Where We Are - February 18

As I try valiantly to catch up the blog, I realize that we have moved ahead and I haven’t told you where we are at the moment.  Right now we are in paradise.  Well, at least that is what the fellow said when we checked into Paradise Village in Nuevo Vallarta. 

Notice breakwater entrance at the top - marina slips curl around to the left


 

Why is this crazy woman smiling?

 
 nursing sore shoulders and backs as well as hanging out at the lap pool and the spa at the Vallarta Yacht Club.  We are scouting for others who are making the trip back home via Hawaii, but as yet, no luck -lots of Puddle Jumpers (sailboats leaving for the South Pacific), but no one, as yet, going our way.  It’s not that we want to buddy boat – far from it – but it would be nice to know if there will be others out there when we make the crossing.  It’s always a good idea to compare notes and keep in touch.  Anybody out there?

We are currently enjoying a week in this fabulous resort, catching up with sailing friends, exploring Puerto Vallarta, scrubbing out the boat inside and out, including some lovely jobs such as removing the oven and cleaning it (yuck!),

Bread is Personal

I have been asked to publish the Ziploc Bread recipe I use on Ka'sala.  It got me thinking about bread and the following was the result.  The recipe is at the end.  Hope you enjoy it!

Bread is personal. Some people like it airy and light, others prefer dense and dark. Some like nuts and seeds, some pure white, others like rye, or 7 grains, or oatmeal. Some like their loaves round, others square. And bread complies – there has to be thousands of variations when you get right down to it. No matter where you find yourself, a fresh baked loaf, of any design - is a real treat.

I believe our love for bread is tied up in our bread memories. My earliest one is connected to my grandmother, Sophia Beatrice. She was the mother of 9 children, 7 of her own (though one died in infancy) and 2 of her sister’s (who had died in one the great Influenza epidemics in the early 1900’s). The father of her children was an Anglican parish priest, and throughout her childbearing years she raised this great brood in one manse after another, through the Great Depression, the Second World War and, no doubt, through other challenging times. She was a generous woman and any excess wealth that may have come her way, she quickly redistributed. One of her many talents was making bread.

In her later years, my grandmother would divide her time between her children’s families. My father was her youngest son and I couldn’t wait for our turn for a visit. Although I’m sure my mother could not have always been totally pleased with it, my grandmother liked to take over the kitchen. The night before a marathon bread-baking session, she would cook up a big pot of potatoes for dinner and keep the water. In the morning, she would mix the potato water with all the other ingredients, as I pestered her with questions and watched her knead the lumpy clumps of flour into a stretchy, sinuous, yeasty smelling mass with her strong hands.

I wanted to watch the dough rise – to see the magic under the tea towel – but after a thorough scolding after peeking, I had to satisfy myself with imagining it and eventually be rewarded with the excitement of seeing it billow up under its cover. The punching down was always fun and I remember begging Grandma to let me do it. The big whoosh as all the air muttered out and the sides collapsed was always a thrill – especially when I learned that if it was left it would rise again. However, the biggest delight was next.

Grandma would divide the dough into four parts. Three, she would shape into loaves, put into loaf pans and return them to their warm place to rise again. The fourth part was special – for this piece was to metamorphosize into cinnamon buns. She would roll the dough into a rectangular shape, then smear it with thick gobs of butter, followed by the rich caramel of brown sugar, then walnuts or raisins, or sometimes both. She would then jelly-roll it and slice it, pushing the little crescents together in a rectangular pan. The dough was so excited about all this process it couldn’t help but rise under her fingers. By the time they were in the pan they were already crowding each other and clamouring to rise.

For a little girl, the process of baking bread was a tantalizing and frustrating process. It took so long! The anticipation was so great! The aromas were divine! However, it was the time we shared together as we waited for the final product that is indelibly sketched in my memory. As I write this I can literally see my grandmother and hear her voice. I’m salivating as I recall the torture of waiting and the terrible decision I had to make when the baking was done. Would I have a piece of fresh-out-of-the-oven bread covered in jam, or one of the tasty buns? I can remember thinking up elaborate ways I could convince my grandmother (and my mother) that really, I ought to have one of each. At any rate, the immense pleasure of biting in to one of those freshly baked goodies remains with me today. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I have tried – following my grandmother’s recipe to the very letter, the very dot, has not ever even come close to her finely finished products. Yes, I can make many different kinds of bread, but I guess I must lack that special measure of love she put into every loaf she made. Thank you, Grandma, I’ve never forgotten.

Grandma and Grandpa

Ziploc Bag Bread for Sailors *

3 cups of flour (can be a combo of white, whole wheat, rye, etc. – the darker the flour, the heavier the loaf - I  use 2 cups of white and 1cup of whole wheat)

1/2 cup oatmeal (or a combo of the things you like to stick in bread – seeds, chopped nuts, raisins, etc. – again, the heavier the choice, the denser the bread)

1  teaspoon of salt

Mix these ingredients in a large Ziploc bag.

Add:

1 teaspoon of regular yeast

1 1/4 cup of warm water

Seal the bag and squish the ingredients around until nothing sticks to the bag. Open an inch in the corner to allow gas to escape and put it in a warm place for at least three hours. {It won’t turn into a balloon like kneaded bread, but it will rise.)

Pull it out of the bag and shape it into the container you will bake it in. Grease that container. You can use a soufflé dish, a loaf pan, a Corelle casserole dish for whatever shape you desire. Bake it accordingly: @ 400 degrees for approximately 30 minutes. It depends on your oven and how it retains heat, so start watching after 25 minutes. Apparently you can cook it at 500 degrees in less time, but I have never tried it.

*I got this recipe from Laura Bell on SV Chirpy. She told me she was gifted this recipe from someone else – I can’t remember who – but she had adapted it to her liking and I have taken it and adapted it to mine. You, undoubtedly, will do the same. Happy eating!

San Blas - Part 2 - February 3 - 8

As if a jungle tour were not enough – San Blas held other pleasures for us. After we said our goodbyes to Ricardo, we headed back into town, but were stopped by a large gathering of people around some kind of commotion. We had stumbled upon the beginning of the Saint’s Day Procession getting organized to make its way to the cathedral. This was a much larger procession than the night before and we enjoyed watching the whole production.

Commotion - trying to herd cats

We followed alongside this joyous group, listening to the rhythmic clacking of their clogs and various wooden objects and rattles they held in their hands.

Procession wends its way into town

Their bright clothes and head dresses made quite a spectacle. Most of the dancers wore masks, but seemed to vary in ages from the very young helped along by their mothers, to adults.

Clown has the shaggy head in the middle

Mom gives a helping hand - notice the wooden soles on their feet

Clowns threaded their way through the procession, mimicking the dancers and teasing the crowd. The ubiquitous brass band played the same tune over and over creating a mesmerizing background noise.

The band warms up

The priest worked hard to organize everyone

The saint passed by in the back of a pick-up (a different one than the night before) and following him were the priests and attendants, then townspeople carrying gladioli.

Saint Blais

I watched their faces and expressions and saw a range of happiness and celebration to solemnity and worship. It was a privilege to be able to witness this event.

Let's get this show on the road!

This fruit peddler followed the procession - he knew where his market would be!

Later, at the town square, we could see preparations were being made for the night’s celebration. A squad of agile men were building the most incredible fireworks display I have ever seen. Unlike the ones we ignite in Canada – usually one at a time, building to a grand finale and safely shot from a barge, or isolated site, far from the crowd – this was a tower of explosives! And it was built in the centre of the square, right in front of the church.

Building the tower

Still building, but you can see the height

An example of a fireworks tower ready to go at another site

Close by the tower, a stage was being assembled and banners hung.

This banner became the background for the performances on stage - it shows the prominent features of San Blas - notice the counting house/fort on the hill to the left, the customs house in the centre, the fishermen in pangas and shrimpers on the estuary and the cathedral at the far right.  Outside the estuary - on the upper left side you can see an island with a figure on the top - this is a statue of the Virgin,  guiding and protecting the fishermen.

Peddlers were selling their wares at the periphery, food stalls were doing a great business and the local people were rushing around trying to get their shopping done at the mercado nearby.

Weaving baskets

A common mode of transportation for locals

We stopped at a little taco stand and ate carne asada tacos, which were an absolute delight, before returning to Ka’sala for a siesta.

We weren't to rest for long, because the fishermen began part two of their celebration of Saint Blais Day.  Their tradition was to go en masse to the cathedral and take the statue of the Virgin Mary to the waterside in the estuary.  She would be placed on a boat, suitably chosen and decorated for the occasion and in a stately manner, be transported to the rock pinnacle that lies just outside the estuary entrance.

Statue arrives at the water's edge and is placed on a special boat

 She would be followed by all the fishermen in their boats and some kind of ritual would happen around the rock before coming back to the estuary and returning the Virgin to the church. 

                                                    The statue is on the bridge of the tall boat

The priest would be waiting and a special mass would be said to bless and guard the fishermen for another year.  However, there is a permanent statue that has been placed on the pinnacle and she serves as a guardian for the harbour.

The fishermen can barely contain themselves in the spiritual aspect of this day, for in reality, it is an excuse for them to pull their extended family together in their pangas.

Pescadore family

Even the littlest one - notice the baby on the man's lap in the last seat

 Some definite partying takes place and from the way the boats were maneuvered many were well on their way before the maritime procession took place.  After the parade, the pangas broke off and sped around the estuary. 


Water fights broke out between some boats and it was evident that friendly rivalries were the order of the day.

Later that evening we made our way back into the village plaza. We had a coffee in the square and watched the crowds gather. Families, young people, workers, children, clutches of teenagers, gringos, cabilleros and even dogs gathered around. They were dressed in their individual definition of finery – suits, high heels and jewelry, cowboy hats and polished boots, baseball caps with hip-hop paraphernalia, cut off shorts and long dresses. You could see the black threads of the elderly, the colourful clothes of the kids and the metallic gleams of lacquered teenagers. Everyone seemed to be eating or drinking something and venders made their way through the crowd selling popcorn, cotton candy, and soft drinks. Kids had florescent toys, young men drank beer and some families even had picnics spread out. It was quite a kaleidoscope and I felt a little dazed watching it all. (- so dazed I didn’t take many pictures and the ones I did take were blurry and unusable.)

Eventually, the plaza became packed and Doug and I found a quiet spot behind a palm tree to watch the proceedings. There was a great deal of speechmaking and thank-you’s coming from the stage in very loud Spanish that was difficult to follow because of the microphone distortion - even if I was fluent.. There was a Master of Ceremonies (a stout and jovial man) and after each little speech and introduction a singer would take the stage to sing at least 3 traditional Mexican songs. From the response of the crowd, these songs were well known favourites. There were about 10 singers, male and female, in total, and they ranged from very melodic to brash braying. Some songs were funny, some romantic, and some were ballads. All songs were incredibly loud and before too long my ears were ringing and my mind was dull from overstimulation. We decided to leave our little corner and move farther back, partially because of the noise, and partially because we realized we were standing right under the fireworks tower – a little too close for comfort.

Finally, after what seemed like several hours, people started to mill about and we could feel a heightened excitement in the air. A match was struck. A line of flame ran to the fireworks tower and a wheel began to spin. One cracker would spark another very quickly and soon a whole section would be wooshing around, creating colourful spumes of light and loud bangs. After a few seconds a symbol would burn itself through – like a heart, or a moon, or the outline of an animal – and sparks and smoke would fly all over the heads of the spectators.

An example from a different celebration

The wheels were torched from the bottom of the tower and each one had its own special message. When I had first seen the tower, I had expected the whole thing to alight at once and had envisioned some kind of towering inferno, but in reality the whole thing was very manageable. As the fireworks progressed to the top, they became grander and grander – more light, colour, and sound. Now large fireworks were canoned off from near the church so, in addition to the tower, great crescendos of chandelier lights, roman candles and rockets accompanied the cacophony of the tower wheels. Finally, the topmost wheel was lit and it was the most spectacular of them all. The background fireworks reached a frenzy of explosions and all we could do was throw back our heads and stare at this amazing show - mouths wide open in awe and wonderment. My eyes burned from refusing to blink.

Yahoo!

When the display was over, it was like the plug had been pulled out of a sink. People packed up and milled out of the plaza – all, that is, except the young people. Now we could feel their excitement and we could see that the celebrations would continue long into the night. We wandered home through the dark cobbled streets, listening to the band tune up, hearing the occasional firecracker set off and the sounds of a great street party in the making. We were exhausted after this red letter day and were almost asleep before we hit our bunks.

We were four days in San Blas – two days of experiencing this fine town and two days to recover! We did the regular boat work of cleaning, laundry and odd jobs and caught up on our reading. Laura, on Chirpy, had lent me her copy of Lin Pardey’s Care and Feeding of Sailing Crew, and I was so impressed with it that Doug downloaded it on to his Kindle for me.

What a resource this book is! Pardey wrote the original after her passage from Japan to Victoria aboard their 27foot Serrafyn in the late 70’s. She has updated it several times since, with the newest version dating from 2006. It is jam packed with her more than 30 years of sailing experience and is fascinating to read as a way of life, as well as to get tips for provisioning and comfort on long passages. (If you’re a sailor and you haven’t checked out the Pardey’s website it is very worthwhile: http://www.landlpardey.com/ )

I also began re-reading Hal Roth’s Always a Distant Anchorage - about his circumnavigation in the 1980’s, with his wife Margaret, aboard their Spencer35 Whisper.

The story is well worth reading, but what I found interesting is how blog-like it is – even though it doesn’t have as many pictures. When I think of some of the wonderful sailing blogs I have been following over the last couple years I think we are truly blessed with the medium of the Internet – both as readers and writers.

Now, why am I reading books such as these, instead of relaxing with a thriller? Because we have already begun to think about the trip home. Rather than leave Ka’sala in Mexico, or ship her home by boat or truck, we have decided to sail her back to Comox via Hawaii. In a nutshell, the passage to Hawaii is 2500 – 3000 nautical miles, depending on if we leave from the tip of the Baja or the Mexican Riviera. From Hawaii to Vancouver Island it is another 2500 nm. These are far different passages than our trip down the coast of North America (which consisted primarily of coastal cruising with a maximum of 4 days at sea). We expect it will take us 21 to 30 days to Hawaii and the same again home. We hope to spend about a month in the Hawaiian Islands between passages, so that means we have to leave late April or early May in order to be back in Comox by the first of August. I would be foolish to say I don’t find the whole idea daunting.

We believe Ka’sala is pretty much ready for the trip, though there are a number of things that will need to be done – the least of which is to check over all our systems. Doug believes he is ready for the challenge. I am determined to do it and, when I put my mind to something I can be fairly resilient. We have the boat and the psychological determination covered. Now we have to prepare.

Once again, we had enjoyed a special place and were reluctant to leave San Blas and its comfortable marina. We had provisioned well at the local market – lots of fresh fruit and vegetables as well as some luscious local cheese. It was time to save money and spend some time on the anchor, so we headed out of the channel in the morning with a high tide and little swell, and so, no problems with the shallow bar. There was no wind either, but we were only heading to Matanchen Bay, 4 miles to the south.

Before noon, we dropped our hook in 5 meters of cloudy water with 30 meters of chain. Matanchen is a huge bay and very shallow – almost as big as San Quentin on the Baja.

Matanchen Bay near San Blas

Large palapa restaurants lined the shore, but we were more than a mile out – too far to launch the dinghy and enjoy them – so we stayed a couple days on the hook reading, making Ziploc bread, catching up with the blog and enjoying the sunshine.

Time to think - contemplation in Matanchen Bay

We had been warned of the dreaded biting jejenes and were armed with our screens, citronella candles and bug dope, but saw very few. Each evening we enjoyed a fine sunset as we gently rocked in the cockpit. Life continues to be good.

Spectacular sunset at Metanchen Bay

San Blas - Part One - February 1 - 6

We had a wonderful time in San Blas. Little did we know, we had arrived during the week of the town’s Saint’s Day, so there was a lot happening. On our first day, we headed into the centre of town to explore. San Blas is very different than Mazatlan. To begin, it is not a city and there is not a lot of gringo tourism going on. There are few fancy houses and the streets are all cobbled, but life seems good for the inhabitants. The central plaza and cathedral are beautiful and there are one or two other historical building still intact, but for a town that has its roots almost 500 years in the past, there is not much evidence other than a fortification, and an old church on a little hill on the outskirts.

San Blas church in front of the plaza - the one in the foreground was closed, the beige coloured one is actively in use.  There are four belfries, but only one bell.  Where are the bells of San Blas?

Throughout the town you can find ruins - this one was behind the customs house

Lush courtyard inside an old hotel

We wandered through the town and first came upon the customs house which is now holds artwork and some historical artifacts.

Custom house in San Blas

Are these the Bells of San Blas?  Inside the custom house we found some historical artifacts.

Afterward, we went looking for the bridge where we were told we could hire a panga to take the famous La Tovara Jungle tour. We found it easily and discovered that all we had to do was show up at 7am the next day. The tour along the estuary, through the river winding through the mangroves to La Tovara Springs and the Crocodile Preserve would take at least 3 hours and cost 560 pesos (about $45.00) for four people. We determined we would talk to the crew of Picara, Mike and Marnie, to see if they would like to join us.

Panga line-up for Jungle tour (we were on Aida)

From there, we noticed a winding, cobble street leading up to the hill fortification called La Contaduria, built in 1770 to protect the port and act as a counting house for trade.

Who is that gringo on the way to the counting house?

Imagine having these in your garden at home!  These bananas were in a front yard on the way up the hill.

Little dog along the way - still shivering in his winter coat.

Old gatehouse to the fort (it cost 10 pesos each to visit)

Behind the fort is the crumbling Templo de la Virgen del Rosario church, built in 1769 and used until 1872 when its bells were removed.

But where were the bells removed to?

Beautiful interior - we figured later that there had been a recent wedding

It inspired the famous poem The Bells of San Blas by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – though he, himself, never visited the place. (http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Bells_of_San_Blas) The whole area is now like a garden with stunning views of the town and sea. The stations of the cross are set up throughout the grounds indicating that during Lent and Easter, the area is still used for Christian rituals.

One of the Stations of the Cross

Approaching La Contaduria

Fort interior - looked like a clean up after a big party - the wedding reception?

One view of San Blas from the fort - notice the masts in the background - this is the Singlar Marina - conveniently located to everything we would need.

While up there, we met William, a Mexican musician who wrote ballads about San Blas history. When he found out we were on a sailboat, he related a story about three San Blas fisherman who were lost at sea for over 200 days when their motor died. Two were rescued from the panga on the other side of Hawaii. (And I worry about a 21 day passage to Hawaii aboard a well appointed blue water cruising boat!) Unfortunately the language barrier made it difficult to get all the details from William, but it made for a fascinating story nonetheless. Interestingly, Carl and Cristina from Bombiliero relate an incident in their blog that occurred when they sailed from Isla Isabella to San Blas a couple weeks ago. It was a foggy day and they were approached by a panga with two fishermen aboard. They were lost. They had no navigational instrumentation – no compass, no GPS and had no idea which direction to go. Luckily for them, Cristina and Carl were able to set them on their way.

William - holding the book of the sailors' Pacific misadventures

We headed back down into the town and stopped at one of the little fish restaurants we saw along the way. Most of them had grills set up in the front and were smoking a variety of fish.

Smoking fish

We tried a smoked marlin filet that was served with all the trimmings (and a couple cold cervezas as well!) for under $10. The fish was strong flavoured and dense – Doug loved it, but I found it a little overwhelming. It reminded me of kippers.

Yet another feast and another taste experience - the marlin is in the upper left corner

We had been told that there would be a fishermen’s procession through the town that evening to celebrate the Saint’s day and all yachties were invited to join in. We were sure we didn’t want to join in, but were curious, so we made our way down to the plaza were we joined Mike and Marnie. There was a festive feeling in the air and many stalls were set up selling all kinds of treats and goods. The cathedral was alight. I found a churro man on the corner, cooking up those delicious Mexican donuts over a butane heater in a steel bowl full of oil. I bought enough for the four of us for 2 pesos.

I asked permission to take this shot and I got such teasing in Spanish, much to the amusement of the people around I wondered if I should ever ask again!

We waited for a while, but the procession did not happen. I asked a local in the square and they told me it would happen tomorrow, so we walked down one of the side streets to McDonalds (not of hamburger fame) to grab a snack and swap stories. As we were sitting there we heard a great commotion outside and discovered it was the procession! Colourful dancers with masks on their faces and clicking clogs on their feet, jumped and circled down the narrow cobbled street followed by a small truck with a man dressed up as the saint standing in the back.

Leading the procession

Obviously there is a lot of symbolism here, but I did not know the significance of it.

To me, he looked like the pope or a cardinal all dressed in red. Effigies of fish were placed on either side of him and he looked very serious and unblinking. I imagine being chosen for this role must be a pretty big deal.

Not a great picture, but you get the idea

Behind the little truck were crowds of fishermen and their families carrying little candles and behind them a big brass band gustily playing the same bit of music over and over. They wound their way by us, into the square and then the cathedral, where a mass was presumed to be said for them. We returned to our cold ones and later wandered into the square where the celebration had turned to Banda - a type of loud and boisterous music somewhere between rap, hip-hop, latin, and rock and roll.

Banda in the Plaza

Next day we were up before first light to have breakfast before walking the kilometer to the bridge to catch the panga for our jungle tour. As we walked through the dim, 6:30 am streets we could hear music and fireworks and wondered if the procession had continued all night. When we arrived at the cathedral there were several hundred people milling about and a brass band playing. We realized it was February 3 – the actual feast day of Saint Blas – and many of the townspeople were there to mark its beginning. We watched for a while before continuing down to the river.

I was curious to know why San Blas was chosen as this town's name and saint.  I discovered that Saint Blaise (his proper name) was martyred by the Romans in the 3rd century for not renouncing his Christianity.  He had been a physician and people pray to him when they have throat problems.  Apparently Saint Blas had magically removed bones from a child's throat on the way to his execution.  Additionally, he is also recognised by wool workers because of the way he was martyred - steel combs were taken to his flesh - so I guess there must have been some connection to carding? But what is the fisherman connection?  At any rate, the poor man suffered a gruesome death for his beliefs and he is remembered each year, quite passionately, in this little town.  (check here for more info on Saint Blaise http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Blaise)

We were the first to arrive for the jungle cruise. We had been told to try to get the first panga in the morning as we would likely see more undisturbed wildlife.

Dawn on the estuary - notice the kingfisher perched on a rock in the lower right corner

We woke up Ricardo, our panga guide, and within minutes we were aboard Aida, his beautiful 8 passenger panga.

Egret waits quietly as we wait for Ricardo

The powerful engine purred quietly along the water and we were in awe as the light of day filled the sky and the mist skiffed off the water. It was very romantic being bundled up in our sweaters, cuddling close together on the seats, as we watched this stunning scenery float by.

We did tip Ricardo well.

Sleepy Heads - Doug, Mike & Marnie - Ricardo looks thrilled to be making this early morning trip!

Very quickly we branched off the main estuary into the narrow and winding river. The mangroves were dense here and we could feel the chill of morning through the air.

Deep into the mangroves

The birds were starting to wake up and they were everywhere.

bird

 One guidebook I read said there were more species of birds along this river than there were names for them and I wasn’t surprised.  I didn't have a clue about most of them - other than they were beautiful and we felt very privileged to see them in their natural habitat.

pretty bird

Our guide knew the names of most of the birds and picked them out long before they came to our attention.

Egret - I know this one!

Unfortunately our Spanish was only good enough to get basic information, though hundreds of questions about this unique and gorgeous place came to my mind as we cruised along. We had to be content to just sit back and be amazed as Ricardo stopped the boat to point out some species of bird and try to explain its habits while we took pictures.

bird - I think it is a stork

The narrow river began to open up, and we saw signs of other flora – huge dripping orchids became apparent, hanging on to large tree branches.

These huge parasitic orchids were plentiful

I did not know the names of the many huge trees we passed – many of them looking banyon-like with sinewy gigantic root structures. Large fan palms, bananas and other palm-like plants surrounded us, unknown bushes, clumps of lily-like flowers, vines, panda-like grasses and so much other greenery it was overwhelming. The water, initially murky and brown, began to clear and became warm to the touch. The air became more sultry. We started seeing signs of primitive cultivation and suddenly, we found ourselves in a round clearing, surrounded by white, guano covered trees and hundreds of cormorant- like birds bustling and calling to each other.

cormorants\

As this magic sank in, we floated to a small jetty and found ourselves at the crocodile preserve.

Entrance to crocodile preserve - note fence to the right

The river was fenced off here and we entered a gateway and walked down a cobbled path.

Doug, Marnie and Mike head down the path - seen any crocodiles?

 Inside were many different pools behind fences housing various ages and sizes of crocodiles – one male and one female. They all looked dead they were so still, except for their eyes which seemed to follow our progress.

Crocodile stare

 As we walked through a couple crocs very slowly meandered out of their pool to sun. You’d wonder how these beasts could ever attack anyone they were so indolent – though I have seen the Youtube video of a crocodile attacking a cow! (he wasn’t slow!). I expected they might acknowledge us – hiss or lunge – instead, they kind of burrowed their bellies down, very slowly opened their mouths (which were very yellowy/orange – no tongue – couldn’t see their throat) to display their teeth.

Crocodile snooze

We learned later that this mouth-opening trick had nothing to do with aggression, but was merely a way to regulate their body temperature.

Crocodile conversation 

We did see one crocodile couple copulating in a more natural environment – very slow motion and I sure hope the female could hold her breath!  Sorry, no pictures, this is a PG rated blog - but here is a picture of the results:


Perversely, there were other animals here in cages – parrots, little pigs, many deer, a wild cat and other creatures I didn’t recognize. It was obvious they were fed by the visitors as they congregated at the fences as we came by. I felt a little sorry for them, but their cages were clean and they looked well taken care of. After a while of wandering in this shady glade, we returned to our panga.

Do these look like nervous smiles?  What me worry?

Ricardo then took us to La Tovara Springs, a side steam off the river, fed by a very warm spring.

Beautiful, manicured garden pathway to the springs.

La Tavora Springs

It too was fenced off and had a little pool – very warm for swimming, but protected from the crocodiles.

Croc fence - Doug keeping guard at the extreme right

 There was a little restaurant in the shade and a small generating station. Mike and Marnie had brought their bathing suits, so they enjoyed a relaxing swim while we sunned on the side.

Brave swimmers - little cafe in background - can you see Doug?

Our trip back to San Blas went by much faster and as the panga wended its way through the river I was reminded of the movement of slalom skiing.

Time speeds up

Under the bridge!

Abandoned movie set eerily appears along the way

We saw many wild crocodiles of various sizes on the way back. Ricardo told us this was because the sun was up and the crocs like to stay warm.

Wild

Wilder

wildest

Thinking of lunch

Baby - Do big crocodiles eat little crocodiles?  Perhaps that's why he is in this bush, high above the water!

There were also lizard-like things, including this iguana

 I was very glad we were in a big, powerful boat and not our little dinghy! 

Day is done - Thank you, Ricardo!