Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

Saturday Night

Frankly I’m having a bit of trouble at the moment meeting people. This is partly down to my usual unwillingness to engage in conversation with strangers, but also slightly down to the lack of gringos in Cartagena. I think I’ve only heard half a dozen people speak English (all American), although there were a crowd of 8 Germans in a restaurant the other night. They asked for 8 separate bills.

It tends to be a bit easier in hostels and I’ll be starting to use them in a couple of weeks, so I’ll see how the search for Spanish lessons goes and then try a bit harder. A slight problem on the lessons was the late arrival of the boat meaning I was more bothered about sorting out accommodation than setting up the classes before the weekend – which is now here.

Still football on the telly and I’m attempting to get to the Real Cartagena game tomorrow – playing football in this heat should be a laugh – they’ve just shown a close up of a player on TV and they are soaked through. One point – when there’s a corner the pitch side riot police use their shields to prevent the player taking the kick from getting hit by missiles.

None of this is to say that I’m bored. I’m still seeing loads of interesting and new things and trying to walk off the weight I put on whilst on board.

Sunday morning arrived and a chat after breakfast with an American guy put things into a bit of perspective. He is working in Medellin and says that he had to go to Peru to learn Spanish, because Colombia is starved of tourists and therefore no real infrastructure has been set up to sort out my specific bit. Of course the lack of tourists is a result of Colombia’s international image. For the record, Cartagena is one of the safest and best cities I have ever visited. Next time, however, I’m bringing a mate.

Absolute failure where football was concerned. The hotel clerk got nervous when the taxi turned up and insisted I took a member of staff with me and pay for the return trip for him (and me, if I couldn’t get a ticket). I decided to try under my own steam, but was vaguely depressed and ended up in one of my favourite salsa bars, Donde xxxxx?, before a small time in the oldest church in the town and sunset at the beach. Spent the money I would have spent on taxis on a bottle of wine (first for over three weeks!) and retired to my hotel where the electricity had been restored. Loose plans wavered as I decided I was going to finish the Steinbeck (which I’ve been rationing). Really pleased I did. At 10pm on a Sunday evening I can quote long in the following way:

“Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor emerges and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip: a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognised can the blown-in-the glass-bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”

This forms part of his introduction to the book referred to earlier and like him I feel the better for it having been said. I now need to get on with it…

Tonight’s song – I Was Right The First Time (or whatever it’s called) – Dexy’s

On a high cultural note, the Colombian X Factor final appears to be taking place tonight. The Colombian Who Wants to be a Millionaire has kids as competitors. And footie fans, there is a programme of such toe-curling embarrassment for a Toon Army ex and those who believe that there should be some dignity in the world. Essentially two local celebs get dropped somewhere and have to find their way home (and it’s a long way). One is some blousy blond ex-athlete by the looks of things. The other, with a look of thunder from start to finish, is Tino Asprilla, who is possibly going to murder his agent before the programme concludes (which may be some weeks). Now why would a player earning European premier wages for all those years allow himself to be subjected to such humiliation, for what can only be relatively poor remuneration in his home country? Feel free to email in an answer… (I’ve my own views, but I’ll be here for a few weeks yet and don’t want to excite local passions.)

Monday Morning

That’s better.

Got up early and had breakfast before my cold shower. Strange how girded I felt by last night’s ruminations. Well done JS, even if you have been dead these past 27 years.

Got to the language school before el profesor had left (even though I’d stopped for a coffee in my new favourite place). He sold me 20 very expensive hours of tuition, but it means he can start when I want (Miercoles) and that I get a focus to the day with other gringos about. Already met Andy from Basel (a town that is always popping up in my life) and had a good chat about the difficulties of going out with locals and where it’s best to be based when in Bogota.

Later found an ‘open’ vegetarian restaurant. (The first veg restaurant I’d planned on sampling is called Govinda’s. I’d sort of seen it as a treat last Thursday after escaping from Bocagrande to the city. I asked from the bottom of the stairs if food was available and was told yes. When I got upstairs there were a few stoned hippies, a cripple and a sort of mini-temple smelling, of course, of joss sticks. The cleared away tables made it clear there was to be no food tonight – “Sunday, maybe Monday” was the finally forced utterance. No further comment needed.)

Anyway, today’s was a healthy affair of rice with veg and soup for around a quid. It was in the roof space of a shop. Not a converted attic, but a roof space (with no windows). Still all fine, although I need a haircut and haven’t managed to get in to the barbers I’ve decided on yet. No pictures until this happens.

I understand from the papers that Europe is suffering from something of a cold snap. Just off to the beach for a couple of hours (well, the Caribbean is so warm).

Today’s Tune – Start by The jam

Bye all (sorry if this is a bit long – next bit’s only really for visitors).

Note on hotels in Cartagena. `

Taxi drivers will try to get you to Bocagrande, because: a) it’s a longer drive from the airport and b) because they get better commissions there. There’s nothing wrong with Bocagrande and there are clearly loads of nice hotels there. However, while there is a beach there, there isn’t much peace to be gained if you’re a gringo (non-stop offers of fake watches, fake cigars, sunglasses, shellfish, chicitas, etc.) and most will want to be based in the historical centre. And you can get to better beaches

The taxi drivers will most likely take you to a dump in the old town explaining that the Santa Clara or Charleston will charge a fortune. This is true, but there are at least half a dozen options between the dump that is, say, the San Felipe Hotel (which I was shown) and the super rich colonial piles. Try the San Diego, Tres Banderas, Hotel Central, Hotel Balcones for prices in the £25-£40 per night range (with breakfast). There are other cheaper options. The Pirate Hostel is within the walls, The Viena and Gestemeni (amongst others) just outside. My cab driver told me that my choice of Tres Banderas was many miles outside of the city. A bare-faced lie.

OK, everything is a lot cooler now.

I`m settled in a nice hotel in the historical part of town, and I`m staying around those parts for almost 2 weeks. It`s my final splurge before getting down to hostels in remote places and starting to spend within my means. Main thing now is to learn some Spanish, but it`s proving a bit hard to make the right links. But it must happen and start from next week.

Great to speak to those members of the family that deigned to talk yesterday. Mum assures me the meal at Rossett was lovely. As far as Mike`s concerned, I could have dropped in! Bit worried about the effect of the surprise on Dad at his age, though.

Right off to do all those ordinary things like check on footy results, get hair cut and see what the beach has to offer (the presentation of señoritas for my delectation if past form is anything to go by).

Will try to update rest of boat log later. Thanks for comments. Happy birthday Dad, again.

Oi! What`s this about Glenn?

Not because anything is terrible, but because I just wrote a long post and the stupid connection at this pathetic hotel failed. All those Bon Mots wasted.

So the gist is, fine after slightly mad start and bonkers hotel. Easy getting into Colombia – nicest immigration officer ever (I mean it).

For period around birthday (1st – 8th) expect to be at

Hotel Tres Banderas
Calle Cochera de Hobo No. 38 – 66
Barrio San Diego
Cartagena

www.hotel3banderas.com

Not trying to attract mail – I’ve been asked, honest.

No need to read all the ship posts – if i ever get them on…

Dedicated to the Fifth Beatle, not Roy…

PS – Less angry now – more sad I suppose.

Hope you’re all well.

Off for me tea.

Song – Absent Friends – Divine Comedy

Well, Aunty Mary, I think you should realise your dream.

We arrived at night (3am) which is spectacular and interesting, but I can’t help thinking that a daylight arrival wouldn’t be better.

Essentially it all begins with the Miraflores Locks, which work exactly like the ones at the back of the Home Guard Club only a little bigger. And when I went on the Llangollen Canal you occasionally got a surly lock keeper to unhelp you on your way. Here you get a team of sleepy Panamanians, who burst into action whenever a frighteningly dangerous manoeuvre with ropes and cables is required. Also you have six locomotives on tracks (attached to above mentioned ropes and cables and unique to the Canal) per lock, which guide you on your way along with a pilot on the bridge. Now I can imagine being a pilot is a fairly stressful life – and it seems to be a point of honour that he doesn’t allow the boat to touch the sides. Add to that a sapping night shift and what do you imagine the average Central American geezer does to keep himself sharp? Well, I didn’t see him use the gym and for a guy with a cold coming on he didn’t half talk a lot.
I went to bed at 5am, wanting to catch the locks into the Atlantic at the other end – and this is why I think that the day time start night be better. When I got up at 0930 it was to see the lovely islands and forests of Lake …….. I still got an hour of them, but the day was overcast (as it normally is according to the electrician).

1100 and another crew of sleepy-but-active-when-required deck hands boarded for the 2 hour passage through the descent (…………) locks. And then we were in the Atlantic/Caribbean. My understanding is that tropical storm Gamma has gone now in this ridiculously long hurricane season, but it absolutely poured down the minute we left the Canal.
I settled down to an afternoon of preparing to leave the boat and 20 minutes later it was bright sunshine. Which is good.

[I notice Che Guevara was having a lot of trouble with rain at this time of year in Bolivia according to his blog at the time. The fact that Bolivia is 2500km away from here doesn’t dissuade me from comparing my epic journey to his. Although I must remember to refrain from telling guards that I’m here to overthrow their Yankee-Imperialist puppet governments. And to be fair, there are fewer of them these days than there used to be. Perhaps I’ll just use my time here to have a holiday instead. Although I do want to be able to come with a sentence that in some way matches either of the following:

“We set off early, leaving Joaquin to digest and finish preparing his half of the horse…” (18th March) or:

“Tinned milk is a great corruptor.” (14th April)
Perhaps in Brazil.]

Further good news is that we expect to dock in Cartagena just after lunch tomorrow. I was a bit concerned we’d get there in the early hours meaning an undignified scramble for me first thing.

Have just had a little look at my South American guidebook. Bloody hell it’s big (the continent, not the book – although that is quite sizeable). I’m very excited now.

Today’s song, after that little lot, better be The World is Full of Crashing Bores by Morrissey.

I was meant to be doing two things today – packing and watching the Panama Canal. As I’m doing neither I’ve started Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck – another book I’d been saving. Really quickly, the whole problem with America/Americans has resurfaced. I don’t know whether to call it naivety, or lack of awareness or capitalism-inspired blindness, but it’s there again in two paragraphs a couple of pages apart. In the first extract he talks about the mountains of packaging (“we love so much”) and how we haven’t got a spare planet to go to when we fill this one with rubbish. Two pages later he’s singing the praises of disposable aluminium pans – “You fry a fish and throw the pan overboard.” This is bloody John Steinbeck, for God’s sake. Supposed to be clever, you. You’re not. You’re thick. Mind you, I could never have come up with the phrase ‘with cornsilk hair and delphinium eyes, red-edged by the dull wind’. And it was 1961 when he wrote it.

The other thing about Panama, of course, is it is the original client state – entirely created in 1903 by our friends in the North to serve the needs of Capital. Apparently the Colombians (within whose borders the canal used to reside) still haven’t forgiven them.

Word of the day – Vacilando.

Quote of the day:
“I wanted a spark of some kind, a crusade, an ideal. All around me I saw a society that had lost its sense of … community. Where the future extended no further than next year’s balance sheet … A materialistic society that had lost sight of the sheer joy of being alive, and replaced it with self-assembly wardrobe units from Ikea.
“It was a f*cked-up world and I couldn’t find any purpose or direction in it.
“Maybe I’d find one in South America.”

Mark Mann in the Gringo Trail. Doesn’t quite describe my sentiments or my current situation, but I thought it was a good one as I’m about to officially leave Central for South America. Rather depressing is the fact that my spell check allowed ‘Ikea’.

See you soon.

Today’s song – Death is not The End, Nick Cave’s version.

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.

So lovely of 6 of the chaps to invite me to a little place they know on the container vessel side of Manzanillo harbour in Mexico. I had been in bed about ten minutes (it was 1am) when the captain knocked on my door to ask if I was going out with the lads. Five minutes later I was picking up my crew pass from the chief officer and heading by port taxi (pick up truck) to the security gates.

Just outside the gates of the port is a cultural establishment founded in the hope of letting nation speak unto nation through various non-verbal entertainments and past-times. Eschewing stuffy names redolent of a bygone age (the title of ‘Seafarers’ Rest’ was considered) the founders had chosen to call this establishment ‘Caribbean Cool’ in an effort to reflect the modernity of its aims. A discreet brass plaque had been considered by the committee, but three foot neon lettering found favour in a close fought vote on how to ensure people knew how to find it.

On the night I visited, there was a sort of disco on, with most of the tunes provided by our North American cousins. The ladies, I imagine, were having to be coaxed to dance on account of their natural shyness. I say this because they would only dance one at a time on the rather badly designed dance floor. The damned fool who had constructed the club had put the thing 3 feet in the air! This only exacerbated the shyness of the girls who found themselves clinging to a support pole. They seemed to having trouble attracting a chap to dance with them and their frenzied jigging about meant they started to remove their clothes on account of the heat. One poor lass was left with nothing at all on! She was so embarrassed she… oh I forget now.

Anyway, once they had failed to gain the attention of a chap in that manner, they very forwardly came and sat with whichever fellow had caught their eye while up on the dance floor. One buxom wench chose me – imagine that! Mind you considering a bucket of Sol was $10, I felt that her one drink costing exactly the same was rather on the expensive side. (Although I understand completely her needing to quench her thirst after her exertions.)

Not speaking the same language was no barrier to this young lady who further expressed her wish to get to know me better in a manner I certainly never encountered at the Our Lady of Mount Carmel middle school disco…

At this point, I felt the cultural exchange could be progressed no further and used the excuse of needing to make an urgent business call to my stockbroker in Blighty. As far as I’m aware, no pictures of the encounter exist for prosperity. Shame.

Ah Guatemala, a land of contrasts, of colour, of friends we haven’t yet met and of industry combined with nature. No journey to Central America would be complete without a trip to the evocative Porto Quetzal. My own sojourn to this glorious country was full of surprises and er…

…all of the above I was able to divine in a twenty minute walk around a smelly dock at 9pm at night. The dockworkers did seem nice, though, even if at least eight of them tried to run me over. (A container port is not the ideal environment for a gentle stroll.)

So I’ve been on here for a week now. The main thing has been the wildlife, which has exceeded expectations. It’s a bit too easy to lose a couple of hours looking into the water, knowing you’ll always see something. Current favourites are turtles, although dolphins are making a theatrical bid for the top prize. At least one whale turned up today – could have been more, but I couldn’t get high enough in time to check size and numbers.

Other than that, same old same old, except for the first time on this journey I’m heading north, something I hadn’t expected to do until February at least. Immediate downside of that is we’re not travelling with the flocks of migrating birds, as we have been for the past week.
The crew tell me Manzanillo is a bit of a blast and the chief cook is threatening to take me to a club he knows there if the timing of arrival is right. With luck, I’ll upload this in Mexico before heading out onto the town. Let’s wait and see.

Hope you’re all OK and that I’m top of the league.

Later – after tea

Turns out Manzanillo isn’t looking good (arriving late, leaving early). May not even get to check my emails.

Went out a bit fed up to look at the moonlit sea which was gorgeous – however, even better was the sparkling in the sea! Not the moon or the booze (2nd can only, I promise), but those creatures that wink lights on and off at each other in the briny. Lasted about 20 minutes, which indicates a lot of the little buggars at the speed we move. Anyone know what they’re called? Fabulous and special sight, whatever…

See you in a week.

Might be out of sync, but welcome to Matthew, and well done Mum and Dad.

However, I have noticed a distinct reluctance to use the name Martin in these various boys that keep coming out. Anyone would thing I could be cited as a bad example to the youth.

Saw some porpoises today. And more flying fish. And a diving bird of some kind. All in about an hour. Also, two military ships, Mexican I presumed.
And still the crew fret about my boredom. I’d said to Antonio I planned to do my washing today – I was only letting him know because the guidance says to avoid doing chores when the crew are trying to do theirs. I had to hide the washing from him to stop him doing it. Mind you he got me at the next stage – by the time I’d got to empty the washer into the drying room, he’d already done it. I think he was sat waiting for it to finish. (He had the last laugh, as well – I’d messed up my white shirt by putting it in with a brown jacket.)

The Chief Engineer is taking me into the Engine Room this afternoon.

Which he did. Very hot and noisy it was too. One day I’ll show you the pictures, if you’re really bad.

Right, well even I’m getting bored with writing up the minutiae of my ship life now – so you definitely must be. So only posts of specific interest or pictures until I’ve at least visited a port or two from now on. By way of a reminder though, here’s my daily programme:

0730 Rise for breakfast (every other day)
0815 Time for a little snooze
0930 Rise properly (steward is normally in for a tidy at 0945)
0945 Cup of tea in lounge
1015 Chat with Antonio (generally)
1045 Perhaps another cup of tea
1100 Walk around deck – wave at dolphins etc
1200 Lunch/Dinner
1245 At leisure
1500 Get on deck as sun-bathing is just about possible at this point
1700 Shower, shave and dressed for dinner
1730 Sundowner on deck
1800 Dinner/Tea
1845 Moonlight stroll
1915 At leisure
2300 Sweet dreams

Written on 12th November – Happy Birthday Colleen and Rick Inferno

I’ve a feeling the crew are getting concerned for my welfare. They see me mooching around doing the things I described in a previous note and think I’m bored or unhappy. Last night the captain took matters into his own hands by taking me for a moonlight stroll around the cargo deck (shut up Karl). You’ll be pleased I didn’t take the proffered ciggie. Turns out that he spent part of his school days in Limehouse!

By now I’ve had a safety talk with the third officer, visited the bridge by day and by night and watched a school of flying fish. I didn’t get up for breakfast this morning (as I’d warned Antonio I wouldn’t), but he brought it to me in the lounge at 0945 anyway. I have to stop him making the tea for me. He’s really kind. He’s called Antonio, by the way, because Goa was colonised by the Portuguese who brought seafaring skills, Catholicism and south European names to that place. It would be a further four centuries before trance and techno were introduced, thus completing the job.

Anyway, it’s sundowner time and we’ve had some excitement and some news. The excitement was the emergency drill followed by the lifeboat drill. For the emergency, I had to run up to the bridge (like a sex machine) and hang around while 7 decks below everyone had to pretend to put out a fire in the engine room. I thought that was it until I was told to scarper smartish down to the starboard lifeboat (the captain had me heading for port).
Now, I’ve been on cruises before and gone through their namby-pamby drills where everyone giggles at the sheer ludicrousness of the life-jackets, gets counted and nips back to the bar. Not like that for us hardened jolly jack tars, I can tell you.

Having lined up with the crew (and been told I was wearing the wrong clothes), we had to get up to the lifeboat. Then we had to get in it and I was moved to the right place and give a million straps to tether me down. The lifeboat is actually a fibreglass pod and being on the starboard side in the tropics at that time of day meant it got bloody hot, bloody quickly. I was pleased I wasn’t wearing a boiler suit like everyone else.
Of course it could only get hotter when they started up the engine! I thought it was taking realism a bit too far as they started to test the winch mechanism. I thought we were going to launch! I was pleased to get out as the officers chided the crew for some misdemeanour and then lucky enough to spot a seal off the to port.

Anyway, I’d just got out the shower, preparing for a nice gin before tea, when I get a call from the captain on the cabin phone – could I come up to the bridge? You can’t actually say no to a captain on the high seas, so it’s always nice when he makes it sound like a request. The news is that we’re not going to dock in Manzanillo tonight or in the morning, but were bypassing it to go to Porto Quetzal before doubling back to Mexico, before heading for the Panama Canal. All of this will add about 4 days to the journey. I may need more gin…

Rather more urgently, it means another 3 days at sea, and I’d planned to upload this lot in the next 24 hours. It also means I will have been a week at sea before spying land again and that the trip will have taken a fortnight. And as a special treat, we’ll be going through the Panama Canal at full moon! Which will be great if it isn’t raining.

I love slow travel. Right, off for me tea.

Happy Birthday Ang…

Note added later – I was looking at the wrong month on the calendar. We won’t be moving through the canal at full moon.