Buenaventura

Buenaventura Colombia is in the jungle. In Colombia there is a saying about "crossing the line" that is from the old days when Africans that had been brought to the country mostly settled along the coast and there was a "line" because as you go inland you go up in elevation and the climate gets drier and more suited for the majority of the Colombian population which is European and Native (South) American. I found this out the first weekend I was in town and took a car to Kali, a few hours inland. Big difference in the two towns. Kali had large, old, relatively clean and functioning buildings. Banks, churches, grocery stores, sidewalks were in good repair, cars on the streets. Buenaventura on the other hand, in the 70s, had open market places, old but sadly decayed colonial looking buildings that had been banks and churches but, for lack of money and attention were anyone's guess as to their current use. The streets were full of trucks because it was a port, and buses.. taxis were kind of sketchy. Not too many private cars. Tropical rain and heat tends to tear everything down, mold and mildew ruin the paint put on a hundred years ago and it all starts to look a little rough.



For the ship, this was our main discharge port, as I recall we had bagged cargo, grain? The deck department worked days and every third day an 8 hr gangway watch. Weekends were overtime, so no work, unless we had to shift the ship or rig the Stulcken boom, a 30 ton derrick with dual king posts. It could be shifted to work either of two hatches fore and aft of the boom for heavier lifts. That took all hands available.



Pretty much Buenaventura was turning out to be a challenging port. Our crew consisted of a bunch of Californians and even some South Americans who were all getting mugged when they went ashore. The bars and streets in general were patrolled by various criminals who were really good at taking your wallet, slapping you around if you complained and not getting caught. Sailors usually end up in a bar when they go ashore; the taxis that pick up around the docks take you there. Most guys don't want to deal with the confusion of not knowing the language and really don't have anything to buy. Some go to dinner and then the bar. Some meet girls at the bar. Life in port revolves around the bar. Some, like the two brothers from Alabama mentioned earlier try to really live large and rent an apartment, up over the bar. They usually finish the trip owing money and just sign back on for another 3-4 month trip.



I don't drink. Didn't then and don't now. Not more than one to be sociable. I'm too cheap. And it gives me a headache. So when the taxi dropped me off at the sailor's bar the first day I was in luck! For one thing, it was early afternoon and there was no one there. the bartender had lived in the States and was happy to explain to me the realities of Buenaventura. He recommended I meet one of the girls that came there. By the time the sun went down there were dozens of women there and at other bars up the street, which wound up into the hills at the edge of town. This part of town was called "La Culebra" because the street was curvy, like a snake. It was part of the reason that Buenaventura had a rough reputation.



The girl that Loco, the bartender sent over to talk to me was younger than me by a few years. Later I met her younger sister, who took care of their kids, they each had one. They all lived in one room in a very poor part of town. Esmeralda (Emerald) explained to me that she had been a college student in Cartagena on the Caribbean coast. She had a bad limp and further explained that she had been injured while riding a scooter to school and had to quit school to raise her kid when the father left because she was injured. This story is told a million times a day in the third world, I'm sure. She was as black as the room we were in but she seemed to be very smart. Loco had explained that I would want someone to go around town with me so I wouldn't get mugged. So it was agreed, she would meet me everyday when I got off the ship.


Best decision I ever made! I never got robbed, in the three weeks we were in port. We went everywhere in town, talked to all the criminals when we had to.. they were respectful of her because she was crippled, smarter than they were and not afraid of them. Is there "honor among thieves" apparently so. The scary gang leader stopped our taxi one day when he saw us in it and rode with us for a few blocks. I gave him my hat (she recommended this) and he wished us well and hopped out. I think he was glad that I was taking care of her. One less thing to worry about. I think I ended up giving her about 30 dollars all together for probably less than 30 hrs of her time as bodyguard and tour guide. That would be a month's rent. For me it half a day's pay.



That is the background to my story. One day at work in the port we were all (deck dept) on the stern at coffee time and someone shouted at us in English. Two bearded guys in a dingy with an outboard motor were in the harbor, passing by! What they said was (thick Aussie accent here) 'ave y'got any baggy-wrinkle?" I knew what this was, having friends who were sailors; it keeps the sails from chafing against the standing rigging when sailing downwind. I answered, "we'll look and see, who wants it?". They thanked us and gave the name of their schooner, anchored just inside the jetties. Once I explained to the bos'n what baggy-wrinkle was he went to a deck locker and pulled out an arm load of marlin! Like yarn only very coarse. Just what they needed. We didn't have much manila line anymore, that would need a marlin whipping on the ends when cut to keep it from fraying. This was a left over from earlier voyages, and it was all mine. When I got off that evening I had it with me in a shopping bag and explained our mission to my friend.

She explained that we had to wait until after dark, to avoid big trouble with the customs and military that "protected" (read extorted) the port. No problem. We walked down the port until no cars were coming and we saw a guard inside the fence. She spoke to him in some African dialect and he let us in the fence! I gave him a bribe (a couple of dollars, for which I would be reimbursed by the schooner Capt later) and we were shown to the quay. No lights were on in this part of the port so we could see the outline of a very dimly lit schooner in the harbor.. I walked to the end of the stone quay and hailed them by name as loud as I could.. I couldn't hear their answer, but after a while the little dingy pulled up off the end of the rocks and spoke to us. We got in and away we went..

Once we on deck I was amazed to see about 20 Americans! They looked tired and sweaty and a little uneasy. They were from some prep school in New England and their chaperons were teachers, fresh out of college. They were sitting on their luggage as if they had just arrived and when one of the teachers saw me and figured out I was an American she asked me very earnestly if I thought this was "alright" I went down in the main cabin and there was a short wave radio and three very apprehensive looking Aussies. They had very long hair and beards and they looked like their dog had just died. Two other guys were in the cargo hold forward of that, building bunks out of lumber for all they were worth. The three at the table explained that they had been hauling cargo under sail (every sailor's dream, eh?) and ran out of cargoes and money in Mexico. They had advertised the ship as a Galapagos Islands scientific expedition. The school thought that sounded lovely, bought plane tickets, sent the "tuition and fees" to the Aussies' and showed up on time. Now these carefree schooner Owner/operators realized they really did need to build bunks, buy food, and go to Ecuador to (try to) actually get a clearance for the Galapagos. Easier said than done, even without the beards.

A few of the more energetic kids were down in the hold helping to build their own bunk. When I got back up on deck Esmeralda was talking to some of the preppy girls that spoke Spanish. She looked like she was in heaven, having met such rare creatures. They looked at me like I was from Mars. I didn't bother to explain, but did give their teachers my reassuring assessment of their situation. I think I suggested having the school help with any additional fees they might have to pay in Ecuador before being allowed to sail for the Islands. We climbed back into the dingy and one of the crew brought us ashore, back into the dark, steamy, dangerous (unless you knew someone) jungle town.

I wonder how they got along as time passed? The motley crew and the spotless passengers? I was quite thankful to have my own circumstances in that part of the world. A large, steel steamship with a union crew, to carry me on down the coast and the local knowledge gained through a "good adventure".. "buenaventura".

Acajutla and Corinto

In 1978 0r so I sailed onboard the US flag Del Oro (Delta Lines) from San Francisco and made a number of stops along the West Coast in Central and South America.. I had been sailing since 1970, mostly out of Houston and New York and mostly to India or Europe. This was real liner service. Break bulk freight and less than 12 passengers. A steam ship. Delta was famous for their Brazilian and West African runs out of New Orleans and I had never been privileged enough seniority-wise with the Union to be able to get one of those jobs.. Rumors had it that those mariners had two families, one at each end of the run, which motivated them to tie up the jobs forever.. So be it. I had found the West Coast on another ship and had come back to investigate when I saw this job on the board at the hall in Seattle. I made it back thru E. Oregon to drop off my Grandfather's truck and to the Bay area and got aboard in time to sail.



Our first stop was Guatemala but we only lightered cargo to barges offshore and were on our way. First real port was Acajutla, El Salvador.. I remember that the pier jutted out into the Pacific and the main street was blocks of concrete that were upset from tree roots and such and there were very few cars. We walked far enough to find a beer and went back to the ship relatively intact. My knowledge of politics in those regions was in the blissfully ignorant category. Just as well.



The deck officers on this ship were the first guys that were even remotely close in age to me and the other 20 something deck hands. The Captain was probably 40 and the Mate might have been 30. I'd been to sea with the WW II generation up until then and this was an exciting revelation! These guys talked to us instead of barking commands! They would even put their hands on the same work we were doing! And best of all, they told us what their jobs consisted of as they worked! The Old Man was a really good and somewhat daring ship handler and he would talk to us while he did it! It opened up my mind, heart and soul to the possibilities of a life at sea. one in which I would someday do those things to which I had so far only been a silent witness. An indentured servant who hadn't managed to work off my debt.



We pulled into Corinto, Nicaragua. This port is on a river and at that time there were no tugs. We approached the wooden dock and as I was on the wheel I learned that the thing to do in that case, with a 700' ship, is to let go the offshore (starboard) anchor and continue stemming the river current, moving ahead. At that point you can put some left wheel on the ship and let the anchor chain pay out twds the dock as you move ahead. It is similar to coming alonside a moving vessel as far as rudder work. When we departed the rudder was set to port to lift the stern off the dock and the chain hauled in to bring the bow around. At that point you don't want your anchor to hang up in a snag on the bottom as the ship gathers steam to gain steerage way down river.



Once we were all fast, the Captain called down to us on deck to "go ashore, I'll blow the whistle for you when the cargo's been unloaded". It was a small town and we were more than happy to comply with that order. We made a beeline up the street away from the dock to the first cantina we could find. When we walked in (there were six of us) there were five or six really mad looking girls sitting away from the bar in a tight little group. Two other young women in army uniforms came out of the back room and the bar tender explained that if we wanted girls those two were it for the day. They explained that they were Sandinistas and their dettachment was still fighting in the hills outside of town. They had been sent to town to get some money for "more bullets". Two of the members of the deck department, brothers from Alabama, did not hesitate in seizing this unique opportunity and quickly disappeared into the back room!



The rest of us went back to the little park in town, where we miraculously met two "normal" girls who were eager to talk to us! After some pleasant formalities they asked us to follow them and off we went, right back to the cantina! When they realized they would have to join the crowd and support the Sandinista cause they shrugged and put some money in the juke box and ordered lunch. Pretty soon the whistle blew and we all ran back down the street in the hot Nicaraguan afternoon sun. Steam was gotten up, lines were thrown off and stowed and we sailed with a deck load of bananas! The Capt wouldn't say much about it except that him and the agent had agreed that this was the best way to get this extra cargo to the next port. I don't think Delta Lines knew or cared.



Our next port was Buena Ventura, Colombia.