Thursday, October 26, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezuela

Ate breakfast downtown at a place called TropiBurger, which is sort of a Venezuelan McDonald's. They didn't begin to have the number of employees McDonald's has; there were only two or three. We got a kick out of their cutting the straw in half and just giving me half a straw! Well, that's one way to save money. Went to the Avis car rental place at the Bella Vista Hotel to find out how much it would cost to rent a jeep for a day. It was the equivalent of $30, including mileage and insurance, so we made a reservation for tomorrow. We'll be able to drive over the entire island in one day. We caught a bus to Juan Griego on the north side of the island. The countryside was much prettier and greener that that we went through yesterday. There were small mountains all around us. Went through a mountain pass. Juan Griego was a pleasant seaside town. We ate lunch at a sidewalk restaurant that left a lot to be desired. Roy had a ham, sausage, and cheese sandwich. I made the mistake of ordering a mixed salad. Of course, it consisted of everything I don't like -- cucumbers, green peppers, tomatoes, and raw onions. Fortunately, Roy helped me eat it. We strolled down to the waterfront. There was a pleasant, shady plaza, that was in the process of being repaved. After wandering around for a while, we returned to Porlamar and then Pampatar.

Wednesday, October 25, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezuela

At last, a day when we didn't have to go to an official! We paddled ashore and explored the Castillo. It's in remarkably good condition for a fort that was built between 1644 and 1664. There was a tiny jail in there that I'd hate to be locked up in. From the upper level, there was a glorious view of the bay. Below, at the moat level, were twelve rusty canon and room for three more. As usual, we went to McDonald's for lunch, but instead of eating dessert there, we went to the Italian ice cream parlor. Roy had a strawberry shake, and I had a chocolate shake. They were the biggest, most elaborate shakes I'd ever seen! They were topped with whipped cream. Roy's had a fresh strawberry on it, and mine had chocolate sprinkles. There were even paper parasols stuck in them. They were delicious! (The shakes, not the parasols.) We wanted to go to the ferry terminal, which is 30 kilometers west of Porlamar. Wandered around downtown looking for the bus terminal. When a friendly man greeted us in something resembling English, we asked him. He told us to go three blocks straight ahead, turn right one block, and then turn left. We followed his directions, and lo! there were the buses. One was just leaving for Punta Piedras, where the ferry terminal is, but it was full and the driver wouldn't let us on. He said, "No puerta," which means no one can ride in the doorway. In a couple of minutes, another bus came along. It was empty, so we got on and sat down. The seats were comfortable, but the bus was stifling hot. We sat there for what seemed like forever until the bus was full. Then the driver took off. We finally got to see something of Isla Margarita besides the Pampatar-Porlamar area. It looked a lot like the ABC islands -- flat and arid and full of cactus, although there were a lot of green bushes too. We were disappointed when we got to the ferry terminal. The ferry was at the end of a long dock, which we couldn't go out on. Dozens of people, with their belongings piled beside them, were waiting patiently on benches. A posted sign showed the times the ferry left, but there was no indication of the fares. Apparently, the ferry only went to Puerto La Cruz and Cumana. We had hoped we could take a day's excursion to Isla Cubagua or Isla Coche. We strolled along the waterfront for a ways. The town or village reminded us of Mexico and Central America. No wealth here. Some boys pestered us for money. Apparently, "money" was the only word of English that they knew. I kept saying, "No!" but one persisted. I finally got angry and said, "No damos moneda!" (We don't give money.) He got the message and left. Guess he was surprised that a gringo could speak Spanish. We came to a pleasant area where a garden had recently been planted. There was a plaque indicating it had been created in July, 1995, in memory of "pescadores que vuelvan sobre el agua con pies desnudos" or something like that. As closely as I could translate it with the help of my Spanish-English dictionario, that means, "fishermen who return over the water with bare feet." Oh well, poetry never makes sense in any language. We caught a better bus going back. The windows were open, letting in a good breeze, and the glass was clear, so we could see the scenery, such as it was. When we got back to Porlamar, I exchanged $60 at 240. Roy bought a kilo of grapes at a fruit stand. Unfortunately, ants were crawling all over them, so he didn't want to put them in his backpack. We walked over to Avenida Santiago de Mari¤a, the Fifth Avenue of Porlamar. There were a lot of fancy shops, but there were also vendors of cheap jewelry and knickknacks, with their wares spread on the sidewalk. When we got to Rattan's, Roy sat out front on a bench in the shade with his grapes and ants and both our backpacks, while I went in. In the department store section, I saw a one-burner Coleman stove for about $90. Also saw some filters that may or may not fit. Next time we're there and Roy doesn't have ants, I'll show them to him. Bought a head of cabbage and some carrots and potatoes. Then I stood in line at the butcher counter to get some chicken thighs. The sign said "Muslos de Pollo", but when I finally got waited on, they didn't have muslos, just breasts. After waiting all that time, I went ahead and bought them. As usual, our wait for a bus required a great deal of patience. Bus after bus to Pampatar went by without even slowing down. It was six o'clock and getting dark by the time we were finally able to get on a bus. Of course, it was pitch dark when we got to Pampatar, but there were enough lights on the beach to enable us to get in our Royaks without any problem. Another sailboat had come in and anchored just past Jofian. It had its masthead light on, so we aimed for it and found our boat easy as pie. The German cruiser next to us had mistaken our anchor float for a mooring buoy and tied to it! Roy got him straightened out real fast.

Tuesday, October 24, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezuela

Took the stamps to the Port Captain's office. Thought it would only take a few minutes this time. All he had to do, we thought, was stick the stamps on a document and hand it to us. It turned out he had to fill out another form; that took about ten minutes. Then he said he was going to make copies. He must have gone into Porlamar to find a copy machine; he was gone at least half an hour. I was glad I'd brought a book to read, but Roy had to sit there with nothing to do except tell the English-speaking guy how to stop the air conditioner from leaking water all over the floor. The Port Captain finally returned. Stuck the stamps on a document, blammed it with a rubber stamp, signed it, and gave it to us. They're very fancy stamps; they even have holograms on them. Really look neat. Now we can stay in Venezuela for six months if we want to. (We don't.) Back to McDonald's for lunch and then into downtown. We wanted to get a one-burner propane stove in case the inverter quit for good. It had worked okay for breakfast, but who knows? We also wanted to get some more water filters. We found a small marine-supply store, but they didn't have filters or propane stoves. However, they had a part that Roy can use to repair our old stove. It was surprisingly inexpensive, so Roy bought it. They told us of a ferreteria (hardware store) that might have the filters we want, so we headed there. They had a few filters, but not the kind we needed, so they sent us to another hardware store. That place didn't have filters or stoves either. They told us to go to the place around the corner that we'd just come from, so we gave up. We finally found an ATM that communicates with the U.S. This money is so confusing that I punched in 4000 Bolivares (about $20) instead of 40,000. Oh well, at least now we know where we can get money if we need it. Of course, it would be at the official rate, which is only 170, so as long as we have U.S. dollars, we're better off exchanging them instead of using the ATM. Every place we went, guys kept coming up to us, wanting to exchange money. By the end of the day, it was up to 250! Obviously, the Venezuelan economy is in bad shape and will soon devalue the Bolivar again. We're only going to exchange a little at a time, so we won't be stuck with a lot of worthless money. We actually saw stores that had eggs for sale! Some of them looked more like drugstores than grocery stores. Figures. Roy bought a glass of orange juice from an old woman on a street corner. She squeezed the oranges right in front of us, so we know they were good fresh oranges, and she used at least six of them. When Roy asked, "Cuanto?" (How much?), I heard her say something-treinta. Treinta means thirty, which is nothing, so I assumed she must have meant five hundred and thirty, but it turned out she only wanted thirty Bolivares! That's about fifteen cents U.S.! How can she possibly make a living? She has to buy the oranges and plastic cups. I shouldn't think thirty Bolivares would even cover her expenses. We walked around and walked around until we were too tired and thirsty to walk farther. Then we bought cups of ice cream and ate them in the shade. That renewed our energy, and we went to the Rattan Supermarket, which we had seen from the bus on the way in. It's right there in plain sight on Avenida 4 de Mayo, the wide street the bus goes down. I had even stuck my head in the door a few days ago but hadn't realized it was a grocery store, because the front part of it was a department store. It's huge! The grocery section is magnificent! It's everything we hoped for and then some. Even in the U.S., this would be considered a first-class market. In fact, it's called a "Hypermarket" instead of a supermarket. It had really nice stuff, much of it from the U.S., and it was clean and nicely laid out. We're sure glad we ran into that woman from the U.S. yesterday. We bought almost more than we could carry. It came to less than ten thousand Bolivares, which surprised me; I was afraid I wouldn't have enough loot to pay for it all. The bus system (?) here baffles us. No matter which stop we're at, the bus stops someplace else. We waited at one stop for maybe twenty minutes. Several Pampatar buses with vacant seats went by without stopping, even though we waved. They seemed to be stopping at the stop about a hundred feet away, so we went over there. Along came a Pampatar bus that passed us and stopped at the stop we had been at previously! We gave up and returned to that stop. Fortunately, in a few minutes a Pampatar bus stopped. The men here are very courteous; if there are no seats, one usually offers me his, which is what happened this time. But Roy had to stand until someone got off. I'd forgotten to bring the insulated bag, so I waited to get to Pampatar to buy chicken and eggs. We didn't want them to fry on the way home. When we got to Pampatar, we left the groceries at the Royaks with Roy guarding them, while I walked in the direction the checker had told me. Walked to the end of the street and turned right, asking in every likely and unlikely looking place if they had eggs. No one did, and I was about to give up, when I came to a very unlikely looking place. The sign out front said "Sandwiches" and "Hamburgers", but when I peeked inside, I saw a handful of groceries. Didn't see any eggs, but I asked anyway, and to my amazement, the grocer said, "Si." He had eggs! As usual in this part of the world, they're sold loose. I was very glad I'd remembered to bring our plastic egg holder. The grocer started to get a plastic bag to put the eggs in. I quickly handed him the holder. He was impressed and wanted to know where I'd bought it. At least, I think that's what he was asking. I told him, "Estados Unidos" (United States). When I got back to the grocery store where we'd bought chicken last night, I asked for "piernas de pollo" (chicken legs) instead of muslos. This time I got the right thing. We had a huge, delicious supper.

Monday, October 23, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezuela

Paddled to the Coast Guard station to complete the clearing-in process. We had been told on Friday that Immigration would be here at eight o'clock Monday morning, but the official didn't show up until nearly ten. We had expected a spiffy uniform and gold braid, but he was casually dressed and greatly overweight. He cleared us in without any problem and then sent us to the Port Captain down the hall. Venezuelan Spanish is different from Mexican Spanish, which makes communication even more difficult. Fortunately, there was a man there who spoke a little English, but his accent was so thick, he was difficult to understand. The Port Captain was very nice but only knew a few words of English. Communication was slow, but eventually the papers were filled out. Then the Port Captain told us we had to buy two stamps for 2000 Bolivares. I started to get the money out, but the Captain and the English-speaking man told us not to pay. This was confusing, but eventually they got across that we had to go to the Libreria Maneiro (Maneiro Bookstore) in Pampatar to buy the stamps. Fortunately, the Port Captain wrote it down on a slip of paper. When we got to downtown Pampatar, I went first to the Post Office to mail the birthday card to Bill. This is the weirdest looking Post Office we've ever seen. It looks more like a hotdog stand. It's a tiny, round, squat building near the town square. We had a hard time believing it was really a Post Office, but the clerk sold me a stamp. Postage is a lot less here than it was in the ABC islands. The stamp for a letter is only 100 Bolivares, and postcard stamps are 50. In the ABC's, a letter was 1.75 florins and postcards were .90 florins. I asked for Poste Restante mail, not really expecting any. There wasn't any. Then I asked the clerk where the Libreria Maneiro was, and she indicated it was a couple of blocks down the street. We walked in that direction but didn't see anything that looked like a bookstore. Came to a hole-in-the-wall that sold paper and stuff, so we asked in there, but the man said the Libreria was farther down the street, so we continued walking. Passed an even tinier hole-in-the- wall that didn't seem to have much of anything. Finally ran out of street, so we asked a grocer, and he pointed us back in the direction we had just come from. What do you know, that dinky hole-in-the-wall was the place! There was even a sign on the wall that said "Libreria Maneiro", but we had walked right by it without seeing it. I showed the slip of paper to the woman, and she sold us the stamps, no problem. That accomplished, we got on a bus to Porlamar. Stopped at McDonald's for lunch and then went on into town. Rode the bus to the end of the line. Walked a few blocks to the waterfront. Found a lovely esplanade that went right along the coast. A lot of money had been put into building it; too bad they hadn't put some of the money into building a waste-water-disposal plant. The raw sewage empties right into the sea and creates a charming aroma. We strolled along the esplanade as far as it went and then walked along the beach, which would have been very nice except for the fact that every hundred yards or so there was a ditch full of dirty water that we had to cross. We managed to get across several without getting wet, but eventually we came to one we couldn't cross, so we followed a little alley to the street and continued our walk on the sidewalk. We could see hundreds of sailboats anchored near the Concorde Hotel, so we wanted to go over there and see what we could find out. It's so sad. The shoreline could be beautiful waterfront property, and parts of it were, but right next to luxurious hotels and condos were the most wretched, squalid shacks, surrounded by heaps of trash and puddles of filthy water. When we finally reached the Concorde, we were disappointed. It had been a first-class hotel twenty years ago, but it's deteriorated. I'm not even sure it's still occupied; there were no signs of life around it. The Budget Rent-a-Car place and various shops near it had been long since abandoned. It needed a fresh coat of paint. We walked down the dirt road past the hotel to the small marina. Didn't see any vacant slips. We were hot and thirsty, so when we got to the beach, we went into the open-air refreshment stand for something to drink. Roy had a Pepsi, and I had bottled water. We sat in the shade and relaxed. It was a nice little beach and far enough out from town to be clear of the sewage. When we started back, we met a U.S. couple that had just returned from grocery shopping. They had a great many bags of groceries, so I asked the woman which store they'd gone to, and she told me Rattan's. She said they had a lot of U.S. products there, and she showed me on the map where it was located. Sounded like just the store we'd been looking for. Caught an autobus back to town. There were plenty of seats when we got on, but the driver kept packing people in. Several were sitting on the floor. It was unreal. We kept trying to see how much people were paying when they got off (in this country, you pay when you exit instead of when you enter). It looked as if they were paying fifteen Bolivares, which surprised us, since we expected an autobus to be higher than a big bus. When we got off, I handed him thirty Bolivares for the two of us, but he wanted forty, so I gave him another ten. That's the same rate as the big buses. We had overshot our destination, so we walked back towards Plaza Bolivar, which is shady and pleasant. Pampatar is the small town we had expected, but Porlamar is a large, bustling city with endless shops. I've never seen so many stores in one place. There are street after street after street full of stores, stores, stores. Somebody in this country must have money, because there were thousands of people shopping. The streets were filled with vehicles, too. We were hoping to find the Rattan Supermarket, but there was no sign of it. We had noticed Cada on the way in. It's supposed to be a large supermarket also, so we went there. Another big disappointment. It was dinky, crowded, and had almost nothing we wanted. They didn't even have eggs! Can you imagine a supermarket that doesn't sell eggs? This is such a strange country. The grocery stores don't sell eggs, the bookstores don't sell books, and ham comes packaged as chicken. It was getting late, so we returned to Pampatar and went to the small grocery store across the street from the beach where we had left our Royaks. They had nice-looking chicken but no eggs. However, the checker told me where I could buy eggs. I asked for "dos muslos" (two thighs), but when I opened the package back on the boat, I saw that he had given me two backs or breasts or something. It was delicious, fresh chicken though. Best we've had in ages. While supper was cooking, we watched an exciting sailboat race on television. The reception here is excellent, but all the channels speak Spanish. They show a lot of old U.S. movies with Spanish dubbed in. For this program, it didn't matter what language the people were speaking; the action shots were terrific. Just as supper finished cooking, the microwave and the TV went blank. Roy rushed back to check the inverter, but couldn't find anything wrong. They came back on for a second and then went off again. Great. All we need is an inverter problem, especially with the propane stove out of commission. We were lucky supper had finished cooking before it conked out.

Sunday, October 22, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezuela

Another beautiful, calm day. We relaxed and enjoyed. Paddled over to the Coast Guard building and saw that there was a little beachlet next to it where we can land our Royaks tomorrow. Then we paddled along the coast by the town. This being Sunday, hundreds of people were playing in the water or relaxing on the beach. We came to an especially attractive stretch of beach southwest of town. Roy pulled in to the beach to go for a swim, but I continued on until I was close to the point with the angel sculpture. There was a covered walkway that went up to it, and I was hoping I could go up there, but after I landed, I saw that there were several armed guards at the entrance to the walkway, so I figured they were to keep people out. There's an expensive development of Mediterranean-style houses on the hilltop. Only one has been finished, but it looks really nice. The walkway is part of the development, and the development is obviously exclusive. I swam for a while in the delightful water. Then Roy came paddling up. We both swam a while, and then got out of the water to walk around. When we got close to the walkway, I was delighted to see a sign that said "Public Access". Another sign explained that there are no private beaches in Venezuela; by law, all beaches and coastal areas must be open to the public. I don't know what in the world the armed guards were doing there; we walked right past them with no problem. This was the loveliest walkway we've ever seen. It was very substantially built; it must have cost a fortune. It was shaded and breezy and comfortably cool. There were plants and benches at intervals. The walkway went up the hill to the statue and down the other side. The view of the ocean was spectacular. We read on a sign that this statue had been placed there by The Hills development in 1993 to replace the original statue that had been destroyed by a storm in 1989. That must have been quite a storm! The statue was high above the water and was quite large and solid. When we returned to the beach, we bought ice cream from a vendor and then followed a path to the road. The sidewalk was wide and wellpaved. Obviously, a great deal of money had been put into this development. There was a guarded gate and nicely landscaped grounds. We returned to the boat before dark, feeling relaxed and happy. A strange thing happened at supper. Last night, when I cooked the chicken we had bought at the supermarket, it stayed pink. I was afraid it was spoiled and not edible, but Roy said it tasted delicious, so I ate a little of it. Tonight, it was pink again, but again it tasted delicious. However, it didn't quite taste like chicken. It had no bones or skin. Suddenly, it dawned on me that it tasted like ham! That would explain the pink color. It looked like ham, it tasted like ham, it had the texture of ham. Yet the package had clearly said, "Muslos de Pollo" (chicken thighs). Weird. But I enjoyed the meal a lot more when I realized I was eating ham and not pink chicken.

Saturday, October 21, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezula

Yesterday, Roy had put a plastic bag of trash in his Royak to get rid of in a trash can, but he hadn't seen one. This morning when he looked in his Royak, the trash was gone! The kids must have stolen it yesterday! We hope they didn't strew it all over the beach. Roy had the nutty idea that he wanted to eat breakfast at McDonald's, so we paddled in that direction, thinking we could walk there from the beach. Ha ha. Passed Angel Point, with its interesting rock sculpture of a kneeling angel. Saw a breakwater that looked as if it surrounded a marina, so we paddled over there to check it out. It turned out to be a marina under construction. It will be a dandy when it's finished, but it's not going to be for transients; they're going to sell the slips to people on a permanent basis. We pulled up on the beach just past the marina. A couple from England came along and struck up a conversation. They were very nice but extremely talkative. They just talked on and on, despite our hints that we wanted to go eat breakfast. The woman made our day, though, by saying we looked fifty. Eventually we got away from them and started walking towards the street. Some workmen in a golf cart came along and offered us a ride. That was very nice of them. It wasn't a very long ride, but every little bit helps. We walked a short distance along the street and then decided we had to turn right to get to McDonald's. We had only the vaguest idea where we were and where McDonald's was. We walked about a mile without seeing any sign of it, so we got on a bus and rode into Porlamar. It was noon by then, and we were hungry. Walked around looking for a likely place to eat, but all we saw were refreshment stands and ice cream parlors. In desperation, we ate some strawberry ice cream for breakfast. It was delicious and gave us the energy to continue on. There's a tremendous demand for U.S. money in this country. They must be expecting another devaluation of the Bolivar. People keep offering to exchange money. We were walking along the sidewalk when a man with a pocket calculator came up to us and punched in 240. That was five more than yesterday, so I told him I'd like to exchange $100. Roy had $20 he wanted to exchange. The man took our money and handed it to another man, who started to walk away. We had visions of our money disappearing, so we followed close on his heels. He went to a merchant and tried to make the exchange, but the merchant refused. We were relieved when he handed back our money, but he kept urging us to follow him. After several futile attempts, he finally found someone who would exchange the money at 240. Roy got 480 Bolivares, and I got 24,000. That made us feel better. We saw a restaurant across the street, so we crossed over and ate a real breakfast. It was called "Desayuno Americano" (American Breakfast). It consisted of orange juice, bacon and eggs, toast with butter and strawberry jam, and coffee or tea. Roy had coffee, and I had tea. It was a tasty and filling meal. Our strength renewed and money in our pockets, we headed for the CM Supermarket, which is supposed to be the largest on the island. We got on the first bus that came along, without paying attention to its destination. We ended up in Los Robles, so we got off and walked back to the main road. Waited a while at what appeared to be a bus stop, but no bus came along. We saw some people waiting at a bus stop around the corner, so we went over there. Of course, right away buses went by the stop we had been at. We got on a bus that we thought was headed towards Pampatar, but instead it took us back to Porlamar. We're not disoriented, not much. Anyway, when we got downtown, we crossed the street and carefully read the signs before getting on another bus. This one took us to the CM Supermarket. We were greatly disappointed in the market. If this is the best Margarita has to offer, we have a problem. There were almost no U.S. products, and the produce was quite limited and sorry-looking. We bought a few things, including some chicken thighs, and then caught another bus towards Porlamar. Our next problem was finding our way back to the Royaks. We got off in the outskirts of Porlamar, crossed the street, and watched to see which direction the buses went in. One came along that said "Playa Azul" (Blue Beach). A beach had to be on the waterfront, so we got on. We lucked out. It took us within a block of the hotel or apartment building or whatever it was where we had left our Royaks, so it was an easy walk from there. Our Royaks were where we had left them, and we got home before dark.

Friday, October 20, 1995 - Isla Margarita, Venezula

The Jofian drifted happily northeast all night. We actually made five miles while we slept. Awoke to a lovely dawn and resumed our voyage. It was calm and beautiful all day. We made excellent time. We were glad we had waited until morning to go through the Margarita Channel; not only would it have been somewhat risky at night, but we would have missed a lot of great scenery. We were amazed as we approached Porlamar. We had expected a small resort town, similar to Kralendijk. Instead we saw scores of high- rise buildings! The city is almost as large and impressive as Puerto La Cruz, with a skyline that reminded us of Manhattan. Even Pampatar has a few high-rise buildings, but nothing compared with Porlamar. It was only 12:30 when we dropped anchor in the harbor at Pampatar. We had really made tracks! Ours is the only U.S. boat in the harbor. Most of the rest of the boats are Venezuelan, except for a small sloop next to us flying a flag we didn't recognize. The young couple from the sloop rowed by in their dinghy on their way back to their boat. Roy called "Hello!" to them, but they didn't respond, although the woman waved. A little while later, we saw the man on the stern of his boat, bringing up his dinghy. There wouldn't have been anything unusual about that except for the fact that he didn't have a stitch on! We gathered up our papers and our good clothes and paddled to the beach in front of the old fort. The cruising guides tell us we should hire agents to clear us in and out; we shouldn't try to do it ourselves. But in our opinion, the clearing in and out process is part of the fun and adventure of arriving in a different country. Each port has slightly different procedures, and it's interesting to find out what they are, so we ignored the guides and set out to do it ourselves. We're glad we did. Adouana (Customs) was very easy to find. We walked half a block up the street from the fort, and there it was! Everyone was as nice as could be. The official seemed to understand my limited Spanish, and he spoke carefully, so I could understand much of what he said. He was very courteous and pleasant. A woman in the office even offered us cups of coffee! They had a copy machine right there, so we didn't have to chase all over town looking for one. Their typewriters were in good condition, and the typist used all ten fingers! Quite a contrast from Mexico. When the guides were written, you had to go from Customs to the National Guard to Immigration to the Port Captain, but the National Guard is no longer part of the loop. The Customs official told us to go next to Immigration, which is near the Flamingo Hotel. We walked about a mile-and-a-half along the waterfront, following the signs to the Flamingo Hotel. When we got there, we asked the doorman where Immigration was, but he didn't know. Fortunately, he and another guard knew where the Port Captain was, so we continued up the road in the direction they indicated. It turned out that both the Port Captain and Immigration were in the same building as the Coast Guard. However, the Immigration officials had left for the weekend. Since we have to clear in with Immigration before going to the Port Captain, there was nothing further we could do today. We walked back to town and caught a bus to Porlamar. The bus fares here are unbelievable -- 20 Bolivares, which is less than ten cents U.S.! We can ride buses till the cows come home! Not surprisingly, the buses are very crowded. Some passengers hang out the doors. When the bus is too full, the driver won't stop to let more on. We were lucky and got seats on the bus to Porlamar, but on the next buses, we had to stand. It was mid-afternoon, and we hadn't had lunch, so as soon as we saw a McDonald's, we got off the bus. There obviously isn't any shortage of cheap labor in this country; there must have been fifty employees in there. The ones that weren't in the kitchen or behind the counter were mopping the floor or wiping off the tables or helping the little kids in the playground. There were ten times as many employees as customers. In the shopping plaza in back of McDonald's there was a one-hour photo developing place, so after we ate, we went there and Roy dropped off his roll of film. We weren't in Porlamar yet; we were in Los Robles, so we caught another bus into downtown Porlamar, which was crowded with people and stores galore. I wanted to buy a birthday card for Bill, since I'm already late, but we couldn't find a store that sold greeting cards, although we managed to buy some postcards. Found a Radio Shack, but they didn't have printer ribbons. Bought an English-language newspaper at a little stand. Then Roy saw a Tourist Information booth, so we went there. The man was very pleasant and eager. He spoke English quite well. Told me there was a bookstore around the corner where I could buy birthday cards. I bought a map from him for 250 Bolivares. He offered to exchange money at a rate of 235 Bolivares to the dollar! At El Morro, we had gotten only 170. No wonder they were so eager to change money! I had $40 with me, and rather stupidly only exchanged $20. Guess I couldn't quite believe the rate. Then I went around the corner and found a tiny bookstore. All their greeting cards were in Spanish, but I found one I could read and bought it for Bill. By then, it was after five, so we caught a bus back to the photo place and picked up Roy's pictures and a couple more rolls of film. Most of the pictures came out quite well. We wanted to buy some groceries on our way back to Pampatar, but Roy was very thirsty and wanted a glass of water. I made the mistake of suggesting he get one at McDonald's or the ice-cream parlor on the corner. Roy's eyes lit up, and we headed for the ice-cream parlor. Of course, you can't just ask for water without buying something, so we both had ice cream. The system there was rather strange. We had to pay the cashier first. She gave us a receipt, which we took to another employee, who dished up the ice cream. However, there seemed to be a communications gap between the cashier and the other employee. We had paid for single scoops, but he gave us huge double scoops! It took us quite a while to eat them. The sun set, and a few drops of rain came down. We had wanted to get back to our Royaks before dark, so we decided we'd better forget about the groceries and just head back to Pampatar as quickly as possible. As soon as we finished the ice cream, we crossed the street to the bus stop, just missing a bus by half a minute. Buses had been running very frequently, so we thought we wouldn't have to wait long. Time went by and darkness fell, but no bus came. We saw a few buses approaching, but they all turned in to the gas station. We finally decided the buses must stop running at six o'clock. They were fueling up for tomorrow and going home. (The drivers own their own buses here.) Many taxis were going by, so we tried to flag one. Finally one stopped. He wanted 900 Bolivares to take us to Pampatar. That's quite a bit more than the 40 we would have paid on the bus, but it was still less than $5 and we needed to get back, so we took it. Then we found out why no buses had come by -- we'd been waiting on the wrong street! The taxi went out to the main road, and we saw lots of buses. Well, we'll know next time. The important thing was to get back to our Royaks and the boat. It was pitch dark by then. Our Royaks were where we had left them, chained to a palm tree, but it was obvious kids had been playing with them. They were sandy and dirty, my painter was covered with sand, and the cord from Roy's reel was strung across the beach. No real damage, though, and nothing missing, so we cleaned up the mess and headed for Jofian. Didn't have too much difficulty finding her in the dark. We were very glad we got back when we did. In a few minutes, the rain came down in earnest, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed. We were able to fill the water tank and a five-gallon jug. After all that ice cream, neither of us was hungry, so we skipped supper. Relaxed and read and enjoyed the storm.

Thursday, October 19, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

We had to slow down during the night to keep from arriving at the marina in the dark. Got there at eight a.m. We were impressed. The high hill, El Morro, had a number of large, expensive-looking hotels or condos on it. The marina looked modern and well-equipped, with a travel-lift, forklift, and modern gasoline pumps at the fuel dock, but to our amazement, the diesel pump was an antiquated model with no nozzle on the hose! In the process of filling the jerry jugs, Roy spilled diesel all over the dock, all over the jugs, and all over Roy. What a mess! The attendant handed him a water hose, which of course did no good whatsoever, but Roy pretended to use it so as not to hurt his feelings. Then we wiped off the jugs and Roy with a few thousand paper towels. We nearly fainted when we paid for the diesel. We bought a little over 70 gallons. It worked out to 11 1/2 cents a gallon! Unreal! If we had a 5000-gallon tank, we could buy enough diesel to go around the world. And we had thought the diesel was cheap in Cura‡ao! We motored happily northeast towards Isla Margarita. In the afternoon, a dark cloud went over and cooled everything off. The breeze picked up briefly, so Roy tried to sail, but it soon died down again, and Roy had to take all the sails down. Around seven in the evening, when we were almost to Cubagua Island, we decided to stop and drift for the night, so we could get a good night's sleep and go through Margarita Channel in daylight. Ate supper in peace and quiet.

Wednesday, October 18, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

Today was as calm as two days ago was rough. We paddled around the cove in the morning. The water is so clear. It would be a great place to snorkel, especially around the rocks. Apparently, it can get stormy here, though; at least three people have died near the point. We saw their gravestones on the tops of the rocks. After lunch, we took off for El Morro de Barcelona. It was easy. We even managed to motorsail for a while, but then the wind died to nothing again.

Tuesday, October 17, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

Lightning kept flashing, and the wind kept blowing all through Roy's watch. The autopilot couldn't deal with it, so he had to hand-steer, but I lucked out. Shortly after I started my one a.m. watch, the wind died to nothing and the sea flattened out. We were in the lee of Venezuela's mountains! After that, it was a piece of cake. I headed directly for the point we planned on taking refuge behind. The autopilot worked flawlessly. Soon, I could see land on the radar screen as well as with my bare eyeballs. To my left, the light on Farallon Centinela was blinking merrily, confirming our position. Even the moon came out to light our way in. Everything was perfect! When Roy came on at three, we were within four miles of the point. The land showed clearly on radar. We had no reefs or coral heads or sand-spits to worry about. It was a cinch. What a contrast to Los Roques! Anchoring was marred by one weird mishap. Somehow, the line to the anchor float got all snarled up and caught on the roller. Roy had to cut it to get it free, but he saved the float, and the rest of the line was still attached to the anchor, so it was no big deal. What a relief to be peacefully anchored in a sheltered location! Sometimes, cruising in a sailboat reminds me of the corny joke about the guy who kept hitting himself over the head with a hammer because it felt so good when he stopped. After a restful sleep, we awoke to a beautiful world. We were surrounded on three sides by densely wooded hills. To the northwest was the sea, flat and calm. In front of us were small beaches, a few tiny houses, and a blue trimaran. We relaxed and enjoyed a lazy day on the boat. We would have liked to go ashore but can't because we haven't cleared in yet. When Roy checked the fuel, we still had about thirty gallons in the tank plus another five in a jerry can. We decided to make El Morro de Barcelona, 85 miles away, our next stop. There's a fuel dock there, so we'll replenish our diesel supply and then go the remaining ninety miles to Isla Margarita. I plotted the course, and Roy replaced the alternator that had fried last night. We sure go through a lot of alternators.

Monday, October 16, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

We motorsailed all night, and then turned off the engine to conserve fuel and tried to sail southeast to Puerto Caranero. The wind was southeast, 10 to 15, so we had to go considerably west of our destination. Then we made a ninety-degree turn and tried to tack northeast to gain some easting, but after a couple of hours, we realized we were blowing northwest instead of northeast, so we turned southeast again and started the engine. This time, we were able to follow our course towards Puerto Caranero. The sky was overcast, and when darkness fell, the sky was brilliantly lighted by lightning. I was on watch shortly before eleven when the wind suddenly increased and shifted direction. The staysail was luffing badly, so I reduced speed. Roy immediately woke up and came up to the cockpit to find out what was wrong. I told him about the wind and the staysail. He started to bring in the staysail, forgetting that he had attached a cable to it to make it easy to shift from one side to the other. When he was unable to furl the sail, he remembered the cable and went out on the fore deck without his life-vest -- a major no-no. The wind was howling and the boat pitching and rolling. The loosened headsail was flagging like crazy, while Roy struggled to control it so he could remove the cable. I was scared to death he'd be knocked overboard or be seriously injured by the cable, but there was nothing I could do except stand there, holding the staysail sheet as Roy had told me to. He hadn't even realized that he didn't have his vest on when he went out there. He was plenty scared, too. Once he slipped and fell backwards, but somehow he eventually got the cable off and returned safely to the cockpit. Then he finished furling the staysail, put his life-vest on, and lowered the main. After that, the boat was much easier to control. While Roy was lowering the main, an alarm started going off. I didn't know if it was the radar alarm or the low-voltage alarm or the depth alarm or what, but I couldn't investigate because I had to hang on to the wheel. When Roy came back into the cockpit, he thought it was the depth alarm, but when he checked, that wasn't it. He went down to the main and checked a bunch of stuff but couldn't find the source of the alarm, so he took the wheel and told me to go below and see if I could find it. It turned out to be Roy's alarm clock!

Sunday, October 15, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

Got up at five again for our trip to Los Roques. The wind was rather strong, so I thought we should wait another day, but Roy wanted to leave, and he's the captain, so we left. Had to motor directly into the wind, which was blowing 15 to 20 knots. There were a lot of waves knocking us around, too. Consequently, we only made about three knots. It's about forty miles from Barlovento to Los Roques, but even though we had left at 6:30, the sun was setting by the time we were two miles from our destination, and it was inky black as we approached the anchorage. No moon. We were in 160 feet of water a quarter-mile from the beach. The wind was blowing like crazy, and waves were sloshing over the deck. I had to crawl out to the bow on my hands and knees to get the anchor ready. We knew there were reefs and coral heads and a sand-spit ahead of us, but we couldn't see them, not even on radar. It was just too hairy to attempt to go any farther in, so even though we were tired and would have loved to anchor for the night, we turned around and headed back out to sea. As soon as we were well clear of the islands, we turned southeast towards Isla Margarita. Our big worry was fuel. We had had to use more diesel than expected to get to Los Roques against the wind. Was there enough left to get us to Margarita? Around 11:30, Roy poured half-a-dozen jerry cans of diesel into the tank. That was a fun job with the boat bouncing all over the place. Quite a bit got spilled. We decided we had better head for the nearest port where we could get diesel, instead of taking the chance of plowing against the wind all the way to Isla Margarita, more than 200 miles away, or to Isla La Tortuga, 90 miles away. There are no towns or provisions on Tortuga. By then, the moon had risen and was shining brightly. Where had it been when we needed it? If it had been shining at Los Roques, we might have been able to reach the anchorage.

Saturday, October 14, 1995 - Venezula, Las Aves

This morning, another small plane came in and landed, followed shortly by the same plane that had been here yesterday. Then the cabin cruiser returned, and some more people were dinghied to the cruiser from the planes. I'm of the opinion that this is a legitimate chartering operation. Wealthy people fly here from mainland Venezuela to spend a day or two on the cruiser, fishing, swimming, snorkeling, whatever. Roy SCUBA'd for nearly an hour, while I walked around the point. Then Roy paddled ashore and walked with me. A pleasant, relaxing day.

Friday, October 13, 1995 - Venezula, Las Aves

Got up at five a.m., ate breakfast, and took off for Barlovento. We were able to sail for the first hour or so, but then we had to turn more into the wind, so the rest of the way was by motor. We lucked out on the weather once again. It was calm and beautiful. This is the way I like to cruise -- short, peaceful day-hops, followed by two or three days of rest. We'll have one more day-hop to Los Roques, but then we have to do an overnighter to Isla Margarita. Dropped anchor at Barlovento around 11:30. The sandpile here is larger than the one at Sotavento, but it's still pretty small. There are a lot of mangrove trees on it, though, and no palm trees. There are a great many birds here, including some that look a lot like boobies but more intelligent and far more adroit. They build their nests on the ground, the way boobies do, and lay one or two eggs, the size of hens' eggs, with shells that are blue or white or pale green. We saw scores of them sitting on their nests. They have large webbed feet like boobies, but they have no problem getting airborne. To our surprise, a small airplane flew over, circled around, and then landed. We wondered if there was a runway on this deserted pile of sand and if so, why? Several people got out of the plane with a lot of bundles. A dinghy took them to a cabin cruiser, which was the only boat besides ours anchored here. After a couple of hours, two people returned to the plane, and it took off. Roy and I paddled to the lovely beach of the same soft sand as at Sotavento. We walked over to the ramshackle huts and looked around. No one was there. Walked to the other side of this narrow island and could see across the lagoon to another island. Then we returned to the Royaks and paddled along the coast for about a mile. Landed again and walked some more. We could see where the plane had landed, but there was no runway; it had simply landed and taken off on the wild grass and pickleweed. Returned to the boat and snorkeled. Roy had to rearrange the chain, which was wrapped around two coral heads. He saw a lot of small fish but none big enough to eat and no lobster. Even though we're somewhat south of the ABC islands, it's slightly cooler here. Both the water and the air are cooler, especially in the evening. It's hard to believe we're in the tropics.

Thursday, October 12, 1995 - Venezula, Las Aves

Las Aves (the birds) are aptly named. Yesterday, the cutest little birdie flew on to our boat and hopped around. Today, he returned, and a slightly larger bird came, too. The larger bird walked right across the table while we were eating lunch! Then he made himself at home in a corner of the cockpit. I offered them some water and breadcrumbs, but they weren't interested. Roy put on his warm-water, lycra diving suit and went looking for lobsters but didn't see any. The only fish he saw were too small to eat, so we had canned salmon for supper. Several decades ago, a tanker, a coastal freighter, and a 65-foot schooner went aground on the windward side of the reef. We could see them (we thought) in the distance from the boat. We marveled that the schooner was still upright; we could see her mast perfectly vertical. We were puzzled that we could only see one mast; a schooner should have at least two. Also, the wrecks were in a different order than shown on the chart. We decided to paddle over to them and check them out. As we got closer to the "schooner", the mystery was solved. What we saw wasn't a wrecked schooner at all, but a perfectly intact sloop that some brave soul had brought into the lagoon. The water's plenty deep enough once you get past the coral heads at the entrance. Someone who knows what he's doing and keeps a sharp lookout could easily thread his way into the lagoon, but neither Roy nor I has the slightest desire to try it. We've had enough hair-raising adventures. Now we just want to stay alive and keep Jofian in decent condition until we can sell her. The latter isn't as easy as it sounds; something is always in need of repair or replacement. Now the mizzen mast has cracked open on two sides. It will have to be rebuilt when we get to Trinidad. That will be a long, expensive job. We just hope it doesn't break in two before we get there. When we got out to the sloop, we could see a remnant of a hull on the reef in the distance, so we paddled over to it. It looked the way we would expect a thirty-year-old wreck to look. The masts and rigging were gone. In fact, everything was gone except the battered remains of the hull. A colony of pelicans had set up residence there. We decided the tanker and freighter were too for away, so we returned to the boat. On the way, I went along the coast of the island to the south of Lighthouse Island. It had a bedraggled shack on it, and three recreational fishing boats and two commercial fishing boats were anchored on the other side, but otherwise it was just as desolate as Lighthouse Island.

Wednesday, October 11, 1995 - Venezula, Las Aves

By morning, the rain had stopped, but the wind was still blowing 15 to 20. It died down some in the afternoon, so we went paddling. However, the waves made it difficult to see what was under the water. There are a great many coral heads not far beneath the surface. If we hit one and spilled out of our Royaks onto the coral, it would be very painful, so instead of paddling farther, we pulled up on the lee side of Lighthouse Island. Walked almost the entire circumference. The sand was the finest we've ever walked on. Not the least bit gritty. No shells or pebbles. It felt so good to our bare foofies. We swam in a little pool near a point. No rocks or coral to step on, and the water temperature was just right. One of the other sailboats left for Bonaire this morning. Bet they blew there in a hurry. Four commercial fishing boats came in and anchored off the next island south. How good not to be itching and scratching!

Tuesday, October 10, 1995 - Venezula, Las Aves

Got up at quarter to five and left at twenty to six. The people next to us took their boat out, so we had plenty of room. There was no wind at all, so it was a cinch to leave. Within half an hour, the sun came up. We couldn't have asked for a nicer day. We made close to six knots all the way to Las Aves. Usually, we'd have been fighting a 15 knot headwind, but there was scarcely any breeze at all today. There were some swells coming in from the northeast, but nothing Jofian couldn't take in stride. We reached the westernmost of the Aves at 2:40 and dropped anchor in sixteen feet of water. The water is so clear that we can look down and see the anchor lying on the bottom. The Aves (birds) consist of two groups: Sotavento and Barlovento. Each group has a number of sandpiles poking up out of the water, connected by miles of reefs, and numerous coral heads. Guess you'd call them atolls. The only vegetation is the kind you usually find at any beach plus an occasional rare palm tree. The place looks totally uninhabited, yet we hadn't been here ten minutes until a panga arrived with two local fishermen. They held up two large fish and offered to sell them for six dollars. That was more fish than we could eat, so we offered three dollars for one. They seemed to agree to that. When we dug out our dollars, we found we had a five and two ones. The fishermen didn't have change for a five, so we offered the two ones for the smaller of the two fish. Then, to our surprise, one of the fishermen asked for twenty dollars! We couldn't figure that one out. Even though my Spanish is terribly rusty, I can certainly hear the difference between "seis" or "tres" and "veinte". They don't sound the least bit alike. Anyway, that ended the fish deal. I said, "Demasiado" (too much), and they left. The Aves belong to Venezuela. No more Papiamento or Dutch. I have to learn Spanish all over again. We're in Venezuela! There are four other sailboats anchored here. We're directly in front of Lighthouse Island. The lighthouse is actually a metal structure with a solar-powered light on top of it. It works. The day was still sunny, calm, and beautiful. Roy dove on the perry-nut zinc and saw that it was completely gone (electrolysis eats up the zincs), so he replaced it. He had had the foresight to buy half a dozen zincs when we were in Florida. I paddled to the backside of Lighthouse Island, and Roy paddled to the front, where there were some people who spoke Norwegian, so the conversation was rather limited. I swam and snorkeled for a while. Saw some beautiful purple fish by a coral head. Roy paddled to another nearby island and then swam all the way to the boat, pulling his Royak! It must have been at least a mile. Glory be, there are no mosquitoes or no-seeums here! What a relief! We were able to sit out on the deck in the evening and enjoy. The air was surprisingly cool. The eastern sky was filled with huge black clouds. Lightning kept flashing in back of them, outlining them starkly. About eleven o'clock, the storm reached us. The rain poured down and the wind howled. Roy closed the hatches and put up the side curtains. I closed the portholes. We were sure lucky to have gotten here and snugly anchored before the storm hit. If it had hit while we were en route, we might have blown all the way back to Bonaire.

Monday, October 9, 1995 - Bonaire

Tropical storm Pablo has broken up and is down to 30 knots, so it looks as if we might have a good chance of getting out of here tomorrow. The wind here will be northeast, 10 to 15 knots. Rode our bikes downtown to the post office. Mailed a letter and checked for mail, of which there was none. Left a forwarding address. Cleared out at Immigration and Customs. Now we're all set. We can leave whenever we want to. For our last day in Bonaire, we biked all around the southern end of the island. It's very flat and low. We went by the salt flats, where they let salt water in from the sea, evaporate it in the hot sun, and scoop up the remaining salt. They harvest the salt twice a year. There were huge piles of the stuff, looking like mountains of snow. A long conveyor belt carries it to waiting ships. During the 19th century, salt, aloe, and goat meat were the major exports of Bonaire. Now salt is still the major export, but it now plays a minor role in the island economy; tourism is the main source of income. There were three obelisks that had been used to guide the sailing ships to the salt dock. The first one was white, the next pink, and the third blue. (Actually, they were tan, red, and blue, but the guide books say white, pink, and blue, so who am I to argue?) We saw a number of slave huts that had been built in the 1850's. The slaves actually lived in Rincon, but that was too far for them to go home every night, so they slept in these tiny huts and just went home weekends. Each hut was large enough for about four people to sleep on the floor. The walls were thick, so they stayed comfortably cool. There was a window at one end of each hut, and a small door opposite it. The door was only about three feet high, so you had to crawl in and out. We reached the southernmost point of Bonaire and Willemstoren light. The lighthouse still functions, but is no longer manned. The door was hanging by one hinge. Roy had no trouble opening it. The ladders were in excellent condition. We climbed all the way to the top and enjoyed a terrific view. A few more miles, and we came to Lac Baai. It's on the windward side of the island, but is protected by a long reef, so there are no waves in the bay. It's an excellent place for windsurfing. We were both very thirsty, so we stopped at a windsurfing place that had a refreshment stand. Roy drank two Pepsis and two glasses of water. I drank a bottle of orange juice and some of Roy's water. When we got back to Kralendijk, we ate some delicious ice cream. Then Roy pedaled back to the boat to get his backpack. I checked some money out of an ATM and then bought a bunch of groceries. Roy met me at the supermarket and carried most of the stuff back in his backpack. Another boat had rafted to our port side. The people are very nice. Roy arranged with them to let us out of here early tomorrow.

Sunday, October 8, 1995 - Bonaire

Poor Roy spent almost the entire day replacing the bilge-pump switch. It was a hot, dirty, miserable job. He had to remove one door and part of the floor. In order to see the switch, he had to practically stand on his head in the bilge. The worst part was his glasses kept slipping down, so he couldn't see. The poor guy was so disgusted he said he was "ready to sell Jofian for a nickel." When I learned of his plight, I gave him an adjustable, elastic glasses strap. That held his glasses in place, and he was able to finish the job in an hour or so. I had paddled to Klein Bonaire in the morning, put on my blue jeans and thick-soled shoes, and plowed through the bushes to the old house we had seen a few days ago. From a distance, it had appeared to be two storeys high, but up close, it was only one storey. It had been sturdily built of stone and brick and cement. The corrugated metal roof had blown off a long time ago. The windows and doors were gone. There were three or four rooms. The kitchen had a fireplace with a nice brick oven. Out back was another structure that had probably been a storehouse. There was even a long stone wall and an enclosure that had probably held goats. Someone had put a great deal of time and effort into building the place. It must have been someone who really valued privacy; he had the whole desolate island to himself. There had to have been some sort of road at one time to bring in all those materials, but there was no vestige of it left, so I had to wade through the bushes again on the way back to the shore. When I got back to the boat, I was surprised to see it was quarter to three and Roy was gone. I ate lunch and was just getting ready to leave again when Roy returned. That was when he told me about the problem he was having with his glasses, and I gave him the strap. Then I paddled up to the desalinization plant and back. Stopped at a small, deserted beach nearby and went for a little swim. There wasn't a sign of a fish, but to my amazement, as soon as I put my snorkel mask on, there were fish all over the place. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all different shapes and sizes and colors. Bright purple and yellow and blue and orange and pink and green. They were beautiful. Others were almost completely colorless; they looked transparent. I was feeling sorry for Roy, having to do all that work and not getting to enjoy his retirement, when all of a sudden he came paddling up! He had finished installing the new switch and was enjoying the hour or so left of the day. We snorkeled together and had a lot of fun. It was fascinating to watch Roy go diving way down. I knew he did it, but actually seeing him was something else. He looked so graceful, like a big fish.

Saturday, October 7, 1995 - Bonaire

Roy turned the boat around and we moved to our new location, rafted to a 34-foot sloop named Tango. And our small world got still smaller. Turned out Tango is the boat our friendly tour guide, Gerry, sailed here in. It now belongs to his ex-wife, who runs the canvas shop where Roy got his bike bag repaired a few days ago. She came by in the evening and was glad to see us next to her boat. She recognized Roy right away and conversed with him. Roy said something about their sailing around the world, and she said that wasn't so. Gerry had never sailed around the world. He had made two trips across the Atlantic, and that was it. Sounds as if our talkative guide embellished a wee mite. The only other exciting thing that happened today was my pushing the blue wagon downtown to the laundromat and getting all our dirty clothes washed. Tropical storm Pablo is forming in the Atlantic, so we'll stay here until it's well out of our way.

Friday, October 6, 1995 - Bonaire

We were ready for the tour bus when it arrived. It turned out to be a van, since there were only two other people going. There was no sense taking a big bus for only four people. The driver was a German engineer named Gerry. He was quite a character and very talkative. He had sailed around the world. When he arrived in Bonaire six years ago, he fell in love with the place and has been here ever since. He worked for a while as manager of a local company. Now he's working on a project to map all the roads on the island. He's taking care of three expensive houses and living in them, so he has no housing expense. He drives the tour buses occasionally when they need him. He speaks seven languages fluently! In addition to German and English, he speaks Papiamento, Dutch, French, Spanish, and Italian. Wow! He said it was very easy to pick up Papiamento and Dutch, since the languages he already knew were similar. They just seemed like additional dialects. Of course, he was tickled pink to converse in his native language with the German passengers. Not many German tourists come here, so he doesn't often have an opportunity to speak German. He gave us an excellent tour. Ironically, on our way to the park, we went out the very road that Roy and I had ridden our bikes along yesterday, but even though it was a lot easier in the van, we were glad we'd gone there by bike. We'd seen a lot more and enjoyed it a lot more. What had taken us an hour or two, the van covered in a matter of minutes. The van did stop at Thousand Steps, however, which we'd gone by yesterday without stopping, thinking we'd stop there on our way back. There were actually 72 steps, which went down to the coral-strewn beach. They'd been built about fifty years ago by the radio station, whose towers were right across the road. The driver also took us to the observation point for the flamingos at Goto Meer. Just past there, we stopped briefly at a place called Dos Pos (Two Wells). Some men were working there. One of them gave Gerry two scrawny black kittens. There was an interesting little museum at the entrance to the park. Many of the fences on these islands are made of cactus, and Roy and I had been wondering how the people of long ago had made the cactus fences without being stuck by the needles. The museum had a series of photographs showing exactly how it was done. The people had used two sticks, called Chi and Cha. The Cha was forked like a Y, and the Chi was hook-shaped. These were natural formations that they found; they weren't shaped by people. The Chi and Cha were used to hold the cactus while it was being cut by a machete and to carry it to where they wanted to plant it, so the people never came in contact with the needles. The park itself was mainly cactus and sali¤as. We stopped at a cove on the northeast side and watched the waves crashing in. It was magnificent! We also stopped at a couple of coves on the western (lee) side, where the water was calm. Saw some large iguanas, and Roy took some pictures. On the way back, we went down the same highway we'd limped along with our bikes last night. It seemed a lot different in the van. To my delight, Gerry even took us up to the observation point I'd gone to yesterday morning, so Roy got to see it, too. He was impressed. When we got back to the marina, we were happy to learn that they weren't going to move us until tomorrow morning. That makes life a lot simpler, since we planned on going downtown this afternoon to clear out. Also, it was very windy today, so it wasn't the greatest time to move the boat. Someone had left five copies of Port Call in the cockpit. My article about the arrest on Klein Cura‡ao was in it. George had also returned my diskette with the bus article on it. He left me a copy of the printed article, which even had my by-line. Unfortunately, he had misspelled Clare. The Sundowner, which had been next to us in Spanish Water, arrived here today and docked next to us. And on the other side of Sundowner is a boat that had been at Peak's Island, Maine, when we were there summer before last. The couple on it remembered us. Small world. Gerry had told us there had been an article a couple of days ago in the local papiamento newspaper about the arrest we had witnessed, so I phoned the paper to see if they'd be interested in Roy's pictures, but they weren't. They said it had turned out to be a legitimate shipment, all the men had been released, and the boat had been returned to the owner. Yeah, right. Legitimate shipments are always made with 900-horsepower speed boats. And you always go from Aruba to Venezuela by way of Klein Cura‡ao. Sure you do. My tire was flat as a pancake today. It's a thousand wonders that thing got me home last night. I thought I'd have to walk it to a bike shop, but Roy aired it up, and to both our surprise, it got me downtown. When we got to Immigration, they said we couldn't clear out today for Sunday; we have to do it within 24 hours of leaving. Took my bike to a bike shop, and they replaced the inner tube in a few minutes. To my amazement, they only charged 2.50 florins for the labor! That's about $1.25! If it took five minutes (and it probably took longer), that's only $15 an hour. I don't see how they stay in business. It sure felt good to have air in my tire again. Went to an ATM and got some more loot. Then we went to the super market and bought as much stuff as we could carry. The evening was balmy and lovely, with a bright full moon. After supper, we went for a pleasant stroll, and Roy treated me to orange sherbet at the ice cream shop.

Thursday, October 5, 1995 - Bonaire

I typed up the story of our bus trip and copied it to diskette. We planned on dropping it off at George's house this afternoon, but by luck, Laura came by the marina, so I gave it to her. We went over to the office after breakfast to straighten out the situation in regard to staying here or getting a refund. The weather forecast had predicted 15 to 20 knot winds this weekend, so we need to stay until that dies down. The bookkeeper came out and was arguing that we had paid the correct amount, but she made our case for us when she said we were paid until noon on the eighth. That was exactly what I had been saying. The upshot of the whole thing was that they're going to put an engineless sailboat called La Tortuga in the corner of the dock near the office, and then they'll raft us to it. We can stay there until Sunday, and they won't charge us anything extra. They're going to move us tomorrow afternoon. Roy spent the rest of the morning working on the bilge-pump problem (a hot, messy, unpleasant job.) He concluded that the pump itself is ok; the problem is in the switch. He has a spare switch that he bought at West Marine several years ago for $60, but now he has two more problems: the switch case is cracked, and the old switch is well-nigh inaccessible, being behind the engine and the transmission. As usual, I contributed my part by staying out of his hair. Rode my bike to a place shown on the map as an Observation Point. It was outstanding! Far better than I had hoped for. It was about 300 feet above sea level, so it was quite a climb, but it was worth it. I could see the entire southern portion of the island and much of the east coast. Could see the salt flats and the big piles of salt. Had a terrific view of Klein Bonaire. We should have gone around the southern point instead of the northern. I spent about an hour up there, enjoying the view. There were even nice benches to sit on in the shade. I kept wishing Roy could have come up there, too. Got back to the boat at one o'clock. Roy was still down in the engine compartment, all hot and greasy. I talked him into knocking off for the rest of the day. We ate lunch and then went on the bike ride we had planned. Rode along the coast on a narrow, scenic, little-traveled road. There were a lot of dive sites with parking areas, and we saw a number of people getting ready to dive or just finishing. Came to what had originally been a Landhuis (plantation house). In 1980, it had been restored and put to use as a marine-research lab. Unfortunately, they had apparently run out of funds, and it's now vacant and deteriorating again. The road was one-way, so we were going to have to return by way of Rincon, which was ok, because it was shorter. We had traveled more than 20 kilometers by the time we reached Goto Meer, a large, lovely lake that's a flamingo sanctuary. Flamingos fly over here from Venezuela to feed on the brine shrimp. We saw seven flamingos on the other side of the lake, so we looked at them for a while through our binoculars. Then we rode on to a fairly high observation point. From there, we could see hundreds of flamingos. It was breathtaking. Up until then, it had been an absolutely perfect ride. Unfortu- nately, my rear tire developed a slow leak. What a place for that to happen! We had 17 kilometers to go, and it was late in the day. I had to stop every couple of miles to air up the tire. We knew it would be dark before we got back, and we don't have lights on our bikes, because we never ride at night, heh, heh, heh. To make matters worse, I missed the turn for the shortcut that would have saved about five kilometers, so we ended up coming back the long way on the highway with all the traffic. As long as it was daylight, we enjoyed it, because we were going along the east coast, and it was scenic. We even saw four wild donkeys, who seemed to be as much interested in watching us as we were in watching them. They ran along parallel to us for a mile or so. Maybe they'd never seen bicycles before. I kept wishing I could grab two of the donkeys and load my bicycle on one of them. Then I'd get on the other and ride back to the marina. But soon the sun went down, the moon was obscured by clouds, it was pitchy dark, and we could scarcely see the road. On the positive side, the tire did stay up for two or three miles between fillings, and Roy had brought a small flashlight with him. Without that light, we wouldn't have made it. If my tire had gone completely flat, we wouldn't have made it. We were still a good five miles from the marina when it got totally dark. That was the worst stretch. There was no shoulder to speak of, and approaching cars kept shining their bright lights in our eyes, nearly blinding us. What a relief when we finally reached Noord di Sali¤a! It's a good thing I had gone there this morning so I knew where to turn. As soon as we reached the traffic circle near the marina, we made a bee-line to an ice cream parlor. Drank ten gallons of water and ate dishes of delicious ice cream. How good to be safe and comfortable and only a block from the marina!

Wednesday, October 4, 1995 - Bonaire

Everything went right today. We got our Venezuelan visas, no problem. The ATM gave us some money. We even managed to catch one of the elusive autobuses and go for a ride. There's a pleasant little plaza in the center of town with a Bushalte sign and several shaded benches, so we sat there and waited about half an hour. Most of the autobuses here do not have signs, but you can recognize them by the letters "AB" on their license plates. Several buses went by, but none of them stopped, even when I waved. Finally, we realized they were going around the corner and stopping across the street from the Cultimara Supermarket. There's no Bushalte sign there, so the logic escapes me, but apparently all the locals know that's the place to catch the bus. We walked over there and found two autobuses. One was already full, so we got on the other, which had four or five passengers in it. The driver knew about as much English as we know Papiamento. Luckily, one of the passengers was able to act as interpreter. The driver wanted to know where we were going. I said we weren't going anyplace in particular; we just wanted to ride around and see some of the island. The interpreter told us we couldn't do that; we had to have a destination, so I said, "Rincon." The interpreter told us the bus didn't go to Rincon; it went to Noord di Sali¤a. Immediately, I said we were going to Noord di Sali¤a. That satisfied the driver, and we took off. The fare was six guilders round trip for the two of us, which was reasonable enough. We went out through the suburb of Antriol to Noord di Sali¤a, sometimes on dirt roads but usually on paved. The driver dropped the passengers right on their doorsteps. When there was only one passenger besides us, the driver headed in the direction of Lac Bay and the airport. We were quite close to the lagoon we'd paddled to yesterday and could see some of the buildings. On the way back to Kralendijk, we went past the rice-processing plant. Also saw the laundromat I'd found a few days ago but never got around to taking the dirty clothes to. The driver dropped us off at the Police Station, where we'd left our bikes for security. After lunch, we paddled over to Klein Bonaire (Little Bonaire), a flat, uninhabited island about a mile from the marina. Pulled our Royaks up on a shred of a beach and walked around. Found a fairly well-built fisherman's shelter. Saw a house in the distance that we would have liked to explore, but there were no roads or paths, and walking through the prickly bushes and cacti in sandals and swimsuits didn't appeal to us. Maybe we'll come back sometime with blue jeans, hiking boots, and long-sleeved shirts. Paddled a little farther and found a better beach, so we went for a swim. Roy snorkeled. He told me the shelf went out maybe a hundred feet and then dropped down so deep he couldn't even begin to see the bottom. The water here is wonderfully clear. There are lots of elkhorn corals, some poking above the surface of the water. Of course, there are lots of other types of coral, too. We paddled some more and found an even better and larger beach. The sand was soft as silk. This beach was obviously used as a picnic area by divers; there were several shelters and a barbecue pit. Roy and I both snorkeled here. I was amazed by what I could see with the mask on. Hundreds of little fish swam innocently around me, as if I were a normal part of their environment. Two fish about a foot long swam by so close, I could almost touch them. A strange-looking fish that resembled a seahorse came right up to me to check me out. Of course, I could also see a great deal of coral of various kinds, and I could look right over the edge that Roy had told me about. He free dived down it about thirty feet but still couldn't see the bottom. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to paddle back against the wind, but it turned out to be easier than I had expected. In fact, it was fun. What a neat day!

Tuesday, October 3, 1995 - Bonaire

Roy took his bicycle bag to a canvas shop to have the corroded zipper replaced by velcro. Then he tried to take his bike to a shop for repairs, but couldn't find a bicycle shop. Bill didn't come by last night or this morning, so I phoned Norman again and found out Bill is on vacation in Holland. Terrific. Norman is trying to find someone else on Bonaire to look at the pictures. He'll leave a message for us at the marina office if he finds someone. It's a good thing we started early on the visa application; it's going to take still another day. This morning, a very pleasant young lady, who spoke flawless English, took my application. She gave me a form to fax to Isla Margarita and told me to return tomorrow. I went to TELBO (the phone company) and sent the fax. Went to the Post Office and mailed another letter. Tried to get some more money at an ATM. Believe it or not, the lines are down again! I'm lucky I was able to get some money the other day. At one o'clock, like everyone else in the world, we watched the CNN telecast of the Simpson verdicts. The picture came in just as sharp and clear as if we'd been parked next to the courthouse. Roy said the verdict was what he'd expected, but I was surprised; I thought he'd be convicted of second-degree murder. I guess the evidence just wasn't substantial enough. The prosecution certainly did a crummy job. We spent the rest of the afternoon paddling our Royaks. Had a great time. Went way up to a lagoon near the airport. A really nice, expensive development of condos or time-shares is going in there. Only a tiny fraction of the area has been completed. The lagoon is huge; it seems to go on forever. They'll be able to continue building for thirty years. I paddled around every cove in the lagoon, but Roy gave up and left after about the tenth. This island is so beautiful. It's a shame we couldn't have left Cura‡ao sooner so we'd have more time here. There's so much we want to see and do. Some of the best diving in the world is right here. Roy bought our admission tags to the Underwater Marine Park. The tags are good for a year, but we'll only get to use them for a couple of days. The International Regatta starts Sunday, so we have to be out of here before then.

Monday, October 2, 1995 - Bonaire

Went to the Venezuelan Consulate to try to get our visas. Had no problem finding the place, but the door was locked. I knocked and knocked. Someone inside said something in Spanish that I couldn't understand. After I'd knocked for about five minutes, he finally opened the door. Another man took my application. He needed the original of our boat registration renewal. I had a copy but didn't seem to have the original. (Actually, I did have it but didn't recognize it.) The visas are $30 each. He gave me a form to take to the bank and deposit the money. He told me to bring back the receipt and the original of the registration renewal. Went to the bank and deposited the $60. Then I mailed a letter at the Post Office and went to the super market for vegetables and chicken. Returned to the boat and put the groceries away. Our flag halyard had broken yesterday, so Roy replaced it with a new one. Looks much better. Something told me to turn on the VHF in case someone was trying to call us. I'd no sooner turned it on, than I heard, "Jofian. Maruba." It was Don, calling to give us the name and phone number of a reporter in Cura‡ao who was very much interested in the pictures. Roy and I walked over to the hotel and phoned him. He knew of the case. Told me they hadn't been smuggling drugs but had an illegal load of whiskey and cigarettes. Two were still in jail, but the other four had been set free. The reporter, whose name was Norman, was still interested in the pictures. He gave us the name and phone number of his associate in Bonaire, but when I tried to phone the associate, all I got was a fax machine. I called Norman back, and he said he'd keep trying to contact Bill and have him come out to the boat this evening or tomorrow morning. After lunch, Roy and I went back down to the Venezuelan Consulate, but this time no one answered the door. We stopped at Bonaire Tours and made reservations for a half-day tour of Washington-Slagbaai Park this Friday. Then we went to the super market and bought a few more things. Roy returned to the boat, and I went to the Tourist Information Office to try to get a bus schedule. Found out the only buses on this island are private minibuses, and they don't run on anything resembling a schedule. You just wait at a bushalte until one comes along. Maybe we'll try to go for a ride while we're here.

Sunday, October 1, 1995 - Bonaire

Roy had a lot of work to do on the boat, including changing the oil, so I rode my bike downtown. Everything was closed, of course, but I located a laundromat that looked good through the windows. It's about a mile-and-a-half from the boat. I can either walk there pulling the blue wagon or I can put the laundry in my Royak, paddle to within two blocks of it, and walk the rest of the way. I checked the shoreline and found a small spot between the rocks where I can pull up my Royak. There's even an ancient bollard to tie to. When I returned to the boat, Roy was still in the engine compart- ment but hadn't gotten much done, because Don had come by and talked with him some more. Don is very enthusiastic about the pictures. He and Roy contacted George on the VHF. George said he would come to the boat around noon. George showed up as scheduled. He's very pleasant and knowledge- able. He was an engineer for IBM for twenty years, part of which time he worked in San Jose! After leaving IBM, he worked in Washington, DC, as an independent consultant. Then he chucked it all to go sailing. He and his wife Laura settled in Bonaire a couple of years ago and have been chartering their boat. After living on their boat for ten years, they have just moved to a new house (he calls it a bungalow) on land. They are SSCA commodores, but will now have to become rear commodores. (Commodores have to live on their boat.) George was very much interested in the pictures and the story. He knows a newspaperman named Linkels who has contacts in Cura‡ao and might be able to get the rest of the story from the police. That's what we really need to know; otherwise, it's nothing but speculation. George asked me to write up the story as we know it and bring the diskette to his house this afternoon. He also picked out two of the best pictures and took them with him to reproduce. After lunch, I wrote the story in newspaper style and copied it to diskette. Then Roy and I got on our bikes and rode about four miles to George and Laura's house. It is a beautiful, modern, tile-floored "bungalow" with a panaromic view of the water, the western shore of Bonaire, and Klein Bonaire. They have a long-haired dachshund puppy named Trixie and a small parrot named Oscar. Oscar loves to be played with and petted. We sat on their patio overlooking the sea and talked for quite a while. Then George took us into his computer room. He has all this terrific new equipment, of course, including a gigabyte hard-disk, CD ROMs, and WINDOWS 95. I drooled with envy. WINDOWS 95 was able to reproduce the photographs and manipulate them in various ways to make them even more outstanding. It's astonishing. George is going to use two of Roy's pictures and my story in the next issue of Port Call. He made several unsuccessful attempts to phone Mr. Linkels. He'll continue trying. Laura told us that the teensy weensy flies that keep biting us are no-see-ums. We should have known. No wonder they drive us crazy. When we left, Trixie got loose and followed Roy about a mile down the road. I was afraid the little doggie wouldn't be able to find her way home, so I kept whistling and calling. Eventually, she turned around and followed me back to the house. George and Laura were overjoyed to see her. They had been looking for her and were about to launch an exhaustive search. They thanked me profusely.

Saturday, September 30, 1995 - Bonaire

Talk about serendipity! Two or three months ago, when Roy was in California and I was in Aruba, I tuned in the Breakfast Club on short- wave just to see if it would come in. To my amazement, it came in loud and clear. Of course, it was freak reception; I haven't been able to get it since. I talked with people in San Blas and Belize. A man named Bill on the Mad Hatter asked me to say "Hi!" to Don on the Maruba. Bill thought the Maruba was in Aruba, but I didn't see it. Yesterday evening, I just happened to notice her, tied to a slip not far from ours! This morning, I saw the skipper getting off her, so I walked over to him and said, "Hi, Maruba!" He looked a little puzzled until I explained the situation. He remembered Bill and the Mad Hatter and was glad to hear from him. Don has lived on his boat here in Bonaire for two years, so he really knows the area and was able to give us a lot of really valuable information. He told us that Customs is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, but they've moved to a new building. I had gone to the old building, which of course was closed. He also told us that when Immigration is closed, we can clear in at the Police station. So now we'll be able to get cleared in today instead of having to wait until Monday morning. Roy talked with Don about his pictures of the supposed drug bust we witnessed on Klein Cura‡ao. Roy still hopes to sell them to a newspaper or magazine. Don advised Roy to contact George of Oscarina on VHF channel 77. George publishes and distributes a free weekly newspaper called "Port Call", so he might have contacts that would be interested. Roy and I put my bicycle together. It's been months and months since we've been able to use them. Roy hadn't been able to unzip his bag and had had to cut it open, but mine unzipped right away. This island is going to be a great place to ride our bikes. There's very little traffic, the land is flat, and the drivers don't zoom around like maniacs, the way they did in Cura‡ao and Aruba. I was scared to cross the street in those places. We went over to the office and convinced them they had overcharged us by one day. Just as they were about to refund our $22, Roy piped up and said we could stay another day if space is available. They want us to check back Tuesday or Wednesday, when they'll have a better idea what the regatta situation is. They might be able to let us stay one more day. If not, they'll refund our money. I hope they don't have a place for us; I want to get out of here before the regatta starts. We'd have to spend half that extra day moving to another slip anyway, so why bother? Roy and his big mouth! We rode downtown, and Roy left a roll of film at a one-hour developing place. Then we rode out to the new Customs building. It was all locked up, but as I was peering through the glass door, a Customs officer opened it. He was as courteous and nice as could be. Took us upstairs and cleared us in. There's a law here that you have to leave your spearguns with Customs all the time you're in Bonaire, but he never even asked if we had any spearguns, and of course we didn't bring it up. Next, we went to the Police station and cleared in there, so now we're all legal and can go wherever we want to. The Police officer was very pleasant and courteous, also. Wished us a pleasant stay. Got another $300 from the ATM. Then we returned to the photo place to get Roy's pictures. The shots of the drug bust came out good, so now he wants to finish the other roll and get it developed. He's hoping he can sell the pictures to a newspaper or TV station. There's no McDonald's or Burger King here, but there is a Kentucky Fried, so that's where we ate lunch. Then we returned to the boat, so Roy could get his camera and finish the roll. I took down the quarantine flag and raised the Bonaire courtesy flag. Roy took a couple of snaps of my doing that. He also took some pictures of the boat and the bicycles. Then we rode out in the country a little ways, and he took a few more pictures. He'll finish the roll downtown. We saw an ice cream shop, so we had desert. Roy went downtown to get his film developed, and I returned to the boat. Had a few bad moments when I thought the refrigerator had quit. It wasn't running, and was up to 70 degrees. Roy had turned on both the AC and DC circuit breakers for the refrigerator, because the AC had blown twice yesterday afternoon, and he wanted to be sure the DC would take over if the AC went off again. Neither the DC nor the AC ammeter showed any juice being used. I turned up the temperature control, but nothing happened. Then, as an experiment, I turned off the AC circuit breaker. Immediately, the refrigerator came on! What a relief! When Roy got back, he figured out that the refrigerator wouldn't run on AC, because it was plugged into the timer, and the electricity here is 50 Hertz instead of 60, so the timer is messed up like the electric clocks. He plugged it in without the timer and got it to work on either AC or DC.

Friday, September 29, 1995 - Bonaire

Bonaire! We got up at five again, ate breakfast, raised the anchor, and took off. We didn't have to scrub the chain this time, because the bottom is clean sand. It was another beautiful day. We were able to motorsail nearly the entire way, and for an hour or so, we were able to turn off the engine and sail peacefully. Lovely! Reached Bonaire around noon and went to the Harbor Village Marina. We were lucky to get a slip, because there's a regatta coming up in a week or so, so the place is crowded. We have to leave the morning of the seventh, but in the meantime, it's good to be tied to a dock. We can go ashore any time we want to without climbing over big pipes. We have dockside electricity. It's only 15 amps, but it beats having to run the engine to cook. Unfortunately, Roy has discovered that the battery charger doesn't work, and the main bilge pump doesn't pump. So now he has two more projects. Just what he needed. When we were at the marina office, we forgot to ask about the restrooms and showers, and they forgot to tell us. The office is about the distance of two city blocks from the boat. Around three o'clock, I walked over there to find out where the restrooms and showers are. They told me, so I walked back to them, only to discover that the door to the women's room was locked. Back to the office. Oh yes, they'd forgotten to tell me. There was a $20 deposit required for the key. Back to the boat to get some money. Only had a 50-guilder note. Took that to the office. They said they didn't have any change, so they kept the whole thing. Anyway, I got the keys. And when I saw the restroom and showers, they were worth all the walking back and forth. Best we've had in years! Beautiful, large, tiled rooms, spotlessly clean, with three roomy shower stalls, plenty of pegs to hang our clothes on, and a nice big bench to sit on. We had asked about Customs when we first arrived. The woman in the office said she'd phone them and they'd come out to the boat, so we waited. And waited. I checked with her, and she said she hadn't phoned yet, but she'd do so right away. We waited. And waited. It was four o'clock, and they still hadn't phoned, so I walked downtown. Both Customs and Immigration were closed, so all our efforts to get here on a weekday were in vain. It wasn't a wasted trip, though, because I was able to get some much-needed cash from an ATM. The communications lines are now functioning, at least between Bonaire and the U.S. I also found an excellent supermarket. Best since Aruba. They have everything, including Parkay margarine, which we couldn't get at all in Cura‡ao, and our favorite oatmeal. The town itself is delightful. Small and clean, like a seaside resort town in the U.S. I bought a few groceries and headed back to the boat. In the meantime, Roy had put his bicycle together and was heading towards town, so we met en route. As soon as I got back, I enjoyed a long, blissful shower and shampoo in the nice, big shower room. I had suspected that we had been overcharged by a day, and when I checked the calendar, I knew we'd been overcharged, so now I have to get that straightened out.

Thursday, September 28, 1995 - Klein Curaco

Hooray, hooray! We're in Klein Cura‡ao! Got up at five a.m., ate breakfast, pulled up the remaining anchor, cleaned the chain, and took off. Got to the little island of Klein Cura‡ao at ten a.m. and dropped anchor in twenty feet of beautiful, clear blue water. This island is a little over a mile long and about half a mile wide. It is totally flat and barren. Three men live here in small, crude houses, without electricity, running water, or other luxuries. There is a fairly decent dock. Directly in front of the Jofian is an old, abandoned palapa. There are picnic tables and a large barbecue pit. In the center of the island stands an old lighthouse that is still in quite good condition. It is no longer manned, but the light is powered by a solar generator. Surprisingly, the buildings aren't boarded up. We were able to go in and look around. Climbed the spiral staircase and the ladders to the very top of the lighthouse. Could see the entire island and the water beyond. Could see Bonaire to the east and Cura‡ao five miles to the west. An old tanker was wrecked years ago on the windward side. The remains of its rusted hulk are still sitting there. The three men who live here were walking along the shore, gathering snails. We spoke to them briefly, but they knew about as much English as we do Papiamento. While we were walking around, a high-speed, thirty-foot powerboat, with four 225 HP motors, tied to the mooring buoy not far from Jofian. There were six scruffy looking men on it. One was transferring fuel from a large tank to the outboards. Roy said he saw one of them cleaning a rifle. He figured they had some sort of contraband on the boat. While we were eating lunch on Jofian, a helicopter flew over and began circling around. It came closer and closer, hovering right over the powerboat. Apparently, the people in the helicopter ordered the guys on the boat to go in to the shore. They took their boat up to the beach and waited. The helicopter landed a short distance away, and four policemen armed with automatic rifles jumped out. They rounded up the six men from the powerboat and searched them. Had them pull down their pants and lift up their shirts. Then they had them all sit on the beach. One officer went on the boat and searched. Apparently, he found something. The helicopter flew back to Cura‡ao and soon returned with four more police officers. Shortly afterwards, we saw a police boat approaching ninety-to-nothing. The six men made no move to resist. After about an hour, the officers moved them to the shade of the palapa. The police boat tied to the dock, and several more officers got off it. They searched some of the buildings, including the lighthouse. One officer carried a white package to the helicopter, and the helicopter took off. Two men and three officers got on the powerboat, and the other men pushed it off. Then the four on the beach were taken to the police boat, shackled together at their wrists. The police boat and the powerboat took off for Cura‡ao. We had a grandstand seat for the entire show. It was better than watching television. Roy took a bunch of pictures, which he hopes to sell to a newspaper. We napped for an hour or so and then went snorkeling and swimming. Saw thousands of fish. The water here is a little cooler than at Spanish Water. The air is delightful. And there aren't any mosquitoes! What a relief! They devoured us last night.

Wednesday, September 27, 1995 - Curaco

Caught the 8-o'clock bus. Ate breakfast at McDonald's. Then we went out to Napa Auto Parts and returned the alternator. They wouldn't refund Roy's money, but they gave him another alternator. Hope this one works. Had no problem getting cleared out, but we were told we needed the Harbor Master's permission to stop at Klein Cura‡ao, so we went up to his office. Had to wait about half an hour. When he finally came out, he apologized for keeping us waiting. Said we didn't need formal permission to go to Klein Cura‡ao. He said he'd phone the Harbor Police and let them know we're coming. Zoomed back to the bus terminal. Roy caught the bus by a cat's whisker. I went out to Centrum to get some vegetables and stuff. As usual, I bought too much and could hardly walk. Waited ten minutes for a bus, but they kept passing me by, so I decided I'd better walk a couple of blocks to a bus stop. As I was crossing the street, I saw a minibus stopped at a light, so I hopped on it without thinking. Took it for granted he was headed downtown, but he went in the other direction. But that was okay. It was too late for the 12:30 bus, so I had an hour-and-a-half wait for the next one anyway. It was pleasant sitting on a comfortable seat, taking a last look at the countryside here. Sure beat lugging fifty pounds of groceries in the blazing sun. When I got back downtown, I went to an ATM, thinking it would surely be working by now, but it wasn't! This is at least the fifth day. The people in the U.S. are probably saying it's Cura‡ao's problem, and the people in Cura‡ao are saying it's the responsibility of the U.S., so no one's doing anything. Picked up the papers at the Tourist Information Office, ate lunch at McDonald's, and caught the 2:30 bus back. Roy had already removed the awning, untied the stern line to the tree, picked up the port bow anchor, and cleaned the chains. I scraped the rest of the mud off the anchor. Then we paddled over to Sarifundy's and filled the water jugs. When we got back to the boat, Roy dived on the hull and cleaned the growth out of the through-hulls. He also tightened the perry nut. The he went back to Sarifundy's and bought ten meters of chain. Tomorrow we head to Klein Cura‡ao!

Tuesday, September 26, 1995 - Curaco

Roy leaped out of bed at 6:30, removed the alternator, and paddled over to meet the engineer. The engineer didn't know anything about the alternator, but he has a friend who repairs the things, so he's going to drive Roy over there at three this afternoon. I had to get some moolah today. I was down to my last two guilders, and Roy was in about the same shape. When I got to the ATM, the communication lines were still out of service! The teller I talked with didn't know what the problem was or when it would be fixed. I got an 800-guilder advance on my Mastercard. Walked to Jimmy's Electronics and bought the relay Roy wants. Bought a dozen eggs at the Super Jumbo. Grabbed a minivan to the Otrobanda bus terminal and then walked quickly to the Punda bus terminal. Caught the 11:30 bus back to Spanish Water. When the engineer's friend tested the alternator, he said it was no good, so now Roy has to return it. He's not going to fool with another one; we want to get out of here. We're already a week or more later that we wanted to leave.