The morning was spent reviewing my stocks, ensuring trailing stop % limit sell orders were in place. Thank god I have computer that works. Then I started buying some of the stocks that had automatically triggered sales after having precipitously declined after the Fed announcement of the planned cessation of quantitative easing.
Issus sent me a message. Sure, let's do something. So we toured around.
I picked her up in Bastimentos Town. Having just made her way down a hill in the jungle, coming from the permaculture farm she is working at she was wearing a black miniskirt and rubber boots. What a sight.
"Where are we going?" I just laughed. I didn't even know. I was killing a little time before I was to check out a boat I might buy. Lunch at the Pickled Parrot on Carenero seems in order. George is an experience every local needs to have. Closed. Next door to Bibi's. Closed.
Over to the south anchorage. Nobody home. Where to? I had a twelve pack of beer aboard. I was to have traded it for a couple of dead computers. My intent was to salvage the hard drives. Eight bucks for two drives is a pretty good deal. The guy never came for the swap.
The Rip Tide should be open. Back around town, between the populated water front and a huge barely submerged sandbar that developed years ago during an earthquake. I docked next to the Rip Tide an old Key West wooden shrimping boat that now serves as a restaurant and a drinking hole for the local drunks. There are plenty of people who start drinking red beer at nine in the morning in Bocas. I ran into a friend who immediately made his way over to chat with us. Within two minutes he found that she was volunteering on a farm and offered to let her live on his boat for free if she would only provide her own food and clean it. Nice try Joe. She had offered to stay at my house, cook and start a garden. Maybe.
We headed east and I worked my way through the mangroves. We pulled up at a dock and made our way along a wooden walkway through a large expanse of mangroves. "Este hermoso." Or something to that effect.
Presently we arrived at a little shack, situated on a speck of clay. Retaining walls, secured by PVC encapsulated concrete pilings held the soil from washing into the bay. The windows were shuttered, the door was closed, but Kirk's boat had been at the dock. A tiny generator was charging a car battery. Not much of a power system but there is not much to power. A couple of lights and a small TV. The shack is a tool shed with a bed. A padlock hung on an unsecured hasp. I handed the six pack to Issis, asked her to inquire, "You asked for beer delivery?" and stepped around the corner.
The door opened and a grizzled seventy seven year old man appeared. The man is a legend and is more fit than most twenty year olds. I met his extended hand and placed mine in to the rough bear trap. He offered us some cold beers. After a brief visit we headed out. I meandered through the many mangrove islands easily spotting my next stop by observing the types of trees and the contours of the tree tops.
Next stop, Clyde's. We pulled up to the dock and were greeted by Ohos, the dog. Up the ramp we came to a two room house. The front half of the house had no walls, just gnarly thin trunks that served as posts and rails. Tarps served to close the place off from the elements on particularly windy, rainy days.
Love the view? Let's go see the host. We descended the steps to be greeted by Clyde. From his belt hung a jungle knife he always wears, a leatherman and this time, a 10 mm semiautomatic pistol with a spare clip. Issis asked about the gun. "I didn't recognize the outboard sound. But I knew everything was OK when Ohos stopped barking." I am a frequent visitor, coming by two or three times a week with whatever companion I managed to secure on any given day. Tourists stream through town. Some stay for just a few days, others are "leaving tomorrow" for months on end. Clyde extended the offer to slather Issis in coconut oil to protect her from the chitras that had not yet begun their daily visit. I told Clyde I would return with her someday and we could cook up a dinner. This suggestion was well received by both of them.
Just one more island and I had to take this Cinderella home before she had to try to navigate her way through the jungle in the darkness. A crazy boat, a bizarre, whimsical structure adorned the bay. I pulled around the point and a lanky blonde English guy waved at me from atop the hill. "Hey, Jack!" We pulled up to the dock. What's this, my third visit this week? Well, it's part of one of my quick tours. Our visit was brief, we shall return. Ok, girl, let me take you back to your jungle lodgings.
Issus sent me a message. Sure, let's do something. So we toured around.
I picked her up in Bastimentos Town. Having just made her way down a hill in the jungle, coming from the permaculture farm she is working at she was wearing a black miniskirt and rubber boots. What a sight.
"Where are we going?" I just laughed. I didn't even know. I was killing a little time before I was to check out a boat I might buy. Lunch at the Pickled Parrot on Carenero seems in order. George is an experience every local needs to have. Closed. Next door to Bibi's. Closed.
Over to the south anchorage. Nobody home. Where to? I had a twelve pack of beer aboard. I was to have traded it for a couple of dead computers. My intent was to salvage the hard drives. Eight bucks for two drives is a pretty good deal. The guy never came for the swap.
The Rip Tide should be open. Back around town, between the populated water front and a huge barely submerged sandbar that developed years ago during an earthquake. I docked next to the Rip Tide an old Key West wooden shrimping boat that now serves as a restaurant and a drinking hole for the local drunks. There are plenty of people who start drinking red beer at nine in the morning in Bocas. I ran into a friend who immediately made his way over to chat with us. Within two minutes he found that she was volunteering on a farm and offered to let her live on his boat for free if she would only provide her own food and clean it. Nice try Joe. She had offered to stay at my house, cook and start a garden. Maybe.
We headed east and I worked my way through the mangroves. We pulled up at a dock and made our way along a wooden walkway through a large expanse of mangroves. "Este hermoso." Or something to that effect.
Presently we arrived at a little shack, situated on a speck of clay. Retaining walls, secured by PVC encapsulated concrete pilings held the soil from washing into the bay. The windows were shuttered, the door was closed, but Kirk's boat had been at the dock. A tiny generator was charging a car battery. Not much of a power system but there is not much to power. A couple of lights and a small TV. The shack is a tool shed with a bed. A padlock hung on an unsecured hasp. I handed the six pack to Issis, asked her to inquire, "You asked for beer delivery?" and stepped around the corner.
Next stop, Clyde's. We pulled up to the dock and were greeted by Ohos, the dog. Up the ramp we came to a two room house. The front half of the house had no walls, just gnarly thin trunks that served as posts and rails. Tarps served to close the place off from the elements on particularly windy, rainy days.
Love the view? Let's go see the host. We descended the steps to be greeted by Clyde. From his belt hung a jungle knife he always wears, a leatherman and this time, a 10 mm semiautomatic pistol with a spare clip. Issis asked about the gun. "I didn't recognize the outboard sound. But I knew everything was OK when Ohos stopped barking." I am a frequent visitor, coming by two or three times a week with whatever companion I managed to secure on any given day. Tourists stream through town. Some stay for just a few days, others are "leaving tomorrow" for months on end. Clyde extended the offer to slather Issis in coconut oil to protect her from the chitras that had not yet begun their daily visit. I told Clyde I would return with her someday and we could cook up a dinner. This suggestion was well received by both of them.Just one more island and I had to take this Cinderella home before she had to try to navigate her way through the jungle in the darkness. A crazy boat, a bizarre, whimsical structure adorned the bay. I pulled around the point and a lanky blonde English guy waved at me from atop the hill. "Hey, Jack!" We pulled up to the dock. What's this, my third visit this week? Well, it's part of one of my quick tours. Our visit was brief, we shall return. Ok, girl, let me take you back to your jungle lodgings.
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