Excerpt from Travelouge April 1st, 2010

We were now somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Paria. Alyson and I were both uneasy. Neither of us had stopped scanning the horizon since we had entered the “Boca del Serpiente” Channel just before sunrise. The Paria is a small body of water separating the isle of Trinidad from the Venezuelan mainland, and it’s notorious for pirate attacks. Passage through the gulf can only be made through the two separate channels leading in and out of the Paria. Entry from the south via the Mouth of the Serpent and from the north by the Mouth of the Dragon.

“In the mouth of the snake and out the mouth of the dragon.”

A route we would rather have avoided, but weather conditions dictated that we had to sail today…and this was the quickest passage. Sometimes it is hard to decide who to fear more…man or Mother Nature. Hopefully, if all went well we would be passing out of the “Boca del Dragon” Channel in a couple of hours.

The winds had been picking up steadily since day break. A 20 knot breeze out of the southeast kept us on a broad reach making between 6-8 knots. Despite the increasing winds, we carried on under full genoa and main. We were anxious to put the Paria and its rumors of pirates to our stern.

We hadn’t been in the gulf long, but it had already seemed like an eternity. We tried to relax our tensions by joking about swinging over to Trinidad to pick up some rum.

“Maybe some coffee will help to ease our tensions…” Alyson suggested as she made her way below to the galley.

“Shhh! Do you hear that?”

The barely audible buzz of an outboard motor could be heard in the air. I grabbed the binoculars and started scanning the horizon as Alyson scurried back into the cockpit.

“There!” she shouted pointing to off our port bow.

Sure enough, the small silhouette of a pirro boat could be seen thudding over the waves.

“Probably, just a fishing boat” Alyson tried to assure us. Usually, that would be the case. Small fishing boats of locals and islanders was not an uncommon sight. But here… in the infamous Paria…it seemed unlikely.

As they approached closer we got a much better look at them…and unfortunately, they got a much better look at us. They were a swarthy looking group, leering at us with malicious intent as they slowly cruised by. Alyson grabbed my hand. We could spot their automatic weapons lying low in their boat. The sight of two white gringos alone on board sent them into a frenzy. They smiled at such easy victims and shouted taunts at us while waving their machetes in the air.

The rusty outboard of the pirro boat rattled with acceleration. The pirates passed to our stern and began to loop around to our starboard side. Soon we would be boarded, and then…?

We had seconds to act.

I reached to the cockpit locker to grab our handheld VHF radio. Maybe the Trinidadian Coast Guard could get here in time, but it was highly doubtful. As I threw open the lid I was struck by a sour odor. Some of bottles from our stash of beer had busted, and the entire locker was filled with a foul stench of beer, salt water, & gasoline. Then I spotted our one weapon we kept on board…our emergency flare gun. An idea began to quickly develop in my mind.

The pirates were now coming along side. I could hear their sinister voices and the outboard’s rev getting louder. I handed the flare gun to Alyson and took the helm.

“What’s this for?!?” she asked in surprise.

As the pirate vessel came along side, I pulled hard on the tiller. Our little boat “the Jaunt” turned quick on a beam reach ramming the side of the wooden fishing boat. The pirates were pissed. Alyson quickly trimmed in the sails and the Jaunt heeled over dramatically raising our starboard topside. A clever move that shielded us from the pirates momentarily.
The angry pirates fired on the Jaunt putting a few bullet holes in our hull and ripping the main sail before looping around to make another pass on us.

Taking advantage of the situation, I grabbed the gas can and a couple of empty beer bottles from the cockpit locker. “Fill” I told Alyson. The pirates were looping behind us once again. This time making an approach to our port side. The cockpit floor filled with gasoline while Alyson dumped the contents of our gas reserve into the two empty beer bottles.

We were both crouched low in the cockpit now. As we heard the pirates near the boat, I passed her the flare gun. “On my signal, shoot! Got it!”

Just at that moment, one of the pirates peered over into our boat. They were coming aboard. He spotted the flare gun in Alyson’s hands and the makeshift Molotov Cocktails. His eyes widened. He turned to shout something to his comrades in the boat alongside. Before, he could open his mouth I grabbed an oar. With as much force as I could muster I jabbed the oar into his throat, and sent the pirate reeling backwards into the Paria’s waters.

The commotion of a man overboard distracted the pirates. This was the moment. I nodded to Alyson. We both took a deep breath and time seemed to stand still.

“Now!”

We both leaped up from the cockpit floor. I took sight of the pirro and hurled the gasoline-filled beer bottle at the fuel tank of their outboard engine. It shattered into pieces sending glass and gasoline in every direction. The startled pirates looked up to stare at us in disbelief and then…

the small click of the flare gun trigger…

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Cartagena is home to some amazing knockers. Though plastic surgery is almost a national pastime here, we are not talking about the girls today. Sorry boys. Also known as “The Door To The Americas,” Cartagena boasts some of the most beautiful architecture in the Americas. Once you’ve strolled through the romantic streets of the old city you’ll understand why it’s been designated a world heritage site since 1984. We have walked these streets almost everyday since being in Colombia and still never tire of seeing something new in a building or plaza that we missed the last time around. The details that adorn the buildings and streets are what keep it so interesting. So today we will start with some of the details of the city that have fascinated us and from there pan out to the overall city and sights. I hope you find these knockers as fascinating as we did.

I would love to have one of these on my future door but I would need an amazing door to go along with it. Maybe something like this one here?

Of course with a bigger door I would need a bigger house!

I hope you’ve enjoyed these knockers as much as we do, next up we will be panning out for a larger overview and tour of the historic downtown Cargtagena. Happy Holidays everyone!

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Excerpt from Travelouge May 20, 2009

It was growing dark outside.  I could visibly see the fading light through the thatched roof of the hut where we were being held.  It had been quiet now for several hours.

Alyson sat across from me on the sandy floor.  Her concern shown in the terrified expression on her face.  Even in the dimly lit hut I could see it.  I had been wrestling with the bindings on my arms ever since we had been captured the day before.  My wrists began to chafe and bleed from rubbing of the coarse ropes.  If only I had my pocket knife, or anything really with which I could cut our ties.  It was no use.  We were too tightly bound, and all our clothes and possessions had been taken from us shortly before we were tied.  All we had been given to cover ourselves were crudely fashioned loin cloths made out of small animal hyde.  We had been given nothing else.  No food.  No water.  My stomach began to knot from the deprivation, or perhaps in was just my nerves.

Even if we had a way to free our bindings, it was doubtful that we could escape our captors.  There were too many and they were much too fleet.  Still it was our only hope.

“How long do you think they will keep us here” Alyson asked.  Her question broke the silence which had enveloped our prison for most of the afternoon.

I peered through the cracks in the bamboo walls of our cell.  It was nearly nightfall.  I could see the vague flickerings of torches already lit in the perimeters surrounding the dwelling where we were housed.

“Someone will find us soon” I assured her, though I had little belief in my own words.  I moved towards her, sliding across the dirt floor, and let her place her head upon my shoulder.

“Get some sleep.”  We had barely rested in the past 36 hours, but our minds were wracked with fear and uncertainty.  Sleep would be difficult.

Soon we began to hear the voices our our captors coming closer.  They were speaking in a language we could never discern.  For all we had been aware, the small island where we were being held was uninhabited.  A gross oversight on our part.  The thatched paneling which had been placed over the doorway  was unfastened and pulled away.

The shadowy figures of the menacing islanders entered our enclosure.  They made no gesture or attempt in communication with us in anyway.  They seemed to merely regard us as livestock, leading us wherever they needed us to go.  As we stepped out of the hut, we were led down a pathway in the dense jungle.  It took us to a clearing in which several of the same crude huts had been erected.  Their village I suppose.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alyson tensely studying their faces.  In the light of the numerous torches we were once again able to view the faces of our captors.  They were a frightening people.  The pale color of their skin was taunt across their lean bodies, giving them the appearance of a skeleton.  Their bodies were decorated with sharpened bones pierced through the skin and elaborate tattoos.  There were several of them and each one was more frightening than the rest.  They held large spears which they used to prod us along.

Without any discussion or explanation we were once again ushered along a narrow path through the dense forest.  Our procession walked in single file, being strung along by our escorts and prodded at the rear with the stony spears.  The path began to slope upwards and it was hard to keep our footing with our hands bound behind us.  Several times we fell and were poked with the blunt ends of our captors weapons until we could struggle to our feet again.  The dense vegetation on the jungle floor began to swallow the pathway we were traversing.  Soon the waist high grass had completely enveloped our view of the ground.  I could hear the scurrying noises of small animals at our feet.  Lizards or some type of rat I supposed.

We must have walked for over an hour.  The hike up the mountain side became gradually steeper as we went.  Our bare feet ached from the unseen stones and branches that lay beneath the thick grass.  Our bodies were covered with scratches and bruises from our continual falls, and the sand in my mouth only increased my thirst.  Soon we began to hear the faint sounds of drums, and a dim light was visible over the next hill.  My heart began to race with anticipation of what these brutal tribesmen had planned for us.  I thought for a moment that I could turn on our assailants to create a diversion.  Perhaps an impromptu struggle could give Alyson a chance to escape, but it was unlikely.  We were weak from deprivation, and an attempt at escape would only end badly for both of us.

Soon we came to the top of the mountain and our purpose here became horrifyingly evident.  The hard, stony ground stretched out from beneath the flourishing jungle and jutted into the air forming the precarious ledge of a cliff.  This was the end of the pathway, but not the end of our long walk.  Hundreds of yards below the cliffs ledge bubbled a large lake of sizzling lava.  The active belly of the island’s volcano.  The infamous landmark behind the name “Isla de Fuego“.  The Island of Fire.

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Jaunting Tales with Aly and John

 
Well, we haven’t posted lately, but with good reason.  Alyson has been working diligently to improve the site by adding RSS feed and twitter capabilities.  She really has done an amazing job so far.  I too have been busy packing away our gear and tying up all the loose ends here before we depart (Just 2 weeks left now!)  

Alyson has been really pushing me to write some new content for our blog.  It has occurred to me that the constant management of our site may become tiresome once we begin our travels.  In an attempt to make it more fun for me, I have decided to incorporate some design work along with my writing.  I’ve always been better at expressing myself with drawings as opposed to words anyways.  So I now present what I am referring to as my ‘Graphic Blog’.  I’m not sure if Graphic Blogs currently exist, but as long as graphic novels are so popular, then why not.  And if this is the first Graphic Blog to be attempted, then I will be happy to be heralded as the man who coined the term.  I like to think of myself as a pioneer in the realm of graphic blogging.  

I hope you will enjoy our “Jaunting Tales”, as it will give me an excuse to continue working on the fun projects while Alyson continues to struggle with HTML, PHP, CSS and other acronyms I can’t decipher.

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