Thursday Eric and I, with Erin along for the ride, went to visit our good friend Jorge the Port Captain for our Zarpe. Senor Castro finagled some paperwork (just a bit) to save us a bunch of money � had we waited one more day we'd have incurred a fee for long-term harbor residency in Panama. Gracias Jorge!! Zarpe in hand, we let our expert cab driver take us to the black market for cigarettes (four dollars a carton). While we were on the way back he complained of the psycho bus drivers, "the Rojo Diablos," he explained in reference to the red-striped busses, "do not follow any rules. You never know what they're going to do." As if on cue, a cab two cars in front of us was smashed into by one of the Red Devils. The accident happened (luckily) at extremely low speeds and the drivers and passengers were all unhurt. Our driver gestured as if to say, "There, see what I mean?" as we skirted the mounting chaos forming around the scene.
Our return to the non-existent BYC was well timed. Erin jumped a panga for her vessel and Eric went over to the boat to check up on the put-in we'd scheduled. I figured I had just enough time to get our passports stamped for exit of country � salida -� at the Migracion office at the end of the dock. No sooner had I joined the 2nd mate than we found ourselves riding an outgoing railcar back into the sweet lapping of the ocean's bosom. Dropping the Faith back into the brine was a much simpler matter than pulling out had been. As soon as she was floating the line handlers let go the ties, we put the engine in reverse, and viola, done deal. Brian missed the endeavor, as he thought he had five minutes leeway. He found us riding our new mooring, now next-door to the Taking Off. Can't imagine how it happened that we managed so convenient a position....
Erin was soon calling, leaping from panga to our gunrail like a ballerina. We departed on our date: destination, the summit of the nearby mesa where the giant Panamanian flag flew gloriously above the city. It took some convincing and an exercise in Spanish fluency (amended with gestures and reassurances) to the cab driver for him to let us out at the foot of the slope. We followed the narrow, paved path upward toward the peak as the stars began to shine and darkness encroached. At length, about halfway up, a guard shack came into view. The attendant was nowhere to be seen but a loud, yapping hound greeted the advent of our advance.
"It's OK, pero!" I called, "we are your friends, your amigos!"
"Si! Si!" Erin exclaimed in concert, "no es problema!"
"HAULT!" said the guard, who had just shaken himself awake and appeared from the shack. He was showing signs of being very nervous, his arm extended halfway into the shack, presumably holding a weapon.
"Hola!" we chorused, "Es possible mi y mi amiga � there?" I pointed to the ridge top.
"NO." was the reply.
After a few minutes of our beleaguering the attendant, offering five, then ten dollars for passage, begging leave to continue, he still hadn't changed his mind. As it turned out he had been holding a radio and had called for backup, which arrived in the form of a soldier in camouflage with an AK-47 slung disconcertingly comfortably about his shoulder. Even he was insusceptible to bribery and pleading; it was a wash. By the time we left we had the soldier and the attendant chuckling at our strange, gringo insistence at attaining the heights....I should have offered them $20.
Instead, we hiked back to the road and caught a taxi. "Where would you go to eat?" Erin asked him. He took us to a wonderful little restaurant where they happily divided the "Panamanian Sampler Platter" into perfectly equal portions of meat and non-meat (Erin being vegetariana, and we happily devoured the food, famished as we were from our exertions. The conversation proved as delicious as the repast, and we left arm in arm to return to the harbor. Back aboard the Faith, we watched Pirates of the Caribbean (computer has a DVD player). Again, I must insist, there were NO passionate embraces, NO affectionate whispers, and certainly NO caresses of intimate nature.
Dawn found us once again, this time scampering from cockpit, where we'd fallen asleep, to the forward bunk to escape the sudden rain. Eric, who had joined captain Phil on a late night jaunt into Balboa, was fast asleep, and Brian opened his eyes to register the rain and our fleeing of it, then turned over in his bunk and closed them again.
All slept cozily for the duration of the deluge. Erin went back to Taking Off once the weather cleared and I struck out for town to do a last minute upload on the internet prior to departure. My sturdy crew refilled the gas cans and took care of the marina bill. Eric helped debug the office computer for Harbor Master Dave, earning himself a Balboa Yacht Club shirt in the offing. I returned to the dock reassured that all had been made ready.
The panga took me first to the Taking Off for goodbyes. "Does the offer to go with you still stand?" Erin asked me. I was shocked � she was asking about the possibility I'd brought up the day before about accompanying us to Golfito. Mind and hormones whirling, I had her come with me to the Faith to discuss the prospect with the crew. No one had any overt objection, but the fact that our traveling papers, acquired under somewhat shady conditions, said only three people put a damper on the cause. The foreign authorities are very particular about that. One day's difference and we'd have had a fourth. One day's difference and this beautiful, worldly, whimsical, wonderful girl would have joined our crew; if only for a few more days. Instead, we really did say goodbye (for the time being) and deposited Erin on the Taking Off as we headed out to the Pacific. My heart wept.
So far on our trip I've felt a certain sadness leaving every place we've been. Each port has had its magic, each person their influence on our adventure. Friends we have made whom we may never see again; each adding their fire to our kindle. Erin is special to me, what we shared is a brilliant swatch of color in the flourishing landscape of adventurous life. The romantic in me wants to reassure the romantic in you that every goodbye is the beginning of another hello. That "hello" might be a couple of months away, but we're working out the details.
Aboard the Faith we left the shipping lane leading to the Canal and put the bow into the first of a million waves on her new home. The Pacific Ocean spread its welcoming waters before us. "This way," she whispered, "for I offer you boundless possibility."