OUR FINAL BOAT TRIP

Yeah, this is not the boat we took. Ours is the sailboat in the top right corner...the Luka.

From the earliest days of this voyage, our luck with boats has been something less than stellar.

Early readers of the blog will remember the original Boat Trip From Hell, as we sailed/drifted for 12 days from Palau to the Philippines with two Germans on their small, not-exactly-modern sailboat. 

Forgetting those painful lessons learned on the Pacific, we tried sailing again months later in Madagascar, this time spending nearly 20 hours crammed into a narrow, dugout ocean-going canoe with a sheet for a sail and the entire Indian Ocean (but no privacy) for a bathroom.

More months and thousands of miles had passed. Surrounded by stunning seas, Panama was the final stop of the trip. The San Blas were some of the most scenic islands we'd ever seen. And we'd soon enough be land-locked back home for who knows how long. 

So yeah, you know where this is going. We decided to sail again. On a boat. Overnight.

But this time, we chose wisely.  

While eating fresh-baked bread and drinking strong Panamanian coffee at the only bakery in Potobello, we overheard three American twenty-somethings talking about a boat trip. From what we could hear, they would be sailing later that day, heading through the San Blas Islands and on to Colombia. 

Naturally, Liz leaned over and said, "Excuse me, did you say you're leaving on a boat trip?" 

Half an hour later, we had already met the Luka's capable, friendly, and honest captain, Bea, who was running around town like a mad woman provisioning the boat in prep for their five-day trip. We told her our plans (a one-night trip in the San Blas was all we had time and budget for), and she said, "Sure, you can have my cabin and we'll drop you off tomorrow somewhere you can catch a motor boat to where you need to go next." 

Like our captain Bea, we spent most of the day running around Portobello buying stuff for our trip. We also squeezed in time visiting the remains of the 400-yr-old fort, watching a soccer game played atop cannons hauled on Spanish galleons, and looking out over the deep bay, the supposed burial place of THE Sir Frances Drake, whose lead-encased body no one's ever found.

We did see an interesting liquor selection at one of the two stores in town that sold booze -- Abuelo rum, Night Train (really?), a fifth of Tanqueray gin for $10, and something called Kentucky Cream whiskey, none of which we tried.

If you do make it to Portobello, a quintessential but gritty sailor town Jimmy Buffet sings about in "Cowboy in the Jungle," you may as well try to meet up with Captian Jack. The pony-tailed, wanna-be pirate is a teller of tales and schemer of schemes who knows just about all there is to know about the surrounding area and far beyond. He also serves quality food, cheap rum and decent rooms if you don't mind bunk beds and a little noise. We loved it.

But the real reason you come here is to catch a boat to places further afield...and so we did. Less than 12 hours after we met our American friends and Captain Bea, we were sailing the Caribbean on a 52-ft ketch, sipping rum, seeing the sea and petting the Luka's official living mascot, Wacek, seen below.

After a peaceful night among a ludicrously starry sky, we shared a filling breakfast with our fellow passengers before disembarking at El Porvenir, a tiny strip of sand and palm trees that hosts a hotel, a recently-paved runway and the San Blas Guna General Congress. 

Here, we took a group photo with our fellow travelers as they departed for Colombian and Kip had to go meet with the big boss (Speaker of the House?) to negotiate our motor boat back to the mainland. 

All in all, it was one heckuva way to spend some of the final days of our trip...and more importantly, to re-affirm our faith in sailing, not to mention in our decision-making abilities when it comes to boats.  

Big thanks to Luka, Captain Bea and the crew! 

FUNNY MONDAY: LIZ LOVING LOBSTERS

The closer we got to the end of the trip, the more we felt we needed to spend a little more time on a beach. And Liz could spend more time with the fresh lobsters some passing divers delivered to the little island we were staying on. 

PHOTO FRIDAY: STORM IN THE SAN BLAS ISLANDS

A storm front blows across the San Blas Islands. 

THE PANAMA CANAL

A cargo ship passes beneath the Bridge of the Americas as it exits the canal en route to the Pacific Ocean.

Historian David McCullough in his book The Path Between the Seas wrote this about the Panama Canal:

"The creation of a water passage across Panama was one of the supreme human achievements of all time, the culmination of a heroic dream of over 400 years and of more than 20 years of phenomenal effort and sacrifice. The 50 miles between the oceans were among the hardest ever won by human effort and ingenuity, and no statistics on tonnage or tolls can begin to convey the grandeur of what was accomplished." 

As McCullough writes, mere statistics don't do justice to the marvel that is the Panama Canal. 

But let's give it a shot anyway, shall we? 

By the time the United States bought the rights to the canal from the French in 1904 following their decade-long failed attempt to build the waterway, $287 million had been spent and thousands of workers (20,000+) had died, mostly from yellow fever and malaria.

After 10 more years, millions of dollars, and thousands more lives lost, the canal finally opened to commercial traffic under U.S. control. 

A few stats:

• Construction cost in 1914: $375,000,000 (not counting the French attempt)
• Cost in 2007 dollars: $7.4 billion
• Number of workers to build: 56,000+
• Lowest toll paid: 36 cents paid by Richard Haliburton, who swam through in 1928
• Highest toll paid: $375,600 by the cruise ship Norwegian Pearl in 2010
• Time to cross: 1-2 days, depending on traffic; if a boat enters on time for her early morning appointment, she can make the passage in 8-10 hours, typically
• Boats per year: 1,000 (1915); 14,000+ (2010)

One of the canal's 3,000-ton, five-story tall gates closes behind a cargo ship.

For more stats, check out this page or the official page of the Canal de Panama. 

The Canal truly is a wonder of the modern world. If you ever get to Panama, you gotta head out to the Miraflores Locks and Visitors' Center and watch this feat of engineering in operation. 

It's so worth it. 

Liz on the radio in the control tower of a ship passing through the canal.
OK, maybe it's a simulator in the Canal Visitor's Center.

View from the visitor center.

The view from the bar of the Balboa Yacht Club. Great place to enjoy a sunset.

GETTING ENGAGED ON THE NILE

With tears in his eyes, Gert proposes to Rhoda. 

Memorable travel moments come in all shapes and sizes. 

Some may involve the terror of falling off a cliff in Thailand. Others could stem from the joy of getting lost underwater while surrounded by thousands of friendly fish. 

On a sunset boat cruise at the source of the Nile River in Uganda, we were invited to share in someone else's travel moment. And it will go down as one of the most sincere and touching memories of the trip.

As we boarded the pontoon boat, Rhoda, a stunning Kenyan woman with a constant smile, told us she had always wanted to cruise the Nile. She thought that's what her doting boyfriend Gert had brought her to Jinja to do. But Gert had other plans.

Unbeknownst to Rhoda, her boyfriend had been planning stealthily to make the boat trip far more than just a cruise. Gert was going to ask Rhoda to marry him, which he whispered to Kip only minutes after they climbed on-board. The plan was hatched. 

We shared drinks, travel tales and laughs. We took an unauthorized swim in the dark, swirling waters of the Nile. Soon after, to the tune of Shania Twain's "From This Moment," Gert dropped to one knee and, tears in his eyes, he asked the "woman of his dreams" to marry him. 

The happy couple.

Between sobs, Rhoda screamed "Yes!" Gert slipped the ring on her left hand. He held her close and told her he loved her. She cried some more. 

Drinks were served. A celebration ensued. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Rhoda explained to Gert that he would need be ready to negotiate with her family on how many cows this would cost him. She laughingly added he might get a discount for her poor cooking skills. Gert assured her he would be ready. 

And a very special travel moment went deep into the memory banks for all of us.

Congratulations, Gert and Rhoda! Thanks for sharing your special day with us!

ZANZIBAR PHOTO BONUS

We're traveling today but since we love all things Zanzibar here are a few photos that didn't make it into any updates while we were there:

Kip and our new Aussie friend Dougie introduced frisbee to this group of Masai warriors who were on break from their jobs guarding a nearby hotel.

Life's tough...but not today. Yes, we braved another boat trip, but this one was fully-stocked with grilled fish, cold beer, and two motors, both of which worked. 

Zanzibar's beaches...hard to beat.

A local man transports sailfish on his bike to the Stonetown market five miles away.

A Masai welcomes us to The Rock, a famous restaurant atop a tiny outcropping of coral a few feet from the beach.

Liz enjoys the vino and the view at The Rock.

GANG ACTIVITY ON MAFIA ISLAND

Maybe Mafia Island doesn't have any mobsters. But there certainly seemed to be a lot of gang activity during our stay.

Fishing takes a village, at least around Mafia, whose waters teem with fish. The small boat above is filled with a gang of helpful islanders needed to set and retrieve the heavy nets used in the surrounding waters.

Kip (far right)  joins a local gang
assisting a driver re-start his van.

An intimidating gang of feral cats
stakes out a fish seller

Another fishing gang pulling in nets on the island's north shore. 

Liz cleans up trash in the Mafia Marine Reserve. Only a gang of litterers would trash a beach as beautiful as Mafia's.

This group of plastic bottle caps, styrofoam and a lighter shows more of the work of the litter gang.

Kip, trash bag in hand, joins Liz to clean up the beach, littered by the work of the aforementioned litterers. 

PHOTO FRIDAY: MORNING BEACH WALK ON MAFIA

Much of life on Mafia Island revolves around the water. Residents use the island's shores to fish from, to park their boats on, and, like the ladies above, to commute to and from work each morning and afternoon.

Sure beats being stuck in traffic at rush hour. 

BEACH COWS

Zanzibar's picture-perfect beaches rarely get crowded. Unless a herd of cows gets thirsty and decides it's time for a drink and some sun. These hedonistic bovines give nude beach a whole new meaning.

PHOTO FRIDAY: ZANZIBAR RAINBOW

We thought we'd never see anything like the Photo Friday rainbow over Burma's Inle Lake from months ago. But an afternoon thunderstorm on our first day in Zanzibar produced a scene we thought was pretty close. 

Above, two men pole their boat through the shallows as another sails past in the distance. Welcome to Zanzibar indeed.

BEAUTIFUL BELO SUR MER

So, eight hour boat trip aside, this place really is beautiful. We can admit that now.

When we arrived, however, hot, thirsty, and sunburned with still a 1 kilometer walk through a sandy marsh to anything reminiscent of a hotel, we can't say it made the best first impression.

But, we were glad to be on land. And, Liz was particularly excited about the diving. We'd heard stories about the reefs offshore in the deep, clear waters of the Mozambique Channel, which was one of our main reasons for heading to this very out of the way place.

Alas, the universe had other plans. After struggling along in the mud and sand, we stopped at every guesthouse (there are four in total, even counting the uninhabitable one barely standing after cyclone damage). Each one we passed was either closed for the season or full (though we saw no other foreigners for miles). Sounds like a typically planned Liz and Kip trip so far...

As we went to what we thought was the final hotel (they were closing down for the season and wouldn't let us stay), we were lucky to meet one of the owners of Ecolodge de Menabe, who told us he had rooms. The owner ran the only dive shop within 100 miles. Despite his perfect English, he only wanted to speak French, so Liz decided to wow him with her skills, asking, "Plongee?" For those without such an amazing command of the language, this is the French word for diving.  And he replied, "No plongee." To which Liz said, "Oh no!" and he replied in his heavy French accent "Oh, yes!"  She was not amused.

But, his place was marvelous and he gave the three of us (thank you Ernest for not smothering us in our sleep) the best bungalow in the entire place. We felt special. We were the only guests in the entire village, and the local kids showed off for us a bit  by having a contest with their spinning tops.

We were also served some tasty samosas by these adorable and precocious kiddos. We can honestly say, nothing tastes better than a fresh fish samosa. Especially when it's delivered right to your doorstep, with a smile.


And then, there were the sunsets.

All of this ALMOST made up for the fact that we had an eight-hour boat ride back...which, in true Madagascar style, was really 12 hours. 

Market stuff in Belo: Clockwise, starting with dried sardines, weird hush puppies, two bowls of salty fish patties, and six fuzzy round fruits from the baobabs, which Liz took a liking to.

Liz with a sunblock-covered friend we met after picking up trash along the town's main road (a sandy path). 

The kids could work wonders with their homemade tops.
Winding the rope around the spindle, they would hurl
the balls into the air  and at just the right moment,
pull back so the top dropped, spinning madly,
into their palm or on their chest or even
on one guy's head. Good show.

BOAT TRIP FROM HELL II

Dawn breaks on the first minutes of  what would be a 20-hr round trip crunched into this two-foot wide dugout pirogue/sailboat. No bathroom, no motor, no food, no shade. #wedodumbstuff

Traveling as we do, slowly and without a real itinerary or timeline, we sometimes hear of idyllic, off-the-map places that sound in dire need of a visit. In whispers and with hand-drawn maps, locals and like-minded travelers will describe these mythical spots, making sure others don't hear lest they ruin the sacred secrets passed over by time and place and cell phone towers.

Supposedly, this was the case with Belo Sur Mer, a coastal village south of Morondava. What little we found to read about Belo sounded incredible. Tales of locals still building large ships “the old way," using only handtools and wood, right on the beach. There were rumored to be beautiful beaches, stunning bays, sunsets (readers of this blog-hi Mom-know how we love sunsets), and best of all, a guy who would take us diving in the Mozambique Channel not too far offshore.

There was just one catch. It was rainy season, and the road was closed, so the four-hour 4x4 ride option was off the table. But an enterprising restaurant manager assured us, “no problem.” He could get us a pirogue that would sail us down the coast to this magical place...and it would only take three to four hours. It sounded so easy, we got ourselves so worked up that neither of us even thought about the original "Boat Trip from Hell" we took across the Pacific at the beginning of the trip. 

Us, hurting, eight hours into the trip.

Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it. 

In the same restaurant we met Ernest, a backpacker from Charm City, Baltimore, not an hour's drive from our house in DC. We quickly convinced/conned him into joining us and splitting the costs. Over celebratory drinks we toasted our good luck. Plans were made for a 7 AM departure the next day.

We met our pirogue captain as planned, and walked to the boat, which was about half a mile down the beach. This is where things got interesting.  For starters, the boat was not exactly in ship-shape condition. Loose wooden planks floated in the bottom in standing water already inside. The skinny mast, a bark-less former tree limb, looked splinted and weak. And the boat was small. Really small.  Barely shoulder width at the widest point, and about 15 feet long. We gave each other reassuring looks, shrugged our shoulders and climbed in. We could handle anything for four hours. And we would be eating amazing seafood on the beach in Belo by lunchtime.

Over 20 hours, we were passed by lots of pirogues, like the one above, which had a full-size sail and unbroken mast. 

Earnest, with ripped sail in the
background, still manages to smile.
This guy is awesome.

More than four hours later...

We were in the hot sun, with limited shade (thankfully Liz brought her umbrella), limited water, and no food, somewhere in the Mozambique Channel. Our sail, which was an oversize bed sheet tied to a large stick, pushed us along painfully slow. Saltwater that soaked us when waves crashed over the sides constantly stung our eyes. Water in the bottom of the boat grew slowly deeper, despite our bailing efforts. We prayed we were close.

"How much longer, Captain?" Kip asked, since he was the person wedged closest to where the driver hand-steered with a paddle he probably carved himself. 

"Don't know. Maybe we arrive by 2 PM." 

Wait, what?!  Four more hours. Liz asked the same question, and we got the same answer. Gritting our teeth, we wished we’d been smart enough to bring some food with us. Not surprisingly, 2 pm came and went. We sailed on, butts numb, backs aching, sweat pouring. No one spoke for hours.

Our first mate, searching for wind and land...and probably a bathroom.

Then the mast broke during a surprise wind gust. At least we had some excitement. Which was then followed by an even slower pace. 

We finally make landfall around 4 pm, as the sun sank slowly toward the sea. Painfully, we struggled out of the boat into knee deep water. Moments later, we kissed the beach. Incredibly, our new friend Ernest was still speaking to us.

Two days later, we would repeat this process, only somewhat better rationed with water and food and sunscreen. After the previous journey, we thought we were prepared mentally and physically. But nothing could have readied us for what turned into a 12-hour marathon back up the coast. 

Mythical places? Idyllic, untouched locales? There's probably a reason they're like that. Take our advice--let them stay that way. You'll thank us later.