South America!

My watch read 4:10am. I double and triple checked the time, starting at the orange point that indicates 12:00, counting off the hours to the right. 12 to 1 is one hour, then comes two, I think thats three, four, yep, its 4:10am, time to go. The 4x4 to the coast would be by the hostal at 5, I was packed and good to go but worried I didn't have enough food. I made a quick run out to El Rey, the 24 hour grocery store around the corner, and picked up fruit and Oreos - if the rice beans and pasta failed me, at least I would have some sweets to fall back on. Six liters of water, three cans of pork n beans, two of mixed vegetables, a few apples and oranges, two pounds of pasta, medium size bag of rice, loaf of bread, and 24 oz of hot sauce - all set for five days on the water.

The 4x4 made a fantastic first impression. Man oh man, I thought, a Lexus to take us to the water, silver, shiney, looked clean, almost expensive. Is this really Panama? Once we piled in I realized it was no Lexus. The truck was some sort of stipped down plastic seats ash tray by your elbow no leg room lousy Panamanian off road high class wanna be beast, that feasted on diesel fuel. The two hour drive from El Congrejo, Panama City to the Golfo de San Blas would mark the beginning of a wild trip by sailboat from Panama to Colombia.

Trying to sleep for the first 45 minutes left me even more tired and with a bump on my head from banging into the driver side window each time I began to doze off. We conquered rocky roads, mud, small mountains, a two and a half foot deep river, a military check point, and made it under an electrical wire from which a sloth hung, cchhiilliinn, moving ever so slowly across the wire, one extremity at a time (paying absolutely no mind to we inferior humans and our miserable flashing cameras). For days I had been asking why we couldn't take a bus out to the San Blas Islands, our only option being this 25 dollar 4x4 drive. It quickly became clear that no bus, even with one of those classic out of control local drivers, could make the trek.

We reached the water. Mark, Joe, Gustav, and I stepped out of the truck and found ourself in the middle of nowhere. I mean n o w h e r e. Jungle, water, a few locals, not even a sign for Coca Cola - we had really made it out there. We were directed toward the lancha (small boat) that would take us across the gulf to Porvenir, where we hoped to connect with a larger sailboat. I had a nice moment, standing on the dock looking out into the gulf, heavy dark clouds over head, rays of sun peering through the clouds. The water was rough. I stood, back to land, front to water, so proud of getting here, proud to be out there doing something I would talk about for the next 70 years, proud to do something wild.

Lancha is an appropriate term to describe a small boat, what we were stepping into was more of a splinter than boat. Pretty much six slabs of wood thrown together, is there such thing as an 8 by 4? If there is, thats all the splinter was. Water crept in through the boards, drowning our poor little toes. The driver covered our bags with a plastic tarp, though the sight didn't boost my confidence. Three minutes into the ride we were drenched. Mark, sitting with his knees up against my back (the splinter was 1.4 persons wide), handed me a red plastic rose filled picnic bench table cover to stay dry. The covers came straight from that terrible, cheap restaurant with one waiter, three tables, and bugs!

The covers didn't work. At all. Not even a bit. I was drenched, thoroughly.

Who ever coined the phrase 'soaked to the bone' clearly wasn't that wet because I was soaked to the marrow, to the marrow of the bones forming the marrow of my bones, and wetter. It looked as though we gringos had just jumped into a pool fully clothed (with my camera in my pocket!). For half an hour I held my hands up (as though screaming Praise the Lord!) clutching my laminated table cloth trying to form some sort of a wall from the water. To Mark's advice I gave up and embraced the salt water as part of the experience. And that, it certainly was.

For an hour and a half, we sat single file in this miserable little splinter, getting soaked from the small waves, practically drowning in the medium waves, and laughing hysterically when the big mommas came, filing our boat with water and our soul with smiles.

At one point Mark (a forty some od year old Phys Ed teacher from Canada who loves to laugh and goes for the same crazy adventures as me)tapped me on the shoulder and spat 'Ey man, what happens if we don't make it?' I said 'Mark, let's be clear, we probably won't make it. Anyway, its even less likely that if (when!) we do capsize someone on land will hear of it and come to rescue us. If THAT happens, and some poor fellow does catch wind of our distress, it is VERY likely that he will send an equally shitty perhaps smaller splinter to come save us, which will 100 per cent absolutely not do us ANY good! Are you religious?' We laughed, during which salt water poured into our mouths, we pushed on.

In any event, we made it. I was actually somehow cleaner after the splinter ride than before. Dirt from under my nails and between my toes just up and disappeared with the waves. Sadly, the sailboat turned out to be a larger splinter - dirty, uncomfortable, crowded, far from sea worthy, but perfect for the adventure. We crawled aboard, dripping salt water, threw our (equally soaked) bags down below, and engaged in a fierce spanglish argument with the lancha captain over the price of our little salt water bath/ruinallyourstuff boat ride out here to El Porvenir.

That was Thursday Morning, March 26. We spent the next two days in the beautiful, picturesque San Blas Islands. Crystal clear, warm water, tiny islands home to just one or two palm trees, locals that paddle in their canoe up to one's boat to sell fresh fish, lobster, shark, or to haggle you for a magazine. We got dangerously sunburnt snorkling and doing absolutely nothing save soaking in the beauty and peace of the islands. From there it was a 50 hour journey in the open ocean to Cartagena, Colombia. Rough seas made heating up a can of beans (without spilling them EVERYWHERE) a chore. Most of us got sea sick, the Captain and his first mate drank every drop of our liquor the first night, so what we thought would be one long party turned into eight guys stuck in a cramped sailboat, sober, sick, and eating beans for four days - I LOVED IT!!!

Personally, I didn't think we would make it. I made peace with the fact that I would never see my family again. Alas, I was reassured by the fact that I am proud of my last blog entry, I had recently sent a few nice emails, and I had had an INCREDIBLE last few months - Not making it could have come at a worse time.

Never fear, I write this from a Hostal in the beautiful, lively, romantic city of Cartagena. The five guys from the boat and I have become very close. Most of us will continue to travel together up towards Ciudad Perdida, before heading south to Medillin.

I can't say I've done many things that rival taking a sailboat from Panama to Colombia on the 'wild' scale. I felt myself changing every step of the way. Ditched half of my clothing, nearly tossed my guide book overboard; maybe some of the recent desire to get out there and just be, doing whatever, with whoever, wherever, living, loving, finding life - comes from reading Keroac's On the Road. The other part of it is seeping out from somewhere within me, a place still undiscovered, a place I hope to dive into sooner rather than later.

Although I am not learning much spanish, I am learning the language of Travel. Be it speaking, sign language, body language, or some other form of communication, I am finally learning to let go and travel. Its thrilling. Scarey, funny, intense. Sensational.

My last blog was from Leon, Nicaragua. I spent a few days in Leon, followed by Granada and eventually Isla de Ometepe. I caught up with my good friends from Guatemala Edan and Kevin, spent nearly a week with them on the island. Shot down through San Jose, Costa Rica allllll the way (17 hour bus ride) to Panama City. There, for five days I marveled at the Casinos, found absolutely NO good local food, and wound up in a Club which I took to be heaven seeing as the male to female ratio was 1:5, and every single woman was drop dead gorgeous. Little old naive me, this was no heaven, it was a club full of prostitutes (lo mismo?). Squeezing back out through the same door I had entered, with a grin big enough to light up Central America, I was off in a few hours to the San Blas Islands, from there to Colombia!

I am healthy, happy, still smiling, still stinky. Reading and writing every day, enjoying the trip more and more. Missing home of course, reluctant to email. I dig drowning in this world, this place outside of my reality where people come to experience culture, color, life, through a completely different lens.

I think I'll head north from here. Who knows. I don't. I have some idea, but not much. Thats the way it should be, thats the way I like it.

Love Always

SF