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! 

SAN BLAS ISLANDS II

There's so much to love about the San Blas Islands.

The stunning clarity and colors of the water that laps soothingly over the white sand beaches, which Liz could never seem to get enough of. The ubiquitous bead anklets and bracelets the local Kuna women wear to signify whether they're married or not. The lady below, preparing fresh fish for our dinner is married, as noted by the wide wrap around each ankle. 

The quality of food and accommodation varies from island to island. Since only Kuna people can run businesses in the San Blas Islands (no foreign-owned companies allowed...meaning the Hard Rock San Blas will not be happening there anytime soon), the hotels and accompanying restaurants are run by the same one or two families who inhabit whichever island visitors end up staying on. 

While this often means sleeping arrangements are rustic and meals can be culinarily-challenged at times, the overall experience is one that's becoming more and more difficult to come by.

Above, Liz stands in the doorway of our hut. Amenities include one naked light bulb hanging from the palm roof, one thin mattress resting on cross-cut palm trunks, and a hammock for when the bed filled with sand. After lights out, the darkness is profound, as are the starry skies and the sounds from the waves nearby and the palms overhead. 

For families or groups, there are larger huts with multiple hammocks.

But the main attraction can only be the islands themselves. Picture perfect, whether from a distance...

Or frozen in yoga pose atop one...

Or closing business deals just next to one.

If you have time, the San Blas are so worth a visit (or two). While you're there, take some time to enjoy the scene, learn about the locals, and consider a volunteer activity such as  a beach cleanup.

And of course, don't forget to take dominion over your own palm-crowned private island. It's as unique a place as we've seen on the trip and will definitely be making our Top 10 list, if we ever get around to putting one together. 

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. 

NAKED TRASH CLEAN UP

No, we didn't get naked to clean up a beach in Panama's stunning San Blas Islands. But a little helper named Christopher, seen here, did.  

We shouldn't have been surprised--the kid rarely wore clothes both times we stayed on his island, a tiny teardrop of sand not much larger than a city block. Of course, considering he lives a Blue Lagoon-like lifestyle surrounded by swaying palms and clear blue waters, who could blame him. 

While the San Blas Islands look and feel close to paradise, the Kuna people who live there are facing critical problems with clean water, sanitation, and trash.
























Thanks to the steady stream of tourists and a growing local population, there isn't enough potable water to go around. In addition, all those people are producing lots of waste, which isn't being disposed of properly, leading to polluted oceans, contaminated drinking water, and trash in the water, wrapped around starfish, and dotting the beaches, which we did our best to eradicate with the help of little naked Christopher. 

We even convinced some fellow travelers to join us on the clean up. Together,we walked the beaches, crisscrossed the island, and snorkeled the surrounding waters picking up trash. 

If you do visit the San Blas, make sure to carry out everything you carry in (and more if you have room), and before you book, ask if the island you're on has properly-functioning toilet facilities. If it doesn't, stay elsewhere.

And of course, if you see garbage on the beach, recruit some fellow travelers, and take the time to clean it up. You'll be glad you did, and you might make some new friends in the process.

PHOTO FRIDAY: SAN BLAS ISLANDS, PANAMA

More than 350 islands...less than 50 are inhabited. Welcome to the San Blas.

PHOTO FRIDAY: DIVING WITH SHARKS IN COIBA MARINE PARK

Liz gets a close-up view of a white-tipped reef shark in Panama's Coiba National Marine Park. 

PHOTO FRIDAY: PIER WITH A VIEW

A pier stretches toward the horizon to the surf break called Silverbacks and the island of Bastimentos in Bocas del Toro, Panama. 

Even under a cloudy sky, we found it hard to find anything to complain about with this view.

PHOTO FRIDAY: A SAND DOLLAR'S WORTH

One year ago this week, we were enjoying a stunning sunset in the Philippines, and we wrote about all the crazy modes of transport it took to see it. 

This week, a sunset in Playa El Cuco in El Salvador was made all the better by the presence of a nearly symmetrical sand dollar Liz found on the beach. In monetary value, the little sea urchin doesn't come to much.

But considering it was Liz's first sand dollar ever to see in the wild, it sure meant a lot to us.

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.

SUNNY MONDAY: FLIPPING OUT IN ZANZIBAR

Even without the groups of acrobatic kids soaring high over the sand, Stone Town's sunsets tend to stick in the memory. Combine the sights, however, and you get what's by far the greatest show on the historic Tanzanian island of Zanzibar.  

For three days, we started our nights here, watching as not-so-organized gangs of local teenagers twisted, flipped and somersaulted their way from the beach into the shallow waters. These weren't local kids looking to bilk money from tourists. These guys performed for fun. For bragging rights. For each other. And luckily for us, thanks to their nightly shows, they'll be performing in our memories for a long time to come.

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.

SWIMMING WITH GREAT WHITE SHARKS

Come on in...the water's fine! Or not. A shark lunges out of the water during our snorkel trip.

A visit to South Africa simply isn't complete without a relaxing swim in the swirling waters of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. Or so we were told.  

Not ones to miss an opportunity for some quality beach time, we headed two hours southeast of Cape Town to Van Dyks Bay, home to long stretches of deserted shoreline...and a cove famous around the world for offering visitors the chance to get up close and personal with massive, hungry great white sharks.

Yes, that's great white sharks, the ones made famous by Jaws, "Shark Week," and overblown newscasts from around the planet that make these apex predators out to be much more dangerous to humans than they really are. Of course, when you're underwater in a cage and a 15-foot long, 2,000-lb. killing machine passes less than an arm's length in front of you, you'd be forgiven for accidentally warming your wetsuit from the inside. Not that either of us did that. No, really, we didn't. Photos below. 

  

"Fishing" for sharks only a few feet from a metal cage filled with snorkelers. Though the sharks are not actually fed, trips like these remain controversial for their impact on shark behavior. Click here for a news story on the practice of shark diving. 

Kip experiences a close encounter with a great white shark swimming just beyond the bars of the cage. 

It was a good day not to be a neoprene seal.

When one of the sharks latched onto the fake seal used to attract them, a tooth lodged in the seal's back. The captain presented the jagged incisor to Liz, who was extremely excited about her new souvenir. 

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.

A LITTLE HELP GOES A LONG WAY

OK, so if you've been reading this blog, hopefully you know we try to do some sort of volunteer work at least once a week wherever we are. It's not a monumental goal, nor is it going to change the world. We realize this.

But giving back, even a little, does make us feel good. Plus, sometimes we get to see/do some cool stuff we may not otherwise get to do, such as photographing whale sharks or spending Earth Day underwater in Palau. 

Last week, doing our "1 of 7," as we like to call it, we experienced something we thought was pretty nice. 

We had found our own little paradise--a beach hut for $10 per night (whoo hooo!), complete with front porch, hammock, and ridiculous views, all on a remote island in the Philippines where few foreigners visit except during surf season, which it wasn't. There were even seashells out front for Liz to collect and water buffalo out back for Kip to take pictures of!

The only problem was the beach was scattered with trash. Most of it came in with the tides, but some also fell from the hands of locals, many of whom still think tossing their chip bags, food wrappers, and cigarette butts in the sand is acceptable behavior. A few folks even call the plastic bag the "Filipino Jellyfish" for its prevalence and appearance when found in the water or washed up onshore. 

After breakfast and a less-than-stellar surf session, we grabbed a few plastic bags and hit the beach to start a clean up. Side note: You may have noticed picking up trash has been a go-to activity for us; there's litter everywhere, it's easy to collect, and cleaning it up makes an immediate impact, especially in tourist areas; if only we could figure out how to get people to stop littering. Hmmmmm. 

After half an hour or so, a graying man and younger boy in board shorts walked down the empty beach toward us. Looking closely, it appeared as if they both were carrying plastic bags and that they were picking up trash as they walked. 


Helpers? Indeed, it was.

The man's name was John. He was an expat American living in the Philippines, and he and his Philippine-born son, Kenji, had seen us and wondered if they could lend a hand. 


"Of course," we told them, "we'd love to have the help."  So father and son joined in, and, together, we walked along talking and filling our bags. 

John said he hoped this would be a good lesson for Kenji, who spent hours on the beach or on the waves nearby. He also thought it may help convince some of the locals who'd been watching us to stop littering and maybe even consider cleaning up after others who weren't as conscientious. 

It was nice to imagine. 


After emptying our bags in a nearby trash can, we shook hands and parted ways. And then we got back to enjoying what we felt was our own little slice of paradise...