While at the marina offices, Damjan met Dan, an Australian who had purchased a used Beneteau 43 (or similar, around 15 years old) in the US and was sailing it to Australia to sell, hoping to profit from the price difference. He was traveling with his girlfriend. Dan had decided to handle the canal paperwork himself rather than hire an agent like Magenta. This seemed complicated, involving multiple trips to Panama City, dealing with Spanish bureaucracy, and often missing documents.



I spent my free time exploring the jungle around Fort Sherman, using an old map from the 1930s to locate former batteries, gun emplacements, and fortifications. I managed to find them all, though they were largely overgrown. One day, I ventured deeper into the jungle and found a battery with a good view of the sea. I discovered online what type of artillery had been installed there. Suddenly, I noticed a large group of monkeys around me. They became increasingly vocal, started urinating from the trees, and even threw branches. Recalling childhood survival shows, I realized I had entered their territory and was perceived as a threat. I decided to retreat.


On another occasion, I found some underground fortifications and buildings, but access was restricted. In that area, I spotted several sloths, including a mother and baby, as well as anteaters and other unfamiliar animals and large spiders. The ant colonies, especially the leafcutter ants, were fascinating to watch.


I once attempted to explore some administrative buildings, assuming they were abandoned. I rode my bicycle but found a “no trespassing” sign, as the road led to an active airstrip within the base. I left my bike and went through the woods. I reached the buildings, which were clearly in use; I saw soldiers playing soccer. As I turned a corner, I encountered two shirtless, sweaty soldiers returning from their game. We stood facing each other, a meter apart, in mutual surprise. They spoke no English, and I knew only a few words of Spanish. I tried to explain I was a tourist, pointing to the marina and my boat. One soldier became agitated, mentioning passports, while the other touched his holstered pistol. I continued to explain, showing my empty pockets. Fortunately, I hadn’t brought my camera, which could have made the situation worse. Eventually, the situation calmed down, they told me it was a “prohibido” zone, and I retreated. I realized afterward how much trouble I could have been in if they had checked my passport and noticed the lack of an entry stamp.

I then restricted my jungle explorations to the area to the right of the marina, while the Coast Guard and military remained on the left. Once, while returning from a walk, I was stopped by several men who spoke to me in Spanish. Realizing my limited Spanish and their limited English, I told them I spoke English. They were delighted and asked if I would give them a tour of the rainforest. They asked the price for six people. I agreed and we set off. I told them what I had learned about Fort Sherman. During our conversation, I discovered they were Danish and were also sailing to Australia. They were amazed to learn I was also docked at the marina. They had assumed I was a local. We had a good laugh, and I continued the tour. I told Damjan I had become a tour guide and joked about making flyers. The Danes bought us dinner, which was generous.






The days continued in Colon, Shelter Bay, and Panama City as we awaited February 13th.