Ship's Log s/v Uliad
March 5:
Well, our two weeks back in the USA has almost come to a close. It was fun to be a doctor again for a while, but even in the New Mexico desert, it gets too cold for me now! Kathleen and Emmett have been in Colorado nursing our family dog Lucy, who underwent back surgery last Friday.
Over the past couple of months, Lucy had been getting more lame from a pinched nerve in her back. I can't help but think that Kathleen's worry over her loyal Search & Rescue dog contributed to her own problems with frequent migraine headaches for the past month. So Lucy is on the mend, and Kathleen hopefully is too!
Emmett has been making the most of Colorado experiences: mountain biking, snowboarding, sledding, hiking, etc. Hope we can tear him away!
As far as sailing goes, I've been busy gathering the necessary documents for us to get our visas for French Polynesia when we get back. It seems that the South Pacific is such a paradise, that they have to be pretty strict about reminding foreigners not to stay too long. Most visitors are given a 30 day visa, but if you want to stay any longer, you have to apply ahead of time. Then they want you to show proof that you have international health insurance, and you have enough money to fly home if your boat sinks.
In our travels we've seen plenty of "Hotel California" harbors--places where boats check in and then never leave. Georgetown, Luperon, and Porvenir come to mind. After a while the money runs low for some of these vagabonds, their boat becomes an eyesore...I can see how it can be a problem for the locals. French Polynesia seems pretty committed to preventing that.
So tonight I'm packing up all the boat supplies we bought, another year of homeschool books for Emmett, and some recent bank statements to get ready to head back to Uliad. As nice as it has been to have unlimited hot water, high speed internet, and a positive cash flow these past two weeks, I can't wait to get home.
March 9:
. After a long day of flying, the family reunited at the front door to Tocumen International Airport in Panama City. Then we had a two hour taxi drive back over to our marina. Now Panama is not that big of a country. The problem is that its roads are terrible. Even the so-called main highway is so full of potholes, ruts, and washouts, that we were constantly having to slow down to a crawl to go over a bump...or waiting for the traffic going the other way to pass so we could use their lane for a while. The final obstacle to get home is the canal itself. There is a little single-lane bridge that crosses right where the Atlantic Ocean ends and the first lock of the Panama Canal begins. It opens only when no ships are moving past. And trust me. A lot of ships move past! So we stopped to watch a large container ship get lowered down to the sea and go steaming off before we could cross.
Finally by 1am we were settling into our bunks aboard Uliad. It is Kathleen's tradition to stay up the night before any big trip and pack. I'm not sure if she just gets so excited about travelling that she can't sleep, or if she just procrastinates so badly that she barely gets packed in time. Whatever the reason, she was out cold before her head even hit the pillow. The following morning I was wandering around trying to think about what I could do quietly while she and Emmett caught up on their sleep. Making lists was the quietest thing I could find.
Panama is the last good place to find most things until New Zealand. And New Zealand is, quite literally, on the opposite side of the planet. So the coming days in Panama will be my last opportunity to find any last parts or spares or things that we might need. Once we leave it will be blue sea and isolated tropical islands for months and months, so it's a daunting task to try to figure out what I need on my list. We've also been told that food gets terribly expensive in polynesia, so we're going to try and pack on as much as we can here to save some money. So even though my wife slept for 14 hours straight after getting back to the boat, she awoke to find me still struggling over my list.
March 11:
We were really disappointed to have to leave the San Blas islands so quickly. Several other friends have arrived after spending more time among the Kuna Indians and their beautiful waters, and I quickly get jealous hearing their stories. We were there just long enough to know that we would have loved the place.
But sadly, I had committed to some work back home and with our delays in Cartagena, we just had to breeze through. I'm determined not to let that happen in the South Pacific. As I mentioned, the French are pretty strict about how long anyone can stay in French Polynesia, so we decided to go straight to the French Embassy in Panama City to plead our case. With a pre-arranged visa, we should be able to stay 90 days instead of 30. And the word on the sailor's grapevine is that when your 90 days are up, you can usually get another 90 day extension. So if we could get 6 months in what most circumnavigators call the highlight of their trip...that would be great!
If embassy security is any judge, the French must not be well liked here in Panama. (Maybe it has something to do with their killing 50,000 people in their failed attempt to build the canal before Teddy Roosevelt took over.) We had to get buzzed through three separate iron-bar gates, get security badges, and go through a metal detector just to go to the visa office. Then we were fingerprinted and had our photos taken to go with our applications. Fortunately everything was in order except for them needing extra copies of all our documents. I had been told on the phone they needed only one copy of things like our bank statement and our health insurance, but it turns out they meant one copy for each person. So after going in the next room to, of all things, make photocopies of our passports, the lady told us to take a cab to a pharmacy a mile or two away where we could get copies made of everything else. Having learned a few things about immigration officers and bureaucracy over the years, we just smiled and did as we were told.
We had scheduled the first appointment of the day at the visa office, and the whole thing took us about an hour. But when I returned after making copies, there was now a line of about 10 people waiting in front of the door. I had told Emmett to wait in the cab outside, and I didn't want to have to go through the triple-door security again. So I ended up barging into the office with a big smile on my face and handing the lady the triple copies, collated and in order. As quick as she could say, "Aah, oui!) I had turned on my heel and walked out, carefully avoiding eye contact with those waiting patiently in line.
So if all works out, in two weeks we should have our all-access pass to Polynesia, and maybe some other sailors will be jealous of us for once.
March 14:
Back in the early 1900s, when the United States was finishing digging the Panama Canal, they decided that they needed to defend all their hard work. So on each end of the canal, they built army bases and installed the largest artillery guns that had ever been built at the time. They could shoot a shell nearly 20 miles out to sea. It turns out that they would never be needed. By the time we handed over the canal back to Panama, fixed artillery placements had long become obsolete. And even through the World Wars, nobody ever tried to attack the Panama Canal.
Our marina sits on the grounds of the old Fort Sherman-- the US Army's guard post for the Atlantic end of the canal. The giant guns have long ago been dismantled, and only the giant mounds of dirt covering the reinforced concrete magazines remain. It must have been rather boring duty here for those guys. Without anything to shoot their artillery at, they made it a jungle warfare training center for all the troops headed to Vietnam. Then they opened the now infamous "School of the Americas" here. It was supposed to be a Spanish Language school for Latin American military professionals--a way to strengthen ties with our neighbors, perhaps. But the schools graduates turned out to be a laundry list of some of the most notorious human rights abusers in this hemisphere's history: Manuel Noriega, and Augusto Pinochet's top commanders.
The School of the Americas has long since moved to Georgia (and now includes special lessons about NOT torturing your own citizens, I'm told). Ft. Sherman has long since been abandoned and quickly fallen to ruins. Em and I hiked around the grounds today, looking at the howler monkeys in the trees. We saw a few coati's scramble off into the bush, and a few minutes later saw and heard our first howlers. Yes, they really do howl. The noise sounds like the combination of a lion's roar and screeching tires. The jungle here truly sounds like a spooky Tarzan movie. Mysterious hoots and growls and screeches come from all directions...the trees tower some hundred feet over head...you can't see more than a few feet into the bush. It occurred to me that I'd sure hate to be some poor private from the midwest who had to camp out here on his first night of jungle warfare training.
Soon we came to an enormous grassy clearing, neatly manicured with palm lined roads. Beyond sat a giant runway, now starting to have grass poke up through the cracks. Then further still, lay a line of old barracks along a rocky beach. There's a great view here of all the ships coming and going from the canal entrance, and the cool sea breeze was a welcome relief after the muggy wind-less jungle. Here on this beach was some of the best beach-glass hunting that I've ever seen. Not only were there the usual green and brown glass, but some very unique blues and pale violet colors. Years ago, I imagine this was where the army boys would kick back with thier bottles of booze and relax after a long day of manning those big guns. Years of waves and sand frosted the glass and wore the shards smooth, leaving these little gems behind for us to find.
March 16:
Speaking of things left behind--let me tell you about the city of Colon. Colon sits on the Atlanic side of the canal and is the closest town to our marina. Our first introduction to Colon was when Emmett and I got off the bus from Panama City. We stepped off our comfy motor coach to the sight and smell of a large pile of rotting garbage on the sidewalk in front of us. Surrounding us was the usual cacaphony of a Caribbean bus terminal: people rushing around, taxis honking relentlessly, little stands selling sodas and crackers... But something is different here. Most of the buildings are not just old, not just crumbling, they look bombed out. We had been warned that Colon is basically one large urban slum; walk far enough down the street and you WILL get robbed. So Em and I hailed the first taxi we saw and high-tailed it out of there.
Colon has been through its boom and bust periods over the years, but mostly bust. Before there was a canal, the French built a railroad to move goods across the isthmus. Then they tried to dig a canal. Then the Americans came to finish the job. Each time a big construction project happened, tens of thousands of West Indian workers were imported from Jamaica to Barbados. These young workers all landed in Colon. As the wages started flowing in, it didn't take long for taverns, whorehouses, and other unsavory businesses to spring up here. Then when each job was done, these workers were all laid off and left to fend for themselves here...creating a giant cesspool of poverty, crime, and moral terpitude that, rumor has it, still exists today.
The grocery stores are neatly situated on the relatively safe outskirts of town, and it is there that the marina's daily free bus drops us off. But the bus station, the canal offices, and the bank where you pay your tranist fees are right down town in the heart of it. Today I needed to find a few items not available at a grocery store, so I hired a cab and asked to take me wherever I could find the things on my list (R-134a refrigerant, acetone, etc.) The driver literally escorted me in and out of each store to his cab. Which was nice actually because then I only had to explain once in Spanish what it was that I was looking for, then the cab driver did the asking for me. Finally after about an hour of driving around, shopping for me, guarding my life, and returning me safely to the suburbs, he got $10 including a generous tip. For prices like those, why walk even if it was safe?
March 18:
One fun thing about Panama is the busses. They call them "Diablos Rojos" (red devils) and they look like a typical US schoolbus that has been sent to the "Pimp My Ride" shop. It seems that drivers really like to customize their busses. They all have airbrushed artwork, giant chrome tailpipes up the back, and lots of flashy bling. The billboard-like front windshields are so plastered with words and designs that it is surprising that the driver can even see out. My motorhead son is always making moans of awe as another one rolls past.
Based upon their apparent large amounts of disposable income they throw into their rides, I think bus drivers must be the wealthiest guys in Colon. So imagine riding through the streets of this post-apocalypse like slum, with these giant tricked out busses blaring their triple-air horns and barging through traffic where the only law seems to be that whoever's biggest gets to do what they want...it's like you're living in one of those old Mad Max films.
March 21:
So how exactly do you go about crossing through the Panama Canal? Well, here's the process so far. Ever since Jimmy Carter signed a treaty giving the whole thing back to Panama, the operation has been run by a Panamanian Government organization called the Panama Canal Authority. In keeping with tradition, any boat from anywhere is allowed to go through. Even little pipsqueaks like us. The first step after completing the usual customs and immigration formalities when arriving in a new country, is to make a call to the ACP's admeasurer's office. They send a guy out to every boat wanting to transit the canal--from the biggest tanker ship to the smallest motorboat. Their job is to literally measure your boat, determine the fees you'll pay, and review the rules and requirements to go through.
Our admeasurer showed up yesterday with a crisp white polo shirt and a backpack that I was sure must have had a big measuring tape in it. In fact, all he did was look at our US Coast Guard registration document and record Uliad's dimensions from there. Then we set about filling out forms: There was a form listing our length, beam, draft, and tonnage (as I mentioned this was copied, not measured...they should call it the adcopiers office!) Then was a form called the Handline Lockage Request. In additon to listing our dimensions again, on this form I was given the opportunity to state how I'd like my boat to be tied off as we go up and down the locks. I had been told before hand that we should request "center lockage", meaning two lines to each side, keeping Uliad in the middle of the lock. The other option is "side tie" where we use only two lines and the boat gets held up against the rough concrete walls of the lock. The third option of tying alongside a tugboat that is also going through is another desirable, although rarely available option.
The next form to complete was the "Ships Information and Quarantine Declaration". Once again Uliad's particulars were recorded at the top, followed by a bunch of questions about our cargo that didn't apply to us. Then there are a series of questions like, "Has plague occurred or been suspected among the rats or mice onboard during your voyage, or has there been unusal mortality among them?" No sir, I told them. All our rats are fit as a fiddle!
Then at last came the Release and Indemnity form, whereby I signed away any liability to the Republic of Panama for any disaster that may befall us during our transit. "Are you sure the Americans aren't still running this place?" I thought to myself as I signed.
To be honest, the admeasurer filled out just about everything but my signature. Then he left me with instructions about paying the fees. You have to pay in advance--always a good policy when doing business with sailors. The fees must be paid in person and in cash at the Colon branch of Citibank. They have a special little window set up at the bank just for it. Now, remembering everything I was told about the terrible crime rate in Colon, it occurred to me in the taxi that every crook in this town must know that a white guy walking toward the Citibank office is guaranteed to have over $500 in his bulging pocket. Great.
But suddenly about a block away from Citibank, the streets turned as quiet and serene as a Des Moines suburb. The cab pulled right up to the bank steps. I stepped out to see three guards armed respectively with a shotgun, a pistol, and a handheld metal detector. I was given a cursory wave of the metal detector. The guard ignored the shriek that the Leatherman in my pocket triggered and waved me into the bank.
In addition to the transit fee, you have to pay a "buffer fee". This is a sort of security deposit in case you damage the lock or something. Thankfully, that part can be put on a Visa card and gets reimbursed soon after you complete your transit. I walked out with reciepts in hand. The admeasurer told me that after 6pm on the day the fees were paid, we could call the scheduler's office to schedule the date of our transit. I called and sure enough, our name was on the list and we were asked when we wanted to go through. Kathleen flies back this Friday, so I requested to transit on Saturday, March 28. Granted.
So, loyal readers, if you're not busy this weekend and want to fly down and go through the canal with us, you're more than welcome. But if that doesn't work into your schedule, you can still watch us go through on the live webcams that the Canal Authority has set up. From what I've heard, they usually send small boats like us through the Gatun Locks in the late afternoon or early evening. Then on Sunday morning the 29th, we'll go through the Miraflores Locks and should be visible on that webcam. If anyone out there sees us, try to save and send me a screen shot, OK?
March 27:
Unlike the rest of Latin America, things in Panama seem to run like clockwork. The canal agent arrived as scheduled with 4 giant mooring lines and a bunch of old tires for us. The canal authority's idea of "adequate fenders" is far beyond what most yachts carry, so there are a few guys who do a brisk business in renting old tires, carefully wrapped in plastic so as not to mar the shiny new paint on a yacht. We tied a whole mess of them along each side of the boat so that in case the swirling currents of the locks push us into a wall or a dingy old tugboat, we're protected.
The other appointment that occurred right on schedule was the fumigator. No, Uliad has not developed a cockroach problem. But it seems that the Galapagos Islands want to avoid introduction of exotic insects into their unique ecosystems. Thus all foreign boats that arrive are supposed to show up with a "fumigation certificate in hand. So I called to Panama's equivalent of the Orkin man and he showed up with a clipboard and a big can of God knows what sort of toxin today at 9am.
He asked what the problem was and in a mixture of Spanish and English I explained that we have not seen any cuccarachas, we only needed whatever was the minimum required for our Certificado de Fumigacion. He glanced around just enough to find a comfortable seat in the salon and started filling out the Certificate. It seems that the minimum required was $105. I was glad to not have pesticide residues all over the boat. He was glad to not have to crawl around and smoke out cockroaches all morning.
So now our last remaining task will be to go to the airport to pick up Kathleen this evening. Despite a spring blizzard in Denver, I noted on the Northwest Airlines website that her flight made it out on schedule. Em and I are running around the boat this morning cleaning up any vestiges of bachelor living. Hopefully we'll impress Mom with a clean, bug and pesticide free Uliad tonight when she returns...even though with all these tires, the outside looks like a dingy old tugboat!
March 28:
To really appreciate the Panama Canal, it helps to understand its history. Just a few weeks ago I had finished reading a fat book called The Path Between The Seas which is really the final word on how the whole thing came to be. So all of the "biggest" and "first" trivia was fresh in my mind as we prepared to experience it for ourselves. The various engineering challenges: the Chagres River, the Gaillard Cut, the Gatun Dam...all these were now laid out on the map before me.
As a doctor, I'm a bit proud to say however that the biggest victory of the Panama canal was a medical one. The early attempts to dig this canal were stymied more than anything by the terrible toll caused by disease among the workers. On the road to Panama City one day, I looked out the bus window and noticed one of the old French Cemeteries. Tens of thousands died here of Yellow Fever until an American Army doctor named William Gorgas instituted strict mosquito control measures to stop the epidemics. It was tremendously effective. I must admit to being a little disappointed that they didn't name SOMETHING after him along the canal.
Anyway, with Uliad ready to go and Kathleen back aboard, we were just getting ready to head out when our friends on Independence and Chewink floated into the marina. We had a brief reunion with them and made promises to get together on the Pacific side.
The schedule was for us to rendezvous with our Transit Advisor around 16:00, and enter the first lock at 17:00. We arrived at the rendezvous point about 5 minutes late. Soon after, our three hired line handlers came aboard, followed by our Transit Advisor. I should explain: The Canal requires every yacht going through to have four able bodied people on board at all times. Many boats find other sailors, or tourists to come along. But we couldn't find any volunteers so we ended up paying three young Panamanians $85 each to do the job. Once aboard, they're not allowed to leave the boat until we finish the transit the following day. Marco, Joel, and Antoine arrived as scheduled and went right to work coiling and arranging our lines. (The latter two had never been line handlers before...and Antoine was born with only two fingers on each hand. So I guess the fact that everything went perfectly speaks to the fact that it's not a particularly difficult thing to do properly.
The Canal sends along a Transit Advisor, whose job is to tell us all what to do when. John, and ex-pat American stepped aboard around 16:30 and explained everything: We'd be rafting up to two other boats. Since Uliad was the largest of the three, we'd be in the middle. Then the three boats tied together would enter the first canal behind a large cargo ship.
This all came to pass and we motored into the first giant chamber. It turns out that the middle yacht (Us!) does all the driving once we're rafted up, so I had to focus all my attention on steering straight while on both sides of me the canal workers were tossing down lines for the outside boats to attach their mooring ropes to. Once centered in the lock, the huge doors closed behind us and the water began to swirl and boil like a giant jacuzzi. I think I understood what it would feel like to be a bath toy.
The Gatun Locks are a series of three locks that lifted us up to Gatun Lake. The lake was created by damming a huge river and provides the majority of the waterway of the Panama Canal. By the time we motored out of the third lock and onto the lake, it was dark. We were directed to a huge mooring buoy to tie off to for the night. A launch boat picked up our Advisor and he told us to be ready by 7am tomorrow to cross the lake with a new advisor.
We fed the line handlers a spaghetti dinner, and slept soundly on the calm waters of the lake. I'm not sure if Uliad has ever floated in fresh water before...another first!
March 29:
A new Transit Advisor arrived the following morning, and we motored off across Lake Gatun. What used to be the peaks of jungle mountains are now islands scattered here. We squeezed through a patch of these islands for the first half of the trip on a side channel that the big ships don't use. Both of our Transit Advisors had "real jobs" with the canal authority. This was just a side hobby for a little extra money. Max (day 2 advisor) worked 5 days a week dredging the canal. I took comfort in that as we motored past dead tree trunks standing outside our channel. If there were any shallow spots to worry about, I figured Max would know.
By the end of the morning we were back in the main ship channel, meeting one giant container ship after another heading the other direction. We eventually left the man made lake and entered the Gaillard Cut--a channel that was dug straight through the mountainous continental divide. The French failed here in part because they vastly underestimated the amount of digging it would take. Every time they tried to cut a steep V shaped channel, it would rain and mudslides would fill in thier work. They started digging a broader and broader V, but still the slides kept happening. The Americans took over and ran into the same problems. Eventually, they got the job done with the broad, terraced cuts you see here. The hills look like they were made from Legos blocks.
Yet even today, Max tells me, they have several teams of dredgers working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to keep the canal open. At then end of the Gaillard cut lay the Bridge of the Americas--a giant suspension bridge spanning that huge gap. Then we were rafting up again to enter the first of three down-going locks. By now we were all old pros at this and everyone assumed their battle stations with much more confidence. The final locks are the Miraflores Locks where there is a visitor's center. The tourists on the observation deck waved down at us and we waved back heartily...not at them, but at the webcam atop the building where we knew our family was watching!
And just like that, those giant, steel, century-old doors swung open to reveal...the other side. The Pacific Ocean. Well, actually it was a grubby harbor. But BEYOND that...under an old bridge and out the channel...there it was. And you know, it really DID feel different. The water was cooler. The ocean had a different smell to it. The skies were overcast. It all seemed new.
One of the great things about the cruising life is how your world is constantly changing. A new landfall, a new country, a new culture...suddenly everything that annoyed you about your last place is gone. You get to start over. Now here we were, on the planet's largest ocean and it was flat calm. After all the rough waters of the Southwest Caribbean, it was hard to believe. Flat calm. A whole new world. We dropped off our line handlers, and set out once again to explore.
March 31:
The anchorage for small yachts on the Pacific side of the canal is located at the end of a long causeway made from dredged soil from the canal. It is now a scenic drive and walkway where people come from Panama City to take a stroll in the fresh air. In one direction, we have a great view of the skyline of Panama City, in the other, we have a front row seat to the comings and goings of much of the world's ship traffic.
The downside to all that traffic is that every ship and pilot boat and supply tender that comes and goes kicks up some waves that keeps the boat rocking day and night. It is just annoying enough to keep us motivated to make our final preparations and get out of here. We are packing on more groceries than ever before on Uliad. It never ceases to amaze me how much we can pile away in all the various holds and lockers onboard. It will be about a week's sail to the Galapagos, where there should be some limited groceries available. After that it will be another 3 weeks or so at sea to the Marquesas Islands, and then weeks more until we get to an island with enough people to have a reasonably well stocked grocery store. Hence the need for months of food, beverages, etc.
We have done much of our provisioning before going through the canal, but we'll wait until the last minute to buy fruit, vegetables, and fresh stuff so it will keep as long as possible. Keeping food from spoiling in this heat is an art of itself that I'm sure I'll have lots of time to blog about in the coming weeks.
Today's adventure, though was to get our taxes sent off. Running away to sea does not exempt us from needing to send the IRS its due, so after getting all our forms signed and sealed, we set off to find an international courier service today. The good thing about Panama City is that taxis are cheap. The bad thing about it though is that about every third taxi driver we've had takes one look at our gringo faces and doubles the fare. We've learned to ask the price first before getting in, and not being afraid to walk away when someone quotes an outrageous price. (And anything more than 5 or 6 dollars turns out to be outrageous here!) The other bad thing about Panama City is that there doesn't seem to be any sort of address system. A certain business (like say, DHL) might give its location on a certain street or certain neighborhood, but then it's up to the taxi driver to get there and start yelling to people on the street to ask where is the place he's looking for. Our driver today had no idea where a DHL or FedEx office might be. He asked another taxi driver who sent us to a big mall. The taxi driver then asked the security guard at the mall who sent us to the Elephant lot. The security guard there said yes, go right in and turn left before the food court.
In the mall we found a Western Union office, but no DHL. There we found out that the courier store had gone out of business long ago and we needed to go out near the airport. Another taxi and another half hour of driving around and we finally found it. I hope the IRS appreciates the efforts we go to!
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