The Harbormaster of Gringo Bay
By John Guy
In Clearwater they said, “stop by to see Jennifer.”
In Isla Mujeres, someone commented, “see Jennifer in El Rio Dulce.” “Who is she?” “An artist, with a home on ‘The Rio.'”
In Belize City, on learning that we planned to spend several months on “The River,” another boater advised us to stop by “Gringo Bay,” a small inlet on the south side of El Golfete, the widest spot on the river, and to say hello to Jennifer. “How do we find her,” we asked. “Check the drawing in Freya Raucher's Guide,” they said.” Westbound, after the river widens, look for the third little bay. Plenty of water everywhere. Her home is there.”
So, we anchored, hopped into “Pachi,” our tender, and motored, hesitantly, doubtfully, to a charming home that we thought might be Jennifer's, the only evidence being three boats apparently moored and stored about 150 feet off the porch, and another docked to one side. All was quiet. We could see no one, until we got close, and observed a person standing on the porch, brush in hand, preparing a painting. We said, “Ahh, err, by any chance, are you Jennifer?” “Yes, I am.” “Well, maybe, we heard that possibly, if you have time, you prepare dinner for boaters?” “True,” she said. “It is too late for today, but we could do it tomorrow night. What do you like? Meat, fish or chicken?” The next night, like dozens of boaters before us, we had a quiet dinner, the three of us, relaxed and comfortable, flowers everywhere, numerous small kerosene lanterns providing romantic light, in the personal style that has made Jennifer a warm and accommodating presence since 1989.
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Jennifer Lindeen entered The University of Wisconsin-Stout, at age 25. Her daughter, Jessica, was six. Working as a waitress and supporting her daughter, she studied the arts, especially print making and sculpture, and graduated in five years. Then, she returned to her home state of Minnesota and went to work at the well known Minneapolis restaurant, Gluecks. It was 1979. She fell in love with the owner, Kent Holcomb, who had learned to sail as a boy. His first boat was small, but with history: it once had been owned by United States Senator, Vice President, and candidate for the presidency, Hubert Humphrey. Kent took Jennifer sailing on Lake Superior in a 30' Pearson. This was fun. No problems. No sickness. Just the joy of sail.
Kent always had dreamed of life on the sea. This was a long-term ambition that became a short-term goal when he was diagnosed with diabetes. It was time to lay off the stress, to “squeeze more into life,” to advance the time frame. Jennifer had no trouble accepting the dream. They purchased an Ericson Cruising 36, and named it “October,” in honor of the month of her birthday, of her marriage, and of the month of purchase. After Jessica's high school graduation in 1986, Kent and Jennifer began the live-aboard traveling odyssey understood and appreciated only by those who have done the same. Moving through The Great Lakes, The St. Lawrence Seaway, Quebec, The Maritimes, and The Bay of Fundy, they searched for the quiet spots. Then Boston, New York (two nights at The 79th Street Yacht Basin), but they were late in the season. It was cold, and they wanted to make the annual November meeting of The Seven Seas Cruising Association in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. They “blasted” down the ICW, with ice on the deck, not uncommon for boaters on Lake Superior. In late 1986 and early 1987 they spent four months in Ft. Lauderdale, eight months in The Bahamas, swimming and fishing, and formulating their next goal: Mexico and Central America. They moved through The Keys and around to Ft. Meyers Beach, where Jennifer again worked as a waitress while they outfitted October with a new engine, paint and a single side band radio.
Kent and Jennifer left for Isla Mujeres in April, 1988, later moving rapidly to Belize to avoid Hurricane Gilbert. They “bummed around” Belize through early 1989, not an easy time for Jennifer because what she had thought was a minor chest injury, incurred while kedging off Cay Contoy, turned out to be a collapsed lung. This was another in a string of health challenges that would subdue most of us, but strengthened her. During 1989 and 1990, they sailed between Belize, Guatemala and Honduras, but always back to Guatemala, where the thought of buying land grew more forceful with each new visit.
In the late 1980s, through the mid 1990s, Guatemala would not have seemed attractive to any American tourist. A civil war dominated both the news and the economy. The area of El Rio Dulce was undeveloped and unsophisticated, a place isolated by geography and circumstances, a completely undeveloped oasis. At the time, buying land in a remote region of Guatemala would have been viewed by most Americans as an absurd risk, made more so by the absence of property records and surveys. Sellers were squatters who did not know the boundaries of their properties. A transfer was accomplished by “walking the lines” hoping that no one later would challenge the assumptions. (Today, Jennifer has a GPS survey.)
The previous “owners” of Jennifer's property were members of three generations of a K'ekchi' family who lived in three two-room houses with thatch roofs, cane walls and mud floors. Part of the deal was that these families could remain on the property. They stayed three years, leaving to acquire new property as squatters. Kent and Jennifer built a bodega which became the home of the first construction contractor. The contractor asked one day whether he and his family could live there. A few days later, he arrived with his wife--and twelve children. Meanwhile, Jennifer and Kent lived aboard October. Early construction was forming and placing cement pilings, accomplished by workers standing on small cayucos, pounding down by hand until the piling hit solid ground. At the most active point of construction, 33 persons lived on their land. Kent and Jennifer did all of the work after pilings were completed. They had help one weekend for a “house raising party” when a dozen boaters came over to raise the side walls. It was a good time, so good that Jennifer never told the party goers that the walls later were torn down. The walls did not match, corner to corner.
Looking at the present house, the absence of access by road, the sophistication and beauty of its construction and presence, an observer is challenged to believe that it was done by two persons who obtained most building supplies on two day car trips to Guatemala City, in a little Audi, with an oversize luggage rack, occasionally transporting hard wood, Chicozapote, illegally felled and obtained from the local forestry officer who had confiscated it. Fortunately, the civil war affected them little, though they were open to the possibility that a military officer might some day stop by, like the area, and take it over. A more serious problem was an imbedded belief that Americans were stealing children, likely the result of both traditional myth and political rhetoric designed to shift blame to the north. Local adults with children ran away from Kent and Jennifer, while they heard reports that Americans were beaten after stooping to great a child. Another effect of the war was that local people hid their adolescent boys far away in the mountains because the military was known to “kidnap” them to military service.
As construction neared completion, the practical needs of life became evident. Jennifer and Kent experimented with several businesses such as providing river transportation, making canvas covers for boaters (Jennifer), and lobster fishing (Kent), but the best was chartering. For more than six years, s-v October hosted dozens of travelers, including a U.S. Ambassador to Guatemala, a French Ambassador and his companion, a Guatemalan Ambassador to The United States, a Peace Corps volunteer and his parents, and numerous Europeans and Guatemalans, most attracted by word of mouth through agents in Antigua and Guatemala City. Jennifer's easy going graciousness undoubtedly helped both this business and her remarkable role as the hostess of the Rio Dulce.
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Jennifer has applied the appellation “Accidental Restaurant” to her home and property. The “accident” took place in 2003. Just before dark, a Danish sailing vessel neared her front porch, with a crew member indicating a desire to dock by prominently holding and displaying a dock line. They said:
“Is this a marina?” “No”
“Is this Fronteras?” “No.
“Is this a restaurant.” “No. This is my house.”
Jennifer soon realized that this crew had no chart, no food, little water, and little remaining energy. She invited them to dinner, and started a tradition.
Jennifer does most of her work, cooking and living on the expansive porch that opens to Bahia Buena Vista, the correct name for the waters in front. The entire building rests on pilings. It has no doors. She uses local materials anywhere and everywhere. For example, a kitchen counter is supported by bamboo, with utensils stored conveniently in the natural holes. One end of the porch floor supports her many projects such as pastel drawings, making cushion covers, painting rugs and hats, and fabricating hat bands from snake skins. Making courtesy flags, watching boats for land-traveling owners, and selling smoked robalo at the weekly swap meet produce income. The propane refrigerator has leopard spots on the door. What little electricity she uses is supplied by solar panels and stored in batteries, though a standby generator helps once in a while. A VHF radio and a cell phone keep her in touch. At least once a week, Jennifer boards her launcha for the 45 minute trip to Fronteras, Rio Dulce, where she stocks up, sells product, and visits with daughter Jessica.
Her neighbors are mostly K'ekchi' Mayans or mixed K'ekchi' and Garifuna. They are welcome to take water from Jennifer's well, anytime, without charge. She helps where she can. She and other boaters and friends are supporting a Mayan deaf girl and her family. To obtain specialized education, the girl needs to commute five hours to school. A better solution is for the girl to live at the school, though her parents resist. If things work out, Jennifer's foundation will cover the extra costs. Boaters also have organized and sponsored the first high school in the local village, now with 6 alumni. Notebooks, backpacks and other supplies for 33 elementary students in need are given.
The 7:30 a.m. channel 68 Rio Dulce net always has someone calling Jennifer. Most boaters who arrive in Rio Dulce stop by Gringo Bay on their way to the town Rio Dulce. Most boaters stop by again, on their way out. The location is charming, and the hostess is reassuring. She brings people together. The experiences of a guest remind her of situations in her life or in the life of a previous guest. Of her life, she says, “I am not interesting, but my life is, and I love watching it.” Jennifer Lindeen is the harbormaster of Gringo Bay.
Then, and Now
In Jennifer's seventeen years in Guatemala, Fronteras, Rio Dulce, has changed with the force and speed of an economic revolution. Consider these comparisons between 1989 and the present, including the most important fact that in 1989 no ice cream was available anywhere in the region. Electricity, telephone service, and television did not exist. No cars, radios or cell phones were available to police. Officers went to work by bumming rides. No bank or hardware store was available.
In 1989, only 12 boats were counted on The Rio. Today, estimates run from between 200 and 700. Then, two marinas served boats—over twelve today. No haul out facility was available. One is available today, and another is under construction. A radio at Catamaran Marina was the only way to call out. By 1991, a few people had SSB radios used to connect to similar radios in Guatemala City whose operators relayed telephone calls. Another communication station was a radio office in Morales, then about two hours away (now 20 minutes). After filling out a bunch of forms, the caller was ensconced in a small closet, or box, with hope that a connection might be made.
In the early 1990s, the road to Guatemala City was broken and unreliable. A good trip to the city, in a private vehicle, took at least 8 hours (now 4 hours), and a trip to the famous Mayan ruin of Tikal required at least two grueling days (now 4 hours to nearby Flores). Two bus lines then ran sporadically. Today, luxury buses are available from at least three providers, and dozens of vans provide frequent rides to anywhere nearby, every five or ten minutes, for 50 cents or less. The town of Fronteras, Rio Dulce, had no paved streets until the late 90s. For a time, no comfortable, rapid launches were available to travel the river, including to the important port city of Livingston, where customs and immigration forms were arduously completed, in multiple copies, on a 1930s typewriter. Today, the process is standardized on a computer. The old launches were long, leaky unstable cayucos with two horsepower motors. Today, comfortable tiburoneras ply the river with 75 to 150 horsepower outboards.
Travelers today find most of the services expected in a tourist location, and more are under construction. North Americans and Europeans continue to consider buying property here, as well as investing in restaurants and marinas.
