Island Shopping

After beach-combing and snorkeling and enjoying my own private island, 11 young men on a motor boat broke the silence. They slowed down near the shore, discussing numbers and permits and then one man pointed in my direction and said, "Does she come with it?"

These young "island shoppers" came on shore and offered me Atlas beer in a can while viewing the perspective property. Three recent U of Florida grads were buying islands for themselves, while two young guys from Phoenix were looking for investment opportunities for their rich clients. Their guide for the day was a red-faced, pot-bellied Arkansas-native who turned out to be the craziest person I have ever met. He introduced himself as Charlie.

In addition to owning the majority of non-titled real estate in the San Blas islands, he also claimed to be the only chiropractor in the world who could cure Parkinsons disease - with his bare hands. ¨I called Michael J Fox,¨ he said, ¨but he is all tied up in that prescription drug shit, so whatever.¨ Obviously, this man was a little off his rocker, but his friends seemed harmless. That evening Charlie and his clients were going back to Panama City and they offered me a ride.

Maybe it was my desperation to get away from crazy Freddy, or the lure of saving a few dollars on transportation expenses, but I accepted their offer.

Once we arrived at the next island for sale, Charlie prophesized his vision for sustainable development. "It is better for the nature (he had a hard time pronouncing environment, so he used the word nature as a substitute) if all the mangroves are removed. We need to clear out all these weeds and bring in white sand so the fish can see better." Two six packs of beers later, he also explained his theory on molecular physics - "The windshield isn't made of glass, it is made of molecules - and my body is made of molecules - when you wear a seatbelt you ignore that connection."

After the hundredth delusional comment like this, my new friends and I stopped exchanging looks of stunned disbelief. Instead, we buckled up and prayed.

Somehow our prayers worked and the other Panamanian drivers safely dodged Charlie's swerving rental car. I kept my promise to God and spent the next few days in Panama City participating in safe, land-locked activities - far away from crazy seamen.

Seasickness

After two days of battling seasickness from 10-ft ocean swells and doubting the sobriety of our temperamental captain, all of us aboard The Joshua breathed a collective sigh of relief when we first saw land on the morning of March 18th.

The Archipielago de San Blas is a scattering of over 360 white-sand, palm-treed islands nestled in the coral reefs of eastern Panama. The promise of exploring these postcard-perfect islands is what originally convinced us to forgo the plane flight and embark on this border-crossing journey by boat. Now it was time to relax and let the wind gently glide our sails through paradise.

Or not.

A short swimming distance from the island of El Porvenir, Captain Freddy informed us that the engine was broken and we would not be touring the islands as planned. We could try and catch a flight to Panama City on a little puddle-jumper plane or wait for Freddy's friends to arrange some type of motorboat/jeep/bus combination. But none of this would happen any day soon. Desperate to set foot on that white sand, a few of us hired a local Kuna Indian to motor us to his favorite secluded spot. He took us to a gorgeous (almost)deserted island with no electricity or snack bar - just a friendly Kuna family sewing molas and collecting coconuts.

Off to Panama

My 60 day tourist visa has come to an end and it is time for me to sail to Panama. Captain Freddy and his rickety red wooden boat depart for the five-day journey in an hour. I apologize for the lack of stories lately. Feel free to blame it on my dear friend Kate. She came all the way from Philadelphia to travel with me after the wedding and I haven't spent much time in front of a computer since she arrived. She seems to be more interested in cultivating my talents as a yoga model than a blogger.

Love and War

Sarah Jane Baker married Victor Coutin on Saturday evening at 7 o'clock at the historic San Pedro Church in Cartagena, Colombia. It was the most romantic evening of my life - and I was only a bridesmaid.

The international guest list included a ringbearer from Scotland, groomsmen from Mexico, France, Costa Rica and Colombia and bridesmaids from Ecuador, Brazil, Connecticut and Seattle. After Sarah slipped into her delicate lace gown - the color of creme - the bridesmaids and flower girls rode together in a horse drawn carriage down the cobblestone streets. A crowd gathered around the airy medieval church to witness the traditional Catholic ceremony and listen to the haunting voice of a local soprano sing Hallelujah. After the young lovers had said their vows, the two families came together to dine, drink and dance until the early hours of the morning. It was an incredible evening with an infectious air of elegance and romance that overwhelmed all of us.

Planning a wedding is stressful enough, but facilitating a destination wedding in a country on the brink of war is another challenge altogether. While accompanying them on the great pre-wedding scavenger hunt (cake lady, musicians, florists - oh, and Victor still needs to buy pants!) my friends cleared every hurdle with patience and humor. From coordinating rides to the airport to translating every conversation between their two families to convincing the police to let us dance on the beach until 2 am the night before the wedding...the love birds eventually fell ill from exhaustion. Still, by the time their big day came, Chavez and Uribe had come to a peaceful agreement and Sarah and Victor were healthy, bright-eyed and eager to celebrate.

Cycling in Cali

It is crunch time. With only two weeks to go until Sarah and Victor arrive in Cartagena for the wedding, it is about time I practice my Spanish and learn a few dance moves. And what better place to do so than the groom's hometown - the salsa-capital of Colombia? The groom's cousin, Mario, has graciously welcomed me to stay at his apartment. He is an avid mountain biker and my first day here he dragged me along for a gruesome 2-hour uphill ride to Los Tres Cruces - a outdoor church/gym/juice bar overlooking the city. After a few more hours navigating those hilly trails, I was thankful for the opportunity to pray. But you definitely didn't see me sprinting for the weights.

Manizales to Cali

Five hours into my journey from Manizales to Cali, my bus hit a motorcyclist. The motorcyclist survived, but it will take a skilled surgeon to reattach his foot. We waited for a few hours on the side of the road until another bus, half the size of our previous one and already full of passengers, came to our rescue. It was a cramped ride. I had the good fortune of sitting on the lap of a fairly plump woman who smelled like oranges. The man next to me wasn't so lucky. Squished in between the ceiling and a pile of luggage, he had to endure the entire journey with his head halfway out the window.

Volcanic Valentines Day

I spent Valentines Day hiking at Parque de los Nevados, engulfed in clouds at 4850m. My hiking companion, a Gaelic football champion, set a brisk pace for the two-hour climb to the glacier at the top of the mountain. Our guide talked like a chipmunk and clearly despised the fact that her job required physical exercise. She followed us from shouting distance, incensed that we didn't want to turn back after thirty minutes with the rest of the group. A nice afternoon soak in the hot springs helped us forget all about the bad weather and the lazy guide.
A postcard photo taken by Juan Giraldo shows what the views can look like this time of year.
At this elevation, you don't think about love, you feel it. Your heart beats harder and your head feels lighter and your knees swoon at just about anything. Who needs a boyfriend when you have mountains? It reminded me of this truck I saw while trekking in the Himalayas in northern India. Pure Ladakhi poetry.