If you’re going to start varnishing, you have to get off the boat.
Well actually, once you finish varnishing, you have to get off the boat.
The table looked wonderful: That deep, intense shine you get from being too impatient to do it properly with twelve thin coats and instead you ladle it on as if spooning golden syrup onto a crumpet.
OK, so the finish is rubbish – but the worst thing is that it’s going to take the whole day to dry and a table with nothing on it is just asking for trouble – quite apart from the step between the saloon and the galley. How was I supposed to avoid stepping on that? It’s a step for heaven’s sake…
There was only one thing for it: A visit to Taidup.
Taidup is the island on the other side of the anchorage they call the Swimming Pool in the Eastern Holandes archipelago of the San Blas. There’s a hut and, at night, a single light – so, presumably somebody lives there. But, on the other hand, I’ve never seen anyone go over in a dinghy. Clearly, this would be the time to take presents.
In his Panama Cruising Guide, Eric Bauhaus talks about the dignified poverty of the indigenous Guna people who have lived here since they were forced off the mainland by the Spanish in the 1500s. Then they had to fight a war of independence against the Panamanians which only ended in 1925. They are fiercely proud of living as they have for the past 500 years.
Their huts are made from bamboo and palm fronts, they paddle dugout canoes and there is a tradition that sailors who visit bring gifts. Food is most welcome. Crayons and paper for the children. One of the best things you can give them is reading glasses for the older women to sew their Molas – the traditional intricately-wrought fabrics. I had them all.
Taidup was indeed, very small. I could have walked round the whole island in 15 minutes and it turned out there were half a dozen little encampments – all deserted except for one at the far end. There was a woman in the usual brightly-pattered clothes and then, when I looked closely a white man sitting on a plastic chair. A bit of a disappointment, that – to find a visiting yachtie here already.
But it turned out that, no. He was Guna – but albino.
This is not at all unusual. If you think about it, with only half a dozen families on the island, social life is going to be limited. Inbreeding is endemic. Indeed, it is part of the culture: During a lunar eclipse, the only people allowed out of the huts are the albinos – and it is their job to chase away the dragon which is eating the moon.
Tentatively, full of Spanish Good Mornings, I invited myself into the encampment. They were, of course, unfailingly polite – although it was clear that this was the equivalent of walking straight into someone’s living room without even ringing the doorbell.
“May I give you a present?” I asked (without even having to consult Google Translate, which I thought was pretty good) and I brought out the rice. You would think I had given them a bar of gold. It seemed their staple diet were plantain and coconut. There didn’t seem to be any young children for the crayons, although some teenagers appeared from nowhere. But then I brought out my trump card: the reading glasses. I had four pairs of differing prescriptions and so there was a lot of trying on – it was quite clear that the young man with the pale skin and the blue eyes was seeing the world as he had never seen it before.
His mother took me over to see her molas, strung out like washing. So, of course, I had to buy some. In fact, I thought that in view of my undoubted generosity, I might qualify for a bit of a discount, but apparently not. On the other hand, $40 would mean a lot more to them than it did to me.
It seemed that all the huts were on the beach – the interior was jungle. On the other hand, how could I tell without exploring it?
It was when I found the first coconut on the ground that I remembered how unwise it is to walk around under coconut palms. They are impossibly tall, and a ripe coconut is as heavy as a brick. More people are killed every year by falling coconuts than you can count.
I remembered thinking about this in Tobago and wondering whether I should have come ashore with my florescent cycling helmet and decided that when it came to naff tourist faux-pas, that was probably off the scale. But I did have my molas. I folded them carefully and stuffed them into my hat.
But I was right, the jungle was impenetrable. I would have needed a machete to get anywhere. But I did come out with a coconut.
There is absolutely nothing as refreshing as fresh green coconut water. In Aruba they have roadside stalls turning them into smoothies. But for that I really would need a machete.
Back on the boat, I opened up the tools locker. The saws were no good – the fibrous nature of the husk just clogged the teeth – same with a spade drill bit. In the end I got in with a 10mm metal drill. At least I could drain out the water – and it was fresh, although not with that champagne-like tang you get from a nut that has been cut from the tree.
I mixed it one part rum to three parts coconut water and put it to chill in the beer fridge (removing a beer to make room, which then required drinking while I thought up a suitable name for one part rum to three parts coconut water, shaken in an old fruit juice bottle and served ice-cold in a glass from the vegetable fridge.)
The name I came up with was a “Swimming Pool Slammer”.
Meanwhile, the table still wasn’t dry, so the afternoon would have to involve another expedition. I still hadn’t been to the Hot Tub.
This is the next anchorage, behind an island called Kalugirdup. It would be a good destination for a further trial of the Remigo electric outboard. This was fully charged from the solar panel and I am pleased to say I have learned how to get it out of the cockpit locker through the hatch behind the nav station.
Actually, this is a good thing. If it’s too long to get out the normal way, I don’t have to put a padlock on it.
I’m beginning to discover all sorts of good things about the Remigo. For instance, it looks so different and so stylish that people on other boats remark on it – which gives me an excuse to stop and answer their questions, which in turn leads to the occasional invitation and I can always unload another leaflet about the Old Man Sailing book.
Then the skipper of a big South African boat told me where to find the best snorkelling, which was how I came to tie the dinghy to a fallen bamboo trunk, get myself all kitted up with mask and flippers and start swimming in the direction of Cuba.
Well, apparently there would be a reef before I got there – with wonderful coral according to the South African.
I never did find it, despite swimming for half an hour not always in the right direction. In the end I had to turn around because I kept going aground – and never did see any coral.
Before leaving, I went and asked some Canadians anchored nearby who said they took a detour round to the west and then tied themselves to the dinghy and drifted back with it – although even they hadn’t seen any coral. Anyway, that wouldn’t suit me. My dinghy is so light that if I try to climb into it from the water, it just turns over. I admit this is awkward from a safety point of view, but as I found out in St Maarten, it does work if you’re drunk – which is probably what counts.
Thinking about this, when I got back (a total of six miles at an average speed of 3.8kts and the Remigo battery still at 80%) I unloaded all the surplus gear and headed for the beach for some experiments: It turns out that, with 12kg of outboard on the back, if you thread the painter round the rowlocks and pull on the slack, you can haul yourself aboard over the bow without turning the thing arse over tip.
One way and another, it was rather a good day – and of course, it wasn’t over yet: There was still Cocktail Hour to come – with Swimming Pool Slammers on the sundeck.
Although it turns out that coconut water and rum is not the success you might imagine – although I did find that mixing the surplus with scotch whisky was an improvement.
But that may have had something to do with the senses being dulled somewhat from the original recipe…
If you haven’t already, you might like to look at the “books” tab above. There are nine titles up there – and, would you believe it: I’m going to be 76 years old in two weeks… and there’s still absolutely nothing wrong with me. In fact I’m one person who doesn’t need reading glasses! See the “Good Health” tab.
That’s a cheering despatch, John.
I have a drawer full of specs, of varying dioptres – whatever they are. The people of Taidup may well benefit from those, as a gift.
Should you think it may somehow work, let me know a Poste Restante address or somesuch, and I’ll send them to you ( or someone else ) so they can be gifted to those kind people.
Thank you Wil. Unfortunately I will be heading north in a couple of weeks, but I have written to the Ocean Cruising Club Port Officer in Cartagena, Colombia asking if he would take them. Then he could give a handful at a time to members passing through on their way to the San Blas. If he agrees, would it be OK to give him your email address and you can arrange it between you?
You did drink Coconut water! Coconut milk needs more work… you will find out if you go over the canal to the people from the big ocean on the other side.
Keep at it, good work.
Marc
Thank you. I have made the correction (and looked up the recipe!)
Many happy returns John; please continue to get older disgracefully!!