Outside Panama City
Each time I leave one place for another, I think that the last place was really safe and that the next place can’t be.
Leaving the plane for Toronto and staying in the Strathcona. Rubbish, but temporarily safe. Leaving the S for the hostel – safe but not quite as comfortable. Train was always going to be safe – then Jasper and a little uncertainty. Bus fine till Kelowna. Dead safe, obviously, and then we’re in that slightly mad situation in Vancouver. Then, after Kim, Mark & Olly had left me at the bus station, everything was a bit odd again (nutters on the station). Eventually got to Victoria, but was a bit unfair to a really nice lad on the ferry. Feel a bit rotten, but maybe he was mad… Stayed posh in Victoria then ferry to Seattle and wished I was back in safe old Canada. Seattle fine, of course, but knew that the train would be safe. Safe, but not as good as ViaRail. Nervous as I arrived in Oakland and was pathetic trying to sort out where to stay. Three hotels in Oakland were rubbish and I made the right decision by going over to SF to the Harbour Court. Then Christina’s for three nights before nervously getting on the boat. Now the boat is the safe haven I have to leave for what in Cartegena? This is a bloody mad trip…
Written last night just before bed as I didn’t want to forget.
Had a lie-in this morning, it being Sunday. It struck me, as I arose at 10am, that I’d be having biryani in two hours. Very nice it was too.
We are anchored outside Panama City as I write on the deck. May get some Wi-fi tonight, so who knows? I’d thought PC was the town that’s grown up around the canal – pretty big town.
Anyway, we can’t go through the locks on the canal until the morning, and then we’re in a queue. Now means I don’t get to Cartegena until Tuesday, meaning I will have spent 15 nights on the boat. It’ll be like leaving home.
Antonio’s just caught me putting my washing in, so he added some softener. I’ve no chance of getting to dry it myself. He’s also bleached back to whiteness the shirt I ruined last week. Yes, he is getting a big tip and I’ve left a crate of ale for the crew before anyone gets on at me (and we need to organise phone cards for when the ship gets to Thamesport – more to individuals in emails).
It’s important to note that I’ve been on this journey for 42 days and it feels like a weekend. It’s two months since I was at work, unbelievably. In five months I’ll be back. Bloody hell. Two sevenths is not that far off half. I’m starting to realise I may well have budgeted too low. Oh well, I’ve lots of rich friends, family and work colleagues (and the s23 surplus).
Yet another fabulous business idea
When I got up this morning there were three ships in sight (3 more than normal). There are now around 25 in the bay outside Panama City, with more to arrive, I’m sure. Now, none of us can get moving until the morning when the locks open at 6am to allow Pacific-Caribbean movement. Assuming each ship has an average of 20 men on board, that’s at least 500 of us waiting around for the night. So, why hasn’t someone set up a floating bar in the middle of the bay to take advantage of this potentially bored and undoubtedly captive customer base?
It would be easy enough to get people on board with a small fleet of water taxis attached to the bar. All sailors have dollars, so currency wouldn’t be a problem. Entertainment could be laid on with popular cabaret acts (Jane McDonald would be an obvious opening night special guest star). Food could be simple fare, such as scampi and chips and chicken in a basket. It could be a sort of Mersey View on the water, with ladies brought in from the Panama City equivalent of Ellesmere Port to act as escorts for the gentlemen…
Honestly, these Central Americans. No business imaginations whatsoever.
Later
Turns out no-one’s bored. They’re either working, entertaining guests or fishing (they caught a skate).
Latest news is that we are not now going through the canal tomorrow, but that we’re laying up in anchor for an extra day! I found this out at tea-time. Chance it could be a little jape to play on the tourist, but apparently not. This is fine in some ways, but frustrating in that I can’t connect with people out here at sea, and it means yet another day before I get news. Worse, at least ten Wi-fi networks are within touching distance. I reckon another 500m nearer to shore and I’d be instant messaging people like mad. As it is I’m out on deck with the bright light and fireworks (thought it might be a coup…) of Panama City maddeningly close by.
Oh well – I’ll get on with me book then.
Which I’ve now finished. It was about a tour of South America when a bloke lost his mate. When the sad bit happened I was listening to loads of particularly morbid songs on the MD, no doubt put together one melancholy evening in Roman Road.
I finished the book on the prow with the lights of PC in the distance and Murder Ballads on the Walkman. I sauntered back to the living quarters to find poor Pravin had been looking for me, as I was wanted on the bridge. Pravin is an exceptionally nice man who always calls me by my name. The rumour about another day at sea was confirmed, with no chance of visiting Panama City tomorrow. Still, the captain has let the agent in Cartagena know I’m on my way, which should smooth things out with immigration and help to sort me out a cab.
Later – a load of dolphins in the moonlight and a couple of huge fish!
I’ve worked out the absolute problem of this situation. I hate queueing.
Tags: Travel
JohnnyBoy