Author: Igor

After weeks surrounded by sea and palm-fringed islands, the crew of SV Oceanolog traded the sound of waves for cobblestones as we stepped into the heart of Panama City’s historic district—Casco Viejo. This UNESCO World Heritage site is a captivating blend of colonial architecture, colorful plazas, fading grandeur, and vibrant street life.

Wandering its narrow streets, we felt like time travelers: every corner told a story. Restored mansions now house cafés and boutique hotels, while weathered buildings still wear their centuries with quiet dignity. The contrast between peeling paint and polished marble, broken shutters and rooftop cocktails, was oddly harmonious. It was a place where the past didn’t compete with the present—it simply lived alongside it.

One of the highlights of our visit was climbing the bell tower of the San Francisco Church, one of the oldest churches in the city. After navigating a winding staircase and several creaky wooden steps, we emerged to a panoramic view that took our breath away. From the top, we could see all of Casco Viejo spread out below—terracotta rooftops, lush courtyards, bustling plazas—and beyond, the glittering skyline of modern Panama City and the distant curve of the Panama Canal.

It was a moment of perspective, both literal and symbolic. Up there, wind in our hair and history underfoot, we were reminded of the intricate connections between land and sea, old and new, adventure and reflection.

Casco Viejo offered us more than a break from the boat—it was a walk through centuries of culture, resilience, and reinvention. And as we descended from the bell tower and made our way back to the marina, we carried with us not only the view, but the sense of how every voyage—no matter how salty—needs an anchoring in history.

During our stay at Shelter Bay Marina, we had the unique opportunity to visit the nearby ruins of Fort Sherman—a sprawling coastal defense complex built by the United States in the early 20th century to protect the northern entrance of the Panama Canal.

Constructed just before World War I, Fort Sherman was part of a broader network of fortifications guarding the canal from both land and sea. Tucked away in the jungle near Colón, these overgrown ruins now stand as silent witnesses to a time when global powers invested enormous resources in defending strategic maritime routes.

Walking through the site felt like stepping back in time. Concrete bunkers and massive gun emplacements—now slowly being reclaimed by the rainforest—hint at the scale and ambition of the original installation. Moss-covered walls, rusting rail tracks, and empty observation towers evoke images of soldiers stationed here to watch for threats from sea or air.

Though nature has taken its toll, the site retains a haunting beauty. Vines curl around the reinforced walls, and tropical birds now patrol where artillery once stood. It’s easy to forget that this peaceful, green space was once on high alert, guarding one of the most critical waterways in the world.

For us, the visit was both fascinating and sobering. The Panama Canal has always been more than a route between two oceans—it’s a geopolitical lifeline. Fort Sherman reminds us of the strategic importance of this narrow strip of land, and of the human effort once poured into its defense.

Today, Fort Sherman is largely abandoned, its history quietly fading beneath the canopy. But for those who take the time to explore it, the fort offers a powerful glimpse into the military past of the Panama Canal Zone—and a chance to reflect on how the world’s priorities have changed.

Sometimes, the sea takes you where the soul needs to go. That’s what we told ourselves when SV Oceanolog dropped anchor in Portobelo, expecting little more than a sleepy Caribbean town and a few colonial forts. What we found instead was a riot of color, sound, and cultural fire—the Festival of Diablos and Congos, an explosion of Afro-Caribbean identity and theatrical rebellion we hadn’t planned on attending… but couldn’t tear ourselves away from.

It started with a drumbeat.

From the deck, we heard a faint, rhythmic thudding echo through the hills, like thunder with a pulse. Curious, we took the dinghy ashore, expecting perhaps a religious procession or school parade. What we found was the town transformed—no, possessed—by a pageant that blurred the line between street theatre and spiritual ritual.

Portobelo’s narrow lanes were teeming with Diablos—devils in horned masks, their faces grotesque with snarls, their bodies wrapped in red and black, wielding whips and unleashing high-pitched cackles. Around them danced the Congos, dressed in vibrant, patchwork clothes, their movements mocking and exaggerated, as they resisted, taunted, and ultimately overcame the devils with laughter, music, and satire.

We stumbled into the heart of the action, wide-eyed and slightly dazed, like accidental time travelers who’d arrived at a ritual centuries in the making. The Diablos y Congos Festival is no carnival—it’s a living, breathing performance of history. It dramatizes the struggle between African slaves and Spanish colonizers, with the Congos symbolizing the spirit of rebellion and resistance. The devils, naturally, are the oppressors.

Through it all, the drumming never stopped. It came from every street corner, a syncopated heartbeat that held the day together, keeping tempo with the wild choreography of rebellion. We visited the two forts on the hillside later that afternoon, sweating and smiling, our legs sore from dancing and our heads full of stories. Climbing to the highest point, we looked down on the town and the bay beyond, SV Oceanolog rocking gently in the harbor like she, too, was tapping her keel in time with the drums.

That night, we sat on deck as the sun set behind the jungle-draped hills, still hearing echoes of laughter, drums, and songs, followed by spectacular fireworks. We hadn’t planned to witness one of Panama’s most important cultural festivals, which happens once every two years. We didn’t even know it was happening.

But the best parts of a voyage are rarely on the itinerary.

And this—this wild, whirling day of devils, resistance, music, and dance—was unforgettable.