Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
get a plate of hot food into all aboard before all hell breaks loose; this was a lesson I would
be reminded of many times.
We had considered going to the San Blas Islands to see the Indians and their wonderful fab-
ric art but at the last minute decided against it, due to the lack of relevant charts. I tended
to err on the safe side at all times wherever possible: to sail past an island on the leeward
side if I had to pass close, to postpone a sailing voyage on a Friday, and never to leave a
safe anchorage in a blow - basic common sense really.
Twenty days out from Tortola saw us arrive at the channel swing bridge in busy Curacao,
Venezuela, known for short as the ABC Islands, or Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao.
We waited for a few minutes, and the bridge authorities asked us the name of our vessel
and our purpose. My answer must have satisfied them as the bridge gate swung open
slowly, and we motored through to the customs office on the right of the channel.
No sooner had we tied up the boat and headed to clear in when there was a terrific crash
and cars skidding on the freeway bridge right above where we had just tied Déjà vu. Look-
ing up in amazement, we saw a car door fly down and hit the water below as well as bits
of glass and other crash debris. “Jesus, there's just been a major car crash!” I said in alarm.
“We had better move Déjà vu before more stuff comes flying down!” We raced over to the
boat and untied her lines and towed her safely away from the bridge. “If this is what being
back in society is like, I would rather keep sailing,” mused Gavin.
We cleared in and were told by the harbormaster that several people had been seriously in-
jured in the crash that had occurred. I guess he must have been privy to the police radio.
We had to move as we were not moored at a recognized mooring site, and we decided to
sail to the lagoon on the west side of the island. We anchored in grey-colored water and
spent an uneventful weekend there. It was a long weekend, and the lagoon was broiling
with activity from the locals and their motorized toys. Somehow, we did manage to spear
a few whopping big fish in all that water activity.
Overall, we found Curacao to be rather unfriendly and dirty. There was an oil refinery and
an old castle fort, the latter of which we visited, which was a crumbling forgotten relic of
old colonial days, weathering into obscurity. We were also accosted by several professional
ladies of the night when we sat at the local hotel for a round of drinks.
There was a well stocked, colorful, and noisy produce market where we bought fresh food
on our return to clear customs. It was with a sigh of relief, that on the eighth of March, we
passed through the swing bridge and headed out to sea in a frisky twenty-five knot breeze.
We welcomed the familiar purple sea, the much anticipated Panama Canal, and the Pacific
Ocean beyond.
