Fai Tira Blog Thursday 4th February

Fai Tira in San Blas    Green Island  09:28.77N 78:38.20W

Sadly we’re approaching the end of our encounter with the San Blas Islands and the Kuna Indian race that cling to the surface of hundreds of, sometimes tiny, outcrops peppering the Gulf of San Blas. They run for about a 130 miles of coast line just off the Panamanian main land. It’s been a pleasure, education and privileged to be able to wander the dirt passageways acting as streets while we squeezed ourselves through the narrow gaps dividing the maze of cane and palm frond dwellings.

We’d been welcomed by a proud race fiercely protective of its heritage and eager to demonstrate its, largely undiluted, culture at every opportunity. Their friendliness and honesty has been refreshing and it seems to remain intact in spite of mounting pressure from a demanding tourist industry, on which they are becoming increasingly dependant. A result of this is an inevitable wear and tear was on the largest of the Carti islands, Sugtupu. It was just starting to show signs that indicated a bit of fraying at the edges. However, even this couldn’t detract from our visit. The tour in, the company of our self appointed guide John, was friendly and fun: even though tinged with a hint of enterprise that, at times, seemed to verge on the edge of commercialism.

The journey the following day was about 5 miles, our destination the small and picturesque island known as Mormake Tupu. In the Chibcha language (No,  not Kunaneese), it means “shirt makers”

Our source of research, for these visits is limited to the sometimes sparse information given in the pilot books. However we were able to glean enough knowledge to make our visit sound interesting. Phrases like “very traditional community” and “high quality crafts” always have the effect of pushing the right buttons for me, and in the event, I think, neither of us were disappointed.

Our sail was a very relaxed affair, just what was needed since we were still at the stages of the metaphorical first time back on the bike, since the bashing we took on the crossing. So it was a languid passage that took us in an Easterly direction with just the genoa gently tugging at the sheets and easing us along at a comfortable 4-5 knots.

The pilot book had also informed us that a firm congreso, the body of elders in charge, encouraged visiting yachts to moor in the Caigar mangroves, about a mile away. We didn’t feel inclined to go for that. So it was with some apprehension, after negotiating the coral heads, that we dropped anchor off the Southern tip a short distance from a concrete jetty.

Already a small, curious, group had gathered, but before we had a chance to launch the dinghy, we had visitors in the form of two delightful women. They were both clothed in vividly colourful costumes, and each of them displayed a delicately painted black vertical strip running up to the bridge of their nose. They’d rowed out in one of the many wooden dug outs that are everywhere and seem to be the standard mode of transport. The purpose of the visit soon became obvious (as if we didn’t know). Out of two plastic containers came a whole range of delightful molas (embroidered panels) Half an hour of fun filled  bartering later and the form of a brightly coloured yellow fish adorned the dark wood work, above the seating in our saloon.

Then it was the turn of Idelfonso Restrepo and another dug out was parked alongside. He turned out to be a great guy and we invited him on board for a beer. He was young, spoke understandable English and earned his living as a tour guide. He wasn’t trying to make anything out of us. He just wanted to talk, be friendly, show off his island and ensure that we respected and had some understanding of the Kunar culture, much of which seemed to be built on foundation of respect. He informed us that the Kunas’ had  their own flag, also saying that he would introduce us to the congreso chief . Arrangements were made.  We eventually ventured ashore about half an hour later to be greeted by him and dozens of inquisitive children. We’d come prepared with a rucksack full of pencils, braids and bangles. I’ve never seen so many hands thrusting out in one go and we strode off to Idelfonsos’ house looking, for all the world, like versions of the pied piper.

Our stay was terrific; we were given so much attention. Introduced to families, we bought a flag, exchanged gifts with the chief, sampled the local bread, drank beer and were then lucky enough to spectate at the village dance practice and listen to the haunting sounds of the accompanying pipes.

The next days’ sail, to Green Island, was brilliant, a broad reach on a port tack, in bout 20 knots of wind, a calm sea, just the genoa hoisted and making 6-7 knots. The 18 miles simply  flew by. I’m sure that the rain forest clad slopes of the nearby mountains would have looked spectacular, if it wasn’t for the heavy mist that shrouded them. The forests here are some of the few that are not only sustained, but indeed thrive. Left to their own devises and with the Indians taking just what they want for their own needs, they flourish.

The approaches to Green Island were interesting. The genoa refused to furl, the rope having tangled itself into a knot.    It had to be dropped, but was now in a strop and refused to come down, we’d also noticed that the windex had also stopped working. By the time we’d got our act together we were off course and the wrong side of a reef.

We could see where we needed to be, It was just getting there!!

Pete was on the bow sprite hollering directions, while I pointed it and watched the rapidly falling depth gauge. The bottom looked so close, it felt like you could step off and paddle.

With the gauge now reading well under 2 metres, we gave up, backed up and then turned round, eventually finding another way in and joining up, for the first  time in 3 days, with a bunch of BWR boats. The rest of the day was spent snorkelling and climbing the mast to inspect the windex transmitter. We identified the problem. It was that one of the little cups had become detached, preventing it from spinning. We also found a more serious problem and one more difficult to resolve. The forestay foil had sheared at the top. It wasn’t going to prevent its’ use, but it wont cure itself and can’t be ignored.

In the evening we just went to Jeremys’ for supper. Actually that was wrong. No one can ever “ just go to Jeremys”

The two J’s and Edith were, as usual, brilliant and funny hosts.    We both staggered back to our boat at 2am!!!

The sail back to Porvenir the next day was another fantastic one. A beam reach on a starboard tack, in about 25 knots of wind, under full sail, moderate seas and making 7 Knots. Fantastic scenery and warm, if cloudy, weather. What d’ya reckon??? Not bad eh!!!!

Good bye San Blas. It’s been a pleasure!!!!

Bye for now Pete and John.