And not a hat in sight

9 December 2008

Panama Canal

I woke up dazed and confused this morning, not such a strange state of being for me when I’m awake, but I can cope with it then. This morning there was an added layer of confusion that wasn’t entirely my fault.

As I write this I am standing in the cage, a few people playing the machines and even fewer sitting at the tables. If I crane my neck around the end of the cage I can see land going past at a surprisingly close distance. We are in the Panama Canal right now, moving from the east coast of the American continent to the west coast and shaving a slight 11,000 kms (7,000 miles) off the trip if we’d been forced to do it the long way around the bottom of South America.

We entered the canal early this morning and should be exiting the other side sometime this afternoon. I guess the majority of people are out on the decks at the moment, watching the “eighth wonder of the modern world” go by, which would explain why it’s so quiet in here, but it was entering the canal this morning that gave me all the problems.

I have a habit when I go to sleep of checking my roster to see what time I start the next day, setting my alarm appropriately, reading for a little while, re-checking my alarm is set properly and then going to sleep. So far I haven’t missed a shift or even been late and I certainly haven’t missed a port. This morning I was woken up by the sound and vibration of the manoeuvring engines, the ones that move us sideways and do the finer navigating when we dock. I don’t know what it sounds like in the passenger cabins but in mine, down in the bowels of the ship, it is a very distinctive noise and a vibration that is different from all the others that rattle my teeth while I’m lying down. This morning I heard that noise and felt that vibration and that state of dazed and confused set in. It shouldn’t have been there then. I had my alarm set for a sea day and an early start and if we were docking then something was wrong. My heart started that deep down almost painful beating that comes with sudden bursts of fear or adrenalin, my eyes leapt open and I fumbled for my alarm in the dark. Had I slept so long that I’d missed the entire day? Had I read the roster wrong and was in danger of missing a port? Had I lost the plot entirely and was just hearing (and feeling) things in the dark? All possibilities as I lay there trying to figure out what day it was, what time it was and whether it was am or pm.

It was about 5.30 in the morning and I had only been asleep for roughly 4 hours, probably in that deepest stage of sleep where the dreams are so vivid and real if you get woken up during one and where the confusion is so much more if you get woken unexpectedly. By the time I had figured out the day and the time, listened to the sounds for a while to make sure that I wasn’t imagining or dreaming them, and then realised that it was probably because we were getting ready to enter the first lock on the canal, I was wide awake and my heart rate had dropped to its normal unhealthy rate. I still had a few hours available to me for sleep but it didn’t come easily and I managed to do no more than doze until the alarm went off at its real and appropriate time. If I’m more dazed and confused today than I normally am then I guess I have an excuse. Or maybe no one will notice a difference.

But enough of my impaired mental state and on to the canal itself.

I’m not sure exactly what I expected of the Panama Canal. I’ve probably seen documentaries about it, I’m a prodigious devourer of documentaries and a tale of death, destruction and international intrigue like the one that led to this canal is not a story that I would pass up. The problem is my goldfish like memory keeps me from retaining too many of the details and the only images I could dredge up were probably a combination of the iconic “ships entering a lock” type combined with what I think a man made canal should look like.

My most common mental image of a canal is that of the English and French ones I’ve seen on TV and they are usually narrow, straight, with neat banks made of stone or concrete or, at the very least, shaped in some way that makes it obvious they are manmade. That is not the case here. Admittedly I can only see out one side of the ship at the moment, the port side to go all nautical for a second, but it feels as if we could be passing any natural piece of riverbank and simply navigating up any river with undergrowth down to the water’s edge. There are few signs of straightness about the banks, little bays dig into the jungle and little peninsulas jut out into the river.

I call it a river deliberately because that is what it could be, standing here and staring out the window. The water is a muddy, greeny brown colour and there is little sign of anything manmade on the banks apart from an occasional path hacked into a clearing or a regular line of metal power or phone pylons strung with wire that emerge from the green at intervals to follow along with us before diving back into the trees.

The really strange thing is to suddenly have another ship pass us. I’m yet to see another cruise ship but a number of container ships have gone by the opposite direction, passing so close that it almost feels like I could throw a rock and hit the captain of the other ship as he stands on his bridge. It is a weird feeling after so long of sailing with nothing but ocean around except maybe the hazy view of a distant island. There is also the strange dichotomy of going from some place so claustrophobic and confining to suddenly burst out the other side into the Pacific and probably the most open space that it’s possible for a ship to encounter.

At the moment, as I turn to look out the window, there are true signs of civilisation and the ships’ Daily Program says that we should be passing Gamboa.

I’m not sure what Gamboa is but it appears to be a town, with cleared level ground along the bank, cars on a road and a dockyard with cranes, barges tugs and buildings. As we approach through an industrial area I am yet to see any sign of a residential area but to have this place suddenly appear, with its road and cars, people and buildings is a little strange and jarring after having stared at so much jungle.

But as soon as we’ve entered we’re past and, apart from a railway line that followed us for a short while, we are back to jungle passing the window.

Time for a lunch break. If I can find a table I should have a better view than the one I have leaning over the computer and the note counter.

Back from lunch and a word of advice if you should ever find yourself transiting the Panama Canal on a ship. Move around. The view from one side is completely different than the view from the other.

Looking out the windows of the casino and only being able to see the port side would give you the impression that you are sailing through little but jungle. The view out the starboard side is one of the manmade constructions I thought I would see. There are buildings, roads, people and a definite sign of mechanical attacks upon the landscape as the canal was dug from the soil. Quite a stark contrast as I sat with my stroganoff and my waldorf salad. Thick jungle was visible through a window on one side and bare rock walls loomed up on the other. There is also much current construction as the canal is widened to try and keep it up to date with the size of 21st century ships. Heavy machinery was scraping back the greenery along the bank.

We are now approaching the Pedro Miguel Locks and I better get myself ready for when the head cashier arrives to give me a rest break. I think I may have to dig my camera out and venture up on deck for a better look and a few photo ops. We get to Panama City sometime this evening (depending on traffic through the locks) and, since I have port manning tomorrow, tonight is my only chance to see the town, if I decide to venture out after dark.