TROPICAL LIFE
Isla Contadora, Islas Las Perlas, Panamá, Tuesday, 27 October 2009
We have been in the islands now for nearly a week. As the winds shift, we move from the north side of the island to the eastern or southern side to avoid being on a lee shore. Nothing serious; but sometimes there are enough wind and waves to get Vilisar rolling and the dinghy banging at night against the hull. Beyond Kathy’s online work, we have not been very active. It’s like a vacation after the months penned up in Panamá City with its big-city noise and traffic and heat and the dirty waters of the anchorage. Here we keep cool by jumping frequently off the boat into the crystal clear waters; we can see the anchor on the sandy bottom about twenty feet down. In some of the anchorages there are hundreds of tropical reef fish to observe. We read. We chat. We make the odd meal. Kathy proofreads. Because our Iridium phone was giving us trouble, we also went ashore on each of the first few days for a walk and to find the internet café that only opens between 1500 and 1700. But we finally figured out what was wrong with the satphone (the antenna wasn’t properly attached).
Even so, this morning we row in to the so-called nudist beach off which we are at present anchored. The only nudes, unfortunately, that I have ever seen there have been us; as I write this, for example, I can see several brown pelicans taking their leisure there, a pair of adult American oystercatchers with flat red beaks and silly, chatter-sounding calls to each other, three white egrets and a blue heron tiptoeing along the shoreline rocks between the sandy bits. But, no nudists.
Once ashore, we anchor the dinghy somewhat away from the beach using a big round rock in a nylon shopping bag, planning if necessary to swim out to the dinghy later rather than have to drag the dinghy up onto the sand. We walk a circular route into the village (clothed, I might add) around the southern end of the paved airstrip to the village square and café and then back again around the other end of the airfield and along the eastern beach where a large but now abandoned resort complex dominates a really pretty beach. I had left my expensive sombrero somewhere ‘in town’ two days ago, and I needed to find it. Well sweated in the over 90-degree F (32 degrees Celsius) sunshine, I recover the hat, and we are back on board by noon after a dip at the beach. Kathy swims out to Vilisar, her white bum a contrast to her brown arms and legs.
Isla Contadora is very ‘developed’, in the sense that there are a lot of shoreline houses. Over-developed would be a better term. And I don’t mean just modest cottages either. These are impressive edifices owned by wealthy Panameños, Colombianos, gringos, etc., who want to be sheltered from the crudities of everyday life and the prying eyes of the tax authorities at home. Even the Shah of Iran once lived in exile here for a while, though I don’t suppose income tax was his central problem at the time.
It’s all a type of island living, I guess. But, this kind of island living is not for the financially challenged. We saw one long, weed-ridden, narrow building lot with waterfront footage right next to the airstrip with a For Sale sign in English asking $1 million for the land alone. “Serious offers only!” it announced. I mean, like, seriously, people! Most of the huge estates and villas are immaculately kept but essentially unoccupied except perhaps for the housekeeping peon family at the gate house. These island inhabitants might have a few kids around. But there aren’t really that many children in evidence on the island. There is a small school, however, and children are even bussed over by open pangas from the neighbouring Isla Saboga, where the poor and servant class live. Their parents and now the children are making the socially and economically significant adjustment from subsistence fishing to cash-economy participants as chamber maids and yard boys. There were also about a dozen 10 or 12-year-olds playing an early-evening soccer game on Sunday. All the players were mestizos or indigenas. No creolos.
On the weekend, there were lots of seriously expensive cabin cruisers anchored or moored on the north side with us. The commuter airline that flies the 15-minute route from Albrook Airport in Panamá City was going fulltime on Sunday afternoon and evening to get people back to the city. One way costs $50, but no seats available that day. At about three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, as the buzz of propellers began to seem endless, there was a sudden buzz of boat activity in the anchorage as it seemed that all of the motorized fleet took off simultaneously for Panamá City. Probably it was just the boat crews rushing to get back before dark, while the owners, their families, or their playboy sons and their girlfriends flew home. Even the big white fifty-footers and even larger boats were going full out. That trip back to Panamá City for a large vessel probably eats up more fuel than Vilisar does in five years! By Sunday night, the island had returned to its weekday calm. There aren’t that many fulltime residents anyway. Nevertheless, the island has a desalination plant and big electricity generator. The neat, flower-lined coast roads serving the beachfront properties around the islands, at least, are well-paved. So you know that these people have influence. The back roads where the locals live are barely even graded. There are a few pickup trucks, but most ‘residents’ drive eco golf carts. There are even rubbish bins along the roads. Clearly this is not a Third-World island. It is certainly a crass contrast with the poor little fishing villages elsewhere in the archipelago, where people survive on fishing. You cannot help but like the atmosphere though, especially if, like us, you have become increasingly under-whelmed by Third World cities.
After talking to Ute and Wolfgang aboard S/V Lumme, we visited Günter and Susanne Hamacher, ex-pat Germans from Cologne. They have been on the island for 29 years and have a lovely house on a cliff and a view to Isla Pedro Gonzalez. Günter (call sign HP1XX) has five times been World Champion Ham Operator. Who knew? In my innocence, I frankly hadn’t been aware that there was even a competition for radio operators. It was Günter of course who told us, communications obviously being one of his skills. He told us quite a lot, indeed, while we listened and drank his cold Balboas on his terrace. He co-ordinates a SSB and Ham network from November till May or June each year for mainly German-speaking cruisers in the South Pacific (Pacific Tropical Island Net; 14,135 meters; 00.00 UTC). He “supports” or takes care of cruisers at sea and networks with and for them. He provides them with info or advice or assistance; he gives it to them himself or procures it from other cruisers. Weather forecasts, clearing-in procedures, etc., etc. He is 78 years old and has sometime recently suffered a stroke, which affects his speech somewhat, although he is entirely articulate. He hasn’t, apparently, cut down on his cigarillo consumption. Günter gave us the low-down on SSB and why we needed to forget about Iridium satphones and get a transmission-capable SSB. As it happens, we already have a good second-hand SSB radio that we purchased from Jack and Hermi (S/V Iwa) last year that can be used at the moment only for listening. We also inherited an antenna up the insulated backstay as well as proper grounding to the keel. So all we would need would be a good tuner. “Only about $750 in Panamá.” Only!
Dianne and Ron from Batwing passed through Contadora yesterday night on their way back to Panamá City to visit the dentist and re-provision. They have been down in the islands at Espiritu Santo anchorage on the east side of Isla del Rey where many cruisers like to hang out. It’s quiet and well-protected from any bad weather there. The little floating cruiser community fluctuates, but there always seems to be somebody there. It’s like a little village and after a while it also has all the good and bad things about so few people living so close together. Anyway, Batwing is junk-rigged. Diane and Ron now have the necessary materials assembled – mainly Sunbrella that they purchased as remnants here in Panamá City- to make their own sails. Making your own junk sails is much simpler than making sails like ours, where you need quite a lot of expertise. What Batwing doesn’t have is a sewing machine, which we on the other hand have stowed (inconveniently) in the forecastle. We bought ours back in 2001 in Vancouver with help from Bob and Rita Valine. It’s a US-made, heavy Piedmont that can be hand-cranked or plugged into 110 volts. It can also take a #21 needle so it can work its way through quite heavy materials like sailcloth or leather. The last time we used it was in La Paz, Mexico, however.
The Batwingers want to buy a machine, ours if it’s in good shape and we are willing to part with it. Although we would be willing to lend ours to them, I hesitate to sell it. Who knows when we shall need it, and we got it at such a good price that it would never be possible to replace it cheaply? Kathy does not seem interested in developing skills in the direction of sewing, and I have had so many other things to learn on the boat in the last eight years that learning to sew has not figured high on my list of retirement projects. I had been worried that the machine might well have sustained saltwater damage from our encounter with the rocas at Isla Taboga. But inspection this morning indicates that there is no rust at all inside and everything seems to function well.
Over a dinner of sauerkraut and chorizo sausages last night aboard Batwing, we also talked about “the cruising life.” This is a not-uncommon theme amongst us sailors, although since everyone (including ourselves) expects that we ought to be enjoying the life no matter what, one hesitates to express and criticism or doubts. Ron, for example, is fairly mechanical. But he is tired of being forced to work continuously on the boat to keep it in shape. He is also no longer as young as he was (he’s 64) and, although he is fit, he finds the physical work strenuous. Like us, they live on a tight budget, and the constant demands made on their funds by the boat is also a complaint. On the other hand, could they afford to live in the U.S.A. on Social Security alone? They have some investments but these have taken a shellacking of late. Back home in Washington State or Colorado they would have to start working again in their dotage.
These are all familiar complaints amongst cruisers who have been out for while. The first few years are exciting. But if you don’t make the mental transition to “life on a boat” rather than seeing everything as all-new, romantic, vacation-like, you might get bored with it all. Believe me! Too much of a good thing!
But, if you have paid for your boat and can do most of the work yourself or at least be able to afford to hire workmen in cheaper countries like Panamá or Ecuador, you can live on very little as a cruiser. Anyway, a house would require maintenance too, wouldn’t it, although it is hard to believe that a house would need as much work as a boat. And, if you rent, you just notify the landlord.
There are other issues, such as that certain activities are mutually exclusive: choral music and cruising, for example. Music is local and cruisers are vagabonds. Then there is the retirement shift syndrome. Anybody retiring is likely to find it difficult to adjust without a structured environment, without the perks of the job, etc. etc.
When it all gets to be too much, the only answer is either to plan a long passage or to get off the boat for a while. We have done both: passages to Alaska, California, Mexico, Galapagos, Ecuador, Panamá; caretaking on a ranch in Northern Mexico or house-sitting in Venezuela; travelling in Ecuador, visiting in Germany, Canada and the U.S.A.
With my sombrero successfully rescued, we are back on the boat by early noon. We prepare some lunchtime sandwiches using the last of the whole-wheaten bread I baked yesterday. Delicious and so much better than that Bimbo-brand sponge-bread! I shall bake another one this afternoon while Kathy is proofreading. The recipe I had from The Complete Vegetarian Cookbook was all right, but I have an older recipe that I want to try again this time. Maybe I shall make plain white bread. Decisions! Decisions! And for dinner tonight? We need to use up the fresh foods (carrots, green peppers, cabbage, etc. Maybe it’ll be Chinese stir-fry.
Tropical life! Meanwhile, as I scan the horizon from the cockpit, I see a whale blowing about 300 yards away near the stony point.
Isla Contadora, Islas Las Perlas, Panamá, Tuesday, 27 October 2009
We have been in the islands now for nearly a week. As the winds shift, we move from the north side of the island to the eastern or southern side to avoid being on a lee shore. Nothing serious; but sometimes there are enough wind and waves to get Vilisar rolling and the dinghy banging at night against the hull. Beyond Kathy’s online work, we have not been very active. It’s like a vacation after the months penned up in Panamá City with its big-city noise and traffic and heat and the dirty waters of the anchorage. Here we keep cool by jumping frequently off the boat into the crystal clear waters; we can see the anchor on the sandy bottom about twenty feet down. In some of the anchorages there are hundreds of tropical reef fish to observe. We read. We chat. We make the odd meal. Kathy proofreads. Because our Iridium phone was giving us trouble, we also went ashore on each of the first few days for a walk and to find the internet café that only opens between 1500 and 1700. But we finally figured out what was wrong with the satphone (the antenna wasn’t properly attached).
Even so, this morning we row in to the so-called nudist beach off which we are at present anchored. The only nudes, unfortunately, that I have ever seen there have been us; as I write this, for example, I can see several brown pelicans taking their leisure there, a pair of adult American oystercatchers with flat red beaks and silly, chatter-sounding calls to each other, three white egrets and a blue heron tiptoeing along the shoreline rocks between the sandy bits. But, no nudists.
Once ashore, we anchor the dinghy somewhat away from the beach using a big round rock in a nylon shopping bag, planning if necessary to swim out to the dinghy later rather than have to drag the dinghy up onto the sand. We walk a circular route into the village (clothed, I might add) around the southern end of the paved airstrip to the village square and café and then back again around the other end of the airfield and along the eastern beach where a large but now abandoned resort complex dominates a really pretty beach. I had left my expensive sombrero somewhere ‘in town’ two days ago, and I needed to find it. Well sweated in the over 90-degree F (32 degrees Celsius) sunshine, I recover the hat, and we are back on board by noon after a dip at the beach. Kathy swims out to Vilisar, her white bum a contrast to her brown arms and legs.
Isla Contadora is very ‘developed’, in the sense that there are a lot of shoreline houses. Over-developed would be a better term. And I don’t mean just modest cottages either. These are impressive edifices owned by wealthy Panameños, Colombianos, gringos, etc., who want to be sheltered from the crudities of everyday life and the prying eyes of the tax authorities at home. Even the Shah of Iran once lived in exile here for a while, though I don’t suppose income tax was his central problem at the time.
It’s all a type of island living, I guess. But, this kind of island living is not for the financially challenged. We saw one long, weed-ridden, narrow building lot with waterfront footage right next to the airstrip with a For Sale sign in English asking $1 million for the land alone. “Serious offers only!” it announced. I mean, like, seriously, people! Most of the huge estates and villas are immaculately kept but essentially unoccupied except perhaps for the housekeeping peon family at the gate house. These island inhabitants might have a few kids around. But there aren’t really that many children in evidence on the island. There is a small school, however, and children are even bussed over by open pangas from the neighbouring Isla Saboga, where the poor and servant class live. Their parents and now the children are making the socially and economically significant adjustment from subsistence fishing to cash-economy participants as chamber maids and yard boys. There were also about a dozen 10 or 12-year-olds playing an early-evening soccer game on Sunday. All the players were mestizos or indigenas. No creolos.
On the weekend, there were lots of seriously expensive cabin cruisers anchored or moored on the north side with us. The commuter airline that flies the 15-minute route from Albrook Airport in Panamá City was going fulltime on Sunday afternoon and evening to get people back to the city. One way costs $50, but no seats available that day. At about three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, as the buzz of propellers began to seem endless, there was a sudden buzz of boat activity in the anchorage as it seemed that all of the motorized fleet took off simultaneously for Panamá City. Probably it was just the boat crews rushing to get back before dark, while the owners, their families, or their playboy sons and their girlfriends flew home. Even the big white fifty-footers and even larger boats were going full out. That trip back to Panamá City for a large vessel probably eats up more fuel than Vilisar does in five years! By Sunday night, the island had returned to its weekday calm. There aren’t that many fulltime residents anyway. Nevertheless, the island has a desalination plant and big electricity generator. The neat, flower-lined coast roads serving the beachfront properties around the islands, at least, are well-paved. So you know that these people have influence. The back roads where the locals live are barely even graded. There are a few pickup trucks, but most ‘residents’ drive eco golf carts. There are even rubbish bins along the roads. Clearly this is not a Third-World island. It is certainly a crass contrast with the poor little fishing villages elsewhere in the archipelago, where people survive on fishing. You cannot help but like the atmosphere though, especially if, like us, you have become increasingly under-whelmed by Third World cities.
After talking to Ute and Wolfgang aboard S/V Lumme, we visited Günter and Susanne Hamacher, ex-pat Germans from Cologne. They have been on the island for 29 years and have a lovely house on a cliff and a view to Isla Pedro Gonzalez. Günter (call sign HP1XX) has five times been World Champion Ham Operator. Who knew? In my innocence, I frankly hadn’t been aware that there was even a competition for radio operators. It was Günter of course who told us, communications obviously being one of his skills. He told us quite a lot, indeed, while we listened and drank his cold Balboas on his terrace. He co-ordinates a SSB and Ham network from November till May or June each year for mainly German-speaking cruisers in the South Pacific (Pacific Tropical Island Net; 14,135 meters; 00.00 UTC). He “supports” or takes care of cruisers at sea and networks with and for them. He provides them with info or advice or assistance; he gives it to them himself or procures it from other cruisers. Weather forecasts, clearing-in procedures, etc., etc. He is 78 years old and has sometime recently suffered a stroke, which affects his speech somewhat, although he is entirely articulate. He hasn’t, apparently, cut down on his cigarillo consumption. Günter gave us the low-down on SSB and why we needed to forget about Iridium satphones and get a transmission-capable SSB. As it happens, we already have a good second-hand SSB radio that we purchased from Jack and Hermi (S/V Iwa) last year that can be used at the moment only for listening. We also inherited an antenna up the insulated backstay as well as proper grounding to the keel. So all we would need would be a good tuner. “Only about $750 in Panamá.” Only!
Dianne and Ron from Batwing passed through Contadora yesterday night on their way back to Panamá City to visit the dentist and re-provision. They have been down in the islands at Espiritu Santo anchorage on the east side of Isla del Rey where many cruisers like to hang out. It’s quiet and well-protected from any bad weather there. The little floating cruiser community fluctuates, but there always seems to be somebody there. It’s like a little village and after a while it also has all the good and bad things about so few people living so close together. Anyway, Batwing is junk-rigged. Diane and Ron now have the necessary materials assembled – mainly Sunbrella that they purchased as remnants here in Panamá City- to make their own sails. Making your own junk sails is much simpler than making sails like ours, where you need quite a lot of expertise. What Batwing doesn’t have is a sewing machine, which we on the other hand have stowed (inconveniently) in the forecastle. We bought ours back in 2001 in Vancouver with help from Bob and Rita Valine. It’s a US-made, heavy Piedmont that can be hand-cranked or plugged into 110 volts. It can also take a #21 needle so it can work its way through quite heavy materials like sailcloth or leather. The last time we used it was in La Paz, Mexico, however.
The Batwingers want to buy a machine, ours if it’s in good shape and we are willing to part with it. Although we would be willing to lend ours to them, I hesitate to sell it. Who knows when we shall need it, and we got it at such a good price that it would never be possible to replace it cheaply? Kathy does not seem interested in developing skills in the direction of sewing, and I have had so many other things to learn on the boat in the last eight years that learning to sew has not figured high on my list of retirement projects. I had been worried that the machine might well have sustained saltwater damage from our encounter with the rocas at Isla Taboga. But inspection this morning indicates that there is no rust at all inside and everything seems to function well.
Over a dinner of sauerkraut and chorizo sausages last night aboard Batwing, we also talked about “the cruising life.” This is a not-uncommon theme amongst us sailors, although since everyone (including ourselves) expects that we ought to be enjoying the life no matter what, one hesitates to express and criticism or doubts. Ron, for example, is fairly mechanical. But he is tired of being forced to work continuously on the boat to keep it in shape. He is also no longer as young as he was (he’s 64) and, although he is fit, he finds the physical work strenuous. Like us, they live on a tight budget, and the constant demands made on their funds by the boat is also a complaint. On the other hand, could they afford to live in the U.S.A. on Social Security alone? They have some investments but these have taken a shellacking of late. Back home in Washington State or Colorado they would have to start working again in their dotage.
These are all familiar complaints amongst cruisers who have been out for while. The first few years are exciting. But if you don’t make the mental transition to “life on a boat” rather than seeing everything as all-new, romantic, vacation-like, you might get bored with it all. Believe me! Too much of a good thing!
But, if you have paid for your boat and can do most of the work yourself or at least be able to afford to hire workmen in cheaper countries like Panamá or Ecuador, you can live on very little as a cruiser. Anyway, a house would require maintenance too, wouldn’t it, although it is hard to believe that a house would need as much work as a boat. And, if you rent, you just notify the landlord.
There are other issues, such as that certain activities are mutually exclusive: choral music and cruising, for example. Music is local and cruisers are vagabonds. Then there is the retirement shift syndrome. Anybody retiring is likely to find it difficult to adjust without a structured environment, without the perks of the job, etc. etc.
When it all gets to be too much, the only answer is either to plan a long passage or to get off the boat for a while. We have done both: passages to Alaska, California, Mexico, Galapagos, Ecuador, Panamá; caretaking on a ranch in Northern Mexico or house-sitting in Venezuela; travelling in Ecuador, visiting in Germany, Canada and the U.S.A.
With my sombrero successfully rescued, we are back on the boat by early noon. We prepare some lunchtime sandwiches using the last of the whole-wheaten bread I baked yesterday. Delicious and so much better than that Bimbo-brand sponge-bread! I shall bake another one this afternoon while Kathy is proofreading. The recipe I had from The Complete Vegetarian Cookbook was all right, but I have an older recipe that I want to try again this time. Maybe I shall make plain white bread. Decisions! Decisions! And for dinner tonight? We need to use up the fresh foods (carrots, green peppers, cabbage, etc. Maybe it’ll be Chinese stir-fry.
Tropical life! Meanwhile, as I scan the horizon from the cockpit, I see a whale blowing about 300 yards away near the stony point.
posted by rjb @ Tuesday, November 10, 2009
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home