Sail away on a winters day/With fate as malleable as clay/But ships are fallible I say/And the nautical like all things fade

This entry should just be pictures. Pictures that still do not do sailing through 350 (well, 365, one for each day of the year) sparsely populated, ever shifting, sand islands justice. But there are no pictures of dolphins, and so instead there's this.

Repetition: To get a boat from Panama to Colombia is not completely free of difficulty. These are not chartered boats, there is no official advice. One way is to head down Captain Jack's bar in Portobello, talk to some sea captains until you find one who doesn't reek of alcohol or give the impression of being a complete scoundrel and start negotiating a price and date of departure. I have no experience of sailing, I can't tell a scoundrel from a hero, I have visions of sawdust floors, reptile skin and barely concealed weaponry. I have access to the internet. I can cheat.

So, instead I get to my Panama City hostel, the one I picked after hearing rumours of a boat departure schedule. I note the 3 boats going on my departure date. I google. I e-mail the only Colombian hostel that may have knowledge about boats. I wait. I get the information back, they've only heard of 2 of the boats, and recommend them both. I ring up captain 1. I ask a series of questions from my guidebook, without really knowing what the right answers are. The guy sounds good, the price is as expected. The deal is made. 25 minutes and little hassle.

Skip to the boat. (these are old battered notes that make no sense, even to me. They seem to be titled ''things to do on a sailboat between Panama and Colombia'').

Breakfast on eggs, toast, jam and coffee. Good coffee. French captain, figures.
Morning shower is diving from the boat into the Caribbean sea and hoping against sharks. Motor on to island destination #1, after swimming from boat to a beach hut immigration immigration office. Dolphins appear in a moment, swim alongside the boat, then disappear suddenly. Read until sea sickness starts to dizzy the mind and disorientate the body.
Lobster. Beef Bourguignon. Not the same meal. These are strange notes.

Drink obscene amounts of rum post-sunset, whilst Eagle Rays sporadically jump around our craft. I'm told Eagle Rays, I'm thinking Great White Sharks.

Snorkel around sunken ships, through a kaleidoscope of fish, hoping the mask doesn't steam and I don't die from breathing in sea water. Gag slightly but keep everything down. Lounge in shallow water just off beach islands deserted but for the occasional palm tree, only the starfish for company. Starfish that we pick up. Starfish that we should not have picked up.

Paddle a one-man kayak across the waves to see if a catamaran is the boat some friend's are crossing on. It isn't. Nearly smash into some rocks. Write messages of salvation in warm sand. Jump on fallen tree branches until the 6th falling off, the one that twists the ankle and causes me to sit in shade for a while.

Lie in bed listening to 'Mermaid' too often, hoping ceiling staring will stop the boat from rocking. Have a conversation about dream interpretation. Followed by sleep and nonsense dreams.

Attempt to free dive 9m to touch the bottom, panic at 7m, realise equalisation is an issue of mine. Back to the surface and then try again. Survive a squall, swimming in the crashing waves for fun, and then the sun comes out and the skies clear and everything's a postcard. Row a rubber dinghy to shore, to play 1 vs 2 volleyball, and then drink beer and attempt to talk to Kuna about fashion. Lie on the boat rooftop in sun so hot it burns eyeballs through closed eyelids.

Drunken talk conspiracy theories with a couple from Israel, until the rum runs out. Stare at constellations and other stars, in a sky so clear you can make out man-made satellites and space stations.

Watch the sun sink into the horizon, the sun with nothing but open water to obscure. 36 hours from the San Blas to Colombia, 36 hours of lying down to avoid jelly legs and vomiting. Lie on deck in midday heat, forgetting my shorts have been recently replaced by shorter shorts, meaning my upper legs go from dark brown to bright red to pale white, like neapolitan ice-cream. More dolphins.

Sail into Cartagena on a gorgeous late August morning, wondering how the time passed so quickly.