It was Monday evening when we came to the mooring at Barillas, so we were pleased to hear that our check-in procedures would begin straight away (especially after Nicaragua!). True to word, Customs, the Port Captain, and a Navy representative arrived in a panga, took a look at our documents, collected our Zarpe, took a look at our boat (chuckle, chuckle, "Pocito!" � very small!) and agreed to give us a ride the quarter mile to the marina where Migracion would stamp us into the country. "Wow!" we grinned to each other, "this place is cool!" It got cooler. Stepping onto the dock we walked up the ramp to shore and were treated to the sight of a modernized tropical paradise. Palapa bar replete with hammocks, twin pools with fountains and hot tubs, wide cobble paved walk leading to marina store and air conditioned internet caf�, mini internet capable palapas speckling the lawns, Harbor Master's office, and finally Migracion building next to the gate. Migracion was where we found ourselves. The officer smiled at us, stamped our passports, shook our hands, and ushered us back to the cobbled avenue. We checked in at the Harbor Master's � the Master himself being absent his second in command informed us they would take care of arrangements for our exit Zarpe on the morrow, and that the first drink at the bar was on the house. "Is that every time we come to the bar?" Brian asked. Our patron smiled, shaking her head. Oh, and the charge for mooring there: sixty cents a foot per night - $12.50 for Faith.
We sipped a round of Cuba Libres as our host gave us an appraising perusal. "You scared Luis to death," she advised us. "Why?" we wondered. "He said he found you in the surf. There was a boat that turned over in there a couple of weeks ago that he had to help rescue." So much for the mystery � these guys were probably mortified their gem of a marina would get a nasty reputation if their clients kept loosing their boats trying to get there.... "We were ok," Brian assured her, "we were waiting way out at the edge of the surf." This seemed to mollify her. We set about making acquaintances with the other yachties.
The first of our fellow cruisers was named Brian, of the good ship Flash. Middle aged, lanky long hair in a ponytail, he welcomed us smiling. He told us he'd been at Barillas for quite some time following a lightning strike that had crippled his boat while he'd been traversing a local storm....Eric and I shared a knowing raise of the eyebrows. At this point I should note a peculiarity of sailing: a vessels name seems to have a quasi-mystical quality associated with the events that surround it. Flash. How apt. Take the Asylum, a trimaran serving as the home of our soon-to-be close friends Johanna and Connor. They had left San Diego � and the US � over certain irresolvable political-social differences with the home country and were headed south. (Just south, and when that runs out maybe some other direction. I admire that.) Then there's Solace, a gorgeous wooded fifty-odd foot sloop launched in 1901 and now the home of an English-Australian family sailing it back to its place of birth. Back in Belize we'd noted the Wanderer, a boat with a reputation for dragging anchor. I suppose I should include the Faith and her crew....make what you like of that one....
All of this we learned at the pot-luck thrown by the community of boaters that first evening at Barillas. Brian deftly arranged to borrow the marina's gas grill when he noticed it out back of the restaurant. Everyone brought a treat and all were fascinating conversationalists full of tales of the high seas. Connor and Johanna were especially cued in to us. The couple is about my age (oh, wait, I think they're still in their twenties....hmmm, have to get used to that....) Friendly, outgoing, and moored right next to Faith. We'd noticed the Asylum on the way in � I'd commented that with its military gray color and boxy, angled hull it looked just like an Imperial Tie Fighter (Star Wars). "Yes," Connor laughed, "it's seen some battles." As it turns out, the Asylum lost a mast when one of the globe-spanning reverberations of the recent tragic tsunami in Indonesia caught them near shore in northern Baja California, giving the tri-hull a sound shaking. "Five days of pure hell," as Connor and Johanna put it. They'd since rigged a mast made from a wooden pole they'd been able to acquire. They gave us a lift back to our mooring and we looked forward to spending more time with them on the morrow.
The next morning was a Tuesday, significant because it was one of the two days a week when a bus would cart marina folk into town to pick up groceries and supplies. Brian and Eric shipped on for the run while I spent the day doing catch up writing and working on the internet. I also scheduled our departure, which wouldn't be possible for another two days. Then Luis would be available to lead us back out through the reefs to the safety of the ocean's depths.
The proposition of having to stay an extra day in port was rather welcome. We'd have time for cleaning, reorganizing, repairing, catching up with the backlog of internet postings, and, of course, enjoying the marina and the other mariners. The crew returned with the provisions in the early afternoon and borrowed Brian's (of the Flash) motorized dingy to transport the stores to the Faith. Brian did some straightening up around the boat while Eric squared the galley. Afterward, my brother came ashore for a swim in the pool and Eric went aboard the Asylum to sharpen several swords Connor and Johanna had with them. We ate dinner together at the open air restaurant. I'm sorry to confess this, but after the meal we broke down and watched television for a couple of hours. And we liked it.
The crew returned to the boat for the night. I elected to remain ashore, taking advantage of one of the many extraordinarily comfortable hammocks. Surprisingly, although we were nestled in a huge mangrove swamp there were almost no bugs. When I counted bites in the morning I could only find three. This has been the case for our entire transit of Central America. You hear the horrors of clouds of malaria ridden mosquitoes, fogs of biting flies, infestations of nasty no-see-ums � and I'm certain that they are terrible somewhere � but so far we had not encountered anything really bad since leaving New Orleans. Whatever force has kept the bugs away I'm grateful to it!
Wednesday was spent much along the same lines as the day prior: I to the computers, Brian doing some work around the Faith and visiting with the yachteros, Eric hanging out with the Asylums crew. The morning was bright and sunny, an afternoon rainstorm cooled the baking air, and the evening found us once again gathered for our daily repast at the restaurant. We got a special treat on the TV that night; the two hour season finale of CSI (Eric and my favorite show). And I didn't even feel guilty about it!
I spent another night in the hammock and the mates retired once again to the ship. When dawn found us it was time to prepare for our afternoon departure. We made the rounds, well-wishing our friends and compatriots, collecting numbers, email addresses and hugs. I went over to the Migracion office and had our passports stamped out. The official smiled broadly and, shaking my hand heartily, told me how glad he was that we had come and to return soon. It's nice to feel wanted.
The Harbor Master's office provided us with our Zarpe and we were ready. A last round of quick goodbyes ashore and we got a lift back to the boat with Connor and Johanna. They showered us with presents: extra lines, strong and relatively new, and a tough, inflatable raft to replace our little rubber one. These items had been salvaged from the wrecked boat (which is not, as far as we are concerned, bad luck) when Connor and Luis had gone to the rescue. We had been in dire need of a replacement for our worn main sheet � one of the lines happened to be the perfect width, and the color almost matches! The raft looked a lot smaller on the wide decks of the Asylum, but wouldn't fit into our sail lockers. Instead we lashed it to the bow. Connor and Jo, thank you so much!!
Luis arrived right on time, and we slipped our mooring and began the run back to the blue water. As we pulled away from the marina one of the other sailors, George, came winging out to us in his dingy and snapped a couple of pictures as we waved and took some of him. "Bon Voyage!!" George called as our bow threw silver flecks of foam ahead and Barillas faded in our wake.