The sound of beating drums emanated from Isla Ustupu, increasing in number and intensity as we sailed closer to the village anchorage. Only an occasional, smoke-infused “crack, pop, bang” interrupted their rhythm. We'd made way to here from Colombia, checking into Panama at Puerto Obaldia, a remote backwater along the edge of Guna Yala, where we received the final passport stamp of our sailing circumnavigation. No new country to add to the list with only 180 nautical miles remaining to our outbound line off Fort Sherman. Translating this 6.75 years voyage into weeks, I am on the Sunday evening of my journey, longing to sail in the opposite direction. I find the prospect of returning from the sea to the everyday world daunting. I don’t want to arrive at my long-coveted destination. We continue onward to Isla Ustupu in the pelting rain under lifeless grey skies. As we approach, the low, long rolling thunder gives way to the faint sound of beating drums. The island appears through the mist, with palm silhouettes framing ramshackle structures. By the time we drop anchor, the rain has subsided, but the drumming continues, beckoning us to investigate ashore. The Captain sets out as the advance-party, while I opt to remain aboard our vessel. My heart is still in Colombia, and I want to document the experience of it before exploring this new culture. But those stories will have to wait. The Captain returns with exciting news; the whole island is preparing to celebrate Panamanian independence from Colombia. Quite curious as the Guna favored Colombia during Panama's fight for independence, and Isla Ustupu was the birthplace of the 1925 Guna Revolution, an uprising that sought to end ten years of forced assimilation. The Guna emerged victoriously and today enjoy the same protections and rights enjoyed by other Panamanian citizens while maintaining their unique culture and autonomy. After the morning's festivities in Isla Ustupu, we sailed onward until inclement weather found us seeking shelter at Isla Mono. Once idyllic, this remote anchorage was forever transformed six months before our arrival when pirates assaulted a family of four here. The brutal attack rocked this typically peaceful region. The perpetrators, Guna, who'd long since traded their traditions for criminal behaviors after moving to Panama City, were quickly apprehended. Weighing the weather conditions against the likelihood of another incident here, we opted to stop and implement other security precautions if necessary. The single canoe we saw the following morning did not approach us. Lifting anchor, we sailed onward to Isla Tigre. Given delays readying for a Pacific transit in 2013, we’d bypassed the Guna Yala my first time through Panama. But the Captain had sailed here ten years before. We'd come to Isla Tigre in search of the seamstress who'd crafted the Molas he'd purchased here during that visit. Molas panels are used to make the blouses worn by the Guna women. The word originated from bird plumage. Molas' designs were once painted on the body. With the onslaught of missionaries in colonial times, the patterns were transferred to fabric, and today they are crafted using appliqué and reverse appliqué. We met some children after we'd landed the dinghy on the beach at Isle Tigre and showed them pictures of the Donna Kuna. They introduced us to a village elder who took us to meet the seamstress. It was a delightful reunion. There was a sense of loss as we lifted anchor again and set out for Fort Sherman. Chasing the dream to sail around the world had buoyed my spirits and kept me focused for so many years; nearing its realization, I felt rudderless. I'd celebrated so many of the milestones along the way; the first offshore passage, the first ocean, the first equatorial crossing, the longest passage, the second ocean, the third ocean, the 360th degree of longitude, and of course, every one of those cancer-free scans. But when we crossed that outbound line, it felt like just another day. A few tears and a lot of smiles, but mostly, a focus on arriving and preparing for the passage homeward, ready to face the Monday morning of the coming decade.