My shift yesterday ended with a mystery worthy of a crime novel—only much fishier. As I went to lie down for a quick rest, I wondered how on earth our bed had gotten so dirty. Curious (and slightly alarmed), I picked some of it up… and froze. Fish scales. Actual fish scales. In my bed.

It took no time to identify the crime, but locating the criminal proved trickier. After aggressively shaking and flipping blankets, I finally found him: a tiny flying fish. Bone dry. Which means—brace yourself—he had clearly spent quality cuddle time with Uki and Nino while I was on watch. Absolutely not. Immediate eviction. Sheets stripped, washing machine on. Luckily, the sea was calm enough to allow mid-ocean laundry operations

Around the same time, we began spotting Portuguese man o’ wars—“bluebottles,” as they’re called in Australia—though here in the Atlantic they appear far more pink than blue, glowing beautifully on the water’s surface.

A few hours later, Uki shouted, “Land ho!” And there they were at last: the San Blas Islands.

What a different world we had entered. We found a wonderful anchorage at the “Swimming Pool,” a place we had visited twelve years ago and long wanted to return to. It had made a strong impression back then—and it still does, though it has changed. At that time there were perhaps four yachts, no infrastructure on the islands, and just a few Kuna people living on the largest nearby island. Now the anchorage is buzzing with boats, one island has a park-like gathering area, another even a restaurant. Quite incredible.

Change and growing visitor numbers are something we’ll surely continue to encounter. And yet, despite it all, the islands haven’t lost their charm. We’re very much looking forward to a few relaxed days here—the boys are already completely enchanted by the magic of this place.

Fingers crossed we avoid swimming with the bluebottles.

And just like that, we’re only a day sail away from having crossed the Atlantic entirely. Not bad at all.