Life on Land
This is Clouds Form Over Land, a weekly newsletter about resilience, imperfection, and our relationship to the earth.
We spent much of the last year living in very remote sections of planet earth — in the jungle of Bocas del Toro and the islands of the Guna Yala.
Our normal was stocking up on food 1-2 times per month and supplementing with tropical fruits and herbs from friends or purchased from dugout canoes (cayucas). Our uniform was tee shirts stained by banana stalks and we jumped in the water in lieu of air conditioning. Roads are few and far between and the water taxi is a way of life there. Schedules run on “the little now” and tomorrow. Indigenous languages are spoken alongside Spanish, Cantonese, and English. Families live on intergenerational plots stewarded by their ancestors — many were there long before Colombus arrived in 1502. Other folks from China and Africa came in the following centuries for opportunity or by force. People from all over the world operate vacation rentals in these beautiful landscapes. We recommend CocoVivo and Lam Tours.
Today we live in a city alongside one million other people.
The wall around the “walled city” of Cartagena, Colombia was built in the 1600s, after the town was attacked by pirate Sir Francis Drake — a name that is likely familiar to my West Coast sailor friends. The city has grown out of its walled limits and up into condo and office buildings. The infrastructure from colonial times has been mended and built upon over the centuries, and sturdy architecture that once protected the city has been repurposed for the big business of tourism and shipping. My dad called it a “patina” after spending a week here, which is such a succinct way to describe the lived-in feeling of this old metropolis bordered by jungle and sea.
The countless tall, white condo buildings seem almost out of a brand style guide when approaching from a distance, but at the human scale, the metro area brims with color, from the parrots and parakeets, graffiti, tropical plants, and colorful outfits of many locals. A man wearing a San Francisco Giants’ ballcap hollers the names of fruit available on his pushcart and neighbors come out to greet him. Almost every place has a small patio and those that don’t tend to drag chairs onto the sidewalk to enjoy the cooler evening temperatures and the company of their community. Ice cream, arepa, and beer sellers turn the streets into cafes from dawn to dawn. “Tinto”, a brew of black coffee and unrefined sugarcane (panela) is sold all day in tiny cups from large Thermos containers for 1000 pesos, or 25 cents USD. Parties go into the wee hours most nights of the week, with salsa, champeta, and reggaeton adding another texture for the senses to behold. Car horns, playful children, dogs, and construction sites add to the raucous symphony.
There is a certain critical mass of humanity required for sushi restaurants and shopping malls and this place has it.
Almost everything is within a ten-minute walk. Hair salons, eye doctors, shwarma, dentists, Spanish schools, marine hardware stores, veterinarians, bike shops. We can even get Amazon packages if we wait two weeks. We haven’t missed the shop-til-you-drop culture of the US, but it has been nice to pluck a product out of the world’s catalog, such as water filters, Man Overboard tethers, a longer cord for my Lykke interchangeable knitting needles, and hiking sandals. You know, the essentials?
When we first arrived, I felt nearly feral compared to the yachts and people around us.
The crossing from Panama wore us out from seasickness, big waves, and troubleshooting a critical failure. As the hot sun blazed overhead, we navigated city traffic and pulled into a slip at the marina. The boat had been washed down by big waves, but we could use some grooming. Our last trips to the hair salon were before COVID-19 and the lack of seasonal temperature variation had worn thin many of the clothes in our boat-sized wardrobes. We needed showers, a trip to the mall, and time to deep clean our vessel.
Boat travel unlocks much of the map, while also constraining the sailor to the footprint of their ship. Dinghys, kayaks, and paddleboards provide some extra headspace, but a heap of collaboration is required of anyone choosing this path with others. When tied to a dock, one can step off and find solitude and company in errands and entertainment. We love the novelty of going to air-conditioned theaters and grocery shopping for only a few days ahead after the long stint away from land. The dollar goes further in Colombia than anywhere else on our route and we’re in a significantly more populated area. The last time we were in a city of this size was Acapulco, MX last January. Within a few days, we had caught up with the dentist, eye doctor, barber, and vet for a checkup on Cypress the cat.
There is an abundance of services for boats here and after years of rugged DIYism, we can pull in paid collaborators to paint the boat, deep clean the cushions, and rebuild portions of our 45-year-old diesel engine. This is a tremendous shortcut after sourcing supplies, tools, and knowledge in places far from our US upbringing. We have learned the best lunch spots, hardware stores, and other solutions this way.
In the early years with our sailboat Azimuth, friends were crucial in lending knowledge, camaraderie, and courage. Henry sat with us for hours tinkering on the engine when it wouldn’t start, Cameron held the extra wrench for many deck hardware additions, Allen sanded and varnished on the hottest days of the year. Eva, Tommaso, and Sheena hopped on so I could practice docking with a few extra hands, and were my cheerleaders when I stuck the landing. Kyle was there for more projects and excursions than I can recall and numerous others crewed with us on race boats to build the sailing skills and confidence needed to cast off.
Many who set sail do not have a destination in mind, and many have criticized our path back to land. It seems inconceivable for some that we would want to rejoin the masses after having levered ourselves away from the group. Desert islands seem delicious for those faced with the conveyer belt of emails, meetings, laundry, dishes, and other obligations.
Living in a city once again has brought back memories of being newly-mets in San Francisco — riding bikes, taking buses, meeting each other’s friends, staying out too late, and rallying in the morning. We’ve been here long enough now that we run into friends on the street and in the grocery. Our grasp on the language gets better each day and unlocks new possibilities of connection.
After so much change, I’m finding that my preferences for how I want to live next are coming into focus. The other day, a sailor was peppering us with skepticism about our choice to become day sailors and move on land indefinitely. This has been a common occurrence over the last 7000 miles, and curiously it comes from folks who have sailed less than us and lack a plan themselves. I have admired this come-what-may, relaxed style of living in the past and currently feel called to navigate life with determination, get back to the group, and do work that benefits others besides me and my crew. This time when the question of why we would want to rejoin the land-dwellers arose, Scott provided an easier answer: “because we want to”.
Sit outside and note ten relationships on the land around you. Don’t limit to the flora and fauna. Transit, waste, electricity and other systems are relationships too.
Learn about living off the land from homegrown hand-gathered,
, and the .Host a clothing swap.
has all the tips here.Listen to this album from South American artists inspired by birdsong.
Written in the spirit of not letting what we can’t do get in the way of what we can.
Did you try any of these? I’d love to hear about it.