Halfway down the dock, I became distracted by some bioluminescent algae in the water. As I leant over to inspect the phenomenon, my sunglasses slipped from their mooring atop my head. Following in their wake, I too fell into the drink. All of this, I was forced to reconcile in the growing dawn given my precarious sleeping arrangement, the missing inventory of one pair of sunglasses, and a single lonely flip flop on the dock. My indiscreet movements on deck and a similar fog aroused Kerstin and Jiorgos, who seemed equally confused as to their return to the vessel. They did however know that they had respectfully forgone their bizarre invitation and that it was time to leave this strange outpost.

There were two things impeding that possibility. One was a Zarpe, a clearance document used in Latin American countries to monitor the movements of a vessel. Essentially, if you arrive anywhere in Latin America without a Zarpe, you can consider yourself indefinitely detained. The second, our inglorious patron was due to return. He was intending to visit San Juan Del Sur to inspect some real estate opportunities there. Once both were on board, we bade a sheepish farewell to the marina staff and the broken hearted crew of the S.Y. Swinger, carefully making our way back out to sea.

The Pacific Ocean, until now had been quite friendly to us. In fact, all of our reading of the horrendous accounts of those that had gone this way before left us feeling as though they were mere landsmen, who exaggerated the difficulties of these waters. I suppose we had been lulled into a sense of false confidence. I recall Jiorgos upon reaching deep water again saying,