Serenity in the city

I really enjoyed Panama City. It’s a remarkable place with no shortage of things to do, sights to see, things to eat and drink while you ponder all the contradictions. With the exception of a couple jackass taxi drivers we found everyone to be supremely kind and helpful. It’s readily apparent that Panameños are proud of their city and were eager to point out all of the newly completed projects – a colorful highway, a vibrant museum designed by Frank Gehry, a shiny new metro-system. Sundays on the malecon were my favorite, with families strolling, playing, slurping down raspados (shaved ice), dining on fresh ceviche as the sun cast a warm glow on all their smiling faces. Pizza night with the other international cruisers and happy hour with our friends on SV Letitgo were tied for a close second. Never made it to the Wednesday (?) dim sum, which is a shame (dim sum sounds so good right now).

Serenity…well she wasn’t such a big fan of the city. The Gulf of Panama is lovely to look at and the anchored ships are a marvel, but it’s another thing to live in that dirty water, surrounded by rusting giants that belch black smoke and spill waste that leaves an odiferous slick. Serenity’s decks quickly accumulated black soot from all of the traffic and the burning cane fields. Her hull was shrouded by a dark brown goop. Our anchorage, Las Brisas, was the only free anchorage…but like everything free, it came at a cost.

Missnomer (our dinghy) loathed the city. We left her by herself, the first night in the city, to hold her own amongst the other rough and tumble dinghies owned by Panama City cruising veterans. We were unaware of the strength of the surge, the ferociousness of the waves, and the belligerence of the other dinghies. She sank on our first night – motor, oars, water pump and all. She took a nose dive into the muck after beating incessantly against the dilapidated dock. At low tide Jeff dove to retrieve her and was pleased to see that our oars and water pump had not floated away with the tide. He resurrected that motor yet again (I’ve stopped keeping track of what life we’re on) and reassembled Missnomer. She now looks like Frankenstein’s bride, except scarier.

Every time we left Serenity we were anxious about the dinghy ride. Would the outboard motor work? How much had the dinghy dock disintegrated since the last time we went to shore? Are we clean enough to intermingle with regular people? Would a North wind kick up on our way home and make for a hairy ride? Serenity could sense our anxiety. When we returned we were always disgruntled by the challenge of living on a boat in this city. The water was too dirty to bathe, so we accumulated as much dirt as Serenity. The perpetually overcast skies meant that the solar panels couldn’t keep the batteries juiced up. Our water tanks were running dry and hauling water from shore was a lot of work given that we had to scale what cruisers call “the stairs of death” and then transfer our things in a tenuous plastic dinghy that continually threatened to dump us into the grimy water.

The final straw for us, the straw that made us both exclaim simultaneously “we need to get out of this place,” was the oil spill. Don’t know where to point my finger, but someone in the anchorage had released a black sticky mess that coated everything, including the dinghy dock, the tenuous dinghy that transferred you to and from the dinghy dock, the rope you used to transfer yourself in the tenuous dinghy and the stairs of death. A trip to shore not only threatened life and limb, but it resulted in black sticky hands, black smears on our skin, black criss crosses on our clothes…so much for trying to pass as normal people.

In our short stay in Panama City, a quarter of the dinghy dock sank and the whole floating portion ripped free of the columns that attempted to hold it steady. I think maybe it used to be maintained by the government but now it’s one of those “public goods” problems. People like us use it and complain about it but can’t do anything to make the problem go away…except to leave.

We could have moved over to the other anchorage (La Playita), which had a much improved dinghy dock situation…though they also charged $5 a day for the privilege. The reason we ultimately chose to “pass” on La Playita is because (apparently) the pilot boats scream past the anchorage kicking up a mean wake that makes the monohulls roll (in a violent fashion) from toe rail to toe rail. We had friends who came down from the Pacific Northwest with stuff on their walls and shelves that did not budge until La Playita anchorage. That is some serious rocking and rolling going on.

It’s like the worst possible “would you rather” scenario – “would you rather be in a free anchorage with a disastrous dinghy dock and get you sticky and black all over oil spill or would you rather pay $5 a day to land your dinghy but have to endure the most intense rolling you’ve maybe ever experienced.” To this I would respond…neither. Let’s get out of here.

Moral of the story: visit Panama City by bus or by plane (it will not disappoint), but spare yourself from living on a boat here. Though, all that being said, we have a good friend who loves living in the city on his boat…so maybe we’re just spoiled, cantankerous, SOBs. To each their own.