We wandered over to Immigration where we were compared quickly to our passports and handed our visas, good for a month. Then Eric and I were whisked into Colon by Manuel. He drove like Steve McQueen, which is to say we got where we were going QUICKLY and with a near miss (pedestrian, bus, curb, fence, cement abutment) about every half block.
The Capitan de Puerto took down our information � crew list, vessel documents, passport copies � and sent us on to the Auduana (Customs), where we signed documents assuring the authorities that we had no fresh produce, drugs or firearms. The Boss, as they called the official who would have to sign our papers was out at the moment and since Manuel had an appointment to serve as a line handler on another vessel doing it's transit that afternoon he arranged for Auduana to hold our passports. "Chino will come back and get them when the singing's done. Don't worry, he'll bring them right to your boat." Sure enough, an hour after we returned Chino brought the sacred documents of passage to our pier. In tow he had Joseph, the man who would take me to see the Canal Authority the following day; "Joseph knows them," Chino explained, "he'll make it good. He'll be here in the morning, what, eight?" That was fine with us.
Sweet! Daylight left and we were already well on our way toward conquering the battalion of bureaucracy! To the Yacht Club!
PCYC's bar/restaurant, we discovered, was going to be the social center, office, entertainment arena, and networking core during our stay in Colon. My crew and I bellied up to the prow-shaped bar and ordered three Panama beers ("Panama" is the name of the local brew), at one dollar apiece. Well! One could get used to this. We cracked a menu and were happily surprised by the fare: Chinese, American, Central American, Italian, and Island cuisine at incredibly affordable prices. We each ordered a Captain's Special, steak and lobster, as a reward for our hard day's work. To think that that morning we'd come off the sea after an eight day sail and were already well into the process of gaining the Pacific! We relished that fact almost as much as the food.
Dinners done, the swath of culinary destruction cleared from the table, we began yet another process that would be as valuable to us as any paperwork or physical boat preparations: socializing with the other crews. The Panama Canal is the main artery pulsing with oceanic traffic moving in every direction from every port in the world with access to an ocean. Every pleasure boater passing the path between the seas (as one author describes it) who has to stop in Colon eventually winds up in the PCYC bar. In the first hour we met people from the US, France, Italy, Australia, New Zealand, China, Canada, all of Central America. In the course of our stay we'd round the list out with Russians, Brazilians, Argentineans, Norwegians, English, Irish, Cornish, Cubans, South Africans, Japanese, Germans, Poles, and Koreans. I'm sure I've left out a few. Maybe more.
A typical conversation would go as follows:
S, B, or E: "Hey, how's it going?"
Sailor from Somewhere, possibly in English: "Good. Where you from?"
S, B or E: "Chicago. Oh, can I get you a beer?"
Sailor: "Yeah! That'd be great! Chicago!? What'd you take, the St. Lawrence?"
S, B, or E: "Na, the Mississippi."
Sailor: "The Mississippi! Holy shit! How big's your boat?"
S, B, or E: "25 feet."
Sailor: "25 feet! Holy shit! How was that?"
S, B, or E: "Pretty cool�you really get used to that 5 knot current. The barge traffic is crazy. How about yourself?"
Sailor: "Oh we're from (insert port of call here). Going around the world. First time through the Canal?"
S, B, or E: "Yep. Say, how long did it take you to transit?"
Sailor: "Oh, just a day. It's really easier than you'd think�.Hey, (enter name of one of their crew), check this out! These guys came from Chicago on the Mississippi in a 25 foot boat!"
Sailor's Crew Member: "Holy shit! Let me buy you guys a beer!"
S, B, or E: "So how long's your trip?"
Sailor or Crew Member: "2 years. Maybe 3. What about yours?"
And so on. We compared notes with everyone we could talk to, and to our amazement found that almost all were circumnavigators. Some were moving other people's boats to one exotic location or another. Some were crewing for the experience, some for the money, all for the love of the traveling. We were firmly and completely amongst our people! And we no longer stood out with the length of our trip. Invariably those we spoke to were taking longer ones. What set us apart was the length of Faith � easily the shortest vessel transiting � and the fact that we'd come down the Mississippi. As the ocean is to River folk, so the River is to ocean folk.
We found our bunks that night having made many new friends and learned a great deal about the world in general and the Canal in specific. Things were looking bright as we closed our eyes on that dark night.