Cartagena Update

A few weeks after I’d transited the Canal with Steve Cherry’s able assistance, he made the ocean passage going the other way, from Colón to Cartagena, on his 41 ft. ketch. He barely made it, as his boat’s diesel engine surged and sputtered to a stop just outside the anchorage at the Club Nautico. You’ll remember from QV’s visit this is the marina considered generally more hospitable to cruisers. His update on the goings-on at the Club reminded me of another maritime commercial opportunity I’d taken a pass on: the informal transport of backpackers between Panama and Colombia. He also related the latest in local vessel acquisition methods.

Though I seriously participated in supporting the Cartagena economy, like the good gringo cruising boat, I remember events at the Club being quieter when Quo Vadis was anchored there. I seem to suffer from this chronic condition called “Just Missing the Action”. Now, this is not always a bad thing as the action can include mayhem, imprisonment, shipwreck and the like. I did get the polo shirt with the “Club Nautico, Cartagena” logo printed on both front and back. You don’t see those everyday.

There are a half-dozen or so boats mostly skippered by single-handers, mostly in the 30 foot range; mostly unimpressive vessels not burdened with amenities that regularly haul backpackers between Panama and Colombia. They charge US$250 per person for this marine transport service plus another $250 for a bicycle. They cram 4 to 6 of these (usually unwashed) individuals along with their packs on to the boat and give them a ride to Panama or Cartagena, usually with a stop in Portobello and the San Blas Islands. The backpackers get to visit the islands and the skipper makes a decent living. Win-win situation. Hey, it does get a little crowded on a 30 ft. boat but these are folks used to sleeping under bridges anyway, so no problem.

Well, every now and then, a fly does appear in the ointment, as was the case with one of the guys who got sentenced to 5-8 years in the Panama slammer for illegally importing aliens, of the local terrestrial variety. I later read the guy claimed his passengers claimed to have valid Venezuelan passports. These documents apparently were not so convincing to Panama Immigration officials.

Included in this elite group of passenger-carrying skippers are an Algerian, a Swede, a Frenchman (He just left on his first trip, so the jury is still out on this one.) and a Norte Americano. Probably the most interesting tale to other Norte Americanos or, at least, the one with the most plot twists involves the latter.

Once upon a time (so this story begins), there was a very nice, large sailing yacht based in Cartagena. The fellow who owned this nice, large boat used to have a smaller boat. He then made a trip to Panama from Colombia and returned on the Big Boat. Go figure. His hobby was photography and his favorite subjects were teen-age girls. As a matter of fact, you could come aboard his Big Boat in the harbor at Cartagena, look at his photo albums, and actually meet one or more of his models, if you so desired. He had a local Colombiana on board who helped him manage his hobby. The two of them were an item, as well. Also involved, somehow, was this Norte Americano (the N.A.) whose day job, you’ll remember, was the maritime transport of backpackers.

The photographer developed what proved to be a terminal illness and left the Big Boat in the custody of these two other folks. Reportedly, he wrote a will leaving the boat to them, 50:50, in the event he did not survive. He passed away a few months later. It seems as though there became a problem with the will; namely, the verification of its authenticity. The only copy to be found was in the hands of the N.A. and seemed to mostly cut out the Colombiana, even though they were also now an item, sort of. To top things off, the dead photographer’s estranged daughter back in the U.S.A. initiated an action to gain custody of the Big Boat. But, this tale does not end with such wa-a-ay too predictable legal wranglings.

A couple of months later, the Big Boat was anchored back in Cartagena and the couple were doing their usual stuff in the Club Nautico Bar: wheeling, dealing, scamming. Also present in and around the open air bar were other cruisers and a contingent of locals.

A minor altercation occurs. Words are exchanged, among which the Colombiana (off the Big Boat) calls a local girl a hooker. The hooker (Um, I mean “local girl”) happens to be living on board another boat anchored in the bay. She jumps in the dinghy and rows out to get the .38 her boyfriend keeps on board. It seems she had a pretty good mad going at this point. Her boyfriend says, “No problem. She won’t be able to find the ammunition.”

She rows back to the club with the pistol and the ammo (How wrong can a guy be?) and starts blazing away; mostly at the folks she is mad at. Everyone hits the deck. Her boyfriend approaches her to try and get her under control and, even though she is not particularly mad at him, she blows a big hole in his stomach to make her point. She goes to jail and spends the night. She is out the next morning, probably since nobody was around to press charges and, face it, she is also a local. He goes to the hospital and almost dies but eventually recovers. There is a happy ending to this part of the tale. The two of them get back together and go cruising the San Blas Islands.

As for the two folks on the Big Boat, on the last trip from Cartagena to Panama the Colombiana got upset over the attention two female backpackers were giving to the N.A., so she stabbed them both, but only just a little. The N.A. was last seen back in Cartagena, without his knife-wielding other half, but asking some of the other local legends (always reliable sources of information in a Third World tropical port) which countries did not have extradition treaties with the U.S. He then sailed away from Cartagena. The best guess is that he will pick her up (in the San Blas Islands?) and they will take the Big Boat on the lam. Now, what were those non-extraditing places? Let me write that down.