Fishing on the Dock

The number of tourists has dropped to almost none, the season is at end.

I walked into my favorite venue and spotted a gorgeous blonde at a table receiving the attention of four regulars.   This girl, in her early twenties, was spectacular from her finely coiffed hair to her toe nails and assembled in some fantasy plant.  No one else was to be seen.  I moved on.

The next day, sitting at the table with the same four guys she had three or four drinks and announced, "I need a good hard fucking and then a good hard cock in my ass."   A guy in his late forties immediately volunteered, he was dismissed, "You are too old."  Another guy, who can run any woman out of any local was shut down before he could say anything.   The fourth guy took her in the shower for a couple of hours and then worked on her for three hours in the employee dorm room.  After the first hour his room-mate got up and left, grumbling that he was never going to get any sleep.  

Changuinola

Damn! The computer won't boot. First the power button stopped working, now the quickstart web button doesn't work. OK, time to make a trip to Chaguinola.

Timon, my gardener showed up, I gave him instructions on the days activities. He carried down a large propane tank that I am swapping for meals at a local on-the-water restaurant, the Pickled Parrot. Sitting here, it does me no good. I'll be damned if I'll pay double for my propane for the right to carry a huge tank up a hundred stairs.

Twenty minute boat ride to Bocas, couple of minute walk to water taxi, twenty five minute boat ride to Almirante, couple minute taxi to bus stop, thirty or forty minute bus ride to Changuinola. I pulled out my computer and showed it to Cesar. WTF? Now it powers up. Look at it anyway, OK?

I walked across the street to buy a wallet which was stolen on my last trip. (TODO). It didn't take long with the limited selection. Haircut? Yeah, that's in order. I inquired and a guy showed me the way, walking down the streets, around corners. He wouldn't take a tip. This isn't Bocas, where the money would have been demanded. That's not fair, a lot of locals would help me out, but a lot of them that are not friends and acquaintences are ne'er do wells.

My ex room-mate had been seeking contact lens solution but the only store in town that carried them was out. I went to an internet cafe to see if I could contact her via facebook. The machine had no antivirus installed and anybody could install software on the box. I hate using internet cafes. I logged into Facebook and then got a very clear access denied error. Http-403. Couldn't be clearer. I couldn't post, I couldn't log out. Great.

Next I tried to buy a cell phone but they wouldn't let me buy one without my passport. I don't know what the point of showing the passports is. I needed a copy of my passport, which was presented several times at a pharmacy in town when I bought phones. A copy was duly made each time, to be lost or misfiled. I have asked for a copy of my passport, thinking it wouldn't hurt while trying to get my replacement, but none of the copies could be found. What is the point anyway? Are they trying to keep track of who owns the phone? The only thing they record is the information from the SIM, which I take out of my latest sacrifice to Neptune and put in the new phone. The SIM has always survived, I shouldn't have said that as I haven't tried my SIM since my latest short term acquisition met its watery demise. The SIM ties my phone number to the phone and has all of my contacts in it. There is no way to back up contacts to the server and there are far too many to manually back up.

A quick check, nope, the computer is not ready. Off to Romero's a national supermarket chain to provision. They have a far greater selection at far better prices than Bocas, forty to fifty percent less. I filled up a shopping cart with some veggies and all manner of non perishables. I couldn't hail a taxi. At least a hundred pounds of food in plastic bags ready to burst. I walked a block to the bank and asked the guard if he could watch some of my groceries while I made a couple of trips. He didn't think I was going to blow up the bank with foodstuffs. A local offered to carry a couple of the bags. The cans were breaking through the plastic bags. A few blocks later I was back at the electronics repair facility. The local refused a tip. I felt like I was back in Medellin absent all the beautiful Colombians.

Back at the electronics store the owner and a customer stared at a TV screen, watching the news. Two days earlier, four months after an American woman disappeared a search had been conducted on a small island. I'll post about that fiasco later. The owner commented that Bocas was crazy and asked if I knew anything about it. The customer pointed to a guy in rubber boots carrying a machete on the screen and pointed out that the same individual stood before them.

I put my computer in my bag forgot to ask how much it cost to look at the computer and the owner never asked. It's been about five months since I asked him to get me a replacement keyboard. This is an authorized factory service center for Sony. The proof is, it's painted on the wall outside. Hmmm. In the mean time I got one sent from the states, mangled it and waited for another. Do I have time to order another? Heading out the door the customer pointed out that I had left my power supply on the counter. Thanks.

I was many blocks from the bus station, the bags were not going to last. I couldn't hail a taxi. A guy rode down the street on a bike with large baskets on the front and the back overflowing with large plastic crates. I offered him a dollar to go with me to the bus stop. I removed the plastic crates, loaded up my groceries and replaced the crates, upside down, over the top of my groceries. A couple of blocks later a guy carrying a TV set looked at me and got all excited. In quick Spanish he started talking about visa cards and other things. I had no idea what he was talking about. Finally he said scuba card and I figured out that he had or knew the whereabouts of my wallet. I watched the bike disappear with my groceries. Hell, I've replaced the bank cards, don't need the scuba card and the replacement driver's license is ostensibly on the way. I uttered a quick, “much gracias” and left him standing there bewildered.

The man with the bike was waiting for me at the bus stop, looking a little confused. I put my bags on the bus and boarded. The bus was filled with Indians and Mestizo's. Changuinola is not a tourist town, nor does it have an ex-pat community. In the back snuggling with an Indian was a Nordic goddess. Never have I seen an Indian with a tourist. The Indians generally live in hovels without electricity and obtain their parasite laden water from rivers. It takes a strong constitution to survive this way.

The bus stopped at some random location in town, quite a ways from the bus stop. WTF? I got out, got my groceries and hailed a cab to the water taxi. Despite my refusal one of the many maledictos TODO that frequent the dock of Bocas Marine Tours picked up a bag of groceries to place it on the boat. The fatigued plastic gave way and many cans made their way to the bottom of the fetid, murky water. Thanks for the help. He didn't ask for a tip.

Back to town. Another taxi ride to one of my haunts. Groceries on boat. Not a tourist to be found, just the expats who pass each and every day at the bars. I'm outta here. Back home I found my internet was dead. Great. No way to call the provider as I had no phone, so I read some Mark Twain.

Search

I can't say “No.” Well, I can say it a few times, but apparently without conviction. I was talked into participating in search for a missing American woman.  The consensus was that it would be fruitless. The winning argument was that it would make the family feel better.

Timon, my gardener, showed up, I gave him the day's tasks and headed down to my boat. The mooring line had been chewed through by a dog and the boat had drifted, stuck near shore at low tide. It would be six hours before the water would float the boat. Timon and I tried to extricate it but didn't have the requisite muscle.

Timon went off to get another helper and returned alone. Where is the other? Oh, he is coming from next door. After about fifteen minutes the other Indian stood on the end of the dog, giving my dog a most hateful grimacing snarl. What was that all about? We easily freed the boat and then the worker conveyed that as he was approaching my house through the jungle Hayu had given him a bite on the ass. I have to say, if someone asked for my assistance and I was rewarded with a bite in the ass, I would leave him to his own devices.

We met at the Pickled Parrot, a bar and restaurant over the water on Isla Carenero. George and his wife Jessica run the place. “George how do I get out of here?” “Head straight to Hospital point and turn right at the blue water. Over there is 'J.B.'s Reef' he hits it every time.” An over the water restaurant in a foot and a half of water. What a concept. Well, he hadn't intended to open a restaurant but his wife figured it was better than just giving away beer to all his friends. I figure it is a break even proposition.

Although I was a few minutes late there was not a boat to be spotted. A few locals had taken water taxis.

A sixty something woman said “Do you know Jim? I am carrying his child.”

A cute twenty something said “Of course I know Jim and who isn't?”

What?

The police showed up in a water taxi. They don't have a single operating boat. The head of Judicial investigations. Five people I've never seen before that had flown down from the states to aid in the search. A bunch of cops. A guy who claimed to be a search and rescue specialist. A man from the FBI. Known locals. The parents of the missing woman.

We drank coffee. Most of the volunteers were ill prepared for the task at hand. The island is a swamp. Rubber boots and a machete are required. Aerial photographs were produced, we were broken up into teams of four and headed off into the swamp. We were told that many parts of the island were dangerous and that those areas would be avoided. OK, avoid the swamps, the only place not yet searched and the only place a body is likely to be found. We were instructed to keep our eyes open for a mattress and a stove. Had they been on dry land they should have been found months ago. If they are in the bottom of a swamp, we wouldn't see them.

People walked single file behind their group leader. Although I had cut some walking sticks from saplings or branches, instructing them to probe the ground before treading, these city folks continually got themselves stuck in the muck, removing their feet sans boots. One person would steady them while another retrieved the boot. These volunteers were less than worthless. There was no search pattern. It was a charade.

I broke off from the group and hacked my way through trails that had some overgrowth. No point in going into untread ground nor well travelled trails. The interior was littered with sandals, boots, a stack of propellers here, metal cans formerly holding wood preservatives, oil cans, bags, backpacks, the discards of the thieves.

An investigator: “Jim, I found a well.” “That is a septic tank.” He wanted to “investigate” it. I cleared a path and built a bridge from discarded wood. He stood over it and probed with his stick. “A body in there for four months would be fully decomposed, if you hit a bone, it will just sink into the muck and you won't feel it.” He started pushing his stick down into the muck and lifting it. “Any bone will fall off your stick. It will always come up empty.” We moved on.

He got on the phone and told somebody that he was waste deep in mud in the middle of a search. His ankles were dirty, but not much else. He went on to explain that the search was made difficult as all the rains had caused high tides. Sure, all that rain has raised the water level in the ocean.

He found a large pile of thatch that he wanted to investigate. “This is about a mile from the house. It would take days to make this pile. Do you think that he would have made many visits to a house renovation and tracked his way through the jungle to time after time to the body? Let's move on.”

Where do they find these guys? “What's that?” I shook my head, that's Bibi's right next to our starting point. He got on the radio and called for the group to reconvene at the Pickled Parrot. We all had lunch, received heartfelt thanks from the parents of the missing woman and disbanded.

I returned to the Pickled Parrot in the evening. The news on TV continually showed footage of an “extensive search”.  If they want to find the body, they should drain the swamps.

What next?

Bruised, sore, tired. This rib is cramping my style. I can't sleep. My computer is toast, that is a long entry by itself.

Timon

Timon showed up yesterday to complete trimming trees. He wanted to know if I wanted the banana tree cut down. What banana tree? That is a spectacular traveler palm. Somebody posted on my facebook wall something to the effect of “Never give a machete to a gringo, nor a chainsaw to an Indian.”

Computer

I tried to call my bank but my microphone wouldn't work. I checked online and saw an entry to remove a software component. That was the beginning of the end. By the time I realized that it was going to remove a huge number of dependencies and tried to kill it the damage was done. Reboot, no menu system, no networking. Ahh, shit.

Taxes

Tax day. Late coming documents. Impossible to revise my tax return in the allotted time period. No way to mail a check for estimated payments from Panama. I contacted my sister and once again interrupted her overly busy schedule and she went to the bank, got a check issued and mailed my extension.

Eladio

Eladio called again. He still had not finished the dock and he still wanted me to pay him anyway. I told him for the umpteenth time that I would pay as soon as the job was done, I had already paid far more than I should have as progress payments. The contract had called for a down payment and the balance on completion. Get a clue.

Another phone call, this time from the district attorney. What the the hell? He was in the ANAM building and I had to go there right away. Leaving an unsupervised over ardent worker with a 30” Husqvarna I headed to town, regretting what lay behind and what laid ahead. I got to the office and met with the district attorney and an interpreter. Oh gawd. I should have brought my own. Let's see how this goes.

Eladio sat on a chair looking victorious. Apparently he had already won them over. I told my tale. I printed off the contract and another document that had been signed last week. I told my tale. Body language was clear enough. I was in the clear, both intermediaries were sympathetic to my tale. An hour and a half later Eladio was told to finish the dock, then he would get paid. He looked forlorn. Fifteen minutes later, on the street I ran into him again and he asked for money yet again.

As I write Timon crosses Bahia Honda in a cayuco, commuting to my house, that is, my gardener is paddling in a dugout canoe on the expanse of water that separates my island from Isla Bastimentos. The dogs bark and run down to the dock. Should I bother to put some pants on? Nahh.

Coffee. Damn another empty propane tank. I pull the one off the fridge. Thanks again, Gabrielle, it is wonderful coffee. I don't want to schlep another two tanks up here with my ribs in their current condition. I know I am going to gain quite a bit in the next six weeks. I can gain and lose weight in a hurry. Being sedentary is the path to quick gain.

I reflect on wonderful email I received yesterday, full of tears of sorrow and joy from a guest who was extremely grateful for her short time here and very sorry to leave but promised to return. I was quite touched.

Who am I? What is my purpose? I am keeping out of trouble. I had an extremely hard time getting over one of my guests, far too personal to blog and fell into a multi-week funk, devoid of any joy of life. Never fall in love with a tourist. Relationship-wise, that ship has sailed. Time to move on? . Now where is my next ship? What is my next destination? May is near upon us. This is the most wonderful of months, dry and sunny. Hot in town but wonderful on the water. Unfortunately May is also about the quietest month. As the weather in Europe and the U.S. becomes pleasant the visitors drop off. Fishing in an empty pond. Too much catch and release. Damn, as wonderful as this house is, it is also a ball and chain.

I'm rambling. I stopped to show Timon how to cut down a tree so that it wouldn't fall on my stairs. Felling a tree is not that difficult. I'm not up to it today, but I have done my share.

Damn these ribs. Damn getting old. I'm tired. But that will pass. It will take weeks until I can sleep fitfully. I wonder how many ribs I have not broken in my life. Not a lot.

Gabrielle

Friday
"Let's meet at Casa Verde."  Yeah, it's one of my primary hangouts, but it is beginning to wear on me.  I walked over to Gabrielle's table, she was there with a couple of traveler she had met in Cahuita, Costa Rica, Kasey and Ashley.

She was primed for a seafood orgy and we made our way to Super Gourmet to get her some cooking supplies.  She looked at a large bag of Cheetos, $3.75.  "Oh my god, these are $10 in Costa Rica."  "There's more than one reason I don't live in Costa Rica."

"This wasabi is wonderful, this is top notch soy sauce."  A broad smile and twinkling eyes approved of each selection placed on the checkout counter.   I returned to get some noodles and by the time I had returned she had purchased all that we had selected.  A few days before I had bought three very large crabs and a lobster for $3 from an Ngobe Indian in a dugout canoe.  The crabs were in the freezer at a local restaurant.

We dropped by a friend's house but the visit was cut short by the setting sun.   Between the mangroves there is not a hint of light after dusk.  "Oh shit, I forgot to buy any meat, we don't have anything to make for dinner."  Gabrielle looked around and thought I was nuts and prepared a wonderful Jambalaya.

Saturday


Of course Gabrielle was not up at dawn.  They never are.  She whipped up a breakfast of scrambled eggs accompanied by some refried beans I had made the night before.   Good to stoke up on an active day. We leisurely consumed a good portion of the 1820 coffee she had brought down from Costa Rica and took a leisurely stroll in the jungle behind my house.   Soon we came upon a red poison dart frog but not much else.


We hopped in the boat and shot over to Red Frog Beach, the entrance on the leeward side (south) is directly across from my house, about half a mile away.   A quick walk across the island of Bastimentos at a narrow point and any lingering ennui dissolved in her enthusiasm for the spectacular, famous beach as she caught her first glimpse.  A short stroll later we parked ourselves at Palmar, a "glamping" (glamorous camping) resort owned by a friend of mine.  Soon we were joined by Kacey and Ashley and swam.  "I've never seen water this clear, and it's so warm."  An hour or so of this and we headed out.  Heading back we passed countless locals and tourists on the trail and many more arriving on boats.  Good thing we got an early start.

Off to Roots, a restaurant and bar over the water on Isla Bastimentos, for a smoothie: banana, papaya, mango, choose your own.  We strolled to the end of town on the only pavement in town, a single sidewalk.  As we neared the end of town a man called out from his porch and came over to us hawking some lobster.  "How much?"  "Make me an offer."  I looked at Gabrielle, "What do you think they are worth?" "I don't know, you say."  "Eight dollars."  "No way, they cost me nine.  Twelve."  I gave him eleven.   We walked to a chino.  All grocery stores are called "chino" as they are all owned and operated by the Chinese.   A Chinese guy sat behind the counter, his wife at the end and said something in Chinese to him.  Gabrielle responded and soon they were in a long discussion.   We bought a bag of ice and left.  "Where you speaking Cantonese or Mandarin?"  "Both."


Back across the bay for some snorkeling at Hospital Point.  I had but one set of snorkel gear left on the boat.   Gabrielle's camera card was full.  I took hers and put it in place it could not possibly be forgotten and gave her my 16GB card.   She spent twenty minutes snorkeling and popped up astonished, "I just saw a $300 fish."  I don't quantify the value of the wildlife here.  The little frogs that populate my grounds sell for $400 apiece on the black market.  They only live on this small island.   I'm getting hungry.

Gabrielle got the lobster off the boat and an expat went with her into the kitchen and halved them and split the tails.  My contribution was sitting on my ass and chatting.  A few minutes later we had small dishes of wasabi and soy and ate raw lobster.   Gabrielle good naturedly chided people for waste and consumed all manner of parts no one would touch.


I imposed on a friend for use of his kitchen.   He had no problem with two young women in bikinis cooking on his stove while he pretended to watch television.  Thai veggies and crabs with claws the size of a dinner plate.  We ate to the point of discomfort.

We hung around Casa Verde for a bit, then took the boat over to Isla Carenero.  I thought I'd show her a little night life.   Aqua Lounge is a den of thieves on the water.  The music was obnoxious and loud. I erroneously thought that a 27 year old would enjoy it.  While I watched purses and back packs the girls danced.  Little did I know that for Gabrielle she was just trying to make the best of a bad situation.  "Any time you want, I'm ready to go home."  Ok, I took the hint.  We headed back to Isla Colon and docked at Barco Hundido.  Compared to Barco Hundido, Aqua Lounge is a church.  I held all the bags at all times.  I wouldn't even wear them on my back so that somebody wouldn't unzip my backpack and  empty a pocket or two while I stood there.  I watched the girls drinks to make sure nobody slipped a mickey into them.   Yup, it's that kind of place.   We walked Ashley back to her hotel.   She had no idea where it was.  I didn't need a girl walking the streets alone late at night.

Back to the boat, we went home.   Tooling along slowly in the post midnight darkness I asked, "Do you see my house?"  Of course she couldn't see the house.  "It's right over there."  I couldn't see it either.   Up the stairs and off to bed.  Christ, it's three o'clock.  "Good night."

Sunday



Back to some friends' house to borrow some snorkel gear.   We made our way around the east end of my island and stopped at several spots.   I kicked and pulled myself up onto the boat but in my tired state only managed to bang my ribs on the gunwhale.   Ouch.   One more spot.  My guest took a huge number of pictures and we finally headed back to town for dinner.


Gabrielle changed in the shower.  She had been invited to give salsa lessons that evening.  I busted her, glammed up, in the kitchen with a guard, consuming raw lobster.  "He wanted a piece."  "I'm sure he did."  I don't think she got it; she was looking pretty hot.

A boat full of people returned from Rana Azul (blue frog) , a restaurant in the darklands about eight miles from town.  Sunday is ritually Rana Azul day.  Boaters go to eat  pizza and consume massive quantities of alcohol.   People staggered off the boat.

"Jim do you have an extra cigarette?"  "Nope, this pack only came with twenty."  "My friend will give you a blowjob if you give me a cigarette."   "Here, Lindsey, now about the other..."  "Hmmm, where did she go?"

A guy staggered over to me.  "You know, he is one of the best guysshh in Bocas, he put twenty seven thousand into that boat."  A random, unsolicited comment.  "Not everybody likes him.   He is kind of like you, you know, you are not the most popular guy in town, but you grow on people, like a fungus."  "Bill, we can't all have your inimitable charm.   Perhaps you should spread your joy with a more deserving person."  "See what I mean?"  Then he staggered off and offered to punch somebody in the face and then suggested that he would make him "disappear."  "Are you threatening to kill me?"  "Yerr shmart enough to figger it out."  Charming.

Pete started off.  He was soon joined by Lindsey on vocals.  Such an awesome, husky voice from such a little girl.   A couple of hours later Gabrielle took the stage and gave salsa and merengue lessons to a full dock then gave a performance.

"Nick, don't vomit here."  I walked him to the dock and held his arm so he wouldn't fall in as he spewed.   There is a reason I usually go home early.

I looked for her SD card.  It was not in my camera.  Losing somebody's travel pictures is an unforgivable act.  I started to apologize, but she indicated that it was in her purse, where I had put it.  Had she left with my card at least she'd have hers.  Whew!

Back home, we whipped up some hummus and I showed Gabrielle how to prune, crop, straighten and color correct her pictures.   For hours she sat in awe.  "These are the best snorkeling pictures I have ever taken."   Snorkeling pictures always have to be edited.  Not a lot of time for camera settings and composition while you are holding your breath and taking pictures (I hate to use the term photographing for underwater snapshots) of moving fish.

Ok, it's three o'clock.  I'm done.  Good  night.  I rolled over.  Ouch.  These ribs are going to take a while to heal.

Monday


The dogs raised a commotion.  I looked down on the dock.  An Indian from across the bay had arrived to fell some small trees.  The stray dog wandered by.  Between the ascending indian and my descending dogs the pooch opted to depart hastily.  Damn.

I offered Timon, the Indian a coffee.  He took that as an invitation to stand and look at the water indefinitely.  I pursuaded him to start working and he returned ten minutes later to have me repair his chainsaw.  He sat and drank coffee while I repaired his saw for free and he resumed work.

The phone rang repeatedly. Eladio. Once again he wanted me to pay him for work he had not finished. He still hadn't treated the wood.


Coffee.  More coffee.  Snorkeling in front of my house.  "Ok, chica, time to get you back to Costa Rica."  The boat stuttered.  Damn fuel pump.  I docked at Hotel Angela, where my mechanic works. I ran into Eladio.  Where are the bottles I need for the chemicals to treat the dock.  Once again he had left them back at the property.  Kind of hard to finish the job this way.  I procured more.  He wanted to be paid. I wanted him to finish the job.  My real estate agent went into hiding to get away from this guy.

Lunch, goodbyes and many trips to check on boat.  Frank finished soldering the lead and I went home.

2012-04-14 Gabrielle Red Frog

2012-04-14 Hospital Point

Gabrielle

Spay Panama

Sore.  From my shoulders to my calves.  Five days of machete work had exacted a toll.  Up at four, too frigging early. Why all the machete work?  I had been searching for a dog I had rescued, brought home to foster who took off.  It is a sad story, for the dog and for my cell phone.  The maltreated, starving, injured dog had been abandoned and subsequently beaten resulting in a broken rib and a dislocated hip.

My dogs had returned last night after being absent most of the previous day and the night.  I had locked them in the house up their return.   I secured leashes and headed out to town.  Upon arrival the boat wouldn't go into reverse.   Here we go again.  I docked bow in, a bad plan in waters where miscreants drive their boats close to shore, throwing wakes and rocking boats.  I still don't understand this boating behavior.

I found the location where Spay Panama was to conduct a two day marathon of animal sterilization, worming, and vaccination.   People gathered around with their pets and strays they had picked up, some nearby, others required trips to remote islands and the extremes of this island.   Dogs in bicycle baskets, in the back of pickup trucks.  Cats, two or three to a crate.


My dogs were first to go and I had volunteered to clean up while work was in progress.   Hayu was given an injection and within three minutes was asleep on the floor.  He was prepped and brought over to a plastic table.  The front paws were tied to the table legs and one vet quickly performed the operation as Jessica was succumbing to her anesthesia.   She was prepped, bound and serviced.

Despite the number of animals keeping up was easy, sweeping up hair, a spot of blood, the occassional vomit. Following surgery Hayu recovered quickly, but Jessica staggered around like a local at the bookstore, a den of depravity and wretched excess in which drink sales outnumber book sales several hundred to one.

Oops, "Can you stay here and clean body fluids while I go get my boat looked at?" Not much of a sales pitch, but I got somebody to take over.

I walked down to Hotel Angela in pursuit of Frank, a mechanic.  I walked to Casa Verde; he drove his scooter.   After a quick inspection he wanted to pull the outboard foot.  He would be back at Hotel Angela in an hour.   Back to Hotel Angela, with the boat, I docked it in very shallow water.  A quick inspection revealed that a bushing had dislodged and was blocking the lever, precluding engagement in reverse.  It was removed easily but Frank noticed another coupling was not pinned to a shaft and no clevis pin was evident.   He tried to improvise one with a wire but it was far beneath the block.  I removed another pin, one much more accessible and Frank tried to install it, meeting with failure.  I spread the clip over a slotted screwdriver and worked it beneath the block and clipped it in place.  The wire was used to secure the coupling from which the pin was borrowed.  Ten minutes later, I was good to go.  He told me to pay way whatever I felt was appropriate.  I gave him $30.   Hell, twice in a row he had worked on my boat immediately after being asked and effected a repair.

I told him I would would return to have him fiberglass my cowling that a local, a former friend had smashed while drunk out of his head, but I believe I covered that story elsewhere.

My dogs had recovered, I was asked to just take them.  I left it.  Hung out, bought three large crabs and a lobster for $9 from an Indian who had just caught them off of Christobal, hung out and returned home.

Well, my heart is just not into blogging today.   Where are all the tourists?  I need to take some pretty young thing out on a long boat ride.  

Dog Rescue

Last week I received a very disturbing email from a man who had vacationed in Bocas at the Punta Rica Jungle Villas. He happened to see one of the spay clinic flyers and emailed me about a dog who had been left tied to the house when his owners moved. Since then he has been severely abused and has a broken hip and rib. This story, though heartbreaking, was not that shocking to me as we've all seen these situations here before. However, I promised him I would search for this dog.

So yesterday, with the help of the owners of Punta Rica, Colette and Richard, Jim Schmidt and I found the dog. Dr. Juan provided some emergency shots for malnutrition, ticks, and skin wounds and Jim is fostering and caring for it... for now. He has to become stronger before he can receive the operations he needs. Nonetheless, I am already in love with this poor pup and am pulling for his recovery.


Well, that's the way it started.  I brought the poor dog home and we were greeted at the dog by my dogs.  The pooch got scared, I went after it, my dogs went after me and I wandered through the mangroves in mucky, marshy water, up slopes, slipping, sliding, tearing clothes.  I tied my dog to a tree and proceeded with the bitch.  I finally found the stray and started to carry it home.   My flashlight went out, my spare batteries were still on the boat.


Kind of hard to get lost when all you have to do is keep the sea on your left.  I couldn't believe how far I had gone.


Up to the house carrying the pooch and vitamins, antibiotics, food, flea shampoo, and sundry.   The next morning I opened the door, my dog burst in the pooch ran out and through the rails on the stairs.  Game on again.  I grabbed a machete and spent the next five hours hacking my way through the jungle in rubber boots.  Every time I heard the dog it appeared the same distance away.  He didn't want me to find him, he had an issue with my dog who was back at the house.   Another pursuit the next day.   A neighbor across the island spotted it, I heard it at night.  How long could this thing sustain itself?  As I write this, nine days later the pooch has still not been located.

Kerstin and Sandra Day 4

Bat Cave

By nine we were ready for adventure, the tide peaked about half an hour before, "You want to go in a cave with a lot of bats."  That brought excitement.  Off to the end of the bay, I stopped by an Indians house and offered to hire him as a guide.  The river is narrow and shallow, to take my boat I would need a man on the front with a paddle.  Up the shallow mangrove river rising even as the tide fell, feeding from the cave.  The girls learned to sharpen a machete, crack a coconut with a machete and drink the coconut water, then eat the meat.  We encountered several red frogs and a three toed sloth and explored the cave.

Hospital Point

We swung by Clyde's I picked up my hat and we headed off to Hospital point for some snorkeling.  The girls were quite impressed, taking pictures with an underwater camera and swimming in the clear blue water.

Bastimentos

Next stop, Bastimentos.  We stopped at Roots, a restaurant and bar over the water.  A Caribbeano walked over to the dock and talked with me.  I understood none of his creole and he walked away in disgust.  The girls and I walked into the restaurant and he sat at the table next to us and tried to interject himself into the conversation, but we ignored him.   I'm sorry, speak English, speak Spanish, hell, speak German but Creole, this is most assuredly not worth the effort.  We ordered three smoothies, all freshly blended from nothing but banana, mango and papaya, he asked me to buy him a beer.

We walked the length of town on the only pavement on the island a single sidewalk that bisects the town. One one side are the ocean front properties, houses, hostels and bars on the other houses a couple of chinos (grocery stores operated by the Chinese) and made our way down to "The Point" a "hotel" really two small dilapidated houses on the end lot with a dock over the water.    We sat on the dock chatting with Kurt, an Australian and watched the waves crash.   The girls went snorkeling.  "They caught an eight foot bull shark this morning where you were snorkeling."  The girls were having none of it.   I nodded my head.  We walked a couple of buildings down and they took a picture of the sharks head.  They were pretty nonchalant about it.

A manta ray scooted out from under the dock, the girls shed their clothes and jumped in with their camera but failed to get a picture.  Off to town for some provisions and I type this as they prepare dinner.   "Jim, every day is better than the day before."

Kerstin and Sandra - Bat Cave

Kerstin and Sandra - Hospital Point

Kerstin and Sandra - Isla Bastimentos

Sail to De la Luna

We had to get to Dana's boat early to clean the propellers so we headed out at 8:30, arriving around 9:00. Being the gentleman that I am I didn't hog all the fun and allowed Sandra to swim under the boat with a putty knife and cut up her back on the barnacles.

Everything was set, one scratched up German back aboard the boat and we were ready to go.  Or where we? "Where is ??????" a local who is always late.  We waited.  We sat.  We waited some more.  Finally about an hour and half later she showed up, stumbled onto the boat and passed out drunk on a bed at 10:30 in the morning.

The others were exercising charm.   One guy had on a shirt that said "Dad's against Daughters Dating Democrats."  A sure conversation starter in a very liberal part of the world. We discussed the idiots fielded by the Republican party, the shirt wearer sat mute.   Kerstin mentioned that she was from from Germany and mentioned the town.  One guy piped up, "Yeah, we bombed the shit out of that town."  Kerstin and I looked at each other, Sandra raised one eyebrow.   I said, "Was Canada in the fucking war?"   "Well.." "And I don't think these girls were as bombed as the passengers on this boat."

The girls laid down on the deck trampoline, Kerstin wearing her perpetual grin and Sandra wearing a swimming suit and a rash.  A couple hours later we pulled up to the resort called by one "Monkey Skull Fuck" named after a monkey that is the spawn of Satan.   The bands played, people sang off key, the girls went snorkeling, disappearing around the bend. People wandered up the hill in search of god knows what, otoy soup, alchohol, hallucinogenic mushrooms, the monkey.

The girls and I took a short hike up the hill, where they photographed innumerable orb spiders and some blue frogs.

Random slurred conversations filled the air, time passed.  We walked back to the bodega ready to board the water taxi.   As one woman prattled another walked up, the lush pulled down her top and the other woman gave her nipple a tweak, I glanced away to the commotion of a group of people falling in the water off the dock which had collapsed after a post gave way.   Yup, April Fools day in Paradise, time to get the hell out of here.

As we waited for our water taxi, Topo showed up and scampered down the dock.  Kids chased him he ran off but curiosity got the best of him and he returned.


Finding nothing that he could rape he hopped down the rocks on the seashore.  We grabbed a water taxi and zoomed back to town.   I told the driver my boat was in the marina, so the driver started to go into the marina.  Actually my boat was moored outside the marina and we had a little bit of difficulty locating it.   Off to town, a few drinks and back to the house.