Day 1 ^11
The following day, we gathered at the jetty eagerly awaiting our passage but were
told the captain was NOT leaving that day. Laughing at the madness, we hung
around and waited for further news. Nine o’clock came and went, and still we
waited, hoping something would crop up.
Then, in a sudden rush of urgency, the captain emerged and told us he was sailing
that very minute. The two bicycles, motorbike, and luggage were hurriedly loaded
onto a “lancha” and paddled out with great urgency and speed. Besides the crew on
the boat were Simon, Matthias from Uruguay, a Colombian guy, and a lady from
Colombia on her way to visit family in Miramar. It has to be mentioned that the
boat was small and didn’t cater to passengers. The crew, therefore, wasn’t
particularly friendly, which one could understand as we were in their way. Finally,
we all settled down upon the wooden deck amongst the crates, trying our level best
to roll out mats to lie upon.
Eventually, the boat sailed off; small and unstable, she rocked and rolled over the
big swells, while the three Europeans clung on, tooth and nail, not to be flung
overboard. Finally, there was little else to do but find a spot and wedge yourself in,
hugging your knees and feeling like a refugee. Moving around was impossible, and
due to the noise from the diesel engine, conversation was out of the question.
After roughly three hours of sailing, we caught our first glimpse of the San Blas
Islands. Three hundred and sixty-six islands, and a few so tiny they could barely
accommodate one or two huts. Once amongst the islands, the sailing was far
smoother. Still, it remained impossible to move about or chat. The captain anchored
twice to pick up empty gas cylinders and empty crates of cooldrink bottles.
Finally, Captain Marseille must’ve relented about the meals as all passengers were
served lunch (rice accompanied by chicken wings and feet, give me strength!). By
p.m., the Rey Emmanuel reached yet another tiny island, where she moored for the
night.