Sailing down the Colombian coast, big, grey, dusky mountains so close by. The mist is rising up the gullies and ridges, looks like bushfire smoke, wreathed in the trees, slowly tearing itself away, spiralling up to join the massive thunderhead, taking up half the sky, a gigantic slow motion explosion, billowing out, twisting and contorting, blindingly white, so pure and perfect, a larger-than-life, laundry detergent commercial. Spooky bit of mainland Colombia here. The Darien. Impassable, no roads, incredibly steep mountains, dangerous swamps and lots of people with guns: Colombian police and military, their Panamanian counterparts, the guerrillas, the cartels’ militia, CIA, FBI, DHS, KGB, ASIO(?)…it’s the bit of Colombia that borders Panama, the link between Central and South America, and you can’t get thru’. 4 weeks at sea, had a burger at the marina cafe, first
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