Page 29 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
It didn’t take long to find the ruins—what used to be Fort Sherman, an American military base built over a hundred years ago.
It had been abandoned for a long time, and the jungle was reclaiming the land. The five of us wandered through the base, tramping down on leaves and empty shell casings all over the ground. Everyone had brought headlamps except for me. Eivind grabbed my hand and pulled me to explore with him.
Up and down we went, trodding stone staircases to the roofs and exploring dark passages. We found jail cells for prisoners and a chapel for the faithful. In tunnels that reeked of guano, bats flew past in the darkness.
Mortar bases were strategically located in some of the buildings, their barrels gone, but identifiable by their large round embrasures.
Eivind stood behind one and brought his fists up, guiding an invisible weapon. He mimicked the sounds of gunfire, his arms shaking from his imaginary rapid-fire weapon.
He peered as though looking through a scope. “What do you suppose they were fighting anyway?”
“I think it was a training base. The US was training its men in jungle warfare.”
He grunted. “That was certainly not something I trained for in Norway.”
“What? You were in the military?”
“Do not sound so surprised. In Norway, everyone must apply. I do not know the word in English.”
“Conscription?”
“Is that what it is?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Conscription. I can’t picture you in the military.”
Eivind straightened up and stepped closer. He cocked his head at me. “Why?”
“I guess I think of military men like our ANZAC veterans. Gruff and hard. Older.”
Eivind’s voice dropped. “You don’t think I’m hard?” He took a step closer and I backed up.
“Well, no, of course I think you’re hard. I mean, nothardhard, but tough.”
Eivind took another step forward, and I backed up more, hitting the wall. He brought his arms up on either side of my head. Then I made the mistake of putting my hands on his biceps.
“Definitely hard,” I squeaked.
Eivind leaned in and pressed a kiss just beneath my ear. He inhaled deeply before taking a step back. “Everyone must apply, but no one serves unless they want to. I served because Jonas had done his service too. He said it was our duty.”
I rebuilt myself from the puddle of Lila on the ground and nodded. Quieter, darker Jonas would be serious about military service.
Eivind gestured onward, grabbing my hand, and we emerged from the bunker to find the rest of the crew seated on a grassy patch, snacking. I dragged Eivind to join them and Marcella gave me a biscuit from her plastic bin—she had well over a dozen chocolate chip oatmeal biscuits. I tried to pull my hand back, but Eivind ignored me and I ate with one hand.
The longer we sat in silence, the more noises the jungle made. I leaned against Eivind and closed my eyes, listening to the whistles and rustles around us and Eivind devouring cookies. It reminded me of a white noise machine, and I relaxed against him.
Before I could pass out, Eivind nudged me, and we all dusted ourselves off to head back home. I returned toSilver Liningfor dinner, and spent the next day, my last with Edith and Peter before moving aboardEik, hung over.
Thirteen
I was, quite possibly, vibrating from excitement. Today was the day. I was moving on boardEik, and we were starting our transit of the Panama Canal. I put up a post on Facebook with a link to the webcams and our approximate transit time, and I sent the same information to my parents via email, plus I had a conversation with my mum before packing up my stuff onSilver Lining. I gave Peter and Edith a few gifts: some of Edith’s favorite chocolates to replenish the supply I’d been dipping into and a collection of random candy bars.
We tearfully hugged goodbye, and I promised to email them updates. Edith said cruising friendships are like jack-in-the-boxes: you never knew when they would pop up again. I hoped she was right.
I’d walked the docks with my stubby last night, saying goodbye to everyone who’d ever invited me on board for a drink or dinner, anyone who’d performed at open mic night or played dominoes with me. Many of them gave me boat cards—business cards, but with the name of their boat and their contact info—and told me to keep in touch.
I had flopped onto my bed afterward and cried a little. I’d become attached to these people, this place, this lifestyle. I thought about how cruisers like Peter and Edith were always on the move, finding tight-knit groups like this one and then moving on. How could they keep that up?
It helped that they had each other. Peter and Edith were my life goals: the idea that you could have someone you were willing to live with in a small space for years, making fast but fleeting friendships as you went.
