June 15-20: San Blas Islands to Cartagena

Picture a sailboat weaving through coral reefs and remote stretches of Carribean islands peppered with fallen coconuts and conch shells. Turquoise waters and driftwood lap at the side of the boat while evening thunderheads off in the distance light up the horizon. A light drizzle soon forces passengers to drier quarters. That description largely summarizes the last 5 nights as we sailed from Portobelo to Cartagena on the Ave Maria.

We met at the dock in Portobelo at 6pm sharp to load up our gear. We had to take a lancha out to the boat, which was moored on the other end of the harbor. This meant carefully balancing our bikes and gear onto the bow and holding on as the local fisherman transited us and our 7 fellow passengers across Portobelo Harbor.

Loading the lancha that we would take across the harbor to the Ave Maria.

Once at the boat we trepidaciously hoisted our bikes onto the bow, where our captain, Paul, carefully tied them to the railing. We did our best to cover important drivetrain components with plastic wrap and WD-40, but this would prove to be quite futile and the plastic would be tattered by the following morning. We would just have to hope that the salt spray could be washed away on our arrival in Cartagena.

After a short safety briefing we pulled up the anchor and left the confines of Portobelo. The sky slowly dipped to black and merged with the horizon as we sat on the bow, the ocean swells slowly rocking us into a dramamine-induced haze. I called in around 10pm, feeling grateful for all in my life that had brought me to that very moment. Only a privileged few can take the time to sail the Carribean, and here I was doing it as part of a much grander journey.

We awoke at sunrise in El Porvenir, the first of the San Blas Islands and location of the Panamanian immigration office and office of the Kuna Yala, the local indigenous community. The San Blas Islands are part of Panama but are independently governed by the Kuna, much like a Native American reservation in the United States. We moored for several hours so that the offices could open and Paul could complete our necessary exit immigration and transit paperwork. While waiting, I swam to a nearby island. The water was deliciously warm.

Waking up in El Porvenir. I swam to this island while waiting to clear immigration. Certainly a nicer process than at the US border!

Once all paperwork was complete, we sailed another few hours to a small cay named Coco Baderos. When you picture paradise, this is the place: small sand islands peppered with coconut palms amidst a turquoise sea, with a warm breeze and puffy clouds dotting the horizon. We spent the remainder of our day snorkeling around the extensive reef systems before settling on a nearby island for dinner and drinks. We passed the evening away sharing stories, drinking "aguardiente" (Colombia's national drink), and watching fireflies light up the tropical sky.

Gotta get at least one photo with my bike!

A few other boats joined us throughout the day.

The next day was spent much the same, moored at Coco Bandero Cay and swimming around the reefs. We endured a fairly torrential rainstorm that kept us indoors for several hours, but once it dissipated we were again in the water and on the island, making futile attempts at lighting a bonfire with the soggy driftwood. We spent the night watching enormous thunderstorms light up the horizon in three directions, with our boat safely harbored from their wrath...for now.

Hammocks strung up on an uninhabited Carribean island.

Paul managed to get a fire going with a little bit of diesel. We later cooked pork chops over it for dinner.

Paul's wife Sindry was a fantastic cook throughout the journey. She bought us all coconuts from the locals and made us "cocos locos" which really hit the spot after a day in the sun.

The following day we motored to another set of islands, where we swam around an old shipwreck and started to take stock of our worsening sunburns.

San Blas, it's been real. What an unforgettable experience.

We took one last dip in the ocean and washed up in preparation for our 36 hour open-ocean crossing to Cartagena, Colombia. Shortly after 4pm, we again hoisted the anchor and headed out to sea, with our bearings set on Colombia.

The night was tempestuous, with 3-6ft swells rolling the boat and rainfall and lightning necessitating the closure of all windows and hatches. We were sweltering inside and tried to sleep amidst the crashing waves, but any sleep we caught was minimal. At dawn I stepped outside to chat with Paul and Sindry, both of whom remarked that the storms we had passed through were extremely unusual, particularly for this time of year. We learned that we had passed through three "culo de pollo" ("chicken's ass") storms, a name given to short, intense bursts of weather in this region of the Carribean.

I took the helm for a while as Sindry prepared lunch.

We spent our day talking and sleeping, with the rolling waves slowly dissipating as we neared Cartagena. I had doubled-up on dramamine and managed to stave off seasickness, but as a result was quite sleepy throughout the day. We went to bed early, but were awaken around 1am by Colombian coast guard basearching the boat for contraband. We entered Cartagena harbor shortly after 1am, during which time the rope to the dingy got caught in the ship's prop as Paul was talking with the coast guard. It was a frantic few minutes as we were stopped in the busy shipping lane and a large container ship was heading in our direction. Paul luckily freed the rope after several dives down, and we continued on to the main harbor.

We all slept for a few more restless hours. I woke up shortly after 5am and watched the sunrise over Cartagena, a beautiful way to conclude a truly magnificent journey.

A new country and new continent. Excited to see what you have in store for me, South America.

We went ashore for lunch as Paul finalized our immigration paperwork and got us stamped into Colombia. The plan now is to spend two nights in Cartagena before heading directly for Medellín, where we would meet Girish and spend a rest day or two to recover from the stifling heat. We packed our bikes and pedaled to a hostel in the old walled portion of Medellín, taking in the sights and sounds of our first few kilometers in South America.

A much-deserved ice cream after our open-ocean crossing.

I may be smiling, but I still felt slightly wobbly from the boat. This feeling would last for the next few days.

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