Happy Holidays!

Dear friends and family,

We are on our way from Colombia, back to Panama and the San Blas. We had a great Thanksgiving celebration among fellow cruisers in the Bay of Cholon and we trust everyone of you had a blessed Thanksgiving day as well, remembering all we have to be thankful for. We wish all a wonderful upcoming holiday season and look forward to resuming our postings in the new year.

Love,

Pam and Bill

An Account of Our Adventures in Panama

Having sufficiently explored Cartagena, exhausted social possibilities of the cruising community, and replaced Songbird’s chain plates; we decided it was time to continue our journey to other ports of call. We had one final cleaning of Songbird’s hull, donated to other cruisers the 30 gallon trash cans we had used to ferry water to our boats, and with our friends on Lunasea, sailed 16 miles south to the Bay of Cholon.

It was a tight entrance into this anchorage but once inside, it opened up nicely to reveal a large harbor surrounded by mangroves. Although we had left the tight community of sailors in Cartagena, reinforced by the daily cruiser’s network, we soon found its Cholon equivalent in Robert, a US ex-patriot who has made his home there for many years. On a high hill overlooking the bay, his home, Eagle’s Nest, purchases. Down in the bay is his huge white Florida shrimp boat named Manatee. Shortly after dropping the hook, we heard Robert’s voice on the VHF announcing that Happy Hour would begin on the Manatee at 4 pm. We noted that he encouraged musicians to bring their instruments.

Not being isolationists, we partook of this opportunity and there met the owners of Makai, Kenny and Jesse. They charter their beautiful boat occasionally, usually to honeymooners, but what interested us most was Kenny’s keen appreciation of blues and the fact that he plays harmonica. Soon, Pam, Kenny and Bill were pooling their talents to perform for other boaters aboard Manatee and having a ball. What a perfect evening, to be high up on that fine old boat’s deck, getting to play good music and watching the sunset over the Caribbean.

Our next stop was not much more than moving around in the anchorage. We sailed to Isla Rosario, actually a cluster of three islands, a whopping two miles to the east. It was a pretty anchorage in clear water. On one of the two islands is a fantastic bird sanctuary, privately owned and open to the public. It was the finest collection of tropical birds any of us had ever seen, all lovingly cared for and healthy.

From there, we sailed about 30 miles south to San Bernardos, a small archipelago consisting mostly of two large islands that are nature conservancies with a very small, and odd, isle nestled in between. This is Islote, reputed to be the world’s most densely populated place. Virtually every square inch of the island is covered with multi-storied concrete buildings or the alleys in between them. We were later told by the author of a travel guide for Colombia that due to the shortage of living space, the men on the island rotate in three shifts: fishing, sleeping or drinking—at least, that’s what we were told. The island was originally developed as a sort of housing project for people living on the shore, being built on reclaimed land that was added to a small coral reef.

We continued south past the resort island of Isla Fuertes (where we met the travel book author) and, from there, did an overnight sail to small fishing village of Sapzurro. This gem is tucked under the shadow of verdant mountains and is completely inaccessible by road. Its pedestrian streets are lined by brightly painted houses and adorned by fragrant plantings of tropical flowers. It was also our first exposure to howler monkeys, which populate the mountains over the town. Sapzurro is on the most western part of Colombia. A short, but very vertical, hike takes on up a mountain to a military outpost guarding the border with Panama. This outpost is actually a thatched roof hut occupied by two soldiers, on Colombian and the other Panamanian. After writing your name in a book, you are allowed to walk down the other side into Panama. There we found a small village sporting a resort beach. While sitting in the shade of a sea-grape tree and cooling off with a Panamanian cervesa we met a charming fellow who spoke excellent English. When he told us of his resort business in the San Blas islands, we realized he a Kuna. Not only did he speak English, but was also fluent in Russian. It turns out he attended veterinarian school in Russia!

Having run out of Colombian money, we determined it was time to sail to Panama, where the currency is American dollars. Before entering this region, we knew little about it. Now we know that the northern shore of Panama, from the Colombian border to the Gulf of San Blas (located roughly on the northern-most part of Panama) is the semi-autonomous Kuna state, or Comarca de Kuna Yala. The offshore islands are called in Spanish, the San Blas Islands, but to the Kuna, who have their own language, the whole area is simply Kuna Yala. Our first foray into this tropical paradise was a little more exciting than we liked.

The wind was faint, so we were sailing with the assistance of our engine and just approaching a point of land that we wanted to round before dropping into our planned anchorage. It was then that a persistent beeping began emanating from the engine’s instrument panel. The temperature was OK, oil pressure good. What could it be? We opened the hatch to the engine room to discover what every boater dreads—the engine room (and thus much of the boat) was awash in seawater! A quick scan revealed that a 1 ¼ inch hose pumping water out of the engine had popped off. Therefore the engine had, for quite some time, been filling the boat with water. We shut down the engine, and Pam began manning the emergency manual pump while I brought Songbird about so that we were sailing away from land. Then I jumped into the cabin and began bailing water out of the bilge with a bucket. After a frantic 30 or 40 minutes, we had removed what must have been a thousand gallons of water (it was up to the inside of the cabin floor). I replaced the hose and fastened it with two new clamps and, saying a silent prayer, turned the ignition key. The engine started! With great relief, we continued our journey. Once anchored, Bill washed the whole engine room down with fresh water. The only casualty immediately experienced was the failure of the refrigerator to run. A printed circuit board had gotten wet. We cleaned it off and let it dry. After a couple of days, it began running again.

For the next few months, we sailed in Kuna Yala. It is a vast archipelago comprising over 300 islands, most of which are located between the mainland and long reefs between 5 and 15 miles off shore. This all makes for great sailing with fresh northerly winds and relatively flat waters. Many of the larger islands have Kuna villages on them, but interspersed are small uninhabited islands, little sandy- beached gems bearing small clusters of palm trees and grass.

The first significant Kuna village we saw was on the island of Caledonia (not its Kuna name). We were greeted by a very polite young man in a dugout canoe (ooluu). His name was John, and he spoke Spanish and a little English. He said he was a tour guide and was authorized to collect the nominal anchorage fee (he gave us a receipt and showed us a typed page containing the local rules (e.g., no boat sanding or painting, guests must be off the island at night unless invited, not giving candy to children). John also told us that the 82^nd annual celebration of the Kuna independence from Panama was approaching and said it would be appreciated if we flew a celebratory flag, which they happened to sell. “Of course,” we said and purchased one. It was three bands, red, yellow and red, in the middle of which was the symbol of independence, a swastika! Oh well, when in Rome….

We asked John if we could buy bread in his village and he offered to lead us ashore to find out. The village, typically, we were to learn later, consisted entirely of bamboo homes with thatched roofs. In the center of the village was a very large structure, a kind of town hall (called the Congressa). Here, the village has daily meetings conducted by the village chiefs (saihlas). Attendance by villagers is mandatory and all village business is done at this time. Ordinarily, this is the only building on the island that has electricity, mostly supplied by solar panels. The first stop for all guests on the island is to see one of the three saihlas who can be found lying in one of the three hammocks strung out for their benefit. The saihla we met asked a few polite questions by way of John (all communication with the saihlas is done through an intermediary) and, to our chagrin, asked if we had a gift for him. We found out that this is expected, but were assured that there was absolutely no problem if we did not have one. Nevertheless, we were embarrassed and later brought by some soap. Eventually we made our way to a small hut that had fresh warm bread. The loaves were either long and skinny or small round buns , and were delicious! The main thrill for us, though, was walking the small alleyways between the huts and knowing that this was a setting that had not changed for hundreds (thousands?) of years.

From here we sailed to Isla Pinos, an island that had been a favorite hangout of pirates (Henry Morgan) and privateers (Francis Drake), but one that also contains a significant Kuna village. Again, we were greeted by a guide, a particularly energetic young man named David, who could not do enough for us. Again, we went ashore, visited the saihla (with gift in hand), and were led by David at breakneck pace all through the settlement to find vegetables, more bread. David led us to his house where we met his wife, two children and his mother. He invited us to sit in the shade, but alas, he could only hold still for two or three minutes. Then we were off to a place where we could buy cervesa and molas, traditional “reverse appliqués” made by Kuna women. As we headed back to our dinghy, David invited to attend a luncheon the next day in honor of Kuna independence, to be followed by a big celebration in the Congressa that evening.

Next day, with two other sailing couples, we arrived for lunch at the appointed time and were led to the Congressa. There was a table that had been set up for us and we had a great meal with all three saihlas. As we waddled back to the dinghy dock, David said that if we wanted to arrive a few minutes early for the evening celebration, we could have our faces painted in the traditional manner.

So, just before sunset, we met David at the dock and we sprinted to the hut of his friend where we were to be adorned. Pam was first. David broke open some kind of fruit, the center of which was black and pasty. With a stick broken off from the roof of the hut, he painted a straight line down here nose, traditionally done for Kuna women, and then made little designs on each cheek, again, a swastika. Okay…. All six of us were painted, and thus decorated, we strode off to the Congressa. The huge hut was full of people, women on one side, and men on the other. Off to the side of the men were four or five “important people” all wearing red T-shirts, sitting around sharing a pipe. When it was time for the celebration to begin, these guys arose and did a loud dance, which culminated in their being served Chi-che out of calabash bowls. The Chi-che, a fermented beverage made from sugar cane, cocoa, coffee and ginger, was made about two weeks earlier, especially for this event. It is about the only alcoholic beverage traditional Kuna drink and its consumption is strictly linked to celebrations sanctioned by the saihlas. It seemed to be having a marked effect on our Kuna friends. Once the important people had been served, they became the servers for all the other men. There was a bench that was a kind of bull pen. While one group was being served, those wanting to be next would line up on the bench. When the floor was cleared, that group would then rise and do a dance, at the end of which they would be served chi-che. The correct way to drink the ample portions is to completely empty the bowl in one attempt, followed by a hearty yell or whoop. This we all did, to the great pleasure of our hosts. Meanwhile, over on the women’s side, a much more reserved celebration was taking place. Three or four women would circle the others offering bowls of chi-che. Dancing was spontaneous, but much more low-key than on the male side where the celebration continued for a couple of hours, the dances getting louder and more boisterous. We sailors asked that our bowls be filled not so full, but that request was met with mixed success.

The last event of the evening was initiated from the women’s side of the hall. A curtain was placed on a stick and held up to conceal several girls. We were not sure what happened back there, some private ceremony between the girls and a few women elders, but when they came out, we were told by David, they were officially considered women. About 10:30, the saihlas announced that the evening was over. The lights came on in the hall, and we returned to our boats, making sure to wash our faces before going to bed.

The next morning, we were shocked by what we saw in the mirror. Our face paintings were still there in sharp definition, looking for all the world like bad prison tattoos. We radioed our friends to see if they had any luck removing the indelible markings, but they hadn’t. Gradually, over the next two weeks, our face markings faded, but during that time, we could see the amusement in the eyes of the Kuna coming out to meet us in our anchorages.

From Isla Pinos, we day-sailed east, stopping at island villages and in more remote spots. It was amazing to rise early in the morning and see dozens of Kuna dugouts, being both paddled and sailed from island huts to the mainland for the day’s work, farming, gathering coconut, and fishing. It felt like real time travel. At length, we made our way to the western end of the island chain to Porvenir, the official clearing-in spot for Kuna Yala. While there, we heard an odd radio transmission emanating from a small cluster of islands about two miles to the east. It was from a German boat that we’d seen in Cartagena, Samantha Nova, and it announced that a wifi spot, the first in Kuna Yala, was now open for business on Isla Elephantes in the West Limons. This seemed like a good place to go next, so we did.

Isla Elephantes is inhabited by the family of Alberto, a man with entrepreneurial aspirations. Alberto runs a water transporting service, created a sort of miniature resort area, and has laid the foundation for a restaurant on his island. Assisted by his German friend, Yogi, he set up a wifi service next to one of his houses. The contrast of high and low tech is interesting. One enters a bamboo room with sand floors. Around the walls are benches made from split tree trunks, over which hang wires for computer connections. Bring in your laptop, hook up, and away you go, catapulted from life as it was centuries ago to the modern world, for three dollars an hour. Yogi gave Alberto very good advice. This investment has become a magnet for cruisers and, since the computer room happens to be located next to a large thatched roof palapa where one can relax in the shade and be served sodas, beer and wine, it has brought in significant income to Alberto. We stayed here for some time, cruised to other islands and returned.

There is an interesting juxtaposition of traditional culture and modern technology in Kuna Yala. Kuna women dress traditionally, colorful dresses adorned with molas and usually, head scarves. They often wear tightly strung, beaded leggings and bracelets. A few have tattooed lines down their noses at the bottom of which is a gold ring. As we’ve said, they still use and make dugout boats and live in thatched huts with no electricity. Yet, many of them have cell phones. It is not uncommon to be approached and asked to recharge a phone for them. One day, a couple paddled to our boat to sell molas. During their visit, we asked their names and they asked ours. Because it is difficult for them to say a word ending in ‘l’, Bill introduced himself as Billee. The Kuna woman snorted a laugh to her husband and said, “Keel Billee.” Go figure.

Each time we returned to Isla Elephantes, the services and clientele increased. The beverages served expanded to include rum drinks, rum and cola being named by the cruisers, Kuna Libres, and the activities expanded to include volley ball and cook outs. It was here that we again ran into Kenny, so again, naturally, we used the opportunity to play some music. Then entered Steve from Liiward. Steve is also a guitar player-singer and longtime performer. Before long, we had a band, named by Steve, the No Mas Band. It comprised two guitars, two harmonicas, percussion, and three singers, the most accomplished of which was Pam. We rehearsed a few times and before long, we had a song set of nearly four dozen numbers. We had fun and performed about six times, the last one drawing fifty boats into the anchorage. It was a great evening—we had a blast performing and Alberto was very happy.

One of our performances was dedicated to a new family member. It was the fifteenth of April, the birthday of our first grandchild, Charlie. Since many of the cruisers assembled for the evening’s entertainment were also grandparents, they could appreciate our happiness and excitement. It increased our eagerness to return to home. We arranged to store the boat on a mooring at a place called Panamarina near the town of Puerto Lindo, and at the end of June, ended our stay in Kuna Yala.

Puerto Lindo was a bit of a shock. The town has roads and cars…and electricity. With that, of course, comes music. In the morning, one is awakened to the sound howler monkeys and birds from a private aviary overlooking the anchorage. Another feature of this town that we had not experienced for a long time was restaurants. This was a mixed blessing. Although we had the luxury of not eating our own food for the first time in a long time, we also had the exposure to other’s food preparation and this resulted in one of the few times we had “GI problems”. Three days before our flight out of Panama, we sailed to our birth at Panamarina. While there, we were invited to dinner with another sailing couple. They mentioned that a friend of theirs who lived in Puerto Lindo, would be joining us. She was the recently widowed of Roger, a man who had developed a reputation as a guide for seeing native sloths in the jungle. She arrived a few minutes after we did, and she walked in with a fur little “baby” clinging to her neck. He was a brown and white, ten pound, three-towed sloth, and a most charming little guy. He would obligingly cling to anyone who wanted to hold him, slowly turning his head to survey his surroundings, peering longingly at his mistress. During dinner, the daughter of the restaurant owner asked if she could hold the critter, and he clung to her quite happily the rest of the evening.

At last the time for our departure was upon us. We readied Songbird for a six week stay, bussed to Panama City and flew to New York.

PHOTOS: The Manatee in the Bay of Cholon; Happy hour on the Manatee; on the Manatee; on the Manatee; Streets of Sapzurro; Bill & Nacho (1st Kuna we met); Bill at Colombia/Panama boarder control;

Season's Greetings from Cartagena, Colombia

Wishing everyone the HAPPIEST OF NEW YEARS!!
With Love.

Photos: Ted & Mabel; Peggy, Lanny (S/V LunaSea), Bill & Pam at roadside cafe; Old Town Cartagena.

On Our Way to Columbia

Aruba

On Nov 5th, we motored most of the way from Curacao and as we sailed up the coast of Aruba, we were greeted by a long line of smoke belching refineries, power plants and rusty metal structures. We were instructed to tie up at the customs dock and were greeted by surly Aruban officials. We won’t go into any more detail except to say that the customs and immigration people certainly lack in being customer focused. What looked to be a nice, sheltered anchor the first night turned out to be a couple of miles downwind from four or five large smoke stacks that left our boat covered in black soot by next morning. The next morning we moved to an anchorage just south of the capital, Orangestad. It was a nice anchorage in the flight path of their principal airport. We had planned to leave soon but our stay was extended due to an accident incurred by our friends on S/V Lunasea. Their dinghy was rear-ended by a resort hotel launch which ripped their motor off and destroyed it. Consequently we hung around to give support and to determine their fate. After some vacillating, the resort put them in a slip for their inconvenience offered to compensate them for their loss. We left the next morning with several boats also headed for Cartagena, among them S/V Panda, folks we had known since Margarita.

Columbia
Cabo de la Vela

We agreed to do a 120-mile overnight sail to Cabo de la Vela, Columbia so on Nov 10th we headed out. With the exception of a 2-hour torrential rain beginning at midnight, we had a rather uneventful sail there, making it to our first Columbian landfall at 1:30PM. Upon joining us at the anchorage, S/V Panda shared 3 large tuna filets from their catch that morning. Dinner was superb! After only one night’s rest, weather conditions prompted us to embark upon another 24-hour passage the next morning. In a short while, we found ourselves sailing in perfect conditions with flat seas and wind at 10 to 12 knots on the beam. This continued all day and was made even more spectacular by the company of a large pod of playful dolphins who entertained us all afternoon. As the sun set, however, the wind left us and as it got dark we could see clouds moving in and lightening (you know how we don’t like lightening). About 9PM Pam woke Bill who went on deck to put a second reef in the mainsail. Just then, the full force of the thunder storm hit, making it impossible to complete the task. Pam had the engine at almost full throttle and could not hold Songbird into the wind so we stayed with one reef, sheeted in the main and weathered the blow that way. Our friends on Panda later reported that they had clocked the wind at 48 knots. Happily things gradually calmed after that.

Bahia Cinto (5 Bays)

On Nov 12th, as dawn broke, all was forgotten as silhouettes of the Andes bloomed into view. Such a sight. As we approached Bahia Cinto the verdant details of the foothills on shore emerged. We entered the third bay. Bahia Guayraca, sailing into a kind of tropical fjord. We stayed in this beautiful spot for five days enjoying the scenery of the mountains, the coral reefs and the quiet nights. While we were here, we were cheered by the arrival of our friends from S/V Lunasea (sporting a new 15 hp outboard motor) and S/V Maria Alisa.

After leaving our lovely little bay around 9am, we made a short 15 mile hop to spend the night in a lovely Columbia resort town, Rodadero. Our next stop was o be Punta Hermosa, just past the mouth of the Rio Magdalena and 53 miles downwind, if there were to be any wind. We left at 3AM in order to make the river mouth by mid-day and hopefully avoid the typ8ical afternoon build-up of wind and seas. Boy, was this forecast off. As dawn broke, our little fleet of seven boats found itself screaming at unimagined speeds across mountainous seas (every boat set a speed record). By 8:40am, we’d past the mouth of the Rio Magdalena and were making our 15-mile approach to Punta Hermosa, the first five miles being through water the color of chocolate milk. We found our way into the Punta Hermosa anchorage behind a long, uncharted reef with the aid of a French skipper on a boat named Figi who had picked up our radio transmissions and gave us new directions (compass coordinates) on the fly. He is a saint. We ended what was supposed to be a full day sail at 12:30 – what a while ride.

Photos: Approaching 5 Bays: Luik's 12th B'day Party on S/V Marguerite; Salt Ponds; Smiling Sully the young whale; Joque the giant angle fish.

From Grenada to Curacoa

Ok, we’ve been completely blog delinquent but are trying to get back on line. We’ve been from Grenada to Venezuela, with a trip to New York for a wedding, stopped in Bonaire for a bit and now we’re in Curacao, on our way to Columbia via Aruba (the A of the ABC islands).

Grenada

On 28 May, we weighed anchor and said good-bye to our friends, especially La Buena Vida, as we motored out of Tyrell Bay in Carriacou. Soon we were under sail and had an easy broad reach to Grenada. We sailed past the volcano exclusion zone of Kickem Jenny and into the lee of Grenada. Soon we were rounding Point Saline and heading directly into the wind and the current for a raucous 3 mile ride to Prickly Bay. We weren’t without friends for long for it was there that we spotted Dawn and Laurie of Cat Tales, our good pals from Bermuda and St. Lucia. We had no sooner dropped anchor than there they were, swimming in the water beside us, inviting us over for sundowners aboard their boat.

Prickly Bay is a popular cruiser destination and over the years it has become organized to provide support. There is the morning cruiser net on VHF radio, informing boaters of the weather, upcoming events, tours, shopping trips and help offered and wanted. Soon after our arrival, we took a Friday night bus ride to the northern town of Guyave, the fishing center of Grenada, for the weekly fish fry and bazaar. This particular event was special because it coincided with the renaming of the Grenada international airport to the Maurice Bishop International Airport, plus the first Annual Grenada Music Festival. It was a very festive and tasty evening.

A few days later, we took a tour of the whole island which included Grenada’s lush rain forests, a trip up in the high lands to see the wild mountain monkeys, a visit to the ever-present rum factory (which included a chance to buy their two products—the special 150 proof rum, and the made-for-retail proof variety which was scaled down to just 140 proof.)

Finding Prickly Bay a little too rolling for our taste, we moved west a couple of bays into Clark’s Court Bay. There we enjoyed the free internet from the nearby Whisper Cove Marina, and the weekly spaghetti and hamburger dinners, as well as dominoes on Sunday afternoons. It wasn’t all hedonistic pleasures, though. While there, maintenance was conducted on Songbird and Bill spent a couple of Saturday mornings with other cruisers tutoring local school children.

While here, we began sounding out other cruisers for their itineraries. Our insurance company wanted us to go to Venezuela for Trinidad for hurricane season. Trinidad was a bit out of our way, since we wanted to go west later, and marina facilities, although very good, were more expensive than in Venezuela. The problem with Venezuela was the reports of piracy offshore, so we wanted to go in a convoy. Without too much effort, we found five other boats to join up with. They were Dreamtime (whom we’d been in touch with since Bequia), Lunasea, Maria Elisa, N’Joyboat III, and Free Spirit (we’d met her skipper, Bo, way back in St. Martin).

Los Testigos

On the evening of July 8, without notice, we set sail for an overnight passage to the Venezuelan islands of Los Testigos. We sailed without lights and kept radio contact to a minimum. As it happened, as dawn broke, we realized that we had all separated rather widely (or maybe only we did). Despite that, we seem to have arrived at our destination within 30 minutes of each other, completely unscathed. We spent three nights in these pretty, unspoiled islands. The Guarda Costa has a station there, and there are two families of fishermen living at opposite ends of the islands. The island is also dotted with a few fishermen camps. At evening, the large wooden boats we came to recognize as unique Venezuelan designs came in to anchor. Unfortunately, none of them offered us lobster. On our last evening, we dinghied ashore to a pristine beach for sundowners beneath a few palm trees and stood in awe of our good fortune to be able to appreciate such beauty.

Margarita, Venezuela

Our next passage was only a day sail, but kind of a long one. We weighed anchor at first light (now there were just four of us—Dreamtime and Free Spirit had sped on before us). We weren’t alone. Several boats had left the anchorage and were on our same course. We made the anchorage at Porlamar mid afternoon and, as planned, dropped more or less, in the middle of the pack.

For security, just about all cruisers anchor in Porlamar. The first dominant feature of this anchorage is the dock of Marina Juan, just about the only secure place in the island to leave your dinghy. Marina Juan is a Venezuelan who is dedicated to providing services to cruisers. Besides the long, guarded dock (complete with garbage bins), he provides clearing in services (he takes all your papers to Customs, Immigration, Port Captain, and Guarda), bus services to shopping, a small marina shop, and weekly happy hour.

We turned in on our first night in Margarita with some trepidation. The anchorage was surrounded by hotels and our experience in much of the Caribbean had taught us that this increases the probability of being bombarded by reggae, soca, and ska well into the beginning of the next day. That night, there was music indeed-- several bands, in fact. The difference is that they played Latin jazz and blues, and played it well, and not very loudly. Now, it was keeping us awake, but only because we wanted to hear it. We felt we might like this place.

Shopping in Margarita is more than just a trip to the local market. First of all, Venezuela is a large country in its own right with a large consumer market. Secondly, Margarita is a duty free island and a Venezuelan tourist destination. These factors combine to make Margarita a great place to just Shop. The bus leaving Marina Juan’s takes passengers to a very good and very large grocery store where purchases are boxed, labeled and delivered to your dinghy at Juan’s dock. In addition, the grocery is located in a very large, very modern, very air-conditioned mall where many consumer items are available for very little money. Self-control must be exercised—we live in a boat!

Speaking of purchases, Venezuela is a great place to refuel. Venezuela produces oil, of course. In addition, gasoline and diesel sales are subsidized. Venezuelans buy diesel for about 5 cents a gallon, actually less than it costs to produce it. For us, there’s the special foreigner price, but even that’s easy to take. Each tank was about half full and we topped both off for a little under $17—the price per gallon being 38 cents. Wow.

So, these were the benefits of life there. Unfortunately, there are some serious downsides. The first one is crime. We were warned daily to raise and lock our dinghies to our boats at night to avoid having them taken. Our first day there, we were told of a boat that had had its dinghy stolen while they watched from the cockpit. One of the thieves was actually talking to them while it was being taken. Also, crime on shore is rampant, and not just against visitors. This is accompanied by, and to an extent, exacerbated by, the politics of the country. As it happened, most of our information on how Venezuelans feel about their president has come, usually unsolicited, from taxi drivers. They say he is ruining their country. The most revealing conversation came from a driver who took us on a day-long tour of the island. According to him, Venezuela has a difficult time just functioning because many of the educated, professional technicians and managers have been replaced by uneducated Chavistas. An example he gave of this practice was the inability of an oil refinery to open after routine closing for maintenance, resulting in Venezuela needing to import refined fuel. He said there is a new class of people in Venezuela called the Boli-Bourgoisie. These are largely incompetent political appointments into the government bureaucracy that are milking the country of revenue. There are many other outrages. One can only feel for the people, most of whom we found hard-working, friendly and fun. Venezuela is a sophisticated, hip, modern country that has enormous potential and can realize it if the people are only given the leadership they deserve.

By the end of July, it was time for us to move to the Venezuelan mainland. We weighed anchor on July 27^th and, stopping overnight along the way in a small island of Cubagua, sailed toward Puerto La Cruz. . On the way we saw two pods of dolphins, the first one being perhaps a half dozen. They had come out to play with us. We were delighted and relieved to see this, for we hadn’t seen any at all our whole way down the island chain. Later that afternoon (it was a calm day and we were mostly motoring), Bill saw waves breaking on the horizon, a long chain of them. It turned out to be a long chain of perhaps thousands of dolphins. Their path intercepted ours. They were clearly migrating (or following a migration of smaller fish), but many interrupted their job to turn back and give us a pass or two

Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela

As so often happens after a passage with little or no wind, the wind really kicked up just as Bill was trying to drop the mainsail outside our entrance to Puerto La Cruz harbor. We came bounding in with a 20 knot breeze. We were met by a small boat and led into a first class marina and our slip. It was Bahia Redondo Marina, our new home on the South American continent. This was not the life to which we had grown accustomed. The marina is surrounded by palm trees and well maintained gardens and grounds. It has a large swimming pool (with an island in the middle), restaurant, small grocery, travel agencies, etc. Like nothing we could afford in the states. Bill’s first order of business was to hook up the electricity and see if the air conditioning worked. (We can never use it at anchor—and don’t usually need it out where there are breezes—and it hasn’t run since we had last been in a marina about 3 years ago). Miraculously, it worked, both the unit for the main cabin and our stateroom aft. Now we were living in the lap of luxury

We spent only a week at the slip because we had plans to return to the US for the month of August and, during that time, have Songbird hauled out and placed in the adjacent boatyard, since she was due to have the bottom cleaned and repainted. So, on 30 July we moved to the well and the old girl (all 20 tons of her) was slowly lifted out of the water and gingerly placed on land. We were amazed at what the bottom of the boat held. It was a regular marine ecosystem. Things came plopping off the bottom and crawling away. It smelled like paella, raw, old paella. We spent the next few days readying the boat for storage, and on the 3^rd of August, departed Venezuela for New York. The precipitating event was the marriage of our daughter Jessica. We also took the opportunity to have annual checkups, and to buy those special food items that we’ve grown accustomed to and are only available in the US.

The wedding was an unforgettably, joyous event. Happiness and love were in abundance. It was so nice to see family and visit with so many of Jessica’s old friends that we hadn’t seen since she was in college.

After an arduous return trip, we arrived back in Puerto La Cruz and began work on our boat. After a little fiber glassing, three coats of bottom paint were applied and, on September 4^th, Songbird was launched. We were delighted to discover that we could have the same slip we’d had before we left. Life was very easy in the marina. It was secure because the marina was walled and the docks were patrolled by guards, guards packing heat, in fact. They all had holsters containing sawed-off shotguns—a little over-the-top by American standards but effective, one supposes. We soon discovered lunching at the “Chicken Shack”, a small beach-front café outside the marina complex that served ice-cold beer and very good local food. One of our favorites was a dish called Ayucca, a complex combination of vegetables, meats and fruits wrapped in a Yucca leaf.

Our marina was located in a complex of canals called the Morro Complex. It contains several marinas and fabulous houses. Sometimes it seemed like a South American version of Venice. At the bottom of the canals (within dinghy distance) was an upscale mall where just about anything we needed could be found. Life was easy here, although confining. Because of security, we couldn’t wander outside the marina. Taxis were necessary. Fortunately, they were affordable.

We would have loved to have taken tours to the interior of Venezuela, there’s much to be seen: Angel Falls, the Andean city of Merida, tours into the Amazon jungles, and much more. Unfortunately, our budget couldn’t allow it. By the end of September, the time had come for us to begin our way toward the Western Caribbean, but the Venezuelan government had other ideas.

As the sun began to set on September 22^nd, the marina was swarmed by red-shirted officials of the Seniat (the Venezuelan tax collection agency) accompanied by armed Guarda Costa personnel. A sign was placed on Songbird, along with virtually every boat in the marina, that said (in Spanish) Preventive Withhold. We were informed, very nicely, that we could not move our boats until the captain of the vessel had personally appeared before Seniat authorities in Guanta about 15 minutes away. The next morning, Bill and four other skippers took a cab to the appropriate offices. After waiting for several hours, Bill finally met one of the officials from Curacas. He first asked, “When was your boat taken?” Bill was taken aback. Our boat had been taken? He recovered and said, “Yesterday.” The official was very polite and apologetic. He said he was very sorry that he had to go through this, that the purpose of all this was to catch Venezuelans who had been illegally registering their boats under foreign flags to avoid paying taxes and that after showing our papers, he would have to wait until noon, and then he would receive a paper “liberating” our vessel. At ten minutes to five that evening, the paper was received. We were then allowed to remove the sticker and move about in our vessel freely. The others we had planned to leave with didn’t get their boats liberated for three days.

Tortuga, Venezuela

On October first, we motored out of our marina receiving a heartwarming send-off from the many friends we’d made in our little community. The next day, after an overnight stop off the island of Chimana Segunda, we sailed to a bay called Playa Caldera on the island of Isla La Tortuga. On the way there, Bill was delighted to catch a Blue Fin tuna! The next morning, we sailed to the west end of the island and Cayo Herrardura, a gorgeous, sheltered anchorage. We caught another tuna on the way here, so again, we had good, fresh fish for dinner. The next day, after a beautiful, moonlit night, we decided to explore the island. We dinghied over to a small lagoon on the windward side and explored. While Pam collected seashells, Bill noticed that some of them were not opened. With very little effort, his pockets were full fresh clams. That night, we enjoyed linguini with clam sauce. This living off the bounty of nature is a pretty good deal!

Los Roques, Venezuela

Our next stop was a 14 by 25 mile archipelago called Los Roques—the rocks. While the main islands in this group are very large rocks, many are small, mangrove covered islands, surrounded on the windward side by a huge coral reef. The result is kind of a pristine lake of ocean water in the middle of the sea, dotted with pretty, little islands. It is a national park and a real marine playground. A lot of Venezuelans sprint over from the mainland (about 70 miles away) in their power boats to enjoy this. Fortunately, our stay didn’t coincide that much with the weekend, so we missed many of them. Unfortunately, we could not spend the time here the place deserves because of visa restrictions. We had checked out of Venezuela on the mainland and therefore could only transit through the islands.

We spent a couple of days in Gran Roque (one of the big rock islands) enjoying the pleasant village there. The streets were all pedestrian streets lined with colorful stucco buildings. The island had some good restaurants, too. From there, we sailed to a small island called Sarqui, sailing at 5 knots under genoa alone in flat water. The next morning, after Bill had a quick snorkel to what he said was the best reef he’d seen, we sailed to Cayo de Agua, an island who owes its name to the fact that fresh water can be found just below the surface of the land. It is an extremely arid island, occupied by tame, little black birds, dark lizards and a large number of hermit crabs.

The Aves, Venezuela

Next morning we weighed anchor and sailed to Isla de Aves (the Bird Islands). Our first stop was Isla de Solavento. Once we wound our way through all the reefs, we found a very sheltered anchorage – a nice dry breeze and flat water – yes! This island sports 40 feet tall mangroves and provides a habitat for thousands of red footed boobies, Bill’s favorite sea birds. By taking our dinghy through the sheltered mangrove lagoons, we were able to see these noble in all stages of development. There were the mature parents, squawking to keep us at bay and the very large babies, looking like they were wearing white fury snow suits.

From there we did a one night stop of Isla Barlavento. We anchored in the lea of three very small sandy islands, the middle one sprouting 3 palm trees that looked like they’d been planted by a landscaper. The water was very deep but incredibly clear, portending of things to come.

Bonaire

Leaving the Venezuelan islands Songbird had an easy downwind romp to Bonaire, the first of the Netherland Antilles (the ABC Islands). Bonaire is very protective of its natural environment. Anchoring is not allowed; boats must secure themselves to a mooring. Upon doing that, you understand why. The scenery beneath the surface of the water is unbelievable. Songbird floated over the edge of a precipice going from 20 feet to 100 feet. From our deck we could observe the large coral fish and SCUBA divers below. We seized the opportunity to use our snorkel compressor and dive below, ourselves. It was magical. For that matter, the snorkeling was magical. Bonaire is definitely a diver’s paradise.

For a change of pace, we rented a Suzuki (jeep) for a day and toured the island. It is a desert terrain where large cactus and large lizards (including iguanas) grow in abundance. The beaches, however, are isolated and incredibly beautiful. Having gone to the B of the ABC islands, it was time to go to the C: Curacao.

Curacao

Curacao is a more populous island and definitely Dutch. The capital, Willemstad, looks like a Caribbean version of Amsterdam, colorful, tall buildings situated upon canals. Lots of good shopping and great restaurants. We anchored in a large lagoon called Spanish Water, frequented by cruisers bound east and west. Like cruiser habitats, this comes with a social support network including a daily radio network broadcast, scheduled free bus trips for shopping and services such as water gas, and happy hours.

A few months ago, a sick baby Pilot whale arrived on the shore of Curacao. He was rescued and nourished by the local dolphin academy, but because he required 24-hour care he soon stressed the capacity of that organization. Cruisers (and other volunteers) rose to the occasion by contributing their time to watch over this amazing animal. Now he is a healthy adolescent waiting to join a pot of others of his kind. In the meantime he still requires watching. We were privileged to participate in this. Our watch included his time for exercise (following a small motor boat at 40mph for 30p minutes) and feeding. Our job was to watch Sully (his name) but we often felt we were being watched by him instead. Cool!

Oh. We forgot to mention that we have a new crew member, Ted's new girlfriend. Her name is Mabel and they are very happy with each other.

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