A favourite speech from Seinfeld begins with George Costanza setting the scene: “The sea was angry that day, my friends, like an old man sending back soup at a deli.” Indeed, many of the crew would, that day, refund their soup and also cheetos. The wind was coming from behind us as our sailboat, which suddenly felt too small to make this passage, bobbed, weaved, dropped, and heaved in the swell. Contrary to what you might expect, a tailwind is probably one of the worst winds you can have sailing. Why? Well, I’m going to get geeky on you here but it’s because a sail actually works a lot like an airplane’s wing: that is, the wind doesn’t actually fill the sail and blow it forward. Instead, it runs along the curvature of both sides of the sail. Because the same volume of air blows across both sides, the air on the outside of the curve of the sail is actually more spread out than on the inside of the sail and that means there’s higher pressure inside the sail than out. What THAT means in turn is that the sailboat is actually sucked forward more than it is blown much like a plane is sucked upwards into the sky. This phenomenon means that wind blowing about 70 degrees from the front actually gives you the best speed and most stable configuration. What we had was a sail filling and pushing the boat along and then going slack as the boat reached the wind’s speed then jerking taut again as the boat slowed. In addition to the boat not being pulled in one direction and therefore rolling back and forth. (NOTE: This continues part 1, Sailing San Blas, below)
Still, I didn’t get sick. Others did, definitely, but that Dramamine was looking like the best $5 I ever spent. There was nothing to do except sit on the side and stare out at the waves and distant islands we were sailing past or standing beside the mast and looking off the bow as though it were your boat. Thus, it was the most relaxed I’ve been on this entire trip, with no pressure to be moving on to the next place (after all, we were!), study Spanish, write my blog, edit photos, or even read my next book which is Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood a very thoughtful bon voyage gift from Barb. I just sat and watched and contemplated and occasionally listened to music. I could get used to sailing, I think, although by the last day I was getting comfortable enough to not only start studying my Spanish some more but also working on photos belowdecks as we plugged along. At least for a little while.
Kuna, Ya!
We arrived in the Kuna town of San Ignacio de Tupile a bit after 5 PM and immediately headed for land where we noticed for the first time that land felt funny as opposed to comfortable. Some of us even walked a bit off-kilter though I wasn’t really at that point yet, or at least no more so than usual given my tiptoe tendencies. And anyway we were soon too wrapped up in Kuna attention to notice. What a friendly and warm people! After reading about how isolationist and ‘tolerant but unwelcoming’ the Kuna are meant to be according to the idiot that writes the Panama section of the Lonely Planet (easily the most unresearched and throwaway section of the Central American LP) we found them excited to see us and eager to converse with us. In the main square kids would either run up to us and ask us to take their photo or approach shyly or just pose and hope we’d notice. The older kids would be brimming with questions and for us guys the eligible females were definitely curious if we had ‘esposas’. None of this was money related – we were twice approached by people looking to collect a $1 visitor tax but the others never asked for anything aside from our attention.
While we were standing in the square distant explosions, pops, and bangs approached with shouting. Suddenly, the square was awash with Kuna in red with wooden weapon facsimilies like rifles and swords running around and shooting at each other and us. They were rehearsing for their Independence Day celebration and as quickly as all the play fighting had started it moved further along the village. We left the village at sundown for the boat and after another great dinner and a bit of chit chat we went to sleep. Alcohol in any quantities was basically no longer an option after the day’s sail so we had our beer and realized we had purchased far too much alcohol for the voyage. There was no swimming here (especially after seeing the pit toilets over the ocean, Slumdog style) or beautiful island but the village was a unique experience all its own and we felt lucky to have seen it.
Day of the Dolphins
We had another big day of sailing the next morning but everybody had found their sea legs by then and nobody was sick at all. We broke up the trip by stopping for lunch outside a small group of islands and yet more Kuna villages. The afternoon sail was unbelievable: not only were we all in good spirits as the bouncing of the boat no longer phased us, but we saw no less than five separate pods of dolphins including one pod that was very curious and friendly and loved the sound of us cheering and clapping. They’d flip and jump and splash and race alongside the boat and probably hung around for half an hour. By the fifth pod, half the people couldn’t be bothered to look up from their books but I think we all knew it was pretty amazing. My perception of the ocean changed a bit that day. It’s kind of like wandering through the jungle. At first all you see is trees but with enough time you see there is plenty of life hiding among them and sometimes not hiding at all. Dolphins have that peculiar distinction of not having been hunted by man and are one of the few animals out there with whom, despite reckless tuna fishermen the world over, we still have good relations. This, to me, is what being in the Galapagos will be like and I’m very excited to make it there if I can.
Night of the Storm
We anchored that night at Isla Pino which was again beautiful and also the last of the San Blas islands we would visit. There was a really strong current but some braved it anyway and while they were ashore we realized that our anchor hadn’t stuck and we’d drifted pretty far. Luckily we didn’t run aground or get hung up on some reef and we motored back up and anchored again as they swam doggedly back to the ship. We all sat on deck and watched the last sunset we would see over Central America which not coincidentally was beautiful. That night the wind really picked up and the boat was rocking something fierce but again, we’d all adjusted to the sea by then and only Phil in his hammock, swinging in the wind, had any problem sleeping. The captain asked us to wake him up if his computer started beeping, as it would mean we’d drifted more than 100m from our anchor point but thankfully there was no such emergency. We awoke in the morning afloat, intact, and anxious to complete our journey and see the coast of South America appearing on the horizon.
Yes, our last day had arrived and the agenda was nothing but sailing and fried bananas wrapped, interestingly enough, in bacon. I have grown to dislike two foods in my time here: beans and fried bananas. I started liking them, moved to loving them, but have since consumed more of both then any ordinary non-Latin human could be expected to endure and now can hardly stand the taste of either. Not green beans, mind you, just the refried variety that are part of every economical meal from here to Tillajuana. We sailed and sailed and yet more dolphin encounters to the point that I surreptitiously kept an eye on our captain to see if he was chumming the waters but I found no evidence in the end. Our last dolphin encounter came as the green hills of Colombia were growing large on the horizon, our first sight of South America and our last sight from the bow of Da Capo. We anchored at Sapzurro, right on the Colombian border and in the heart of the Darien Gap with no roads or cars, just boats to bring supplies and people in and out. From there, back on to a lancha with all our worldly possessions and we said our goodbyes to Mats, Dina, and Mateo then motored off in the distance to the next coastal town of Capurgana. We arrived just in time to visit the immigration office and get our passports stamped. “Welcome,” the officer said to me, “to South America.”
Let me just start this segment of my journey by reminding readers who may have forgotten amidst all my adventures abroad that I am a prairie boy. I come from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, a beautiful city in the middle of a vast flat ocean... of land. The nearest coast in terms of driving hours is Vancouver, BC, about 20 hours west and over the Rocky Mountain range. This leg of my journey starts in Panama City and ends in a small town in Colombia, the two points on the map joined by five days in a 36’ sailboat called Da Capo with stopping points all along the San Blas Archipelago of islands. It would be unlike anything I had ever done before, bobbing along on the ocean with nothing but the wind moving us along, and arriving in a brand new continent. Sure, there are more risky ways to get to Colombia, which I elucidated on in my last post, but be assured dear reader, that this would be an experience and adventure that I would never forget.
The Caribbean in a 4x4
Panama City. Friday, Feb 5, 23:00. Phil and I have just returned from the grocer with what we think will be enough drink for the trip. 1L of Abuelo Panamanian rum, 1.75 L of Smirnoff Vodka, 4 L of Coke, 2 L of Fresca, and 12 Panama beers. While there, we ran into three of our fellow trip-goers, all English. There’s Amy, fluent Spanish speaker and PR consultant. Simon, funny if half-jetlagged Londoner who also happens to be an electrical engineer and project manager. If you’ve ridden the Tube, you’ve seen his work. And finally there’s Hanna, bubbly interior designer with some amazing ideas for her own coffee shop when she gets home. They too are procuring booze and we compare levels to find our estimates in agreement. They look like they’ll be fun and good company, which makes the voyage all the more exciting. Back to the hostel loaded with liquid we go for some attempted sleep though I found myself waking every hour. Finally, at 4:20 AM I woke up just before my watch alarm and got Phil up as well. The bus was supposed to arrive between 4:30 and 5:00 AM, and at 4:21, it was at the door and waiting for us.
We got on the bus and did not see our three English friends from the night prior, worrying now that we perhaps were on the wrong bus (though the driver did answer to Manuel which was the name we were looking for. Soon, I realized it was not 4:30 but 5:30 – my alarm hadn’t gone off because my watch has a ‘home’ time and ‘current’ time and you can set the alarm for either zone. I’d set it for home which was an hour behind. So now we were on this bus an hour later than expected, too. It wasn’t too worrying as we were still heading to the same place, but what about the English? What about the time? Had the boat left already? Only one way to find out. About halfway through the trip we discovered that the Canadian couple sitting behind us was also bound for our boat, so worries were allayed and we switched into a 4WD for the next leg of the journey, the only way at the moment to reach Carti. It was a sizeable trip for $25 and we arrived at Carti without any hassle or notes of interest. From there, another $5 for a motorboat to our sloop (plus $6 to pay to the Kuna Indians who basically own the islands) and soon we pulled alongside Da Capo.
Home on the High Seas
The Canadian couple, by the way, are from Vancouvr. Jared is an alectrician there though with his accent I am able to correctly deduce he’s originally from Toronto. The four of us are greeted on the deck by Captain Mats. The boat from above looks tiny but we are excited to be here nonetheless, our home on the high seas and gateway to Colombia. The captain brings us down below where we are amazed to see how much they have squeezed into so small a place. The only thing comparable I have seen are motorhomes and this definitely blew them away. There are the captain’s quarters where he, his Colombian wife Dina, and their son Mateo sleep and we store our large packs at the aft of the boat as well as another room at the front for Hanna and Simon. I sleep on the bench around the kitchen table and Amy sleeps across on the other bench – we just move a few cushions and there’s plenty of space, not to mention that our beds are backed by small storage cubbies and on top of yet more storage. The kitchen has two burners and an oven which detach completely from the counter at the pull of a lever to rest on a pivot through its centre of gravity. That way, when the boat is swaying or listing in the wind, the stove and its contents are always upright.
There is also a marine toilet with a series of valves to adjust for pumping waste out and sucking seawater in and the sink doubles as a faucet for the fresh water shower. Our boat has a fresh water maker which we’ve been told most others do not, but where it’s hidden I have no idea. Up the stairs there are two benches around the wheelhouse where Jared and Renee sleep at night which also has a foldout table not to mention gauges for depth, wind direction and speed, boat speed, heading, and so on. Along both sides run two narrow wooden walkways lined with mesh and cable to keep from falling off and at the bow of the boat is a flat area for sitting, visiting, and getting some sun by day. By night, this is Phil’s home, where he hangs his hammock and puts up the small shelter to keep him dry and a bit warmer. And that concludes my grand tour. The captain went through all this with us as well as the rules of the water and then went through our plotted course to get a feel for what to expect on the trip. Then, soon enough, we were underway – but the wind wasn’t strong enough to get us there quickly so we motored. The main sail was still up for stability but it wasn’t moving us at all.
Glowing Waters of Porvenir
Our first port of call was the island of Porvenir. However, there was no port and nought but a dozen Kuna upon whom to call. In other words, aside from this family, the island was empty, beautiful, and all ours. The waters around the island were that turquoise blue you only find in Photoshopped brochures for Caribbean resort, practically glowing with electric iridescence from an LCD panel that wasn’t there. I waited with Phil, Jared, Renee and a few others for the captain to ferry us to land in the dingy while others couldn’t wait. Beginning with little Mateo, age 3 and a half, who donned his lifejacket grabbed a snorkel and climbed down the latter to snorkel on his own and followed by Simon and Amy they seemingly floated about 4m above the sea floor, so clear was the water. We made landfall and strolled casually around the island, the trip taking about 20 minutes in powdery white sand lined with palms. If I am being too verbose in my descriptions, understand that in doing so I am doing a great injustice to a chain of islands that require a poet’s brush of pen and much more space than I have here. Truly, San Blas was the pearl of the Caribbean and we were increasingly speechless as each incredible island was impossibly matched or bested by the next.
What we found here that we didn’t find anywhere else was ice cold beer and hammocks to accompany them. The island had the highest population of Kuna Indians of all the ones we would visit except of course for San Ignacio, which was a full Kuna town, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The Kuna are indigenous to these islands and have lived here far longer than European colonization. Whatsmore, they were quite possibly the only indigenous group to successfully ward off European interests and maintain their culture and lifestyle with little outside influence. They are a matriarchal society and when our captain asked why in a matriarchy most of the chiefs are male, it was explained that women were too hard and lacked the compassion and empathy needed to settle disputes and render judgement on what little crime and mischief may crop up. In general, it’s role reversal although men still filled the warrior roles which I found interesting considering this description. We visited with some on the island and looked at their art which is largely made of reverse stitching layers of material so that no stitches are actually visible or as near to it as possible. The Kuna seemed friendly and welcoming here even though our one sailboat alone nearly doubled their island’s population but we would have more encounters a few days later more worthy of description.
Dina’s Diner
We had read that our boat had a great reputation for food served but as most things down here, I’d believe it when I saw it. So, as the sun was setting and we returned to our boat, I was instantly curious at the aroma that wafted from the galley below. There Dina was grilling up some delicious smelling pork chops that lived up to everything we’d heard. After dinner and dishes, we all sat around the wheelhouse looking up at the many stars and Orion straight above with beer, rum, and a good dose of conversation. The night didn’t get too late, though, as we’d been awake since 4 AM and all needed some sleep, even Simon who’d pretty much slept all day. Breakfasts on the boat were a different matter. The supplies were eggs, bread, cheese, and ham. Do with this what you will. To be fair, the first day was Kuna bread warm in the oven and delicious, kind of halfway between a fried tortilla and dough but otherwise you were on your own. In fact that first day all I had were two pieces of Kuna bread with ham and cheese rolled in them. The second day the English went to scrambled eggs and I actually made a pretty tasty omelette if I do say so myself.
Chi Chi and Me
We had sailed after our visit of Porvenir the first day to the island of Chichime but arrived too late to do anything but enjoy the sunset. After breakfast we went up to the oat deck and were in awe of the place. The water here was literally swimming pool blue. On this blue water a Kuna paddled up with ten or so lobster on one side of the boat and a huge red fish on the other. To our delight, Dina started negotiating a price with him and bought eight pounds of lobster for about $5/pound for dinner that night. We transferred them happily to our boat, swam around and then came back to the boat for lunch before taking the dingy out to the shores of Chichime. We took some group photos in the water and again walked around the island. Here, there was only one family of Kuna and then us and it did somehow upstage Porvenir. The weather so far and in fact for most of the trip was cloudy but this did not diminish our enjoyment or the beauty of the San Blas Islands. Occasionally, we’d get a patch of sun and it was the visual equivalent of “turning it up to 11”. As well, it made the photos a bit more dramatic from time to time though it also made others difficult or impossible. As you’ll see, that didn’t stop me.
Islands of the Coconut Flag
We left around 2 in the afternoon for our next destination, a group of islands within the San Blas called Coco Banderas (or literally coconut flag). Sailing between the islands had so far been no problem but today the seas were a bit rougher. The didn’t stop people from trying to read but I found I couldn’t do it. I did stock up on Dramamine before leaving and I think it was a good investment though I’ll always wonder whether I would have been able to go without or not. Still, I’m happy to report I was never sick the whole time – maybe a bit green around the gills when I had to go below to use the washroom once but fresh air and a horizon cured that soon enough. And I could now officially say I had been sailing – the motor was off and the only sound was the waves, wind, and occasional dolphins splashing. That trip was our first encounter with dolphins and combined with beautiful islands, lobster cooking below, the thrill of sailing 15 knots on a ‘beam-reach wind’ which had the boat angled seriously to one side, Phil and I came to an agreement. San Blas was now the best thing we had done in Central America which was fitting as it was also the last.
The sunset at Coco Banderas was spectacular, again thanks to the scattered cloud cover that might have dampened others’ spirits (not on this trip). After sunset, lobster dinner was served in a beautiful sauce with rice and believe me, the plates hardly had to be rinsed. If there were any thoughts that Dina might have been lucky with the pork chops, she had now proved her mastery of the tiny kitchen. Everybody stayed up and had some drinks that night but somehow I was out for the count. I could hardly keep my eyes opened after dinner and said goodnight at about 8 PM at which point I just barely made it down the stairs and fell on to my bed asleep before my head hit the pillow. I hadn’t made the bed, moved the cushions or even undressed, just collapsed, and the general theory was that the Dramamine had taken its toll. This would prove fortunate as the next day’s sail had basically everybody feeling poorly except for myself and of course Dina, Mats, and Mateo. Alcohol is not a combatant of seasickness.
Before we set sail on that particularly rough trip however, we grabbed our snorkels and went in for another wonder of the Coco Banderas islands. The snorkelling here is incredible. Just a short swim from the boat was a reef full of fish and beautiful coral which comprised the best snorkelling I have done on this trip. The reef circled on all sides a small pocket of sand at about knee-height and Amy, Hanna, Simon, and myself swam out to there and literally stood in the middle of the ocean surveying our surroundings. Islands to the left, islands to the right, we knew we didn’t have too much time and picked the island on our right to swim to and explore. Snorkeling there was a pretty cool experience as you encounter shallowed and shallower water with reef and seagrass and then you look ahead and there is a brilliant and blinding wall of pure blue ahead where the reef and grass give way to white sand. The island itself, well, how many ways can I explain paradise? We sailed out a little earlier than any of us would have liked, 11 AM, but we did have a good four or five hours of sailing ahead of us with a tail wind to reach the Kuna village of San Ignacio de Tupile which is where our story will continue next time.
It was a long, all day trip from Santa Catalina to Panama City, but soon suburbs filled the bus windows. I knew for certain we had arrived when the bus crossed the Panama Canal on the friendship bridge and I could see boats coming out of the canal headed for the Pacific ocean beyond. And I knew it was going to be a different experience than the rest of Central America when I arrived at the bus terminal. It. Is. HUGE. Absolutely enormous. But unlike other places, it is well organized (or at least planned) and doesn't involve walking through crowded markets and vegetable stands in the sweating sun. Instead, it is directly across from the very American equivalent: a super mall named Albrook. Yet as well planned as it was, I was having nothing but trouble finding a bus to Casco Viejo, the old part of town. One bus driver would point me right. The next left. Then I'd walk back and the first would ask where on earth I thought I was going and to be honest, I had no idea. My right hand pointed left and my left pointed right with a shoulder shrug was my reply. Even taxis, when I'd say "Casco Viejo" would just say no and drive off. Was I going to a bad area or what? Finally a taxi driver offered a ride for $2 but I had read $1.25 so I passed that up. The next offered for $4 and when I said the other taxi had offered $2 he drove off. Then the next wanted $5 and when I told him about the $2-$4-$5 progression he too drove off. Finally, a bus driving to Panama Viejo (which is actually on the opposite side of the city) told me to get on. At least it was a direction, I thought.
The man next to me on the bus was likewise getting off at Casco Viejo which was helpful although I had no less than 5 people telling me when we arrived at the stop. If one of them could have told me which bus to take an hour prior it would've been helpful but a little help is better than none. I had popped into an internet cafe in Albrook Mall to quickly check with Brian, my New Jersey friend with whom I do the FrankBlack.Net Podcast because one of the reasons I was arriving in Panama City was to interview "Frank" Black Francis and Eric Drew Feldman on their upcoming record, Non Stop Erotik for the March 1 episode. I figured I had just enough time to get to the hostel and hopefully Skype in. Getting off the bus, the man next to me insisted on walking me to my hostel as we were in, he described, a dangerous area to walk alone, especially with your backpack on. Pretty nice as he obviously had no need to do so. But we walked first to Luna's Castle, which was full; it's ALWAYS full I would discover. Then to Hospedaje Casco Viejo, which would be my home for the eight days as I tried to find a sailboat to Colombia. It's not a bad hostel, but it lacks much in terms of common area and social scene, unless you want to hang out in the lobby where there is always, it seems, someone talking way too loudly on Skype. I did manage to do part of the interview, but we had to settle for phone as the internet connection was tenuous at best. As always, it's great to talk with them and their album is pretty exciting.
Coca Cola Cafe
I met a German girl in my dorm named Esther who, in spite of her name, was not an octogenarian, and we went out for dinner at the nearby Coca Cola Cafe. My love of Coca Cola had already sold me on the place, but going in I realized I would have loved it no matter what. The food was decent, the price was right, and the atmosphere was like something out of a movie. Old wooden floors, trodden to a dull earthy tone, bright lighting, a dripping air conditioner, and a blast of cold air greet you initially. Then, as your eyes adjust to the bright lights and more dense cold air, you see in one corner a couple military guards chatting over their bowls of spaghetti, at the table to your left, four old men (who you would come to realize are ALWAYS there chatting over coffees), a local family with the dad setting down everybody's food as the kids tried to wiggle their chairs closer to the tables, then a guy in the corner writing notes and looking up from time to time (probably writing something like this paragraph) while clumps of travellers (never more than three in a place) are interspersed among the locals and three yellow-aproned waitresses are trying in vain (but relaxed and smiling) to keep up with everybody. For this place is always busy and probably has been since 1903 when it opened.
We sat down and ordered. I don't remember what I had, but I remember Esther had Spaghetti con Pollo (Spaghetti with chicken) because when she received it, it was a plate of spaghetti and meat sauce and a second plate with a roast chicken leg on it. Not exactly what you picture but it was tasty (I ordered the same thing a few days later). From there, we went to a place called the Mojito Grill, which is really just a small courtyard in front of an old abandoned building that, ironically, does NOT serve mojitos. Then to Luna's Castle which also has a really great bar in a downstairs courtyard (and an amazing location looking out at the skyline of Panama City over the water). In the end, coupled with a few pre-drinks on our hostel's balcony, it was a pretty fun evening. The next day, the two of us set out on a mission: find me glasses. I had lost mine in Belize and it was time to get some new ones so I didn't have to always use contacts. We set off for El Cangrejo which is supposedly rife with shopping options but instead found ourselves walking all the way to Via Espana (though we didn't really know where we were going at the time) and at last finding some glasses that were cool if different. At least, I hope they're cool. They're a bit more pronounced than my old glasses and I now fear a bit too wide but they do have a style all their own. I also discovered my vision had degraded since my last test or prescription, which is a bit alarming since it wasn't that long ago. After this, we found Esther a cable for her camera and then found ourselves escaping the heat in a supermarket which, unlike everywhere I've been lately, was wonderfully stocked with EVERYthing.
The Darien Gap
That evening, Phil arrived in town, running from Santa Catalina (where he'd bizarrely had somebody sabotage his surf board) like I had run from Boquete. We went out with Esther and an Italian guy to the Mojito Grill again where there was some live jazz that was a bit too mellow for more than a drink or two and went from there to Luna's which likewise felt a bit antisocial. So it wasn't much of a night but it was good to have Phil here especially since that meant I had somebody to look for a sailboat with. I talked to my dad the other day and he asked me why I was sailing and I suppose that's a good question. As I believe I already mentioned, my first stop in South America is Colombia which, as it happens, is also the next country south of Panama. However, between the two countries and continents is a region of Panama called the Darien Gap, one of the most deadly places on the planet. It is largely primeval jungle, filled with all sorts of wild cats, deadly insects, snakes that will choke the life out of you in your sleep, and poisonous plants. "Well, surely you can drive through and not have to worry about all that?" you ask. No you cannot. For there is no road from Panama to Colombia. The jungle wouldn't allow it or perhaps more realistically, it serves to make the flow of drugs and contraband northward much more difficult.
It also serves to fill that same jungle area with many drug traffickers trying to smuggle things in northward. Add them to the list of dangers as down here, nobody (especially in that line of work) would think twice about popping a bullet in your head, especially in the middle of nowhere like that. And because the area is largely untouched and attached to Colombia, Colombian guerrillas also use it to train and escape Colombian authorities, not with Panama's consent obviously but I imagine that guerrillas outnumber law enforcement 1000:1. Add them to the list of dangers. And then don't forget the risks of getting lost, sick (there are all sorts of tropical diseases with cool names waiting for you), or injured in the middle of nowhere, or running out of supplies. It's a long walk. A friend of mine met someone that did it and lived to tell the tale. The highlight, aside from a couple weeks walking through the jungle, was a guerrilla stoned on cocaine with an AK-47 muzzle pressed into his head. But he survived. I obviously can't vouch for how dangerous the area really is myself, and stories of danger tend to be exaggerated, but sometimes it's best not to know. Still, there are two other options. It is, obviously, possible to fly across. But that feels like cheating. Everything from Mexico down has been overland and it feels more like a voyage this way then hopping a plane and coming out of the airport in a new country. Still, for those making the trip, the cheapest flights I've found can be found at AIRES.com. Cost is about $150 tax included.
Sailing, Sailing
Option three is finding a cargo ship heading in that direction. Much more adventurous (AND overland or at least oversea) than flying and generally safer than the Darien Gap. That is, unless you book with somebody that happens to be smuggling drugs and your boat is raided by the police. Your Spanish will have to be much better than mine to explain that one to authorities. Or maybe, and I've read blogs of people to whom this has happened, you pay your money for passage and in the middle of the night you're taken from your room and put on a small 'boat' in the middle of the ocean. "You said you wanted adventure," one of them said to the other. At least they didn't get murdered. But while this way can be an adventure the risks still aren't worth it I think. Generally you can get to Colombia for about $60 from others' accounts. And finally there is option four: sailing on a small boat to Colombia on a 'cruise' of sorts. The generally take 4 days to a week and sail along the San Blas archipelago, a place that many travelers with far more miles than I have logged list as the best place in the Caribbean and some of the most beautiful islands on the planet. If beaches aren't your thing, there is a local tribe that control the islands and still live traditionally called the Kuna. So. Culture, 5 days of beautiful islands, transport to Colombia, food, accommodation, and border fees, how much do you expect to pay? The answer is about $400.
I haven't left yet, so I can't tell you if it's worth it but I'll tell you what I've hopefully paid for. We're going on a 36' yacht called Da Capo sailed by a Swedish skipper named Mats, who is a retired journalist and more importantly, has crossed the Atlantic four times and been sailing for 40 years. AND apparently he has a love for good food which supposedly means we're going to be eating lobster and all sorts of incredible food en route. It leaves from a place called Carti in Kuna territory on the Caribbean coast of Panama (only accessible by 4WD) and after five days in the San Blas islands arrives at the border town of Sapzurro which, as far as I understand it, is only accessible by sea. From there we have to find another boat further down in Colombia (Carpurgana and then Turbo) where we can at last take a bus to... somewhere. The traditional trip sails 2-3 days in the northern San Blas islands only and then cuts across the high seas to Cartagena, but at this time of year the ocean is quite rough and a lot of captains are switching to this route. The next post will have it all charted out on my little map. For those looking to do the trip, the best resource is by far Mama Llena's hostel here in Panama City. Other hostels also have boats but nowhere near as many. Remember to look for reviews and also to take them with a grain of salt. We also tried posting in some sailing forums and emailing captains directly but it seems going through hostels is the only real option.
Sightseeing in Panama City
Eight days is a long time in one city and I'm not bothering to be chronological here, or at least not entirely. Of course the must-see thing on anybody's list, especially if you're an engineer, is the Panama Canal. An incredible feat that today allows boats to cross from Atlantic to Pacific (or vice versa) without going all the way around South America, cutting a 3 week trip into 18 hours. It's not just a really long and high-walled canal however. Instead, ships (and remember that some of these ships, fully loaded, are taller than 10 storey buildings) are raised through a series of locks to an inland lake where they sail through across the continental divide to another series of locks where they are lowered back to sea level to continue their journey. Phil and I arrived at the Miraflores Locks in time to watch the last boat for the day heading towards the Atlantic Ocean and then to see several boats making the journey in the opposite direction. Also, you may not know this, but a new set of locks is being constructed alongside the current ones that will be wider and longer to allow today's much larger ships to use the canal as well. Additionally, the current canal dumps enough fresh water into the ocean to supply all of Panama City for a full 24 hours with every single ship's passage. The new locks will recycle the water and are scheduled to be completed by 2015.
Phil and I also visited Panama Viejo, the original location of Panama before the pirate or at least privateer Henry Morgan came in and leveled the place. This we could have done without as there was little information and not much to see, but it did pass some time. Most of the buildings are now just scattered walls of stone, though there is a tower that was probably rebuilt and a church that is half standing. This is in stark contrast to the rest of the city which is shining steel and glass and all pretty new. There is a huge amount of construction here at the moment including one for Donald Trump (another was completed last year) and the place looks like I imagine Dubai would. Seeing all this modern development, your first reaction would probably be to think that the city had sold its soul but in fact the city is vibrant, alive, and loving it. A walk from Plaza Santa Ana to Cinco de Mayo will confirm that to you, not to mention around Casco Viejo or in numerous other areas around town.
Speaking of around town, I eventually had to pick up my glasses. I had my receipt and their business card but all they had for an address is "Via Espana" which is like saying "Circle Drive" in Saskatoon. It could be anywhere. So we took a bus heading to Via Espana to pick up my glasses hoping to pass by it. Instead the bus went everywhere EXCEPT Via Espana. I don't know how far out it took us, but I know that we spent four hours on the bus driving around Panama City into places where we were definitely not seeing any gringos. Obviously we knew we were long past Via Espana but by then it had become an adventure and we took the bus to the end of the line and then found another bus back. The bus back was awesome. Pumping music, fuzzy dice, and pretty girls everywhere. They should have taken out the back row of seats and set up a bar. The only way I managed to find my glasses was that I had taken a picture nearby on Via Espana of a building which I located by satellite to get a cross intersection. And still that didn't help as my driver didn't understand me. But in the photo was also a name of a mall, Plaza Concordia, and with that I finally made it to my glasses.
The food here is decent but we definitely haven't been eating enough fruits and vegetables. On the walk back through Caledonia to the hostel I passed a cart where a lady was selling cucumbers, which are not that easy to find here, and I decided that I was going to do it: I was going to attempt a Greek salad. I stocked up on tomatoes, cucumbers, couldn't find red onion and definitely couldn't find feta. Some random cheese substituted along with canned olives and decent olive oil (for here), salt and pepper, and I had what is probably the worst Greek salad I have ever made. Pretty much all of the ingredients were sub-par and you can't build a brick house with twigs. But at least it was healthy. Most of my other meals were at a cheap Chinese place down the street from the hostel, of course the Coca Cola Cafe, and, believe it or not, at the food court in either Albrook or Multiplaza Pacific. Sometimes you just need a change from the same discount dishes, and we found some pretty good Chinese food not to mention Philly Cheese Steaks, Wendy's Frostys, and so on.
Subtitlando en Espanol
In fact, I'd be leaving out a pretty significant portion of Panama City if I didn't mention our mall rat pastimes. Did we shop? Yes. Or at least we browsed. I did buy two pairs of shorts and a t-shirt for less than $10, but that was on Avenida Central not in a mall. One thing Phil and I both bought were plain t-shirts. These we took to a lady in the food court and finally finished something we'd been talking about doing for a long time: we got shirts made that said "Mismo mismo, pero diferente" which translated means "Same same but different". If you've ever been to SE Asia you'll know that this expression is ubiquitous there and Phil and I had been attempting to spread it (it was his idea but I latched on immediately) to Central America with limited success. Now, armed with t-shirts, we would be unstoppable. Even though Panama City was our last stop in mainland Central America. Phil had also lost his SURFO hat to an Argentinian girl and was lamenting it, so he was excited to see they had the EXACT same hat with no writing on it. He had them make a SURFO hat but we later discovered they had put it off-centre and whatsmore, refused to fix it. Seriously. We weren't even asked for a new hat, just to add a period or an "S" to the end to line it up again.
But the one thing we did more than anything else here, is catch up on all the movies we'd been missing. Before Phil had arrived I saw Armored, a movie in which one armoured car guard faces off against his friends and co-workers trying to pull a heist that, as always, has gone wrong. It was entertaining but I think this could have waited until I got home. The day after Phil arrived and we got the shirts made, we went to see a movie called Up in the Air, which in Spanish has the name "Amor Sin Escalas" which I think means Love Without Stairs. This was a very ironic movie for two world travelers to watch as it was about a man who has cut all connections to the real world and spends his life on the road, traveling city to city and firing people. All he has in terms of relationships are his loyalty cards at least until he meets a woman. He leads a lonely life and, aside from his considerable frequent flyer miles, his epiphany and attempts to start having relationships with family and this girl end in him sitting alone, too late to repair the damage done and no longer happy in his old life but with no direction for a new one. This sucked the life out of us until we went and picked up our new shirts at the vendor. Ah, materialism.
By far the best movie we saw, and in fact the most astounding movie I've seen perhaps since Star Wars, was Avatar. Yes, we saw it in 3D and in a digital theatre, which was incredible, but I think that even without these things the awe would have been the same. The story, repeated again and again throughout history is of colonization and the things we do to cultures we don't understand, and it may have been done, but never with this level of imagination. A whole new world unfolds in its "Unreal" like quality, and walks the line between surreal and cartoon with incredible deftness. It was also a treat to have Spanish subtitles instead of dubbing not only because every other theatre in Central America is only dubbed, but because when the aliens speak my Spanish is just good enough to make out what they are saying which is how it would be in real life, rather than reading a matter-of-fact account of the dialogue in English. We leave tomorrow morning but may try to see it again tonight, it was that good and it MUST be seen in theatres. Sherlock Holmes (yes, it is a big list, isn't it?) was pretty cool though more action than mystery. I think it would have been aided by Sherlock divulging some of the evidence he was accumulating rather than simply spelling it all out at the end, giving the rest of us the chance to put our minds to work on the mystery. Even so, the dialogue was witty and sharp and Robert Downey Junior is making his way up my favourite actors list.
Finally, the last movie we saw was Estan Todo Bien, which in English means "They're All Fine" though I'm not sure what the English title of the movie is. It starts Robert Deniro as an older man checking to see how all his kids are doing after they bail out on visiting him. Some of the drama was overdone, and actually I can't even say I thought the movie was all that great but nevertheless it was sad and the tacked-on Christmas scene at the end (I really do think it was tacked on - the movie even faded to black) didn't come nearly close enough to redeeming it. Unlike poor George Clooney, Robert Deniro's character actually benefits from the lessons he's learned but the uplifting ending just wasn't that uplifting. Maybe that's a good thing, as it does stray a bit from the "lived happily ever after" Hollywood fairy tale a bit but not too much to make the masses uncomfortable. Still, I'm not a masochist and depressing myself with fictional stories is not my idea of entertainment.
Farewell Central America
Speaking of entertainment, we did finally find a street with a pretty decent nightlife, and that street is Calle Uruguay. It's lined with clubs and lounges and we finally made it there on our second last day in Panama City. We went out with a Brazilian guy who was a lot of fun and also met up with some girls from Colombia that were pretty nice. It was also my first chance to go out with the glasses and one girl really liked them and the other said I shouldn't wear them as my face was too nice which is a very politic way to say "your glasses suck". The lot of us all hung out together (although the Brazilian guy disappeared with the group of Brazilian girls later in the evening) and it was a good night all said. We were supposed to meet up with Eduardo, my cousin Con's friend from here, but never did manage to get a hold of him when we tried to call him back. He'd recommended a bar called Pure but it was $20 cover and didn't seem especially busy so we negotiated another place down to letting us in for $1 and partied there (I think it was called People). Aside from this night, our other attempts had mostly been failures. Luna's had a cool bar but it was just hard to meet people at it, and otherwise there isn't much that's backpacker friendly in this part of town.
Tomorrow I will leave Central America, which was intended only to be a footnote in my journey to South America but has since become so much more. It astounds me how many incredible countries and cultures are packed into this little isthmus and how little we hear about them back in Canada. I shouldn't pin my own ignorance on the whole country, but I suspect that my own knowledge of, say, Nicaragua, was probably around the national average and that is to say that I would probably have to hesitate and consider whether it was in Central America or Africa before remembering a quote from Family Guy where Lois instantly sizes up the price of 2.5 kg of "uncut Nicaraguan" cocaine and concluding it is Central America. Looking at the map, this area is tiny, especially considering it took me three months to see it properly and I have a much larger slate of land ahead of me with roughly the same amount of time allocated and that, I suppose, is a testament to the many experiences to be had in this part of the world even if my blog is not. I have no conclusion for these thoughts, they're just observations, but if I could do it again I would have left three months earlier so I had more time for South America. But I'm looking forward to my next adventures there and hopefully you are too. See you there!
I left the mountain town of Boquete for David (pronounced dah-veed) at noon with three people I’d met from the thankless climb up Volcan Baru: Clint & Kenny (two guys from Jersey) and Raj (from England). Raj was headed to Panama City to fly to Colombia and Clint & Kenny were, like me, heading to a place called Santa Catalina. They were looking for a bit of surf before heading back to the US and I for Manta Rays and Whale Sharks that I’d heard had been spotted in the area as recently as two days ago. Both animals are on my top 5 to-see SCUBA Diving list along with an octopus, seahorse, and Hammerhead shark so seeing both in one site made it too tempting to pass up (not to mention that it was somewhat along the way to Panama City). We switched buses in David but as we got to board the bus to Santiago we were told our bus had already left. Indeed, the girl had sold us the wrong tickets and we went back and managed to get ours changed with surprising ease.
We knew arriving that there was no way we’d make Santa Catalina that night without an expensive taxi so the four of us split two hotel rooms at $7/each and walked around Santiago long enough to discover there was very little going on. We also picked up some food as we’d been warned that it was difficult at times in Santa Catalina to get food: I grabbed a big packet of spaghetti, some sauce, and raman noodles or the low price of $2. The next town on our way to Santa Catalina was called Sona and there were many buses from Santiago there. However, there are only a handful of buses from Sona to Santa Catalina, specifically one at 8 AM, one at noon, and one at 4 PM. We said goodbye to Raj who jumped on a bus to Panama and we grabbed one to Sona that was just about to leave at 10 AM. Perfect timing. The countryside was a mix of hills, farms, and small towns, authentic and definitely not on the development trail. Promising. Our arrival in Sona gave us just enough time to grab a quick and cheap bite ($1.50) from the bus station before the Sona bus arrived. Even though it wasn’t supposed to leave until 12, it was full before then and left at about 11:30. Good thing we got here with time to spare.
At last we were in Santa Catalina. The town is great, relaxed, undeveloped, and devoid of anything resembling foreign infestation. Small streets lined with shady trees winding up the hill and down to the coast where a dive centre and a small restaurant sat. The problem with places that aren’t developed, of course, is that there isn’t much infrastructure for travellers. The first few places we looked were either full or way too expensive but eventually we found our way to the Blue Zone Hostal. They had two beds left and Ignacio, the owner, had a tent he was willing to rent out for the third of us. Clint volunteered for the $5 tent and Kenny and I took the last two beds. This place is really cool, just a short walk down a dirt path from the beach, up on a hill, with an open layout. In the rain it might not be so pleasant but it was a beautiful day.
Speaking of amenities, internet was basically a non-option here. There is one cafe about 30 minutes walk out of town which has pre-dialup speeds at T1-fibre prices. Still, I had to log on if only to let Brian know that I’d have difficulty making a Friday podcast in these circumstances (we’re supposed to be talking to Frank Black and Eric Drew Feldman about their upcoming album, Non Stop Erotik). Something else I hadn’t mentioned was that, at least according to familydoctor.org, I managed to get myself a stress fracture in my left foot hiking down from Volcan Baru. It’s not too bad for a bit of walking but more than that and it is pretty darn painful. The walk to and from the internet left me again hobbling like an old man and it took me about an hour to make my way back. I also booked myself on a SCUBA dive the following morning with SCUBA Coiba. Two dives are $115 and you stop on one small island and then Isla Coiba as well, which is ordinarily a $50 boat ride in itself. There’s an additional $20 for diving in the national marine reserve but for mantas and whale sharks, well worth it.
The rest of the night was pretty uneventful and relaxed. Kenny lent me his book, Outliers to read and I got about halfway through it. I also picked up a pizza and ate half for dinner leaving the rest for my packed lunch on the boat trip. This was my first time SCUBA diving in the Pacific (obviously Malaysia and Australia don’t count) as well and I was amazed. I’d been warned that the visibility was pretty poor and there wasn’t much to see but there was a bit of reef and a lot of life. And a LOT of plankton, which should have bode well for a whale shark sighting too but alas, the first dive we did not come across one. Flounders, frog fish, and a couple eels, plus the usual parrot fish and other regulars of the ocean world. We stopped at a small strip of sand on a deserted island and had lunch on the beach. One of the girls diving, Rebecca, is from Chicago and in fact manages the Chicago Symphony. We got talking about that and I mentioned my love of John Williams’ music at which point she told me she has met him and had lunch with him on several occasions. And then she points at her foot where she has a tattoo of the Rebel Alliance logo (which she assures me is also a symbol of good luck for a Sahara tribe). So she is going to let me know the next time he’s in town conducting and not only will I go and check it out but maybe – just maybe – I’ll get to meet him.
I don’t quite know how to convey my excitement at this possibility but rest assured it is immense. I’ve been listening pretty non-stop to his music since I was 14 or so and he is the only musician I’d put above Frank Black which might help underscore things a bit. But I digress. Aside from Rebecca, who was awesome, we had a pretty cool group of divers which always makes it a lot more fun. Our next dive was a bit better in terms of life. I have never seen so many moray eels in my life – at least 20! – not to mention the biggest reef sharks I’ve ever seen (and lots of them) and eagle rays. I believe I saw a manta ray as well, but it was quite distant though very large. Still, I don’t think it qualifies as a sighting but just for the sake of recording it. Then we went to Coiba island, which is sometimes called the Galapagos of Panama because it has never been logged and is a protected park. It was pretty though the quantity of life and its shyness leads me to conclude that this is no Galapagos. It is, however beautiful. And when we got off the boat, we were swarmed by media wanting interviews. Do you speak Spanish? A little. OK, good enough, and then some rapid-fire questions for the evening news or some sort of documentary. So now Panama and the world can see how terrible my Spanish is, especially under pressure. Woohoo!
That night, I made my spaghetti, thinking I’d make enough to have leftovers for breakfast in the morning. With my foot, surfing wasn’t a great idea and that left me little to do but relax, and I suspected I’d have quite a few do-nothing days in Panama City as it was, so I planned to leave the next morning. While I was making spaghetti and ‘meat balls’ I finished reading Outliers. I really like sociological books like this and found some of the insights fascinating. I’ve always felt that people who work at something are the people who are good at it, whether it’s math or music or anything else and it was nice to see some correlations of this theory to reality. As well, I always enjoy reading about people who have become ‘successful’ in their fields and there are plenty of stories here, too. Finally, there’s a whole section about cultural impact and flight so I was bound to find the whole thing fascinating.
My spaghetti didn’t have enough sauce and was enough for three people to eat AFTER I finished my dinner. Oops. So I didn’t save any money cooking myself. Afterwards, we all hung out and drank some of the beer Ignacio had stocked the hostel with and Florian, an Austrian guy I’d been diving with, brought out his schnapps that he still had from home. I probably could use more time at a place like this, I decided, but it wasn’t meant to be on this trip. I needed to get to Colombia and get started on South America, I needed to get to Panama and start negotiating with local captains for a good deal via the San Blas islands, and there was the matter of getting some new eye glasses made among other things. So I left in the morning, bequeathing the spaghetti to Clint and Kenny and taking the 8 AM bus to Panama City, the canal, and beyond.
Bocas del Toro was in the distance and I was making my way, half asleep, on the series of buses that would take me across Panama to the Pacific coast and then back up into the Chiriqui highlands. The scenery was beautiful but, I had trouble keeping my eyes open after my Saturday night sendoff from Bocas and I would like to think I managed to be awake to see most of the highlights like the large dammed mountain lake but in truth I probably missed a lot of it. It took about six hours all said to make it from Bocas to Boquete and I arrived just before sunset and checked into Hostal Palasio, right across from where the bus left us. There was a bit of lightning in the distance and cloudy mountaintops, but even so you could tell that this was a really pretty town. I was pretty hungry and walked up the street to a favoured haunt of locals, Restaurante Saboroso, and had some traditional Panamanian stew, Sancocho for $1.
The reason I had come to Boquete was to climb Volcan Baru, not because it was a volcano and for that matter the last volcano in Central America heading south, nor because at 3400 metres it was the highest point in Panama, but because it was one of only a handful of places on the globe where you can stand and see two mighty oceans with a turn of your head – and if there’s a place that is famous around the world for the fact that it brings these two oceans together, it is Panama. Back at the hostel, I learned that there was a group heading to the top that very evening, at about 11 PM to catch the sunrise in the morning. Although I hadn’t had much sleep, it was convenient to go with others and so I went out to buy some supplies for the hike including freshly sliced salami, Monterey Jack, tomatoes and sweet peppers for a baguette, a couple of apples, water, and cookies. Then I made my sandwiches and visited a bit with my fellow hostellers and hikers and closed my eyes for half an hour before heading out the door to hike all night. It was still less than 12 hours since I’d been having a Trits on the island of Bocas del Toro.
There wound up being twelve of us ascending the mountain at night. There were a couple American guys (Clint and Kenny), two solo traveling Argentinians (remind me to go off-topic at some point about Argentinian travelers), two Dutch girls, a Spanish girl named Amanda, an Englishman named Raj, and a few others plus myself. It was a lot of names to learn at once! I think it’s probably lucky that we went up at night because there was not much to see on the so-called trail, really a very bad 4WD/Hummer only road up to the top. I thought Ometepe was bad, but these roads would be impossible to bike on and were covered in foot and ankle punishing stones. We trucked on through the night, not really having a chance to be sleepy as it was pretty cool and we kept moving through the thinning air. We had plenty of time for sunrise by my calculations, but others were worried about making it on time so we split the group into two groups of six (faster and slower) and that promptly disintegrated into every man for themselves.
The two Dutch girls were in last place and having a lot of trouble with the altitude (although I think we were too low to really have altitude sickness, I’m no expert) and I stayed behind with them trying to keep them moving as they were getting pretty discouraged and wanting to turn back. There was little point in doing so as we were already halfway by then and while it was exhausting walking uphill in the night it would be treacherous coming down at night. I managed to both convince them to press on and get them keeping a decent pace so that they wouldn’t miss sunrise. Plus, it was night and I wouldn’t want to be two girls walking alone with nobody behind them in the forest. We all made it to the top with plenty of time to spare and those that had been so quick to get to the top had been sitting and freezing for quite a bit of time and had started a fire. We sat around the fire for a while and looked at all the stars (amazing up here) amidst all the cellular, radio, and TV towers. There is no place set aside to view anything, just rowers everywhere. Some national park.
The sunrise finally came and was nice but I was pretty tired by this point or at least it wasn’t my primary reason for being there. As the sun rose and mists were cleared, there was the Pacific Ocean, clear as day, and the distant city of David looking surprisingly close. Looking on the other side, the more distant Pacific and specifically the Caribbean could just be seen as well as the islands and river mouth that make up Bocas del Toro. This was pretty cool though if you’re looking for a photo, there was no way I could find to do it with the towers, guy wires, and power lines everywhere. As it got lighter, we started our descent and I got talking to Amanda, the Spanish girl who seemed pretty interesting. Her walking pole had malfunctioned the night before and as we were talking an idea popped in my head and I managed to finally fix it for her which was a pretty good feeling.
The road down was hell. Pure and utter hell. The big rocks strained knees and ankles while the smaller ones targeted the feet and before long I found a stick appropriate in size for a walking stick to help out my left leg. I was going about the same speed as the Americans and we had gone ahead of the girls because it’s usually less hard to go down a bit faster than to force your legs to always brake your descent. Soon, however, I was hobbling down like an old man, leaning heavily on my walking stick as my left knee, ankle, and outside of my foot (problem with my arch?) were agony. We eventually found a nice lookout and laid down to wait for the girls to catch up. They also had the only cell phone and we thought it would be a good place, about an hour away from the bottom, to call and organize transport. We waited for about 40 minutes and when they showed up a 4WD did as well and they took off in it leaving us alone on the mountain with no phone to walk down on our own. Now that’s gratitude. They didn’t even offer to call us a ride, they just waved at us and bumped away down the trail.
This sleight angered us and perhaps fuelled us as we hobbled down six more kilometres out of the park and to a crossroads. Coupled with my extreme fatigue and lack of sleep, it’s probably lucky I didn’t run into the girls again or I probably wouldn’t have been very polite OR friendly. By this point I almost couldn’t walk on my left foot and we still didn’t have transportation. In the past 36 hours I had partied Saturday night in Bocas, drove across the country to Boquete, hiked overnight to the top of a volcano and back down some 30km, and I was now sprawled out alongside the road, beaten. Eventually, a collective or minivan came by and we got ourselves home for $!. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but I was starving and it was my dad’s birthday, so I grabbed a quick bite then went to an internet cafe to call my dad. It turned out that he was no longer interested in meeting me to go to the Galapagos, which would have been a great time and obviously it would’ve been nice to see him, but at the same time it was a relief in that I could spend however much time I wanted in Colombia without worrying about having to be somewhere at a certain time. Plus, trying to book from here and in advance meant more stress and much more expense than I probably could afford (though I’d do it anyway, who knows when I’ll be back in Ecuador).
Still, stress and whatever worries might have been alleviated, I was a bit disappointed not to mention sore and tired. I went to the doctor before going to bed to see if they had an X-Ray or anything because my foot hurt so much (even with two painkillers) that I thought I must have done something pretty serious to it. The secretary didn’t know what an X-Ray was and wouldn’t let me ask the English speaking doctor without opening a file. I wasn’t getting in a better mood, that’s for sure. It was time for a few hours or mid-afternoon sleep but when I went back to the hostel he had given my bed away to someone else and (with my permission) wanted me to move to another room with smaller creakier beds and terrible mattresses. Of course, there really was no option as the new guy’s backpack was all over my bed and in my fatigue I could have killed the overly friendly hostel owner, Pancho. “I don’t care what else might be around here, I’m out tomorrow” I decided. I managed to get an hour of sleep or so and then woke up and went out for beer and dinner with my Swiss roommate, Denise, who was a pretty nice girl and probably pretty good company considering that I didn’t fall asleep on the table in front of her, even with two beer in me.
The nearby hot springs would have been handy for my sore joints and foot, there’s a famous scenic walk nearby (not ready for it yet), flowers leftover from the recent festival of flowers, and more but after my sleep that night any doubts I had about leaving left me. I was so tired I should have slept straight through the night and into the next day but I was up from 3-5 swatting at the hundreds of mosquitoes buzzing in my ears, trying to keep from overheating, and trying to keep my whole body under the sheets while always aware that the slightest twitch sent loud creaking noises that could be heard on both coasts. I left the next morning for Santa Catalina as Boquete had offered me one thing at least, and that was first hand accounts of recent SCUBA dives with whale sharks AND manta rays. I set off with Raj, Clint, and Kenny for Panama’s Pacific coast and left Boquete and Central America’s last volcano behind me, beautiful but deadly.
