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Pepita |
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El VeleroPepita navega en San Blas desde 1997!
La Tripulación |
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Desde Noviembre 2006. Gilbert, es el capitan, frances, del catamaran Pepita: antes, el era el encargado de yates en Florida y de entregarlos de la costa oeste al este de los Estados Unidos. Habla perfectamente espanol e ingles. Gilbert trata sus huéspedes con mucha cortesia y les mostrara lo mejor de San Blas (anclajes desiertos, mejor lugares para pescar y bucear, etc...) El mantenimiento del barco y hacer pasar a sus huéspedes unas vacaciones casuales e inolvidables son sus prioridades. Le gusta mucho la cocina: su azafata Isabela, Chilena, quien habla ingles y aleman, prepara langostas, centollos y pescados como un chef! Y ella conoce muchas mas recetas... Isabela es agradable y refinada Los dos van a tratarlos como reyes en San Blas!!
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Algunas Fotos |
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Testimonios March 3, 2006 February 20, 2006 15 de febrero del 2006 September 12, 2005 Click on the image below to see larger version: |
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July 13, 2001 Just sit right back and you'll hear the tale, the tale of an awesome trip, that started from a tropic port, aboard a not-so-tiny catamaran ship. The mate was a Colombian sailing man, the skipper a chef from France, and six passengers set sail last week for a four-day tour, a four-day tour... The weather never, ever got rough, the catamaran was snug, if not for the molas they all bought, the Kunas would have bummed -- the Kunas would have bummed... But the passengers have returned now with tans and mighty smiles... They're Aquaman and Homer too, Pancake Princess - a young bride, Sunscreen Goddess, Prairie Dog and bd-babe, here at Embassy Panama! Now that we've dispensed with our theme song, it's time to recount our adventures as intrepid party warriors during our getaway last week to San Blas. The trip began with a (gasp!) 4 a.m. buzzing of the alarm clock, but no one minded much. After all, an early departure was required to make the uneventful flight to Corazon de Jesus, where we were greeted by a little police officer who craved passport and phone numbers. More importantly, the always-smiling first mate, Marcos, and the extraordinary skipper/Paul Prudhomme of the seas, Jerome, were also there to gather our bags and to welcome us aboard the lovely "Pepita" catamaran. After dropping our bags in the cozy cabins, we donned swimsuits and sunscreen. A glamorous and well-dressed member of our gang repeated the latter process with such religious regularity that she acquired a new name, Sunscreen Goddess. Jerome fed us a heavenly breakfast - it was to be the first of many splendid meals aboard "Pepita" - then pulled up anchor and we set off for Cayo Hollandes. En route, Jerome cast a line to the sea and soon felt a major tug. He battled fifteen minutes, and then to our enduring amazement, reeled in a five-foot lemon shark. While we alternately gasped and clicked photos, Marcos approached with pliers and calmly wrenched the now-mangled fishhook from the shark's gums and needle-sharp teeth, releasing it back into the ocean. Homer (more on him later) is convinced he saw Marcos slip the shark $5 and whisper, "See you next week!" but bd-babe refuses to believe it. Cayo Hollandes turned out to be a gorgeous island surrounded by calm and clear waters, perfect for snorkeling and fishing. Another member of the party made himself fairly scarce here, rarely leaving the water (except to devour Jerome's artistry) and so earned himself the unoriginal but deserved name of Aquaman. In fact, Aquaman joined Jerome and Marcos in underwater fishing with harpoons for dinner. Mercifully, Jerome speared us a delicious "pargo" because Aquaman came home empty handed. It was to be the first of several days of frustration for him. Several rum and cokes later, and maybe a cigar or two, and our first day had come to an end.
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Through San Blas's crystalline waters, we saw several nurse sharks, a manta ray that was easily four feet across, and enough starfish to fill the skies. Rowing is hungry work, so Jerome whipped up a mid-morning snack to tide us over until lunch. We came to count on his little snacks and treats as the days went by! No one seemed to relish them more than a member of our party who would pop his head unexpectedly out his cabin's window hatch - which was on the ship's deck - to ask if the next meal was ready or if someone could hand him a beer. Prairie Dog's appetite for meals was never lessened by the abundant snacks. And none of us turned down lunch that day - steaks barbequed on the grill on an island we swam to, and where we began some rather impressive shell collections. With some hitchhiking Dutch tourists on board (whom we christened "Hans and Franz" behind their backs), we set off after lunch for the island of Kuanidup. As we sailed, a certain member of our party sat aft with her Discman, grooving to tunes by a certain aging but still phenomenal rock artist whose "whiny" voice no one else could tolerate. Our traveling companion's preference for the extremely talented Mr. Dylan earned Her name bd-babe. After depositing Hans and Franz on Kuanidup and cadging a cold-water shower from the Kunas who run the hotel there, we watched Aquaman try - again unsuccessfully - to land us some dinner. The resourceful Jerome delivered another masterpiece from supplies in the ship's galley. But the greatest work of art that evening was displayed on a dress-for-success t-shirt that proudly featured a head cat-scan view of the immortal Mr. Simpson, and that instantly earned its owner the name Homer. More rum & cokes and more cigars, a few games of backgammon, and again it was bedtime. |
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