Portobello - Forts, Forts and more Forts

Portobello is famous for many reasons.  The bay was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1502, is believed to be the final resting place of Sir Frances Drake after he died of dysentery at sea, and for three centuries was one of the (if not the) main transhipment centres in the Caribbean, transferring South and Central American riches back to Europe.  The customs house at Portobello, built in 1630, was the place where the riches were counted and royal fees paid.  For a century, a third of all the gold in the world passed through this spot.

(Read more: http://www.frommers.com/destinations/portobelo/3755010029.html#ixzz2KLGJHPfZ)

In 1980 the ruins of the Spanish colonial fortifications and Fort San Lorenzo were declared a USESCO world heritage site.

We arrive in Portobello after a night’s stop over in Isla Linton.  The bay is packed with cruisers and we pick out a few that we know.   One of these is Blue Kai, a large Catamaran with Mum, Dad and two kids on board.  We have been meeting up with Blue Kai since Dominica, nearly a year ago.  We head over and get the low down on the place. 

We tie up at the cruiser’s dinghy dock at the centre of town, after being told to avoid the public dinghy dock that is rumoured to be unsafe. All the cruiser dinghies are here, but it sure doesn’t look like the ideal place to leave your dinghy.

The "safe" Dinghy Dock at Portobello

At the end of the dinghy dock alley, we arrive right in the middle of town, by the famous Customs House.  The roads are cobbled stones and the buildings old and in Spanish style.  Stray dogs roam the streets, and people are sitting on the pavement, leaning up against the side of buildings.  It is our first real taste of a Spanish town, and we greet the passers-by with “Buenos Dias” or “Hola”. 

Despite being very poor, the locals can still afford satellite TV

We visit the Church where the statute of the Black Christ of Portobello reins.  Every October 21 there is a festival for the Black Christ of Portobello and people walk on their knees from as far as Costa Rica to pay their respects.  We wander through the tall wooden doors of the Church.  Inside, a girl is singing in the corner as her brother plays along on his guitar.  At the left hand side of the pulpit, we see the life size statue, encased in a glass viewing box, wearing a purple velveteen robe and carrying a gold painted cross.   On the wall beside us I notice a smaller statue of the Black Christ hanging from the cross, his right side having a large gash and exposing his rib bones.  Below this I am surprised to see another life size statute encased in a glass box.  This time the Black Christ is horizontal, seemingly in a coffin, with his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes closed.  We don’t feel right taking any pictures inside.

Back out in the street, we make our way up the hill to Captain Jack’s bar to send off a few emails. 

Panama Bus 

The next day, we hear Blue Kai on the radio arranging a day out for the “Kid Boats”.  There are an extraordinary amount of boats with kids on board in this bay.  Six boats or more respond and a trip up the river is planned.  We consider attempting to get on the bandwagon; surely we still count as kids, right?  We peek out the window when the rendezvous time arrives and decide that the age limit is 12, so give it a miss.

Once all the kids have exited the river and made their way home, we make a trip up the river ourselves.  The river is lined with tropical plants, many of which I recognise having planted our front garden in New Zealand with them.  We see a few birds and fish and enjoy the “land smell” around the river.  

The following day is dedicated to forts, of which there are many in Portobello.  We begin with the fort closest to the boat, on the southern side of the bay.  By the time we have explored and made it to the top of the hill, the Kid Boats arrive.  A swarm of small people run up the hill at triple the pace we had managed.  Once atop the hill they giggle, point and run around, none of them seemingly out of breath.  They look down the “bottomless pit” and balance along the high fort wall with sheer drop on one side, arms out to the side and completing the odd jump like a gymnast. 

On our way back down the hill we meet up with the parents who are still attempting the uphill climb.  We chat and swap information – many of them are heading across the pacific at the same time as us.  We cross the fort at the bottom of the hill and head back towards the dinghies.  One of the Dad’s leads us a different way than what we had taken, which includes a walk over a rotten looking plank between the two sides of the moat. I hesitate, looking down at the three-metre drop.  The Dad is still merrily continuing his conversation with us as he strides across the plank.  He turns around and sees I haven’t followed.  In true Dad style, he holds out his hands towards me and tells me to look at him and not look down.  I follow his advice and manage it safely across.  I breathe a sigh of relief, only to be gobsmacked by a 5 year old child happily skipping across the same plank, followed by an older child managing to jump the distance without the use of the plank at all.  I’m getting old.

We visit another three forts that day, one up an extremely steep hill.  Luckily there were no kids around to show me up this time.

Not even half way up

That night, our last in Portobello, we head back up the river just before sun set to try our luck fishing.  We had heard it was like shooting fish in a barrel.  We end up empty handed and blame it on our fishing lures, which are designed for trawling and not for river fishing.  I hear what I think is a pack of wild dogs howling as the sun goes down.  It's really loud and aggressive, and there are heaps of them out there.  I find out later that it wasn't dogs, but monkeys making the noise. I forget bug repellant and am eaten alive by no-see-ums.  Gary counts 29 bites on one thigh alone.   Itchy and hungry, we head back to the boat.