We had come through the Panama canal the night before; an eye-opener that was also very very chilled. By law you have to take local crew onto your vessel when going through the canal, who effectively did our job handling the lines. It was a bit of a treat. All we did was hand out cokes, pose for a few hundred pictures and try to pretend we weren't interested in what the locals were selling, (educational video's). The Panama canal is broken up into a series of locks; effectively chambers which are filled and emtied using gravity and which rise the water level from each coast - West and East - to that of the massive lake in the middle- thus allowing vessels to cross. Each chamber can fit a couple of boats inside while the water is drained or filled up, depending on whether you are entering the canal or exiting it. By boats I don't mean luxury mega-yachts like ourselves. I mean the mankiest buckets of rust claiming to be sea-worthy. Needless to say we attracted quite a lot of attention going through. Think driving through northern Mozambique in a Rolls. Once out of the ancient locks (100 yrs old) and onto the lake, things became far more picturesque and out came the Blue Moon paparazzi- trigger happy as ever. Navigation through the lake is done with the assistance of a local guide who knows the area and is considered a pro. He's called a pilot and is at the top of the maritime food-chain. I'd love to tell you why he is called a pilot and not a guide, navigator or regional expert, but I had learned that there are some things you just don't ask in the yachting industry. You just accept how ridiculous they are. But somehow I don't think the US naval aviators flying F-22 Hornets in desert storm would approve of sharing their title with the salty Panamanian lounging in our bridge.
Once the canal was defeated,the boat was (reasonably) clean and we were fighting off exhaustion with Red Bull shots it was time to check out Panama City. A confused place grappling with its past while hungrily-embracing a high-rise future, the city is broken into pockets representing every colonial occupation in its history. It also has massive development, a bit like Dubai in the 90's, (look where that ended up). According to our taxi driver who himself looked like he could fit in on Banged Up Aboad, the huge influx of investment was coming from wealthy Venezualens fleeing their president Chavez.
South America: charming.
South America: charming.
We ate in an ancient little square feeling more like Telaviv than Panama while being seranaded by a Spanish mariachi who saw us as the jackpot. The crew was really getting into the vibe, one of whom was sporting a ridiculous Panama hat accompanied by a cheap stogi. His attempts at pulling of the Columbian drug lord thing had only succeeded in creating some kind of Spanish Genie. I was embarrassed for him. Hans on the other hand, our (affirmative action?) Peruvian crew member and my roommtate was in his prime, rattling off the local lingo like a Spanish Bond, James Bondero. If he had been busting out the hat I would have been nervous. The bit of showmanship that he was proudly displaying would ultimately be his downfall as the crew was taking notes and making plans to abuse such tools in Mexico. In the end he became our translator/negotiator/mascot and was unwillingly strung behind our touring party on more than one occasion.
NB Tip- Do what an engineer says.
