Survey

,

A diversion

The survey of the lot I am trying to acquire lacked geographical coordinates, everything being relative to everything else. Furthermore I was unable to reach any of the monuments, the concrete markers placed at reference points. Today the man who made the original survey was to conduct a second survey. I negotiated a ten dollar fare for a water taxi, hardly a profitable venture for the operator. I inquired about boats for sale and he indicated that he had a large one at his house on Bastimentos so we went to check it out. His house was on the water in Bastimentos Town. The boat in question had been lifted up onto a pier and was partially under the house. My inquiries on how this was effected was met with the response, "a lot of man power". Mulling it over I couldn't imagine how one would pull this off, the water is four feet deep, the dock is three feet over the water and the boat must weigh near 2,000 pounds. I snapped a few pictures of this abused beast for a friend of mine who is one a junker boat accumulation spree.

A large pig restlessly paced, to the extent possible, in a very small sty, an extension of the dock, over the water. I hoped this was but temporary quarters but the lack of grounds hinted at the improbability of my hope. I am not in the habit of carrying pig food but I did fill up a five gallon bucket with water and place it in the sty. Other boats were similarly situated notably an 18 foot center console panga with an 85 HP Yamaha outboard. Apparently it doesn't get much use as the effort to do so would be extraordinary, so I snapped a picture of this for Stephen too. I got the drivers name and number and told him I'd give him a call if anybody was interested in his boats, but indicated that the price he wanted was not going to We headed off to the house. Upon arrival the boat operator had no change. He suggested I give him the twenty and that he would give me ten when he saw me next. I suggested I pay him ten dollars when I saw him next. "I don't know when I'll see you next." Exactly. He hailed a passing boat, a local on his way back from a provisioning run and we recieved the required change.

The Survey

The surveyors were to be there but there was no boat at the dock. If I got dropped off, without my cell phone or a scheduled pickup I could be stranded for a while. I spotted an Indian in the water, chest deep, scraping barnacles off the boat that is/was to come with the house. Maybe I could use the boat for parts, maybe I could fix it up. The Indian indicated that Maria, my real estate agent's girl friend was up at the house with some other people. Ok, they must have gotten dropped off. Up the stairs, 100 of 'em. I found a few workers behind the house but as they were Indians the I walked down to the first marker, up to the second. The third marker was within a foot of the outbuilding, not that anybody is going to build within a hundred meters of the house anyway and with the dense jungle, I'd never know if they did. I could see the trail that had been slashed through the jungle, it dropped off precipitously. Standing at the summit I looked down the trail. Saplings half an inch to an inch in diameter had been cut throw with a single blow of a machete at a sixty degree angles leaving thirty inch pointed spears the length of the trail. Stumble, fall forward and be impaled. I nearly grabbed a tree to steady myself, a palm that caused much misery in Bolivia bearing a dozen needle sized and equally sharp pins that break off in the flesh and rather than fall forward to certain death fell backwards. The workers behind the house must have been laughing but suppressed it completely.

Up the next hill I encountered more workers, one with a Leica digital transit. I guess I underestimated my surveyor, he was using top notch gear. "Donde este Walter?" "Está en la casa rascándose las pelotas." My Spanish might not have been up to the task but his gesture conveyed that Walter was up in the house scratching his balls. We all had a good laugh at that. They asked the name of my dog and new enough to be confused. They didn't comprehend that someone would call his dog something that sounds exactly like "Hey You." This was as far as I could go. "Tu perro este macho?" "Por que?" "Él tiene grandes bolas." Well, that one I got, and yes, he swings a prominent pair. Gotta like these guys. Back to the house, around the grounds, back to the house, sitting on the deck observing the view. Back down the trail, a big Indian thrashing a large machete with abandon, sundering the foliage in a three foot wide path, branches, vines, ferns, saplings, fibrous trees three inches in diameter, switch hands, keep on walking, never slow down, slash, slash, slash.
I spied a few tiny red frogs and several tiny lizards but the fauna was amazingly scarce. Just across the bay sits Isla Bastimentos. While examining a parcel there the chorus of toads was thunderous near the shore, in the jungle birds flitted, Montezuma Oropendola PICTURE filled the air with their characteristic cries and hermit crabs scurried about. Why the difference over such a short distance? I shall have to work these jungles, cutting vines and thinning things out, allowing for floral diversity, the foundation of a habitat for varied wildlife. I have many months of hot machete work to look forward to.

I made another return to house, sit on porch and return trip to find they'd reached the end of the back line of the property and were heading back toward the shore. Walter, the surveyor, not my running mate has a differential GPS accurate to 2cm. !!!! Watching the spot get centered on the rebar, yes centering a laser beam on a half inch rod. Again forgive my former expectations. Using the range finding feature the operator was yelling instructions to the laborer plowing and slashing his way through the junge. "Vente metros mas... un meter medio." Digging around the guy found the former mark, located 80 meters away right where he was instructed. In the meantime Walter scratched his balls, told me to stay still as a statue so I didn't shake the soft earth as I swatted mosquitoes. After they found the final marker I made my way back parallel to the shore but not on the property line which cut through mangroves. Twenty minutes later my dog found his way back to the house.

Inspection

The task of the day having been completed my real estate agent showed up to convey the team back to Isla Colon. During my inspection of the house, which had been delayed forty some days as previously documented I noted some matters that needed to be addressed.

Ceiling Fan

The first was easily dismissed; the lights in the guest bedroom don't work. No, I don't want a credit. I've had sufficient experience to grasp the scope of effecting such a simple repair.

In a former life I would have driven seven minutes to Home Depot, looked at hundreds of ceiling fans then crossed the street, looked at hundreds of ceiling fans at Lowes and purchased one. Returning home I would choose the most appropriate ladder from a choice of seven, an electrical supplies bucket and one of the many tool boxes filled with every conceivable tool that could be employed in a simple electrical repair. Installation would take about 15 minutes.

In Bocas I would have to ride a boat from Solarte to Colon, about ten minutes, walk to the water taxi, wait for the next one, take a boat to Almirante, on the main land, walk around for an hour or two to find one of the grand total of five I would likely find after visiting near a dozen stores, grab a taxi back to the water taxi with some wholely unsatisfactory fixture and make the return trip. Returning to the house I would find nothing but an extension ladder, completely unfit for the job and then spend a day improvising or trying to secure a tall folding ladder for a day, effect the repair then return the ladder.

Water Heater

My real estate agent had put a D cell battery in the water heater. Down here everybody uses heaters that heat on demand. This is far better than a large tank which wastes seventy percent of its energy consumption keeping the water warm in a house that needed to be cooled eight months of the year. On demand water heaters are less than two feet square and less than a foot thick. When water is needed they turn on, providing hot water as long as desired and then shut off.

This hot water heater is located in the outbuilding. Turning on the kitchen faucet I waited for several minutes and stated that the heater was not working. My agent went out to the outbuilding and turned up the temperature on the heater and told me to try again. After several more minutes of observing a poor water flow it started to flow out warm. Really, I don't want to wait five minutes to get water adequate for washing dishes while depleting my water supply which is filled by rain catchment unless it isn't. Weeks can goo by with minimal rainfall.Back to the outbuilding. Hot water gurgled from the tap. "There is still no water pressure." "What's wrong with that?" I turned on the cold water. Water gushed out. "That is water pressure." This was a replay of a couple of weeks ago, when the cold water was gurgling and I was told that this was adequate pressure. Upon inspection the water filters were near completely clogged; replacing the filter element remedied the situation.

It is obvious to the casual observer not suffering from rectal-cranial inversion that a water heater must be obtained, placed in an optimal location in the house and be plumbed in. It's possible that the water heater in the outbuilding could be reused, but Mr. Murphy dictates that the more effort that goes into relocating it the more likely the existing heater is irredeemably clogged.

Back to the apartment

Smelling like a buck goat in rut I made my way down to the boat and road back with the laborers, my feet atop tripods, poles and other surveying equipment. A few people wanted to socialize but as as my pants were covered in mud and my shirt was drying to a salty funk I felt it inappropriate to linger. I made my way back across town and stood at the front gate to the small complex. Somewhere in my fanny pack was my key. Last Sunday, at the chili cookoff I lost a set of keys. The cargo pants I was wearing at the time dumped contents every time I sat down, leaving a trail worth of those famous Grimm travellers, so I kept them in the capacious pack. They settled as they will at the bottom of the pack. My neighbor observed me. "Lost your key again?" Everybody knows what's up in Bocas. My dog wandered over to the bushes, compelled to mark what little he hasn't sprayed on my daily route while I emptied my fanny pack and dug out the keys. After opening the gate I looked for Hayu, who had departed for parts unknown. Great! "Hayu, Hayu, come!" No response. "HAYU! HAYU!" A little girl sat by the side of the road, she indicated that the dog had entered the gates of the rectory directly across the road. The rectory is probably the finest house in Bocas. When the priests take home the underaged girls I guess the luxury helps close the deal. I walked up the drive way and around the spacious grounds calling for my dog. After a few minutes a priest came out and approached me. I started explaining that I lived across the street and that my little chocolate dog had been spotted in his yard availing himself of the opportunity to play with the young alsation that usually assumes a position by the drive gate. Nope, nobody had seen my dog. I started back to put my groceries away before I started scouring the town. My little mutt, seeing that I was abandoning him sauntered out from beneath a high priced car, the priest alerted me and I took the little peckerhead home.