it? It's similar to the showers at public beaches in the U.S., to rinse off after a swim. It's sure refreshing when you're all hot and sticky. Trouble is, half an hour later, you're all hot and sticky again.
There's a fairly decent super market near here that stocks a lot of U.S. products. Very expensive, though. And it's well-nigh impossible to get decent fresh vegetables and fruit on this island. The bananas come in two colors: green and black. I've yet to see a banana that looked fit to eat.

Friday, May 14, 1993

Calm, lazy, pleasant day. Quite a contrast to yesterday. Roy found six little flying fish on the deck!
Motored all morning, but in the afternoon, a little breeze came up out of the north, so we were able to turn off the engine and sail at a leisurely four to five knots. In the evening, Roy lowered the mainsail to slow us down, so we won't arrive in Roatan in the middle of the night. Going two to three knots, we should get there in the morning.

Thursday, May 13, 1993

Well, now we know why people go to Cozumel by way of Roatan. We banged against strong headwinds for several hours, burning fuel and getting almost nowhere. Under the best of conditions, it would take three or four days to reach Cozumel. Under these conditions, we'd probably run out of diesel long before we got there. Furthermore, we're out of fresh vegetables and fruit and running low on bread, eggs, etc. And on top of everything else, Roy has a sore throat and feels crummy. So we've turned west towards Roatan. We'll be there in 1 1/2 to 2 days. Then for the three R's--reprovision, refuel, and rest.
Roy started the day off right by catching a fish! First one in weeks. About 22 inches long and four pounds. We don't know what kind it is, but it tastes delicious. Lucky he caught it--we ate our last can of sardines last night.
Half an hour later, he got another nibble. He reeled in the line, and to our amazement there was nothing but a fish head hanging from the hook. Some big fish had come along and bitten off the entire body!
Got more details on the Bill Forest case. He said he'd been taking a shower on the deck and leaning against a lifeline. The lifeline gave way, and he fell into the water. Swam ten miles to land (quite a feat if true). Since he'd been taking a shower, he had no clothes on. He was found wandering naked in the jungle, badly sunburned and undoubtedly suffering from thirst, hunger, exhaustion, and dehydration. Anyway, he's alive and safe now, and his boat's been found and towed into port. Happy ending to what could have been a tragedy. (Now he'll make a fortune writing a book and selling the movie and TV rights.

Wednesday, May 12, 1993

(Note: The sailor Bill Forest mentioned in yesterdays log will have more details in tomorrows log.)

Changeable weather, light, variable winds. Motorsailed all day. In the morning, it was partly cloudy, but the clouds were fleecy white. By noon, it was pouring, but the rain soon passed, and the rest of the day was sunny and warm. Nowhere near as hot as on the Pacific side, however.
Back in Richmond when we were planning this trip, we intended to visit Belize and Yucatan, but we got away to such a late start that we've had to change our plans on the run. It's essential that we get to Florida and up the East Coast before the start of the hurricane season, the end of May. We've been following the route John Rains laid out in his book, "Cruising Ports", but now we're modifying that. His route goes from San Andres to Roatan to Cozumel. We have just decided to bypass Roatan and go directly across to Cozumel. That will save us two or three days. From Cozumel, it's less than 400 miles to Key West!

Tuesday, May 11, 1993

Listened to the Breakfast Club. The weather forecast sounded favorable, so we weighed anchor and carefully retraced the route we'd followed coming in. I stood on the roof to watch for shallow spots.
Just before leaving, Roy had cleaned the water filter for the engine. We'd gone about two miles when he noticed the engine was getting hot. He suddenly remembered he'd forgotten to re-open the water valve after cleaning the filter. He dove into the engine compartment and opened the valve. In a few minutes the engine temperature was normal. Fortunately, we'd been going slowly, so no great harm was done.
The rest of the day was uneventful. We cleared Isla San Andres and its reefs and headed north. For a change, it didn't rain. The temperature was pleasant. There was a light breeze, so we used both sails and engine.

Incidents I forgot to record:
One night when we were sailing, Roy was sleeping blissfully on the port berth. All of a sudden, whammo! The stainless steel thermos bottle shot out of its perch over the oven and clobbered him on the forehead. Cut him over the right eye. What a rude awakening! The thermos is now kept in a safer place.
Another time, I raised the lid on the starboard bench in the cockpit, and the unsecured front panel with its heavy vise crashed down on my left foot. The same thing had happened a few weeks ago. My foot was just getting back to normal from the first time. Now it's all swollen and sore again.
A couple of weeks ago on the Breakfast Club, they told of a U.S. sailboat, California Girl, that had wrecked on some rocks in Costa Rica. The Costa Rican authorities first said they'd recovered the body of the skipper, Bill Forest; the next day they said they had not recovered the body. No one else had been on the boat. Now, after all this time, Bill Forest has miraculously turned up alive! He was found, badly sunburned, wandering around in the jungle. No other details are available as yet.

Monday, May 10, 1993

Lever turned out to be a very pleasant and knowledgeable person. His first name is William. He is truly bilingual, having been brought up from earliest childhood speaking both Spanish and English.
To our surprise, the Immigration Officer came to us! He spoke only Spanish, so Lever interpreted. When immigration was through, Lever took us by taxi to the Port Captain's office. It was pouring rain by then. The Port Captain asked us if we had a Colombian courtesy flag. This is the first time anyone had ever asked about our courtesy flag and the first time we didn't have one. How embarrassing! He told us we could get one at the marina.
When the Port Captain was through, the same taxi took us back to the marina. This was a much more sedate ride than the ones in Panama City. We bought a courtesy flag in the marina office. It's a really nice one and only cost $10, which is half what we pay in the U.S. for flags that aren't nearly so nice.
We asked Lever where we could buy charts. He said there wasn't a chart store, but he'd try to get us copies of the ones we wanted. He told us to call him at 2:30 on channel 16.
Lever also arranged for our 3 empty jerry cans to be filled with diesel. Roy filled the gasoline can for the generator at the Texaco station by the marina.
We walked around town for a while. Roy is still trying to find a good pair of sandals to replace the ones he has, which are totally saturated with dirty oil from the last oil change. We went into a sporting goods store, but they didn't have any. When we came out of the store, the rain was coming down in torrents. Anyone would be soaked to the skin in half a second in that rain, and the streets were already flooded. Luckily, we were under an overhang and right next to a grocery store, so we ducked in there to buy a few groceries at exorbitant prices.
Weeks ago, I ran out of Junior Mints, my favorite candy. I've been looking for them ever since in every store we've gone into, but no luck. Nearly fell over when I found them in this little store on this tiny island. They were expensive, but I bought enough to last until we get to Florida.
We asked the clerk where we could get plastic rain capes. She said the drugstore next door had them, but they had just closed. (All the stores here close from 12 to 2 for siesta.) The clerk was very nice. She phoned the drugstore and asked if they'd let us in to buy rain capes. They said they would, so I zoomed over there and bought two blue, poncho-style rain capes. Now let it pour! We'll be dry and cozy.
We returned to the boat and ate lunch. At 2:30, we VHF'd Lever. He said he'd meet us in ten minutes, so we paddled ashore again.
Lever took our passports to migracion for exit visas. He said he'd be back in half an hour with our zarpe. He hadn't been able to get any charts so far.
While Lever was gone, Roy went in the marina office to see if they had charts. By a stroke of remarkably good luck, there happened to be a U.S. delivery skipper in there. He had made the Florida to Panama run many times, so he was thoroughly familiar with the route. He took Roy out to the boat he was delivering, and later Roy called me. Captain Tom spread out some good charts of the area and showed us the best route to follow. It will save us a hundred miles over the route we'd planned to take. Then he sold us the two charts for $20. What a lucky break! He wants us to look him up when we get to Miami.
We went back to where we were to meet Lever. The skipper of the motor yacht Liberte was there trying to find his agent, Rene. He told us he'd tried to enter the bay at night and had run aground on a coral reef. Bent his drive shaft and propeller. Fortunately, he had a second engine, drive shaft, and propeller. He managed to back off the reef and limp into port. There are no haulout facilities on San Andres, so he had to have the bent shaft and prop replaced with the boat in the water, no easy stunt.
Lever returned with our zarpe. Now we're all set to leave in the morning. He was happy to hear we'd gotten charts; he still hadn't found any.
Lever charged us $50, which presumably included all the port fees and the pilot, so that was very reasonable.
There's a funny little "train" (bus) that takes tourists around the island. We wanted to ride it, so we took a cab to where the train starts. Cab fare was 700 pesos ($1). Found out the train runs only once a day, at 10 a.m., so we decided to ride the local buses instead.
Walked around trying to find a bank, so we could exchange some dollars for pesos, but all the banks were closed.
We stopped at a juice place for large glasses of delicious, fresh fruit juice. Paid $3 U.S. for them.
Since nearly everyone accepts U.S. money, we decided to see if the bus drivers would. Next bus that came along, we offered $1 for the two of us. That was nearly twice the normal fare, so the driver accepted. We had no idea where the bus was going and didn't care; we just kicked back and enjoyed the ride. Went past the luxury hotels and beaches into the countryside on the north end of the island. Rode to the end of the line and then took another bus back. The second driver gave us 300 pesos change.
This was a much longer trip. The bus went back through town, picking up passengers along the way. They kept squishing on and squishing on. The aisle was completely packed, and there were even people standing on the steps, hanging on to the open door. Roy and I were very glad we had seats. The bus went out the south end of town. Went right past the marina, but it would have been well-nigh impossible for us to get off even if we'd wanted to. Fortunately, we didn't want to; we just wanted to see the sights.
As the bus came to residential areas, people began getting off. Eventually, it was down to a normal bus load. Night was coming on. I thought we should get off and take another bus back, but Roy wanted to keep going. Finally came to the end of the line, and the driver asked us where we wanted to go. I asked him in Spanish if he was going to return to downtown. I thought he said, "Si," but I guess one of us misunderstood. He turned the bus around and took us back down the road a short distance. Then he told us we'd have to get off and take the next bus. Apparently, he was going home and taking the bus with him. (In Central American countries, the drivers own their buses.)
In five or ten minutes, another bus came along, and we got on. By then it was pitch dark, and Roy was getting worried about the Royaks. The trip back was a lot faster than the trip out, since there were far fewer stops. Soon we were at the marina. Our Royaks were right where we'd left them.
Pictures of Isla San Andres

Sunday, May 9, 1993

About 9 or 10 in the morning, we saw the first faint line of land on the horizon. This was to be our first experience with coral reefs, so we were appropriately apprehensive.
Even though San Andres is far closer to Nicaragua than it is to Colombia, it belongs to Colombia. Since we hadn't originally planned on stopping in Colombia, we didn't have a Colombian courtesy flag. What's worse, we didn't have a large-scale chart of the island.
Check-in procedures are different here. You're not allowed to go to the Port Captain, etc., on your own; you have to hire an agent. And you're charged for a pilot whether you use him or not, so you might as well use him.
As we drew closer to the island, we saw a freighter in the distance. It didn't seem to be moving, so we assumed it was anchored. Then we got closer, and--OOPS!--it wasn't anchored and it hadn't moved in a long, long time; it was aground on a reef! That curdled our bones in a hurry. I immediately got on the VHF and called for a pilot. He told us to maintain our position; he'd be there in 15 minutes. Roy went around in circles for a few minutes, but then he spotted a buoy and headed towards it. A fishing boat passed us on its way in, so we followed it. By the time the pilot got there, we didn't need him, but we followed him anyway. He led us into the harbor on a zig-zag course. Took us to where some other boats were anchored and told us to drop anchor next to a fishing boat. Roy didn't like the location, but we obeyed. However, we soon started to drag, so we moved to a better location. There are 3 or 4 other sailboats here, plus a motor yacht.
Roy had expected San Andres to be a sleepy fishing village with a population of 200 at most. I had read that it was a popular tourist resort and free trade zone, with a population of 35,000. Even so, we were surprised by the size of the city and all the high-rise hotels. Acapulco it's not, but it's getting there.
Even before we were anchored, an agent named Lever called us on the VHF. We arranged to meet him at the marina tomorrow morning after 8. He said it was ok for us to go ashore and walk around in the meantime, so we did.
We left our Royaks on a tiny little beachlet next to the marina and walked towards the center of town. This being Sunday, all the stores were closed. We were surprised by the number and variety of stores. Many fancy shops, catering to wealthy tourists.
Found an ice cream parlor that was open, so we treated ourselves to two scoops of ice cream each. We didn't have any Colombian money, so he charged us $5 U.S. and only gave us 300 pesos change. That seemed awfully high, but it was good ice cream. We later learned there are 700 pesos to the dollar.
I especially wanted to make a long-distance call to Kathy. By luck, we found the Telcom office. Went in and were astonished by the number of people. There were dozens of them standing in line to use the phone booths and dozens more seated. There were 16 phone booths, but the one marked "International Calls Only" was unoccupied.
The clerk motioned me over to the desk. I asked her if they accepted U.S. money. She said, "No," so we left, but then we noticed the Visa and Mastercard emblems on the door, so I went back in. She accepted my Visa card, and I gave her Kathy's number, but the line to the United States was busy. The clerk tried numerous times but couldn't get through.
Roy and I walked around for 15 or 20 minutes and then went back, but the line was still busy, so we gave up and returned to the boat.

Pictures of San Andres

Saturday, May 8, 1993

(Note: Tomorrow is log of arrival at San Adres Island.)

Another perfect sailing day. Kept sailing north to San Andres.
This being the rainy season, it rains nearly every day, so we keep topping off our water tank with rain water.

Friday, May 7, 1993

We're on the Atlantic side of Panama! We can scarcely believe it. What a great experience!
The yacht club here is even more dingy and depressing than the one in Balboa, and the city of Colon is dirty, crowded, ugly, and rife with crime. The unemployment rate is 50%. It isn't safe for gringos to walk around alone. We don't want to stay here one minute longer than we have to. There is nothing the least bit scenic or attractive.
There is a Migracion official right here at the club, so we took our papers to him, but he said we had to go to the Port Captain first. He spoke English, so we asked him where we could cash some Travelers' Checks. The yacht club accepts only cash. He told us to go to the Banco General. He gave us a small map of the city, but advised us to take a cab.
We asked the bartender to call a cab for us. He tried, but the line was busy, so we went out front and waited. Soon a cab pulled up. He took us to the Banco General for $1. The bank was clean, modern, attractive, air-conditioned. It could have been a bank in the United States, except for the armed guards. We had no difficulty cashing $400 worth of Travelers' Checks.
We rather foolhardily walked a few blocks to a super market. Of course, we wore no watches or jewelry and looked as if we didn't have two dimes to rub together.
Bought a few groceries and took a taxi to the Port Captain's office. A lean, courteous elderly gentleman named Jerry led us up two flights of stairs to the Port Captain. Then he led us back down and across the street to another building, where we had to purchase a cruising permit for $37.80. We were supposed to have gotten it in Balboa, but no one told us. The clerk was fast and efficient when she worked, but most of the time she stood around, talking with her fellow employees, so we were in the office over an hour. Then we had to go back to the Port Captain's office on the third floor. Again, Jerry led us. He used to travel with a calypso band. He's been to San Francisco and San Diego, and speaks English quite well.
Our zarpe was issued to us, Roy tipped Jerry $1, and we took a cab back to the yacht club. Returned to the immigration office and had our passports stamped. Then I went to the office to arrange for fuel. Had to pay in advance. Filled the tank and all the jerry cans, 93 gallons at $1.40, from which they deducted our $50 deposit. Also paid $11.70 for the privilege of tying to the fuel dock for the night.
Getting away from the dock was a challenge. We had gone in bow first, there was a strong wind pushing us against the dock, and there were other boats downwind of us. We finally took the floating line over to another dock. With the assistance of another cruiser, we pulled the Jofian around so her bow pointed out. After that, it was easy, except one of the boards we were using to protect the hull from the black tires on the dock got caught on a tire and bent a stanchion. My fault.
We motored over to the anchorage and dropped anchor, so Roy could change the oil. While he was doing that, I took a quick nap. Luckily, I didn't sleep long. As I was coming back up into the cockpit, I heard a man on a nearby boat calling to us that we were dragging. We had dragged a quarter mile or more and were perilously close to his boat. Roy had drained all the oil out of the engine, so he had to quickly dump in a gallon of new oil while I winched up some of the anchor chain to get us farther from the other boat. He then started the engine, motored to a safe spot, and added the fifth quart. Then we were on our way north. Next stop, Isla San Andres.
It was a perfect day for sailing. The wind was just right, so we turned off the engine and sailed at six knots under full sail. The temperature was pleasant, too. Much cooler than on the Pacific side. We're on the Atlantic Ocean!

Thursday, May 6, 1993 Going through the Panama Canal

This is it! The BIG DAY! We transit the Panama Canal!
Got up at ten to four and ate breakfast. A few minutes before five, two line handlers arrived. The Transit Advisor got here a few minutes after five, and five minutes later, the other two line handlers arrived. We were delighted to see that one of them was Harper; we'd felt bad about not using his services after he'd been so nice to us. So now everything's perfect.
Here's the game plan: we will tie to a motor yacht that will tie to a tugboat that will tie to the wall. So we have absolutely the best position and are least likely to sustain damage. The three of us will follow the container ship "Torrens" into the lock.
The Transit Advisor is a pleasant young man of 34, who speaks English fluently but with a heavy accent that makes him difficult to understand. He's climbing the career ladder and expects to be a pilot in five years.
The line handlers are all top-notch. They know what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. When they're not working, they stay aft out of the way. They're worth every nickel of the $50 we're paying them.
The Advisor had us start out slowly for the first lock, Mira Flores. We went under the high bridge that crosses the channel and is part of the Pan-American Highway. We saw the Torrens coming up behind us. It soon passed us and entered the lock ahead of us.
We entered the lock and waited for the tug to tie to the right side of the lock and the Calipsos to tie to the tug. Then we moved up and tied to the port side of Calipsos. The huge gates swung slowly shut behind us, and the water level began rising.
In due course of time, we were floating about 30 feet above sea level. The gates in front of us opened, and the Torrens moved forward to the next lock. The three of us untied and moved forward individually to the next lock, where the entire procedure was repeated.
We crossed Mira Flores Lake, entered Pedro Miguel Lock, and rose to the highest level, 85 feet above sea level.
Next came a long stretch with no locks, so the crew could relax. I fed them a mid-morning snack of hard-boiled eggs and doughnuts plus a cold soda. They gobbled it down eagerly.
We went through the famous Gaillard Cut and crossed the Continental Divide. There was a plaque on the side of the canal at the Divide.
Roy told me to take some Ritz crackers out to the line handlers. I didn't want to because it was almost time for lunch, but he kept insisting, so I finally did. They ate a few, but didn't really want them.
We entered the 23-mile-long Gatun Lake, and I fixed lunch--big bowls of spaghetti and meatballs, corn, and pork and beans, plus cold sodas, and cookies for dessert. Guess they had enough to eat; I was going to fix more, but they declined.
The weather was great--cloudy enough to keep things cool (that is, not scorching), but no rain.
The other boats had long since disappeared way ahead of us. The Advisor kept urging us to go faster; if we could rendezvous with the others at Gatun Lock by 3 o'clock, we could complete the transit in one day. Most sailboats take two days. We were already at 2200 RPM and making hull speed of 6 1/2 knots. We couldn't go any faster with the engine, so Roy put out the headsail, and that gave us another half knot. We flew over the lake at 7 knots!
Around 2:30, we saw the Torrens waiting to enter the lock. Here the order would be reversed: the three small boats would enter the lock first, with the container ship bringing up the rear.
The Torrens started moving forward, and our Advisor urged us to move ahead of it.
Gatun Lock goes down the 85 feet in three steps. There are strong currents towards the right wall, so the tug tied to the left wall. The Calipsos moved up to tie to the starboard side of the tug but messed up! They got the bow tied, but the stern was caught by the current and swung out into the middle of the channel, so Roy had to stop and wait for them to get straightened out. In the meantime, the Torrens was coming up behind us, breathing down our tailpipe! By the time the Calipsos got its stern tied to the tug so we could move ahead, we were almost directly under the wide, towering bow of the Torrens! That is definitely the closest I ever want to come to a container ship. We were all sweating it, including the Advisor.
Roy, of course, did a flawless job of bringing the Jofian up to the starboard side of Calipsos. Our bow and stern were tied, zip zip, the Torrens stopped advancing, the gates closed, and the water level began dropping.
When we'd gone down about 28 feet, the gates ahead of us opened, we untied and moved forward into the next section of the lock, which also had a strong current. Would you believe, the Calipsos did the same stupid thing again! Again Roy had to stop and wait while the Torrens advanced towards our stern. And then the whole performance was repeated a third time in the third section of the lock! Does this guy never learn? Anyway, thanks to Roy, we made it through the canal safe and sound. The Advisor congratulated Roy for his excellent job.
A pilot boat came up to take the Transit Advisor ashore. He'll be driven by car back to his home in Balboa.
The line handlers directed us to the Balboa Yacht Club, where we tied to the fuel dock. We paid them their well-earned wages plus $1.75 for bus fare to Balboa, and they departed.
We dood it! We went through the Panama Canal! I felt like Queen of the May, with nothing to do but kick back and enjoy. And rustle up a little grub.
Shortly after we tied up, a man came by with a note saying we had to give a $50 deposit to the club bartender. Roy did so.

Wednesday, May 5, 1993

(Note: The Breakfast Club, was or still is, not sure if it still exists, a Ham Radio chat group of sailors that met at the same time each morning to exchange information. Mom got her Ham Radio license specifically for this trip.)

A few days ago on the Breakfast Club, someone told how easy it had been going through the canal with professional line handlers, so I signed on this morning to get more information. The skipper of Island Trader responded. He recommended someone called Robinson and volunteered to contact him for us.
I radioed Flamenco Signal Station as I'd been instructed to find out what time we were scheduled to go through the canal and was told the Transit Advisor would arrive at our boat at 5:45 a.m. That was good; by getting an early start, we have a chance of completing the transit in one day.
Pretty soon a water taxi pulled up with the Island Trader skipper and Robinson. The water taxi driver is going to be one of our other line handlers, and Robinson will find two more. We'll pay them $50 each plus lunch plus bus fare back to Balboa ($1.75 each). The handlers will be at the boat by 5:15 in the morning.
That settled, we went ashore and set out in pursuit of a chart store. We had the address of a chart store, but the first two taxi drivers we showed it to didn't know where it was. The third didn't know either, but he volunteered to find out. He had a nice new cab with air conditioning and velvety upholstery, so we really enjoyed the ride. First he asked the police and then the fire department. The latter told him where it was, so he took us there. It turned out to be across the street from the Y. We could have walked there.
The chart store was large, immaculate, well-stocked, and well-
organized. We bought four charts and a copy of Sailing Directions for the western Caribbean.
Took a cab to Rey's to buy food and sodas for the line handlers and the Transit Advisor. When we left the store, Roy had his hands full carrying the groceries, so I carried the roll of charts. We stopped just outside the store to load the groceries into our heavy-
duty shopping bags. I leaned the roll of charts against the wall while I helped Roy load the bags.
A taxi pulled up, driven by an old geezer who looked as if he could scarcely walk, let alone drive a cab. We asked him how much to the Balboa Yacht Club, and he said $5. We laughed and walked away.
A few minutes later, another cab pulled up, driven by a much more capable-looking driver, who said $2.50, so we hopped in.
Several miles later, I happened to glance over at Roy. I saw the two shopping bags but didn't see the charts. I asked him where he'd put the charts. The CHARTS?! Yikes, the CHARTS!!! We motioned frantically to the driver to turn around. Fortunately, there was a break in the traffic, so he was able to do so. All the way back to the store, Roy and I were on the edge of the seat, wondering if our $60 worth of charts would still be there. As we approached the store, our eyes scanned the wall. Roy spotted them first. There was our roll of charts, right where I'd left it. By dumb luck, it was right next to a woman at a table, so people undoubtedly thought it was hers. Anyway, a roll of charts doesn't look like anything valuable. I jumped out, grabbed it, hopped happily back into the cab, and we were off again to the Balboa Yacht Club. We paid the driver an extra $1.50 for his trouble and additional miles.
So now we're all set for our transit of the Panama Canal!

Backup a little, April 28, 1993

(Note: this is the log that describes the incident with "Trigana" referred in May 2nd, 3rd and 4th logs.)

We had a disconcerting and puzzling experience today. Very early in the morning, on Roy's watch, we passed a megabuck motor yacht, double hull, 95-100 feet long, streamlined, shiny new, gorgeous. She was easily capable of 30 knots, but when we passed her, she was just sitting there, not moving. Shortly after we passed, she began following us, going at our slow rate of speed. Hour after hour she stayed about two miles directly behind us. Then around noon, when I was on watch, she suddenly speeded up and went slightly to starboard of us, then turned at an angle and came zooming toward us as if she were going to ram us. At the last minute, she veered and passed in back of us, less than 50 feet away, which is much too close for comfort. I could clearly see four men on board her, and there could have been more below. I brought a can of mace up from the galley and nearly woke Roy but decided to see what they were going to do next. Believe it or not, they then pulled the same stunt on the port side--
zooming towards us as if they were going to ram us and then swerving around our stern. Fortunately, this time they kept going until they were nearly two miles from us, but then they slowed down and remained within two miles of us, going at our speed, all afternoon. Once they came up on our port side and crossed in front of our bow. While the boat was directly ahead of us, I was able to read her name and homeport through my binoculars: "Trigana" out of Puntarenas, Costa Rica. In the evening, she finally disappeared for good, thank goodness.
We have two theories:
1. They mistook us for a sailboat they were supposed to rendezvous with for some sort of drug smuggling transaction;
2. They were a bunch of rich dudes with nothing better to do,
trying to get their jollies from harassing a sailboat.
Either way, it made for an unpleasant and worrisome day for us.
Haven't had any wind since we left Golfito. We've been motoring all the way.
On top of everything else, I don't feel so hot. Guess I've got the Costa Rican Revenge. Felt fine all the time we were in Mexico, but Costa Rica brought a new set of bugs. Also, this chronic cough is driving me up the wall. The doctor said it was nothing serious, just an allergy, but it certainly is annoying. Plus, I never feel as if I've had enough sleep when we're going around the clock. Even though the aggregate amount of sleep is probably more than one would get in a full night, it isn't as satisfying. And there's also the heat. At night, the temperature is delightful, but during the day, I melt. We're only 7 degrees of latitude above the equator. I'm looking forward to going north to Florida.

Tuesday, May 4, 1993

Picture of Jofian anchored in a port in Mexico.

Bagged up the most essential dirty clothes--sheets, towels, under-
wear, etc. Also wrote the report on Trigana for the yacht club.
When we got to the laundry room, another woman was just starting on a huge pile, so we left our laundry and soap there and took the report to the office. Then we took a cab to the Port Captain's office. Got there at twelve. They were just going to lunch. Our timing is terrific.
We walked down the hill to where there were a few shops. Found a little ice cream parlor that was run by a guy from the U.S. We each had a slice of pie and two scoops of ice cream, but we were disappointed; it wasn't very good.
At one o'clock, we returned to the Port Captain's office. Guess what--we had to go to the Admeasurer first. He said it was just a few blocks and gave us directions that were rather vague. We promptly got lost. Found ourselves at the Panama Canal College. Went inside and talked with a professor who spoke flawless English. He drew us a little map of where the Admeasurer's office is, and we set off again, back down the hill towards the Y. Took one wrong turn but finally found the place. It was a clean, modern office building like any in the U.S. We had to sign in at the front desk and wear visitors' badges. Most impressive building we've been in south of the border.
When Roy bought the Jofian, there was a Panama Canal license on her from her 1981 transit of the canal. He was told it was valuable, and it really was. The Admeasurer found her old records and filled out the forms using the old data, thereby saving us the time and expense (approximately $200) of having her measured from stem to stern.
Since it was nearly 3 o'clock when we got through there, we grabbed a cab to go the few blocks back to the Port Captain. (Only cost $1.) The Handline Transit Coordinator completed the paper work for our transit, explained the procedure, and billed us $70. What a pleasant surprise that was! We thought we'd have to pay $200 or more. That $70 includes the fee for the Transit Advisor. Every small boat going through the canal has to have an Advisor, four line-handlers, a helmsman, and four 125-foot lines. Our lines are only 100-foot, but he let us go through anyway. However, it's at our own risk; I had to sign a form absolving the Panama Canal Commission of all liability. As the Coordinator pointed out, the canal was built for freighters and other large ships, not for little sailboats. Small boats can easily be damaged and often are.
We're scheduled to go through Thursday--day after tomorrow!
Our paperwork completed, we turned to other important matters. Roy is still trying to fix the generator. He needs a 15-amp circuit breaker. When we were at the Rey's market on Sunday (the first one), we had noticed a Radio Shack nearby, so we wanted to go there. Problem was, we didn't know where "there" was. We asked a taxicab driver to take us to Radio Shack and drew a complete blank. Then we told him it was near Rey's. That was a mistake. He took us to the Rey's in downtown Panama City where we went yesterday. No Radio Shack in sight. We told him it was the wrong Rey's; we wanted to go to Radio Shack. He took us to another Rey's. Wrong again. He talked to his dispatcher on the radio, but apparently didn't get much helpful information. Finally, however, he took us to the right Rey's, and there was Radio Shack. We asked him to show us on our street map where we were. We were in an area called El Dorado, so at last we knew where we were.
After all that, Radio Shack didn't have a 15-amp circuit breaker. Neither did another electronics parts store nor any of the hardware stores we went into, so Roy finally decided he'd bypass the circuit breaker.
Bought a few more groceries and took a cab back to the yacht club. The woman in the laundry was just finishing. Perfect timing for once. I did the laundry while Roy took the groceries back to the boat and did some things he wanted to do.
The washer only used cold water, but most of the stuff came reasonably clean. Cleaner than they were, anyway.

Monday, May 3, 1993

As soon as we reached the head of the pier, the immigration officer took us into his office and stamped our passports. He told us we had to go to the Migracion office at Diablo Heights for our visas.
Harper was still hanging around, wanting to handle lines for us. We told him we didn't know yet.
Went to the yacht club office to register. No sooner got there than the Quarantine Officer popped up. Don't know if the immigration officer notified him, or if our contacting Flamenco Signal Station started the ball rolling. He and Roy went off to the boat, while I stayed in line at the office.
The yacht club charges a one-time fee of $15 plus a daily charge of 35 cents a foot for the mooring. That's $14 a day for our boat, which is absurd for a mooring, but we have no choice; it's the only show in town.
This so-called "yacht club" doesn't even vaguely resemble those in the United States. It's a rickety, junky old building that hasn't had a coat of paint in 30 years. It's dirty and depressing. There isn't much of anything there except the office to collect your money, a bar, ugly restrooms, and the laundry room, which has one washer and one dryer.
I settled with the office, put deposits on keys for the shower and laundry room, and kicked back to wait for Roy. He was gone so long, I was beginning to think the inspector must be taking the Jofian apart board by board, but it turned out the water taxi had taken a long time to take them out there and bring them back. The inspector had been very nice and hadn't snooped around at all. Roy told him about the incident a few days ago with the Trigana. The inspector was very much interested and is going to report it to the Port Captain. He wants us to report it to the yacht club, so Roy brought the log ashore and had the yacht club office Xerox the relevant pages. When we get back to the boat, I'll write a report for the club.
Walked over to the Intel office again, and I phoned Kathy at her job. I always hate to phone people at work, but her home phone's been changed and is unlisted, so I had to get her new number. Got it.
We ran into some people from the U.S., who told us about a good lunchroom in the YMCA building, so we went there. Had soup, carrot cake, etc. Then we went across the street to the Chase Manhattan Bank and cashed a couple hundred dollars' worth of Travelers' Checks.
Then we took a cab to Rey's super market for more groceries. For blood-curdling thrills, forget amusement parks, forget bungee jumping, forget white-water rafting. Just go down to Panama City and ride in a taxi. The driver zooms at high speed through crowded streets, barely missing pedestrians and other vehicles. He invents his own lanes. He ignores stop signs. He makes left turns from the right lane. He squeezes through the tiniest cracks. Believe me, you get your $2 worth.
We ended up at a different Rey's from the one we were at yesterday. They're like Lucky's--all over the place. Bought a few more groceries and headed back to the boat.
The Trigana was leaving, so we hailed her on VHF and asked the skipper why he had nearly rammed us a few days ago. He said he had been marlin fishing and sometimes he took a nap and the crew took over. Yeah, right. But at least he did apologize.

Sunday, May 2, 1993 - Start Panama Canal

The experience of a lifetime! I was lucky enough to be on the dawn watch (4-6 a.m.) as we approached Balboa. While it was still dark, I could see the bright lights of Panama City spread for miles along the coast. As the sky lightened, I was surprised to see all the towering skyscrapers. I had had no idea there was such a large, modern metropolis down here.
The GPS and autopilot took us fairly close to the first buoy. I turned off Charlie and steered over to the buoy so I could identify it and see exactly where we were on the chart. It was "ML". Roy got up at 5:30 and we both watched for buoys. The next one was "AL", so then we knew exactly where to go to get to the shipping channel. As required, I radioed "Flamenco Signal Station" to advise them of our approach and to request permission to proceed to the Balboa Yacht Club. Permission was granted immediately.
As we motored down the channel, I radioed the yacht club for directions. We soon arrived at the mooring area for the club. There were quite a few boats there, mostly from the U.S. and Canada. A little power launch came zooming out to meet us and take us to a vacant mooring buoy. Roy and I couldn't believe our eyes. There was the Trigana!!! Moored right next to our mooring!!! Of all the weird coincidences! But at least here we feel safe. We're surrounded by other boats, instead of being out on the ocean by ourselves.
They have a free water-taxi service here to take people ashore. We were scarcely moored (using the neat "Happy Hooker" Al Snider had given us) than a taxi pulled up. We weren't ready and tried to tell him to return in 5 minutes, but he didn't understand and kept waiting, so we grabbed a few things and jumped in. Halfway to the dock, I realized I'd forgotten our passports and ship's papers, but it turned out the officials don't work on Sunday, so it didn't matter.
We hadn't had breakfast, so we were going to eat at the yacht club restaurant, but we were greeted at the head of the pier by a professional line-handler named Harper. He told us in English that the restaurant at the yacht club wasn't open, but we could get breakfast at the golf club. He took us all the way over there. Of course, he was trying to sell his services as a line-handler. He charges $50 for the transit, which is reasonable, considering it takes at least 10 hours and could take 2 days. He also said he could get 3 more line-handlers (we have to have 4; I could be one, of course, if one fails to show).
That evening, there was a nice little thunderstorm. There are no droughts down here. It rains nearly every day during the rainy season (now), and there are frequent thunderstorms. We had a doozy one night at sea. It hit so suddenly, we still had the main up. We had to go out in the downpour to take it down. Were drenched in instants, but it was warm. In fact, the rain felt refreshing. Got the salt washed off. Filled our water tank and our sun-shower bags.