Returning to Panama

We return to Shelter Bay Marina September 11, 2018 to start our second year of cruising.  Miraj is ‘on the hard’ waiting for our arrival, power washed and gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

 It is hot and humid and perspiration rises like mist.  The heat and the proximity to the wilderness hold me in an exotic embrace, never letting me forget I am in a foreign, tropical territory.

 Howler monkeys roar early mornings and evenings and when a rainstorm is approaching; a desolate chorus of primates. Walking along the edge of the jungle I see them hanging from long black tails, eating leaves upside-down.  An 8-foot saltwater crocodile patrols off the sterns between the docks, and colorful parrots screech overhead.

 We work hard for ten days, sanding, and painting the bottom, waxing the hull, replacing the zincs, polishing the stainless, lubricating the blocks and removing and greasing the through-hulls.  We pull out our 275 feet long anchor chain and spray paint orange marks for each 25-foot increment and oil it all before we put it back in the anchor locker.

We are delighted the day we have Miraj lowered back in to the water, born again. A rainstorm erupts, as she is set free, and we motor to our designated slip on D-dock.

 Getting to know boaters from all over the world and share stories is one of the great joys of cruising. An ever-shifting, eclectic group of serious salts pass through Shelter Bay marina, everything from transients waiting to cross the Panama Canal to live-aboards, weathered by years in the sun.

A 50-foot brand new catamaran arrives with Nigel, a South African delivery captain and his American wife Terri, on their way to Tahiti. Rory, a discombobulated Kiwi limps in to the dock with serious keel and prop damage after falling asleep at the helm and hitting a reef. A French aluminum ketch with wide ‘hips’ and a young family aboard ties up a few slips away and light voices of young boys change the air. A few older couples come and go carried by worn, weathered vessels circumnavigating the globe one more time.

We befriend an Austrian Buddhist temple designer, a sailor who raised his 10 kids aboard a large catamaran  over the past 25 years. We listen to his hopes and fears for his children; hopes that they will be professional surfers, as 2 already are, and fears that they will waste their life as doctors or lawyers.

  A few hip youngsters, tattooed and long limbed, drink Balboa beer by the swimming pool. An American diesel mechanic, washed up 9 years ago, never has enough money to finish his boat and leave.  At the Sunday night barbeque Americans, Canadians, Chileans, Europeans, South Africans and the occasional Brazilian break bread together.

We live in the bubble of the marina sharing the same small space in time. Marinated by thousands of sea miles our boats define us and past lives become irrelevant.    

It is rainy season and most days bring showers or torrential downpours. Dark cumulus clouds build up to the east and thunder rumbles all around. The wind increases as the clouds draw closer. Loose halyards bang against the mast and rigging hums and vibrates. Lightening bolts flash across the sky for hours.

Living on a boat is taking the day as it comes, adjusting to a slower rhythm. Grocery shopping and laundry is a half-day engagement. Fixing a leaky head takes a day.  When our hydraulic back stay breaks and the raw water pump to the engine leaks, we go to Panama city for a couple of days to get repairs done

After 5 weeks hard work, we are ready to leave.  We fill up the food pantry and the water tanks, secure everything on deck and say goodbye to our friends. The San Blas Islands and Cartagena in Colombia are beckoning and we are ready for a new adventure.