Jumble Ventures: San Andrés

Sometime in April

Our first real taste of the Caribbean was a sour one. JUMBLE had been moored or in flat water for over a month. We weren't prepared for the short, steep seas that the Western Caribbean is famous for. This was a lesson in picking the right weather window.

For 44 hours we had wind just forward of the beam, seas from 6' to 10' and sustained winds from 12 to 25 knots, some gusts in squalls. We left the Chagres around noon and had milder conditions the first day. By midnight, the wind picked up and the waves became unpleasant. JUMBLE ran an 85% jib, mizzen and double-reefed or furled main. It's hard to describe the difference between the mild, long period 8-footers we've seen in the Pacific and the short, square waves of the Caribbean. The wind never died, but blew from NE and ENE all day and night. There was some lightning, but no rain. The moon made no appearance.

I took few pictures in between chucking

I discovered that you can easily poison yourself with dimenhydrinate (original Dramamine). Seasickness wasn't much of a problem in the Pacific, but I've had good results with meclazine (Less-Drowsy Dramamine) in the past. All we were able to find in Central America was dimenhydrinate. We didn't look hard enough, I think.

Anyway, I felt wretched by the first night watch and went through the puke-recover-puke cycle for the rest of the trip. This sucked, so I tried dosing with dimenhydrinate to get things under control. The pills were poor quality and would dissolve, with a godawful taste, quickly, so I had a hard time swallowing them without another bought of retching. A quick, stomach-settling, dose of Jello right after a vomit session was glorious and I would recommend having some on hand if you have a refrigerator on board. Not only does Jello provide a little hydration, but it helps avoid that lousy empty-stomach feeling that goes along with not eating or sleeping. Eventually, I lost track of how much dimenhydrate I was taking due to of lack of sleep and uncertainty over how much actually made it down.

By the second night, I was hearing the occasional voice out in the cockpit. The squeaking of the self-steering would turn into an insistent nonsensical phrase or greeting: "Hello, Susan! Hello, Susan!" or something like that. These mini-hallucinations matched my usual 10-15 minute cockpit check, so they weren't very distressing. Anna was feeling better and offered to take longer watches. I didn't want to do this. It was better to keep at least one of us reasonably fit and I wasn't sleeping anyway. Between leeway and the wind veering north occasionally, we were getting pushed inside our rhumb line to Providencia, our intended destination, and I was becoming concerned that we wouldn't make San Andres. We toyed with the sails and self-steering, navigated through Cayo Albuquerque and Cayo Bolivar and raised San Andres in the early morning of the third day, with dolphins swimming us in and lighter winds. Anna noted my big pupils and was concerned, but I was already feeling better.

Not much left of this one

One of the more intact wrecks

The entrance to San Andres harbor is extremely well buoyed, with half a dozen visible wrecks to keep you alert of the barrier reef. There were a few cruising sailboats and many fishing trawlers in the shallow (5'-10') anchorage. The water was crystal clear. We watched JUMBLE's anchor dig into the bottom. Our preferred stop was Providencia, a less-populated island 50 miles further north and east, but San Andres was good enough. We made 220 miles in 44 hours, close reaching: good time for JUMBLE. We swapped tales with an English crew on a Beneteau 50. Their instruments recorded gusts in the mid-30 knot range. Half the crew jumped ship and the owners abandoned their plan of making it to Grand Cayman. So, all in all, we didn't feel too bad about getting our asses kicked.

San Andres is an cool place. It's a good rest stop if you're northbound in the Western Caribbean, but its real popularity is as a tourist party/duty-free shopping destination. The vast majority of the tourists are mainland Columbian, with a fair number of Europeans. The facilities and entertainment are not up to first world standards. For broke sailors, this is awesome. The islanders are friendly, there aren't a bunch of posh megayacht or cruise ship saps and it's all very casual. If you wander around the residential areas, things look as run-down as anywhere in Central America, but without the vaguely threatening vibe you sometimes get. Cocaine and weed are supposed to be a major draw for tourists. San Andres is an intermediate point for cocaine on its way to the USA and there's a local Rasta culture with close ties to Jamaica. Apparently, both drugs are dirt cheap and the discotheques run all night, but we didn't indulge, nor were we propositioned.

Hotels and shops on North End

We rented an ATV one day and had a blast

Most of the traffic is scooters, golf-carts or motorcycles

Wading in-between watering holes, paddleboats for the timid

Nice platforms over the sharp coral on the west side

Tranquil west side of the island

We played pool most nights at Club Nautico

San Andres islanders were mostly Raizal (English-speaking, Protestant Afro-Caribbeans) until the last few decades. They're now a minority due to immigration from the Columbian mainland, which began with the building of an airport in the 1950s and the promotion of the island as a tourist destination. We only dove the eastern reefs, which are damaged from constant anchoring and very picked-over; however, the western side of the island is much less busy and sheltered from the 24/7 trade winds. Supposedly, the diving there is world-class. On either side the visibility is amazing and the water warm. A wetsuit is entirely optional, but a thin wetsuit beats sunscreen.