It feels somehow fitting that on my last morning on Juno I
have her to myself just for a little while and so can quietly say good-bye and
remember all the special moments on board and how she has magnificently looked
after us during some fairly boisterous passages and kept us safe. But that
ability to keep us safe is far from automatic and comes with an awful lot of
care and attention from Paul. Since being in Panama he has done little else,
forgoing the trip to the Embera Village, the city tour and also, before
transiting, our trip to the Observatory to see both the construction of the new
locks at Gatun and the workings of the existing ones.
I will leave the description of the transit to Paul for when he has time but it was truly an amazing experience, especially as we went through the Gatun Locks late at night. Everything was coloured yellow under fierce spotlights, and eerily quiet apart from the occasional calling of the line handlers and the warning whistle just before the lock gates were opened or closed.
Our Panama City tour guide was brilliant, starting us off in
the forest to see the remains of the 'Camino Real', a cobbled path used to
transport the riches of South and Central America to the ports of Nombre de
Dios and Portobello, an enterprise masterminded by Francisco Pizarro (known for
his conquest of the Incas) from Panama. The original city, founded in 1519, was
destroyed by a notorious pirate, a Welshman called Henry Morgan in the
seventeenth century, the ruins of which are still very visible. The inhabitants of Panama just moved their city up the coast
and we spent some happy hours wandering around the old quarter: beautiful,
stucco buildings with ornate balconies, preserved in a state of dilapidation by
the squatters who moved in after the more affluent citizens moved out attracted
by the glamour and modernity of skyscrapers built to the east of the old city.
Yesterday we had a more frustrating day in a very large shopping mall in the new city, trying to track down (and, even harder, getting it to work) a local SIM card, a camera lens, exchanging discovered-too-late Columbian pesos (both unsuccessful) somewhere for haircuts and then a doctor for Andrew's earache which still hasn't cleared up.We are now waiting for the fridge man to arrive with a new compressor to hopefully fix the fridge which is struggling to cope with the latest round of provisioning and showing a temperature of 15°. This is now the most urgent problem, along with tracking down a missing parcel (containing important sail repair kit) which could be in Colon or Panama and is proving, again frustratingly, elusive.
It is hard to imagine that these are problems that I won't
be involved in after today. Last night Frewie asked me to tell him my best and
worst moments; the best was easy to answer and the worst much harder. Both
involve night sailing; the best during solo night watches when Juno has the bit
between the teeth (if I'm allowed to use a horse riding analogy!) and the worst
must be when you are on bottom bunk trying to sleep when there is not enough
wind and the sails are flogging above your head, the Genoa periodically
snapping and the boom crashing in a way that you know hurts Juno.
I feel so lucky to have been part of this journey and to
have shared life on board with two of the most generous and open hearted of
hosts. I now know that boat owners have to be multitalented and have mastered
so much more than just how to sail. They need to be a mechanic, an electrician,
an IT technician, seamstress, expert in cleaning materials for all the dirt
that accumulates and diver for anything that goes wrong under the waterline.
You must surely need to enjoy solving problems to own a boat but also to be
endlessly patient as nothing quite happens when promised and deadlines are
tight.
Paul and Caroline have certainly demonstrated patience and
enormous kindness to this member of Juno's crew and it now just left to me to
wish them all the best as they set sail into the great wide Pacific Ocean.
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