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!