Panama City - A Handsome Town

It’s curious. Technically we’re still very much on the other side of the world, taking into account that I’m from Europe. But arriving in Panama after sailing around South America gives me a feeling of homecoming.

Panama City is a handsome town, spawn to grandeur due to the Canal, I’m sure. We’re in the northern hemisphere again, and tomorrow we’ll cross this tiny worm of water that connects the alien Pacific to the familiar Atlantic. I grew up on its beaches, breathed its air. Now we share the anchorage with countless mastodons, waiting for the convoy to pick up. I’ve crossed the Canal so many times but it never fails to excite me.

Yesterday I saw Orion. Today the moon stands slumped over Panama City and tomorrow we’ll rev up the mains, hoist the anchor and go home.

View on the bridge between North and South America; the entrance to the Panama Canal

Panama City; a handsome town

Nice marina too

Countless ships waiting for the north bound convoy

Moon over Panama City

Manta, Ecuador - Seeing the Light

Engineers don’t get enough sunlight. It’s a known fact. So on sunny days we tend to select deck machinery that’s a pending disaster. Deck officers run their winches until they combust, which is also a known fact, so this morning I decided to pull Ludin out of the filters and took him along overhauling a winch.

A sunny day in Ecuador might get a bit toasty so we brought water, tied bandana’s around our heads and labored in the sweat of our brow, whilst singing engineering songs and telling engineering tales. Engineers are known for their narrative qualities, and work is usually conducted in environments too noisy to outshout, so when the weather permits and the job is on deck, we lavishly review the digest of our lives and recount the heroisms of those who went before us.

Next to us a reefer is loading tuna from smaller fisher vessels. No doubt they’ll take them on transport to Japan or even Europe. Two decades ago I was an apprentice on a reefer. We ran bananas from South and Central America to Europe mostly. As I stare across the concrete dock and recall my early days I see the crew and recognize them. Ben the Cook, who died. Captain Sherby who excelled in creating Caribbean cocktails. Frowning Willy. Simon Suddenly.  And Ludin! For crying out loud! In an unguarded moment, Ludin must have snuck off, got his Canon and stands yapping with the neighboring crew, shooting pictures of the fish while I’m standing with half a winch in my hands!

Then I see the light. It’s too warm to be carrying on with winches. I’ll go up to the bridge to inform the Chief Officer that he broke his winch and that it won’t work for a while.

Fisher ships at anchor

The cruise ship discovery at Manta, Ecuador

Fishermen everywhere

More fisher boats

A reefer vessel at Manta, Ecuador

One of Ludin's photos of the reefer

One of the holds of the reefer

Little fisher boat in distress

It’s amazing how little people realize that the ocean is a wilderness without any mercy. They set out in rinky-dink vessels to have some fun or adventure, then find machinery failing and them the subject of a slow and torturous death. The crew of Flor Maria is fortunate enough to be able to flag down a merchant. They haven’t even brought a radio and we discover them waving white flags, somewhere on the amorphous expanse of the Pacific Ocean. We slow down and try to drift along side, fully aware that at any time we might get a bazooka trained on us for our trouble.

“Does anyone speak Spanish?”

“I speak,” says Ludin, popping up from the galley. He is a small man but he has a voice strong enough to cut steel.

“Ask them politely what their problem is.”

Ludin leans over the railing and thunders, “What you want? You evil Somali bastards!!”

“That wasn’t Spanish.”

“They understand,” says Ludin with a fatherly nod and heads back to the galley.

The crew of the Flor Maria set out on a fishing trip five days ago, lost their water tank and refrigeration. They haven’t eaten in two days and are still a long way from shore. We pitch a line, tie six-packs of Brazilian mineral water to it, and run them over. Bags with bread and fruit follow. Blessings and curses waft from our torrid decks. Then we disconnect and go our separate ways. 

Soon we are tiny specks on each other’s horizon. The world arches its back between us and spreads its final wilderness like an open hand that lets us go.

Little fisher boat in disress on the Pacific Ocean

Flor Maria in distress

Giving water to a marooned crew



The crew of the Flor Maria looking up for more



 

Machupiccu - A Crystal from a Dissolved Past

Out through the Peruvian dessert, through countless centuries, lies the mysterious city of Machupiccu; an abandoned ruined town that defies logic or explanation. It once was a bustling hub, then suddenly its people upped and left without a trace. Theories abound but no really solid explanation has been offered on what happened to the Machupiccians.

There’s also no real sound reason why I let my man Ludin, lamo extraordinaire, go on a trip to that fabled town - other than my desire to see pictures taken by someone who’s not a professional, and whose intuitive aim may bring back impressions that can’t be found in a National Geographic or Wikipedia page.

A few hours before departure Ludin still hasn’t shown up. We raise the agent on the VHF and inquire about the local coop. Knowing Ludin, he’s probably in there explaining things.

“We’re looking for a short Filipino dude who talks a lot and carries a Canon.”

“Yes,” says a tired voice on the other end, “He fell asleep with Estelle.”

“Have you tried to wake him?”

[no reply]

“Shout in his ear that he’s an evil bastard and his ship is leaving and he can stay in Peru with no money!”

[the phone’s put down]

“Edgar’s fault,” pants Ludin when he ascends the gangway, wafting like a brewery and wearing clothes he hadn’t before.

“Did Edgar push you into a bucket of Johnny Walker? Who the hell is Edgar?”

“Edgar is an evil bastard,” Ludin points out in the obvious conviction that everything is sorted out now.

It takes quite a bit of threatening for Ludin to break down. Apparently, Ludin met Edgar on the bus to Machupicchu, and Edgar talked Ludin into letting him use his Canon. But this Edgar took such a liking to the camera that he wouldn’t part with it, and Ludin (wholly against his nature and upbringing) was forced to trot after Edgar for two days, until he fell asleep with Estelle.

Obviously, Ludin will scrub filters for the next six weeks. Edgar was never heard from again. Below are some of the pictures from the boys’ excursion (omitting the pictures of Estelle and friends):



Machupiccu, Peru



Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Machupiccu, Peru

Lima - La Catedral on Plaza de Armas

Just off Lima’s busy central square Plaza de Armas stands an imposing Gothic cathedral, fittingly called La Catedral. The white façade covers one whole side of the square but all the doors are closed except one. When we enter, we find a kind of sub-cathedral; a smaller version for daily use, we surmise.

There are a few unusual pieces inside the church. The altar piece consists of an elaborate symbolic structure, centered upon a Trinity consisting of a humble Christ carrying a cross, God the Father and Mary beneath them. Over them flies the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove. Over the Holy Spirit towers a cluster consisting of the four evangelists, who are accompanied by their animal symbols derived of the four creatures of Revelation 4:7 (a connection I’ve always disagreed with). Strangely, only Matthew, Luke and Mark look up but John looks down.

Below the central Trinity we see a picture of the Lamb, again surrounded by four faces, presumably the four evangelists. Left and right are cherubim and images of Christ handing His cup to people.

Elsewhere in the church we find an unusual statue of what seems the twelve year old Christ, but already adorned as Pantocrator. Across the sanctuary stands a pieta, but again unusually, with Mary donned as Regina, posing in front of the empty INRI cross.

In its entirety, La Catedral in Lima is a tired old church which fails to engross. The noise from the street is deafening; the interior is dark and we feel unwelcome and shunned. Moments after we enter, some irked eyeing man in a T-shirt hastens across the central isle and disappears through a door next to the main altar. A moment later the lights go out without ado, and the man reappears and begins to herd us out the door. I’m sure it’s closing time but it’s sad when a church’s caretaker shows his sole modicum of enthusiasm only at that hour.

“Maybe there’s room for us at other inn,” Draga says wisely as she grabs my hand in consolation, and lovingly leads me out the door towards a coffee place off the other end of the square.

La Catedral on Plaza de Armas

Unusual 12 year old Christ Pantocrator

Magnificent altar piece of La Catedral on Plaza de Armas

Pieta/ Mary Regina

Lima, Peru - a dark town

There are 29 million people living in Peru; 9 million in Lima, and I think I met about half of them.

We docked in Callao for an overnight, meaning that Draga and I could go ashore (on the proviso that nothing would break down just five minutes before quitting time). The agent informed us in hysteric guffaws that just outside the port gates gangs of ruthless locals awaited any sailor foolish enough to venture out on foot. Many of us get beaten, stabbed, abducted even, severely mistreated and some never heard from again.

“You take taxi taxi,” he urges. “Callao no good. You go Lima. My cousin has good taxi, taxi good good, always good price, special price for you.”

The agent’s cousin, it appeared later that night, specialized in running sailors to Lima for the special price of 70 dollars. However, for Draga and I, he volunteered the extra special price, only specially now on this special evening, of only 50 US.  For that he would wait for us in Lima, to take us back.

After forty minutes of death defying driving through traffic as thick as an asteroid belt, zigzagging along the most depressing slums that seems to consists entirely of alleyways peopled with hordes of hapless kids and bums and small animals, we arrived at Plaza de Armas. I had my mind set on La Catedral; Draga wished for a coffee on a terrace somewhere.

For two hours we felt like human beings again. We partook in a service worshipping something else than mad labor and moneymaking, and we drank coffee on a terrace, trying to pretend this half-lit square is not a glum pearl in an giant oyster of dirt and poverty.

Peru's signature mist



Fountain on Plaza de Armas - Lima, Peru

Seat of the Peruvian government - Lima, Peru

The entire Plaza de Armas is surrounded by oppulent buildings

Plaza de Armas - Lima, Peru

A shopping street off Plaza de Armas - Lima, Peru



Pisco, Peru - Timelines, eternity & opportunities

We’re definitely back in the tropics again. I’m not partial to the tropics; sweltering heat followed by those dark evenings. I’ve never been able to properly explain myself in this kind of climate (said the good doctor, and I’m with him). I like moderation and lots of light.

Ludin asked me this morning if he could go away for three days to visit the famous Mayan ruins at Machupicchu. Of course I told him no, so Ludin is now probably in the dessert somewhere. Speaking of the dessert. I’m not keen on desserts, but two of my most desired destinations are smack in the middle of it. Having travelled most of my life, all I really want is to go home, but if I can’t go home, I’d love to visit (that means stay there for a few weeks and absorb) (a) the Giza complex, and (b) the Peruvian dessert drawings.

Much to my consternation, a rope guy just told me that we parked the ship about 40 minutes away from these coveted Peruvian dessert drawings! And I can’t leave! Just like anybody else can’t just up and leave the office. Of course, sailing around the world, and seeing Antarctica again, can’t be compared to sitting in an office somewhere, but hey, I sure would like a day off sometime.

What would I do on my day off? Sleep in? Translate some more Hebrew names? Finally finish watching Life, with that groovy David Attenborough? Or read Bill Bryson’s Walk in the Woods for the fifth time? Perhaps Draga and I could sneak off, like two kids from a party and just sit somewhere, pretending we have as much time as the Peruvian dessert drawings.

http://www.go2peru.com/

The charming port of Pisco, Peru

Sailboats in Pisco Bay

Definitely Mayan

Peruvian pelican

Valparaiso - Valpo, Chile

Like a bank of submerged gems, the city of Valparaiso lies dreamy over its sleepless port. She’ll wake up soon. Her streets will fill with throngs of those who lovingly call her Valpo, like the brand name of some superglue or Velcro-type invention. It’s almost tempting to ponder the miracle of an entire populace existing without our recognition or slightest concern.

“You’re getting depressed and you’re talking out of your but,” says Draga, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, like she always does. “Don’t collaborate with your sadness.”

“George bought dog,” she says. The indefinite article doesn’t matter much to Draga. She knows the difference between things that are important and those that are not. “He name him Jerry.”

“Jerry,” I echo. “Can’t wait to meet Jerry.” And my mind takes me to Belgrade, where I dropped my anchor a small eternity ago, where human souls drifted from the clouds and spoke and got names. George’s smile, his pizza’s, his TV that’s always on the Serbian version of MTV; it’s home to me, the most sacred place on earth.

Day break in the port of Valparaiso

Day break in the port of Valparaiso

Day break in the port of Valparaiso

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

With a modern ocean steamer it’s a good twelve hours west of the coast of Chile; the island Robinson Crusoe. In the olden days it must have been quite a bit more. In 1708, a marooned Scottish sailor by the name of Alexander Selkirk was plucked off the island, after having been there for four months.

Selkirk’s story circulated widely and was romanticized by Daniel Defoe, who named the hero of his story Robinson Crusoe. At some point, people decided to name the island after the fictional character, but Alexander Selkirk was also honored with an island named after him: Isla Alexander Selkirk.

There are 600 people residing on the island, living off fishing, possibly because there’s not much else to do.

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile

Isla Robinson Crusoe - Chile