February 2010
Puntarenas, Costa Rica
Early February found us getting excited
to get back to the boat, and Dale and Linda still having
the time of their lives cruising the southwest coast of
Panama, toward their ultimate rendezvous point with us
here in Puntarenas. Their adventures can be found here.
We had more company on the ship, with
old friends of Ole’s from over 20 years ago joining the
cruise on February 6 – Roar and Trish Molvik. We were
able to entertain them at Chops, the specialty
steakhouse where you can’t get away from the table in
less than 2-1/2 hours, and enjoyed the do-it-yourself
Bloody Mary bar on one of the sea days.
The exciting part of the February 6
cruise was a group of bikers who brought 36 motorcycles
aboard, ranging from Honda Gold Wings to Harleys of
every shape and vintage, and a few custom bikes that
defy description. I spent the last hour before
departure in St. Maarten watching them all come back
aboard after their island tour with the local Harley
club, and as the last bike came aboard, a HUUUUGGGGEEEE
Boss Hoss (manufactured in Tennessee, I gather), I stuck
out my hand, introduced myself as the Chief Engineer’s
wife, and he said, “Great! I’d love an engine room
tour!” To which I responded, “Great! I’d love a ride
on your bike!” Deal, he said, and we made arrangements
for both.
On Wednesday, early in the morning of
February 10, I got one of the best bike rides of my
life, even though it only lasted about half an hour.
The bike, equipped with a 400 hp Corvette engine, was
painted in blue flame, and the chrome on it shone like a
musical instrument. We only drove it as far as the gas
station on the east end of Charlotte Amalie, but on the
back of that bike I could feel the surges of
unrestrained horsepower when he held back and then
throttled up. What a machine! And, like most bikers,
what a wonderful guy!
As we prepared to fly home on February
20, we found ourselves with a total of three suitcases,
two briefcases, a chart tube, a back-pack, and a tote
bag in addition to my purse. All told, we figured we
brought a couple boat-units worth of stuff along,
everything from varnish to gaskets to spark plugs and
oil filters. Each bag weighed in at 52 lbs., and the
tote bag and backpack probably weighed in at 25 lbs.
each. We managed to check the three suitcases and carry
the backpack, chart tube, briefcases and tote bag
successfully aboard the airplane and then to the Hotel
Santo Tomas in San Jose for our forced overnight. We
aimed at taking the bus into Puntarenas on Sunday, the
21st.
We were at the bus station by 8:50,
missed the 9:00 bus, and with all of our stuff, waited
in a crowded terminal until the next bus, which arrived
about 9:30. We wrestled all of the stuff to the luggage
bay, checking the three suitcases and backpack, then
carried aboard our briefcases, chart tube, tote bag and
my purse. (Are you starting to get the picture?) We
sat in the third row opposite the driver, and Ole put
his briefcase and my heavy pink and purple tote bag in
the overhead directly over of our seats. I carried my
purse and briefcase with computer at my feet. During
the ride, we joked about the very large and prominent
sign just three seats ahead of us that said, in English,
Spanish, and German, “KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR PERSONAL
BELONGINGS.” Get the picture yet?
The ride down to sea level from San Jose
was just over two hours, along good paved highway, not
nearly as third-world and ziggedy-zaggedy as we had
expected. There were perhaps four stops before we got
off at the Costa Rica Yacht Club on the outskirts of
Puntarenas. Ole grabbed his briefcase, leapt down to
organize getting the suitcases out of the luggage bay,
leaving me to wrestle my purse, my briefcase, the pink
and purple bag and the chart tube. But when I stood up
to grab the pink and purple bag, it was gone.
Vanished. Disappeared.
I couldn’t believe it. In the overhead
was the big Ziploc bag with my toothbrush in it (had
been in the pink and purple bag). I walked up and down
the aisle at least three times, glancing down at
people’s feet, but nothing. Looked at people’s faces.
Nothing. Asked for help. Nothing.
In that bag were, in no particular
order: the digital camera, with all of our pictures
from November, December, January, and February; the 160
gigabyte hard drive, with all of our pictures from 2004
to the present, the iTunes library containing all of our
music, all of our personal files for banking,
correspondence, and archives going back to 1998; the
iPod itself, with the only living copy of all of our
music; a brand-new, never been used SPOT gps messenger
we could use to check in with family and friends
whenever we change positions; a new gasket for the
replacement exhaust elbow; the two most recent issues of
PassageMaker; four brand new cruising guides for the
Costa Rican Coast all the way up to the Sea of Cortez
(NOT cheap); a new Harry Potter movie, my personal
journal, the phone charger for my cell phone, and
basically irreplaceable stuff.
I could barely say hello to Dale and Linda, I was so
shocked. I put my stuff onboard Emma Jo, then caught a
cab to the police station, where I waited in the sun for
45 minutes before being invited in and being assigned to
the secretary to take my statement (denuncia). That
took nearly an hour, including interruptions on the
telephone, accidentally erasing the computer-based
interview form a couple of times, and refusing to find
me anyone who spoke English. I definitely got the
feeling they were just going through the motions.
It’s clear to me we’ll never get the
stuff back. It’s also very clear to me that the thief
was an opportunist – we were the only people on that bus
with as much stuff as we had, and the only obvious
non-Costa Ricans. But damn, whoever it was was good –
to move that heavy bag from directly over our heads
without our being aware of it was masterful. I’m hoping
they’ll see the camera, the iPod, and the Harry Potter
movie, and toss the rest – it’s of no use to anybody but
us. I’m praying that they erase the hard drive before
they decide to use it or sell it. I’m angry at myself,
angry at us, for joking about the sign right in front of
our faces. In the past three years, bussing from
Fronteras on the Rio Dulce into Guatemala City countless
times, bussing from Bocas del Toro to David just as many
times, never have we seen such a sign. It’s obviously a
big enough problem here in Costa Rica that a sign is
needed. Dumbass Gringos.
Hence the reason for no pictures from
January on.
In spite of the loss, we’ve tried to
remain upbeat during the remaining days with Dale and
Linda. We had a dinner out, an interesting $100 cab
ride to sort out the paperwork transferring control of
the boat from the Bixlers back to us, an afternoon at
the pool, and a couple of very long cocktail hours on
the fly bridge. They took great care of the boat, great
care of the cats, and had the time of their lives
cruising some pretty spectacular and unspoilt cruising
grounds. We put them on a van to the airport on the 25th,
and were a bit unsure what to do with ourselves finally
being alone back on the boat. And Barclay – we’ll have
to watch her for signs of depression, she got so close
to Dale during these past few months.
On Saturday, I put Ole on a bus (oh no,
not again) for San Jose, so he can fly up to Orlando for
a management meeting. Crappy timing, as it will cut our
cruising down from ten weeks to about seven, but we’re
hoping to make it up to Huatulco before he has to sign
on to Independence on May 5. I’ll spend the week he’s
gone re-marking my territory, taking inventory of stores
for a two-month cruise, and seeing what I can do to
replace some of the things we lost.
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