Thankfully, it's only COVID

It was a 72-hour nightmare, but I was extremely grateful to test positive for COVID - even out here, hours away from help.

The tropics may be stunningly beautiful, but they breed an uncanny variety of pathogens eager to eat you alive. Since mosquitoes seem to find me irresistibly delicious, I had feared it was dengue (break-bone fever) because of the terrible pain in my joints. Cases have been reported nearby and it’s landed at least one person in a hospital.

Don’t worry, this post isn’t all about feeling crappy!

When the joint paint subsided, dengue didn't seem likely, so I wondered if I'd contracted some particularly nasty sinus infection, and began taking Ciprofloxacin, a brutally powerful antibiotic. In addition to the debilitating pain in my head, the Cipro annihilated my guts.

A stabbing pain behind my eyes kept me from sleep for 48 hours. Instead, I lay in agony rolling side to side as I went from fever to chills. An electric fan worked non-stop in the tropical heat to keep the berth as cool as possible while Shawn regularly refilled my water.

In the last stretch, I finally had more NyQuil than food in my system and mercifully fell into a deep black pit of unconsciousness. Much later, that gave way to an incredibly vivid dream.

Shawn and I were back in Oregon and taking a road trip, driving through the forest towards the coast. We had stopped somewhere off the highway at a brew-pub to get lunch.

A couple school buses pulled into the parking lot and my kids were among the crowd, on their way back from a school trip. I was delighted to see them. In real life, my son is 25 and my daughter is 22. In the dream, they were 11 and 8, as they often are in my dreams. This is what they looked like back then

Out of nowhere, my old dog, a big Labrador named Doggle, showed up and immediately took up his usual role as my shadow, following me around. I’ve missed him and it felt wonderful to see his good natured face and tail wagging. This dog got me through the worst time in my adult life.

In the dream, a lady comes in looking for the dog. She is a chaperone for the kids' trip and realizing the dog is mine (or I’m the dog’s person) explains that my kids brought him along with them on their field trip. That explains why he's got some silly bandanas on his neck and glitter in his fur. I raise my beer glass and say, “well, he knew where to find me!”

She says Doggle has had a great day with the kids, but had found his way into a Taco Bell that was closed for restocking and had helped himself to all kinds of food.

”Oh Doggle, that’s so like you!” I say, tussling his velvety ears. There were a couple times where my kids had left the pantry open and Doggle had sampled everything inside, leaving a sloppy crime scene for me to discover later. Labs are sweet dogs but have little self control around unguarded food.

Being there with Shawn, my kids in the golden age of childhood, and with my beloved dog, I reached a turning point in my fever. I woke up feeling a little bit rested for a change, the pain still lashing at my head, but having ebbed just enough to not be crippling. It was a moment where I was grateful to know that this sickness would end. Sometimes you don’t know if it will, do you?

When the COVID test showed positive, almost immediately, I was relieved. At least I knew what it was that was beating me up. The last time I felt this terrible, I’d caught something on a flight to San Diego, and was bedridden in an Airbnb for 5 days. This was about 4 weeks before COVID was officially a pandemic, and in retrospect, I had all the symptoms.

But where could I have gotten it this time? We’re incredibly isolated. There are about a dozen other sailors at the marina, the reticent dockmaster, and a handful of people that work around the premises. There’s three miles of dirt road winding through the jungle to reach a paved road, so there aren’t many visitors here. Somehow we dodged COVID while jam-packed in Panama City’s subway cars, only to get it out in the middle of nowhere!

A few days ago, my friend Myles came by to see if I wanted to dinghy to Linton Bay, about 11 miles away. We could go by taxi, but they charge us foreigners $60 for the round trip. Myles is great company and I like adventure, so I threw a VHF radio and my wallet in a dry bag and was ready to go.

There’s a chandlery there, and when you are a responsible boat owner cruising remote areas, it’s hard to pass one up. There is always something you need to keep your boat in good shape, or at least, there spares to buy. I have an idea to build a water “polishing” system, that will circulate the water in Miette’s tanks through a charcoal filter. $400 later, I left the store with the parts I’d need: a 12V washdown pump that can do 3.5 gallons per minute, hose clamps, hose, fuse holders (they didn’t have fuses), and a few unrelated items for engine maintenance.

I’m paying for my things and enjoying talking to the beautiful young woman working the counter. Any excuse to practice my Spanish, right?

Three Russian guys in their 20s or 30s walked in, talking loudly and laughing, each with a beer in his hand. We’ve seen this type of Russian all over Latin America, the backwards baseball caps, wrap-around shades, gold chains crypto-bros, all swagger and date-rape machismo, lewd, rude, and half drunk. Granted if I were a Russian male, and their age, I would definitely be dodging the draft, hiding in Central America, too, but I’d at least I’d have manners. These guys are proof money doesn’t buy class. I figure they’re chartering a boat out here.

They come through the door with a ruckus. The girl helping me pointedly ignores them.

Estos Rusos no hablan ni un palabra de Español, she says to me under her breath, cutting an annoyed look in their direction (these Russians don’t speak a word of Spanish).

No tratan, ni un poco? I ask. They don’t even try a little? Before she can answer, one of them interrupts us.

Hgey Mizz. Hgow much ziss? Ze gon?

She looks over. We’re all look over. One of them is pointing at a spear-gun behind the counter.

Un momento, she says.

Hgow much ze gon? he asks again.

Give me a minute, please, she says, in her adorably accented English. She takes her sweet time helping me, then Myles, padding the transaction with small talk, the Russian bro’s visibly annoyed, but drinking their beers.

For some reason, I want to pin my COVID on these guys, but have no basis for it.

It takes about 40 minutes to dinghy back to Turtle Cay, and we both laugh at how we must look like absolute nuts to a passing sailboat, out here with them on the open ocean, a couple miles offshore.

After unloading and catching up with Shawn, it’s about time for our 4pm ritual - donning swimsuits and walking a few minutes to the nearby beach to go stand in the clear water and gentle surf.

We’re soon joined by our friends, Karin, a Swiss journalist and author, and her partner Alex, an electrical engineer from Germany. They recently returned from a magic-mushroom retreat in Jamaica and discuss it in their podcast (not in English, though I’m not certain if their podcast is in German or Swiss German). Karin not only speaks excellent English, but I’ve heard her drop into fluent Spanish, converse with other folks in French, and says she speaks a little Hindi, Arabic, and Thai, from her work in Asia. Since her early 20s, Karin has lived and worked as a journalist in places like the West Bank, Thailand, India, Afghanistan, and writes hard-hitting stories of struggle and survival against incredible odds. I’m enjoying one of her books now, translated by an AI service into English. They’re aboard SV Mabul (sailingmabul.com).

Next, arrive Ben and Muranda, of SV Fickle, who sailed down the Pacific coast and crossed the Panama Canal like we did, starting their journey in Los Angeles. Ben’s a freelance mobile app developer and Muranda is a flight attendant. They’re both delightful people and super chill, but Yolanda, their little dog, goes absolutely ape-shit with ear-splitting barks if you look at her. I have only a vague idea of what Fickle looks like, because I don’t want to invoke the wrath of Yolanda by looking in her direction. I think Yolanda is warming up to me, though. She came up to me recently, walked around my feet and sat down. That’s something.

Myles joins us from SV Blue Horizon, getting teased because a few days ago, not only did a fish bite his nipple, but came back and bit his other nipple! Someone suggested he pierce his nipples with fishhooks, and go get dinner. Myles is from British Columbia and retired from the railroads as a train engineer, but can probably operate just about any piece of heavy machinery you can imagine. He’s played hockey since he was 4, was a boxer, a motocross racer, and has done whitewater kayaking on 51 rivers. He’s also a stonemason, and built his family a sprawling 2-story log cabin overlooking a river (and glad to show us photos, lingering over shots of his favorite front loader).

He and his wife recently took their visiting daughter, a paramedic, out to the San Blas islands for a few weeks, but Myles now has the boat to himself for a few months to tackle some projects while his wife and daughter spend a few months together back in Canada. They bought their boat on the US East Coast and have been enjoying sailing the Caribbean for the last 5 years. Despite all that amazes me about Myles, he is one of the most humble people I’ve ever met, and unless you met him individually, you’d never know anything about him because he remains silent and unassuming in a group setting, never volunteering anything about himself.

Next come Mike and Laura of SV Gilana. I could fill a couple blog posts just about the wild stories they’ve shared, and they’re often the rightful center of every conversation, keeping us laughing. Laura’s originally British, but Mike’s from South Africa. After a jihadist blew up the local pizza parlor, they decided to leave the country with their young daughter. They bought a sailboat, left Cape Town in 1999, and crossed the Atlantic. Five times! They’ve sailed something like 35,000 nautical miles, home-schooling their daughter aboard as they went back and forth to Europe over the years. I think they’re in their late 60s. Their daughter Liz, is now the captain of a mega-yacht that motors between the Bahamas and New York.

Mike’s an unmatched raconteur, and is bursting full of colorful stories and charisma. He was a submariner in the South African Navy, then worked as a mechanical engineer around the world, managed a marina, managed a hotel, built computer systems, and who-knows-what-else. His wife Laura is a charming lady, managed her own business.

When I told Mike that I’m a data engineer, he launched right into a well-informed conversation about ethical issues in that field. He was delighted to learn I’m a pilot, and sure enough, so is he. He’s flown ultralights, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. I have yet to see him go without comment on any subject, but he can rarely let any conversation go for more than a few minutes without a lewd joke or wisecrack. Laura’s British wit plays a perfect counterpoint to Mike’s antics, and sometimes reels Mike back in so others can have a word in. Not that we mind letting Mike keep on going.

Mike and Laura are the go-to people for any questions we have about, well, anything, really. They’re done crossing oceans and have Panamanian residency, and may be close to having citizenship. If it weren’t for boat projects, they’d be kitesurfing off San Andres, a small Colombian island of the coast of Nicaragua. When there was a health emergency on the boat next to us, my first reaction was, “go get Mike and Laura. They’ll know what to do.” Mike jogged over and Laura a minute behind, carrying an oxygen tank!

You can read more about their incredible lives on their site https://gilana.org

The last one to join us in the water is Nikolai, or “Nick”, a Russian attorney who speaks a little bit of English and Spanish, with a heavy Slavic accent that buzzes like hair clippers on pavement.

When Nick told us he was a lawyer and worked remotely, Mike didn’t skip a beat and asked, Do you mean they actually have laws in Russia?! Nick shrugged and laughed, for the last 30 years, I have been trying to find that out!

Nick is stocky, has a grey crew-cut, and piercing blue eyes that practically disappear when he smiles. There is something about his demeanor, that if he didn’t smile so much, I’d find him terrifying, and I have no idea why.

Making small talk, I asked Nick if the vodka-swilling Russian is no more than a stereotype, and he frowns and waves it off, and says Is only stereotype. Russians like wine and cognac, which is believable. We have wines that are better than the French, he continues, which is harder to believe, but rabble like me wouldn’t know.

Nick’s a chain-smoker, so when we all meet at the small restaurant on-premise, he breaks away every 10 minutes to go smoke away from the group. He doesn’t speak much. One night, someone mentioned shooting guns for fun and I told them about the time a friend of mine and I went out to the woods to shoot his AK-47 and inadvertently shot a huge tree down. Nick went right into a lengthy list of pros and cons about the various models that Kalashnikov manufactures, and which were his favorites.

Swing and a miss on vodka, but a home run on Russian assault rifles!

There’s another couple here close in age with us, Karim and Joy from SV Manō, who I believe are French-speaking Swiss. They rarely socialize with the rest of us, busy with their work, but they have a super friendly black dog named Tao that reminds me so much of Doggle. They are herpetologists, here to study snakes for bioniria.org.

While bikinis are the normal attire for women here, Joy is usually in knee-high rubber boots, pants, and a ragged t-shirt, ready to head off into the jungle. When not in the jungle, Karim spends the day in the common area where there’s wifi, a cigarette hanging from his lips, eyes glued to a small laptop. I spoke to him only once, but he doesn’t speak much English or Spanish.

When I found a small snake hanging out in the freshwater shower at the beach, we told Joy. Her eyes lit up and she ran off towards the beach. Minutes later we saw her walking around with the snake on her arm. They catch, measure, and photograph snakes, and said this was a baby boa constrictor.

Another couple, Shawn and Sheri of SV Kismet, recently arrived at the marina and are moored in the slip next to Miette. Next to their boat, Miette looks tiny! They’re from Seattle and spend part of their cruising time hosting charters, taking paying guests to the San Blas islands. We’re just getting to know them.

They were recently telling us about their time in Guatemala, having traveled inland to see the famous Mayan ruins at Tikhal.

Did you know that they used Tikhal in one of the Star Wars movies? asked Shawn (of Kismet). I didn’t, but immediately knew exactly what he was talking about.

The rebel base on Yavin-4! I said, picturing the blocky stone temple towering out of the jungle. He looked stunned, but nodded a slow yeah.

I grew up with Star Wars, I admitted. He laughed, Me, too! Haha!

Everybody keeps in touch on a WhatsApp group. If you need help, someone will be right over. If you need a spare part, chances are someone has it, or knows where to find it.

Everyone here is truly fascinating.

Every Wednesday night, most of us gather at the small restaurant onsite, where we’re often the only patrons, and share a lovely evening.

The restaurant manager adopted an abandoned baby sloth, named Macolla, pictured here (left to right: Shawn, Ben, Myles, and Alex).

In this photo: Laura (holding Macolla) and Mike, probably telling us all we could have wanted to know about sloths.

On one night at the weekly dinner, Muranda beckoned me and Ben conspiratorially.

I just found out it’s Karin’s birthday, but I don’t think they serve desert. Can you ask the waitress if they can do something? she asked quietly.

I hailed the waitress and said in Spanish, I know there’s no desert listed on the menu, but could you ask the cook if there’s anything sweet he can put together in the kitchen for our friend’s birthday?

She didn’t know what to say besides wait a minute, then disappeared into the kitchen.

After few minutes, she reappeared with slices of cake and a candle through a pickle slice!

During the heat of the day, it might seem like a ghost town. On Mondays, the veggie truck comes down 3 miles of dirt road, and honks his horn to sell us produce at extravagant prices, and we have another reason to come together and mull around.

We may not be putting hundreds of sea miles under the keel lately, but for now, this life is fulfilling enough, enjoying a sense of community while we can.

Here’s a short video I made just after we arrived and hiked around the area to see what’s here. Enjoy!