On the nautical chart, you’ll only see Providencia if you zoom in very closely; that’s how tiny and charming the cocaine island is. Although Providencia belongs to Colombia, it’s much closer to Nicaragua. Here, traditions are upheld, and mass tourism is nonexistent. In 2020, a hurricane nearly devastated the island’s infrastructure, yet the islanders didn’t complain; instead, they considered the hurricane a blessing.
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After four and a half months at the shipyard in Guatemala, we leave. We are relieved and sad at the same time. Relieved that we can leave the heat, the endless boat problems, all the work and the shipyard behind us; sad because we are leaving our friends Riki and Martin and their daughters Naia and Kira, as well as single-handed sailor Thomas, behind and probably won’t see them again for a long time. Again and again we have to say goodbye, but then we actually are sailing from Guatemala to Providencia.
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Then plans change: We decide that we and Mabul are not yet ready for the Pacific and that we would stay one more season on the Caribbean side. Of course, we still keep our promise to be line handlers for SV My Motu during their Panama Canal transit. So we moor Mabul in the Turtle Cay Marina and go on board SV My Motu. Together we make our way to Shelter Bay Marina in Colon. This is the first (almost) necessary stop before heading into the canal. There, the final preparations are made, large fenders and long lines are delivered by the agent and we get a briefing. Then we set off shortly after four o’clock in the morning.
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When a year comes to an end, we celebrate with fireworks and champagne. If a sailing season comes to an end, that’s also a reason to celebrate. After all, our boat is still afloat and neither Alex threw me nor I him overboard, even if we sometimes came close. We want to spend the rest of the hurricane season in the Rio Dulce, and so we are sailing from Mexico to Guatemala. However, we don’t feel like celebrating during the last days of our first sailing season. The blame lies with a sandbar, a tiny creature called Cyclospora cayetan, and our drone. In other words, our season is coming to an end with a crisis in several acts. To anticipate: We survived, so did Mabul, only the drone, it’s dead.
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As we leave Cayo Largo and Cuba, we are not alone. El Russo, the employee of the turtle center, has given us twenty freshly hatched turtles. We pack them in a Tupperware and carry them back to Mabul. We cast off and finally we are sailing from Cuba to Mexico. One by one we drop the tiny ones into the sea near the coast. May they have an exciting, long life without shark encounters!
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