The real continental divide.

not the view from the plane but we flew over this

Before we left on The Big Trip™ we had planned to fly from Panama City to Quito Ecuador. But almost every person going north as we were heading south, insisted that we head to Colombia first. There was one problem – we knew nothing about Colombia and our 5+ year old guidebook could only tell us how dangerous it was. No specifics were ever given; it was just amazing. So But we knew that Colombia had changed a lot in those last years and was now figuring higher and higher on the backpacker trail. Crime was way down and traveller’s choices were way up. we decided to give it a go, especially when I discovered that the flights to Cartagena were a ¼ of the price of flights to Quito. But why weren’t we just taking the bus to the next country? A little something called the Darien Gap. It’s that skinny bit where Panama and Colombia meet. It’s almost all impenetrable jungle and home to at least three types of guerrillas and their heavily guarded drug laboratories. So we were definitely flying.

When I had booked our flight with Aires before we left, I thought we were leaving at 10am but when our e-tickets arrived via mail, I realized it was for 10pm. That left us with another whole day in Panama City. We could have gone out exploring the new city but instead we spent the day in the hostel. Adrian did the laundry. We both played with the puppy and kitten running around the building. And I did some stuff on the computer, like finding us a place to stay and figuring out what there was to do in Cartagena. Although it was a lazy day, it was a busy one. And our prebooked taxi arrived just after 7 to take us out to the airport.

We were leaving early because we had high hopes for the Panama City airport – supposedly it was a free trade zone and Adrian was anxious to check out PSP games and I wanted to see if there were any good camera deals. Check in was easy although we had to pay $10 for our slightly overweight luggage. The allowance was only 20kg and with all the books we were carrying around still hoping for a book exchange I wasn’t surprised we were a bit over. However, at security I ran into a little snafu. Something in my bag had caught the attention of the guard. I scratched my head and then figured it was a small jar of hand sanitizer or maybe the plethora of electronics I was carrying. But no it was my blessed multitool which I had completely forgotten about. The unsympathetic, dare I say sadistic guard pulled it out and smirked as he dropped it into the bin of forbidden items. I’ll miss that thing. Then their attention turned to my computer. It hadn’t shut down when I put it away and as a result was burning hot from being on in the insulated sleeve. I shut it down and assured them it was fine although I’m sure if they believed me. At immigration check out they didn’t want our tourist cards that we fought for at the Costa Rican border. And they didn’t want them at the airline desk either. It made me think they’re a bit of a scam and reading the instructions on the back, they’re only necessary if you want to stay in Panama longer than 30 days. which makes me think they’re a big scam.

Now it was time to check out the mall. Except there wasn’t one. There were only three types of store in the airport: electronics, candy, and your typical duty free. And none of the prices were any good. In fact they seemed to be more expensive than normal. It was a big disappointment. I guess the free trade zone is only for cruise ship passengers docking in Colon. Oh well, at least we had plenty of time for dinner. Except there was nowhere to eat. We found 1 bar and a hot dog stand. So hot dogs it was which brought back memories of Nicaragua. Had big hopes for Panama City airport. Because of the free trade tax free zone near the canal I assumed the airport would be a big mall full of good deals – not that I needed to buy anything Well maybe a new multitool but those aren’t available in airlines. Big disappointment lots of electronic stores but no real savings. One restaurant. And two hot dog stands. So hot dogs it was, aw memories of Nicaragua.

The one good thing about the Panama airport was the free wifi. Yes free. Did you hear that North American airports? Free wifi. And with some time to kill, it gave me a chance to get online and check my computer out. But as soon as I got online, the flight was called. Apparently everyone had checked in so they were going to leave early. Wow two things unlike any other airport I've been too.

The plane was a small propeller plane kinda like Porter uses. And like Porter, we also got a small meal despite the short flight. At sometime around Small propeller plane but comfy and nice. Even got a light meal. Somewhere around 10:15am we crossed into our next content over the pitch black of either the Caribbean or the Darien Gap, jumping ahead a time zone in the meantime.

We landed in Cartagena just before 11pm at an empty airport which meant we zoomed through immigration not even having to pay an entry tax/fee/price. It was a good thing we didn’t have to pay because we had no Colombian pesos. And the empty airport also meant no currency exchanges were open, actually nothing was open. While I negotiated the price for the taxi, Adrian went off in search of an ATM. The negotiations weren’t easy not because the driver was playing hardball but because his accent made his Spanish almost undecipherable. Instead of catching every other word I was lucky if I caught every tenth word. Regardless, we agreed on a price and Adrian returned – empty handed. Apparently the only ATM in the airport was out of service. Luckily we still had plenty of US$ left over from Panama which the taxi driver said he’d take. With that we were quickly whisked off down the coastal road into the old city of Cartagena.

The city looked beautiful with the old walls lit up as well as many of the gorgeous multicoloured colonial buildings behind it. That sense of awe came crashing to a halt when our driver turned into the part of the city our hostal was located. The beauty was a little bit harder to spot here with many of the colonial buildings in states of disrepair. But the hostel wasn’t one of them. Phew. We were greeted by the night guy. He spoke English which meant I didn’t have to try to figure out this new funky Spanish accent just yet. And good thing because I had to explain that we had no money to pay for the room at the moment. Despite the incredible mugginess of Cartagena, we checked into a cheap non-air conditioned room hoping to recoup the cost of the airplane tickets one room at a time.

Had a blast in San Blas.

Our final morning in paradise was unfortunately far from paradise. The wind was howling and the sea was nothing but whitecaps after another stormy night. This did not bode well for our boat ride back to the mainland. Adrian and I momentarily considered staying another night but a quick feel of my hair changes my mind. It’s sticky with sea salt and probably looks even worse. Paradise was lovely but a shower and dry bed was more enticing. Plus, we didn’t have enough money left in our wallets to pay for the night.

It was 6am when we got up. As predicted Nick and Arianne were still sleeping but Britt and Gunn were ready and packed and just as worried about the weather. None of us was looking forward to riding that tiny boat across those big waves. But we had no time to rethink our plan when Negro arrived just after 7.

The boat ride was better than any of us expected. Negro piloted the boat slowly and managed to avoid all of the big waves and unlike our experience in Bocas the boat never went airborne or felt like it would topple. We stopped to pick up others on the way, including 3 American girls one of whom spent the entire ride throwing up. I assumed it was the ocean but when we got to the shore, they admitted they had all partied too hard the night before. Oh great I hope Puky Brewster isn’t in our van back to Panama City.

When we got on shore, we discovered other travelers but no 4x4 SUVs to take us away. Negro chatted with some locals and then explained that the river had flooded in last night’s storm and none of the vehicles could cross it to meet us. So we would had to go up river and meet them instead. Negro began to say goodbye but not Britt and I reminded him that we needed our change. It was obvious Ricardo hadn’t told him about this so he made a call and then opened his wallet to give us the couple of bucks we were owed. Good thing because we needed to pay an extra $2 for the extra boat ride up the shallow river (photo above).

When we finally got to the SUVs down the river, we were greeted by crazy Judy and her brother. Just two SUVs and there were 15 of us to take back to Panama City. Judy apologized but said that with the bad conditions, some of the drivers hadn’t shown up. I was pretty sure the real story was that they only had enough people coming out this morning for two SUVs and hoped that all of us leaving would fit in the two vehicles in order to save themselves the cost of paying for another driver. Britt, Gun, Adrian and I were piled into Judy’s brother’s jeep, followed by the 3 American girls (yes, Puky Brewster was sitting right next to me). I thought we had a full load but then 4 Israeli’s were shoved in the back and one in the front next to Adrian. With 13 of us packed in like sardines, the brother started up the jeep and took off through the mountains again. He was as crazy a driver as Judy was. But it still took almost 3 hours to reach the highway.

Once on the highway I was looking forward to a fast ride back in to town. But we had to stop at a passport control office to get checked back into Panama. What? We didn’t do this when we went out. Apparently, we should have. My heart was pounding, hoping that we weren’t going to be in trouble. But my heart wasn’t pounding as hard as Britt’s. When she reached into her bag to get her passport, she discovered Frank (or Frankie, or Francesca, etc) had stowed away. She let out a scream and Adrian grabbed her bag and tossed Frank to the curb while Gunn and I laughed hysterically. Bye, bye Frank, can’t say I’ll miss you, but thanks for the entertainment. Then it was time to deal with Adrian and I’s passport problem. Actually it was a non-problem, as the official didn’t seem too bothered that we weren’t in the system and waved us through.

We got to Panama City quickly but only the Israeli’s and Adrian and I had reservations at a hostel. Britt and Gunn were going to try the hotel Nick and Arianne had recommended. It was nearby Mamallena (but supposedly cheaper and nicer). But the American girls had no plan of attack. Our driver drove to a couple of hostels to try to find them a room but there was no space. The Israeli passengers got quite annoyed at this and demanded the driver just drop the Americans somewhere and take the to their hostel. I don’t know why they were so impatient – I was the one sitting beside the puking girl. They obviously didn’t believe in travel karma. I told the American girls to get out at our hostel. While they didn’t have room, but they did have super nice staff who would help them find a room in the neighbourhood, most likely at the same hotel the Norwegian Girls were going to. With that we said goodbye to Britt and Gunn. We had been really lucky that we were stranded on a deserted island with them and Nick and Arianne, and, of course, Frank.

Going to the dogs.

Grey skies – not exactly what you want when you’re hanging out on a deserted island in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, that was what we woke up to. But thankfully, the rain that poured down all night had stopped. Our mood wasn’t improved by breakfast which was a meager half of a hamburger bun with fried egg. Nick and Ariane had wisely brought a shopping bag full of groceries with them and shared their milk with us which at least made the instant coffee more palatable. Negro had said he’d come after breakfast to pick us up for our snorkeling tour but when he didn’t arrive in the hour after breakfast, we all began to think that the weather may have caused him to rethink it.

The sun threatened to come out so Adrian and I picked through the snorkel gear to find a couple of sets and headed out from the beach to see what the reef was like just off shore. We swam past the sea grass, and then the garbage and finally reached the coral and fish. It wasn’t bad for being only 20 metres from shore. And on the way back we had to navigate through a school of hundreds of thousands of tiny grey fish which was pretty neat. Back on shore I told Nick and Arianne to give it a go. Just as they were coming back, Negro arrived. We rounded up the rest of our snorkeling gear, as well as Britt and Gunn and headed out.

Negro dropped us off at Isla de Perro, a large sandy island (photo above) with a volleyball net, small snack shop and many tourists already there. We had to pay $1 to visit which none of us had, assuming we were just going snorkeling. Negro instead paid for us and told us we could pay him when we got back to our huts. He said he’d come back for us later and we’d be back in time for lunch. We stopped him and asked about the snorkeling and he pointed out to a dark shape in the water. That was the barco esconditio. The island was beautiful but not quite what we were expecting.

Oh well, Adrian and I grabbed our snorkel gear and swam towards the dark shadow. We weren’t expecting much and were shocked by what we saw. The boat was a 60-metre ship that had obviously been underwater for decades. It was thoroughly incrusted with beautiful coral and absolutely teeming with fish. It.was.awesome. We immediately called to the other 4 and told them get out here. After an hour of swimming around it we were all a little hungry and thirsty. Despite’s Negro’s assurance before he left that we could put things on a tab and then pay him back later, the little hut didn’t offer much. Nick and Arianne shared one of their stash of granola bars with all of us which helped stave off the hunger. To get my mind off of the lack of food and water, I went back out to the ship although by this time it was crawling with newly arrived visitors, some of whom were ignorantly walking and climbing on the coral. I couldn’t take that anymore and headed back to shore just as Negro appeared on the horizon. I informed the other 5 and before Negro had even pulled the boat up to the beach we were already in it, hungry and ready to go back. The beach was lovely but since none of us were prepared for it we were just as anxious to leave.

Back at Iron, we all ran to the picnic table and had our utensils in hand ready to eat. It was 2 and breakfast had been at 7:30 so we were starving. After last nights hot dogs and this mornings tiny sandwiches we weren’t hopeful. One of Oneida’s daughters brought out a plate of chicken and rice which we all dug into. There was complete silence as we gobbled it down – except for Adrian who decided to educate us all on the glory and versatility of the humble spud versus boring rice. I was glad the rest of the table was laughing because after 12 years of hearing it, it was old news to me. He continued his ruminations, proposing that while we were all roughing it out here, our host Kuna family was on the other side of the island with wifi, satellite tv and freezers full of ice cream and chocolate.

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing nothing. Reading. Lounging. Sunning. Although not in that order as the clouds came back later in the afternoon. Adrian and Nick bored the rest of us with their three hour conversation on music. Nick was a musician which meant Adrian was in heaven talking about the most underrated hits of the 80s. Thankfully, they stopped when dinner was brought out. Actually we all stopped. For our last dinner, they staff wowed us with two huge platters of crab. We tried to figure out what sort of crab produced claws as big as our fists but gave up and just dug in. There was even dessert, another platter but this one was full of pineapple. Finally we had a meal that left us truly stuffed. As the dishes were cleared away, Ricardo brought us back to reality reminded Adrian, Britt, Gunn and I that Negro would be picking us up tomorrow morning 7:30-ish to take us back to the mainland. But his wife stepped in and said “siete en punto” as she cleared away the dishes. Yikes. 7am sharp. That was an early start.

It was now time to settle our bills. And even though Ariane and Nick have a decent understanding of Spanish, it was rather confusing. Particularly when Adrian reminded me that we paid a $10 deposit back at the hostel. Unfortunately Ricardo had no clue about that nor does he have change for the Norwegian girls and us. But he promises that tomorrow we’d get it from Negro when he brought us to the mainland. As for our deposit, that was beyond any of our translation capabilities. But it worked out okay because Ricardo had done the calculations wrong and undercharged us. So the $10 was their money anyway.

As we finished our drinks by candlelight again, we said goodbye to Nick and Arianne who begged off from the early wake up call. We also got a chance to say goodbye to Frank and one of his offspring when they made an appearance in our room. I said goodbye to them by tossing them out of the room.

What’s Spanish for brakes?

The alarm went off at stupid o’clock, unaffectionately known as 4am. Thanks to our trip to the grocery store we had some cereal for breakfast and then dragged our butts to reception carrying just our day packs with just enough stuff for our two night getaway. There was another couple waiting whom I recognized from a few days ago before they had had to relocate to a nearby hotel when they forgot to reserve their room for enough nights. There was also a group of Israelis ready to head out too. Downstairs there were two white 4x4s waiting for us one driven by a super energetic lady named Judy. She hustled Adrian and I into her jeep and then drove off with the other driver claiming that we were his.

We got about a block away when Judy got a phone call that made her do a crazy u-turn and head back to the hostel.
“I’m sorry I don’t what is going on. I’m the driver for your island but you have to go with the other guy.” She said to us via the rearview mirror, while talking in the cell phone, steering and shifting at the same time.

I was kind of glad we were going with the other driver as Judy scared me. But this didn’t bode well for the beginning of our journey (although I was too tired to care). In the new SUV I was lucky enough to get the front seat while Adrian was squeezed into the back with the gaggle of Israelis. My relief at being with a sane driver disappeared when he shot off and barreled down the dark streets of Panama then on to the expressway east in record time.

I was amazed that even at this stupid early hour there were long lineups of locals waiting for buses at the side of the road. The day really does begin and end with the sunrise and sunset for these folks. I drifted off to sleep and woke up about an hour later when we pulled up to a little fonda (no not bridget or jane, but a hole in the wall shack café on the side of the highway) for some coffee. Then it was back on the highway that soon dwindled into a pothole-ridded road. And by potholes, I mean giant pits, which our driver preferred to swerve around without slowing down. That meant a lot of flying back and forth inside the vehicle but amazingly none of us got car sick.

We turned off the highway onto a gravel road that slowly (well fastly, at the speed our driver was going) turned into a dirt road and then mud road as me headed up and over the mountains of Panama’s continental divide. The road was very twisty and treacherous but our driver’s preferred technique for handling it was going as fast as possible downhill so he could use the momentum to get up the next hill. At one point there was a truck in front of us that couldn’t make it up a hill and we almost rear-ended it. Our driver reversed at full speed to give the other driver room. It was just as scary as any roller coaster and I wished I knew how to ask “where are the brakes” in Spanish.

The road became worse the further we went. But we got to catch our breath when we stopped to pay our Kuna tax of $6 each as we entered the Kuna Yala territory. Then it was back on the death road through the jungle for another hour and half ride which even involved driving across a river. I was relieved when the road suddenly became paved only to realize we were now on a runway of a small airport that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, except perhaps by drug runners. We pulled up to the small terminal at the end of the runway where lots of other travelers were waiting all looking similarly green in the face after their ride in. The terminal apparently was now the dock for the boat transfers to the island.

As we waited for our boat to whisk us away to Iron (ee-rone), our driver told us that he had to take us to another port further in the jungle. So we reluctantly got back in the truck. The trek was a short one to the banks of a river where a few boats and about 15 other travelers were waiting including the American couple from this morning. Judy was also there yelling instructions – I don’t know what coffee she drinks in the morning, actually I do so I can avoid it. She came up to us and once again apologized for the confusion. Our boat was there but the Americans’ luggage wasn’t; it was still making the trek on another SUV. Eventually after an hour of farting about it arrived and we got on the small 12 person lancha with 10 other folks. Most got off at the stops along the way, leaving just us and the American couple who were also headed to Iron which apparently was the furthest west of all the islands.

We flew across the water, eventually slowing down as we approached a tiny palm tree covered island with a handful of huts dotted on the white sand. As the boat curved around to the other side, the Kuna family living on the island ran out to greet us. The women wore red skirts, and what looked like leg warmers until I realized that they were beaded leg wrappings. We learned that Iron was the name of the owner and the older woman greeting us was Oneida (spelling a guess)his wife. There were also countless kids and other members of the extended family who lived in the huts we had seen on the other side of the island. On this side was where they housed us visitors. There were four huts, all basic but with a comfy bed and wooden floor. Woohoo. The bathroom was a toilet in a hut that had to be flushed by pouring water down the bowl, and the shower, well the shower was something we didn’t get introduced to. No worries we changed into our bathing suits and jumped in the water just steps from our hut. From the water we got a clear view of the rest of island including another grouping of basic huts where we spotted Matt from the Canal bus stop. He told us the accommodation at that end was really basic – sand floors and no bedding. But he didn’t care it was cheap and the view (photo above) was priceless.

Soon we were called for lunch where Adrian and I met the other 4 people staying with us. The American couple were Nick and Arianne from Portland. And the two others already on the island were Britt and Gunn two girls from Norway. While chowing on our rice and fish, Ricardo introduced himself to us. He was Iron’s best friend (and brother-in-law) and looking after us while Iron was in Panama City. He also formally introduced us to our boat captain, Negro who told us he was going to take us out tomorrow on a boat tour to some other islands. We all asked for a good snorkeling place and he told us he know the best place that has a barco escondito – or sunken boat. It sounded amazing we just hoped we didn’t mean an old lancha on a sand bar.

After lunch we went back in the water but soon the weather changed and the clouds looked quite fierce so we decided to read. Well I decided to read. Adrian went nosing around the island and found out that Oneida’s daughters had two kittens in one of the hut which he immediately demanded that he play with. They were pretty darn cute and we cooed like idiots as we held them and posed for pictures with them until dinner.

At exactly 6:30 we were served dinner which was hot dogs and rice. Good thing we had a box of sangria with us. We shared it with the 4 others - it was my postponed birthday after all - and enjoyed the evening sitting at the table chatting by candlelight. Britt and Gunn had arrived the day before and assured us the food had been better. But they also warn us about the cockroaches that come out after dark. I wasn’t really bothered – unlike sand flies and mosquitos they don’t bite me. But Arianne was freaked out. To make her feel better, Nick decided to give the cockroaches a name. From now on we were to call all of them Frank. Well Frank (or one of his many children all named Frankie or Francesca) popped up on the thatch roof near the picnic table as well as in the toilets. However as it became pitch black we lost sight of Frank and every one chilled until 10pm when we decided to pack it all in for the night. After the crazy trip out here, we had finally found the brakes.

A man. A plan. A canal. Panama.

That should really read: A woman. A birthday. A canal. Panama. Of course that wouldn’t be a palindrome but it would be a better description of our day. Indeed it was my 36th birthday, but rather than celebrate today we decided to delay it one day and celebrate in the San Blas Islands. We booked our two night getaway through the hostel and then booked our flights for Cartegena the following Monday. There was some back and forth over the bookings as I the only requirement I had was a non-sand floor which was harder to come by. Eventually the staff found a place that met these high standards. San Blas is an archepeligo of hundreds of tiny islands off the Caribbean coast of Panama. It is an independent territory governed by the Kuna indigenous people who live there. So this birthday getaway was going to be cultural but also a little bit a paradise as the isolation has meant the pristine beaches have stayed pristine.

But today for my actual birthday, the itinerary was far less exotic. We took Conrad’s advice and decided to head out to the Miraflores locks just outside of the city. On our way to the catch the bus we went searching for a breakfast place but after 30 minutes of wandering around we gave up and headed to the ginormous mall sized bus terminal. Thanks to the weekday traffic it took ages to get to the terminal on the local bus (compared to our 5 minute ride in). But we finally arrived and set out to find the bus to Gamboa. We walked the entire length of the terminal and couldn’t find it. Or so I thought. When I asked at the information desk, we were directed to the very last platform, #62, which was on the other side of the food court at the end of the terminal. The bus there said it was going to Paraiso, not Gamboa. I asked a man sitting next to us if the bus was going to Miraflores and he nodded. But it then occurred to me that there might be a section of town called Miraflores far from the locks. So we asked the bus driver. Although not knowing the Spanish word for canal or lock, we used English and hoped it translated. The driver nodded and then took off.

It was a very quick ride because we were heading out of the city (a good sign). And soon the driver was motioning to us to get off. We were joined by a Kuna couple dressed in full Kuna gear who told us in English that they were also going to the canal so we could walk together. This was their first time to the canal.
“So today you are tourists?” I asked him.
“Yes, today we are tourists” He laughed realizing that in their traditional clothes, they were normally the tourist attraction, "just like you."

Well, not quite just like us. We walked the 500m to the canal visitor centre where we discovered that not all tourists are created equally. While we forked over $8 each, these strangers in a strange land were let in free. While the couple began their tour, Adrian and I immediately made a beeline for the restaurant. It was afternoon and we were starving.

The restaurant was one of those places with linen tablecloths and napkins and lots of forks. And the price tag was a whopping $24 for the buffet and view of the canal (photo above). It was pricey but when we saw the spread just beyond the maitre’d stand we caved. There were fresh fruits and vegetables as far as the eye could see – well not quick but after our diet of chicken (fried, roasted, sandwich, filet, breast, leg, etc) and rice it felt like it. Plus it was my birthday. Adrian and I spent two hours pacing ourselves at the buffet while watching the huge cargo ships navigate the narrow locks. Adrian was like a little boy getting very exciting as progressively bigger ships went through and demanding numerous photos every five minutes. I had three servings of at least 5 different salads, almost a whole bowl of olives and a good helping of every cheese (after vegetables the thing I miss the most, foodwise, is cheese). Adrian gorged on five different types of meat. But we both ended the meal with three different types of birthday cake. Stuffed but not nauseous, we then pulled ourselves away from the foods to check out the displays. We were here to see the canal not the buffet after all.

Our first stop was the theatre where we sat through a very rah-rah-Panama film about the benefits of the canal, and in particular it being under Panamanian control – quite the contrast to Conrad’s opinion yesterday. Once our heads were full of propaganda we were set loose on the 3 floors of displays related to water and the canal. The Panama Canal Museum in Casco Viejo was actually more informative but it was still worth it, especially since there was an interactive display where Adrian got to pretend to be a canal pilot (what they call the people who steer the ships through the locks).

We headed back to the bus stop as it began to drizzle. There we were greeted by taxi drivers who tried to convince us to take a taxi. However, there pitch was old news (You missed the last bus! It will be full! There is no bus!) and we ignored them in favour of our 50¢ bus ride. While we were waiting for the bus, we struck up a conversation with the other gringo waiting. Matt was another Canadian. Unfortunately I don’t remember what we talked about because I was too busy swatting mosquitos. In the 20 minutes we waited for the bus, I got swarmed. Just I was beginning to think the only escape was a $10 cab ride, the bus pulled up and saved me. At the bus station, Matt asked if we wanted to share a cab but we decided to venture into the mall to pick up our supplies for our trip to San Blas the next day. We said goodbye and then ducked into the grocery store and discovered that replacing our backpacks with our shopping bags took $2.50 off the cab ride back to the hostel. Instead of the $4 we were charged when we first arrived, this time we only paid $1.50 – and the driver was much nicer too.

When we arrived back at the hostel, there was a couple relating their horror story about their trip to San Blas – rats, lack of food, stranded on a deserted island for hours, etc. I started to panic but Hugo at the hostel assured us we were at a nicer place. But I lowered my already lowered expectations and set off to pack for the trip. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.

Old faces. New friends.

Next stop Panama City. Saying Panama, makes me think of that Van Halen song, to which I only know one lyric – Panama… Panama-ah-a-ah-a-ah! Are there any other words to that song? Probably not because, besides the Canal and Noriega, (which aren’t the sexiest subjects for rock lyrics), what do any of us really know about Panama? Despite, this lack of inspiration or expectations, Panama City was the next place we were headed.

We checked out of the hostel and headed to the bus station where we boarded a comfy air conditioned coach with a bathroom. Phew because this bus ride was over 7 hours and it was hot outside today. We kept ourselves amused with the badly dubbed c-movies on the bus’ tv and the bag of junk food that we brought on board. Soon we were crossing over the Bridge of the Americas at the Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal. But before that even registered, we were shocked by the skyline of Panama. It looked like Miami, complete with multiple cranes and countless skyscrapers. My recollection of those newstories out of Panama did not prepare me for this or the gigantic mall-sized bus station attached to a gigantic mall-sized mall. Luckily there was a phalanx of cabs ready to take us where we wanted to go.

The hostel had advised us that it should only cost about $2 by cab so when the first cabbie told me $4, I walked away. Of course when the second one said $5, I realized the numbers were going in the wrong direction and went back to the first driver. Oh well, it’s the price you pay when you look like you just got off the bus. The hostel was a bit worn but clean and comfy enough. The staff were super friendly and helpful. Plus, it was nice to see some familiar faces. Way back in Granada, Nicaragua, we had crossed paths with a woman traveling with her two kids through Latin American (I know, crazy isn’t she). This time we actually introduced ourselves – turned out Stephanie was a fellow Canadian albeit from Edmonton. We caught up on where we’d been since the last time we’d spotted each other and figured we’d see each other again soon as she and the kids were off on a boat to San Blas and Cartegena the next day.

The next morning we were off to explore the old colonial part of the city, known as the Casco Viejo. Rather than try to navigate the crazy bus system we caught a $2 cab. The cab driver dropped us off in front of the Teatro Nacional so we could begin our little walking tour of the old city. In contrast to the Miami of the new town – this part reminded us of Havana. The only thing missing were the classic cars. Everywhere were beautiful old buildings in various states of repair: from recently remodeled and upgraded condos to shells of buildings that looked like they would blow over at any minute, including Noriega’s old hang out which looked like it was finally being renovated 20 years after the US invasion destroyed it. Just around the corner was a pretty ocean front promenade lined with Kuna indigenous women selling crafts. We passed the memorial to those who died during the French attempt to construct the canal and headed to the cathedral and onwards to the really good Panama Canal museum – are you seeing a theme here? Yup, Panama City is all about the canal. But it was easy to forget about the canal in the city. We were surrounded by lots of old churches and beautiful old buildings and balconies.

Before we got here, we had been worried about security in the city. I blame our out of date guidebook. Other cities have been dodgier and we’ve survived. But we got a quick reminder of what could happen as we walked up Avenida Central into a less touristy part of town. It was less polished and less pretty and we were immediately approached by an old man who kindly told me to put my flashy camera away just as a crack head approached me to demand money and an argument broke out between a drunk and two girls. The old man was Conrad and he was 73 years old. He spoke perfect English thanks to his education in the old American Canal Zone. So we left the police to deal with the drunk and an old lady to tell off the crack head and continued our walk down the local pedestrian mall with our new friend.

Conrad was glad we were Canadian. Not that he didn’t like Americans. In fact, he owed them a lot – they’d given him an education when he was a boy and a job when he was a young man. But they also owed him a lot he said. The invasion had cost him his house and his wife. He called it a love-hate relationship. Despite all that he said he wished that the US was still in charge of the canal. Nowadays, he said, the money the canal makes only goes to the wealthy and half of those are money launderers for the Colombian drug lords. In fact he said all those new buildings we saw on the skyline were mostly empty and built just to help launder money. He contrasted that with the area we were now in. It was just outside the protected old city but was full of equally beautiful buildings however, most of them were slowly disintegrating because no one wanted to put any money into this part of town. He explained to us that minimum wage was about $1.30 and with gas at $3 a gallon it was hard for most folks to make ends meet, yet everywhere there were cars and brand spanking new condos that sat empty. As we reached the Legislative Plaza we stopped and Conrad pointed just beyond the expressway towards some low rise buildings. Those projects were the real Panama City he warned us. Over there the drug lords have given 9 year olds AKs to fight the police who only have .38s. “Guess who’s winning?” he asked. I’d seen enough Law and Order to know the answer to that question. According to Conrad, Panama was nothing but a corrupt drug laundering front. When he found out we were considering taking a day trip out to Colon (the Caribbean side of the canal), he quickly stopped us. Colon was like the projects he pointed out, except it was the whole city. He wouldn’t go there and he’s a local. He gave us instructions on how us to take the bus to the nearby locks instead. It’s cheaper and a lot more fun he said.

Our impromptu tour with Conrad had been enlightening and educational. Not only did we learn that only tourists wore shorts, we also learned a lot about current affairs. Conrad hailed us a cab and as we got in we gave him $5. He didn’t ask for anything but his tour was better than any we could have paid for. On the way back to the hostel, the cab took us by the projects. We didn’t see any kids with machine guns but we did see some Mormons which was almost as frightening.

The road to nowhere.

The time had come to leave Bocas. With the weather sucking, we wanted to leave with a good memory and, the shark was as good as it was going to get (as scary as it was). Our next stop was David about half way to Panama City. David was Panama’s second biggest city but the big attraction was outside of town in the mountain cloud forest. However, we’d already done the cloud forest in Costa Rica, and were a bit lost for what we were going to do there. But it was the halfway point between Bocas and Panama City and that was good enough for now.

Of course the day we decided to give up on Bocas, the sun threatened to make an appearance. For the first time in 4 days we actually saw a bit of blue between the clouds. Go figure. But it wasn’t enough to make us stick around. The improved weather meant that the boat ride was smooth and easy. From the dock we caught a taxi to the bus stop just outside of town on the highway. The bus was actually a mini van but comfortable and good thing too because the roads through the mountains were pretty twisty and turny.

In David we were let off at the bus station and had to flag down a cab (no really, we weren’t swarmed for the first time in, well, ever). And the price was so good I expected to be baited and switched once we arrived at the hostel. But no. It was $3 and stayed $3. Hmm. Panama was starting to look up.

The hostel was located in a residential area and actually looked like a house, well a student house. But our room had a private bath, tv and air conditioning which is better than any room I had when I was a student. The hostel also offered tours, well on paper, however, it was low season so they gave us a tour company pamphlet instead. We took it with us to McDonalds which Adrian demanded we eat at since spotting it during the cab ride in. Doctor Adrian convinced me to go by telling me that if anything was going to clog up my stomach, it would McDonald’s. So we joined the hundred’s of locals and their families for Sunday dinner at McDonald’s and studied our tour choices. There was lots of choice with most of the tours involving some combination of horse or jeeps, hot springs, hikes and coffee farms. We decided to do the cheapest option which was $35 for just the hot springs. And booked it before going to bed.

The next morning, another hostel employee, changed my mind. He told me I was crazy to do the tour to the hot springs when it was super easy to get there on our own and a whole lot cheaper – in fact free. Well, free is something I like. So once I prodded Adrian awake we decided to cancel the tour. The other employee didn’t seem to pleased but I told him to take it up with his co-worker. We were off to soak in some hot springs.

Of course, the bus company had another plan. The bus to the hot springs was supposed to leave every hour. But we’d either just missed one or the schedule had changed because we waited for an hour and a half. No worries; there were cages of cute chicks to amuse us until the bus to Caldera eventually arrived and we got on. However, the trip was an hour and half (not 45 minutes Lonely Planet) which was beginning to eat into our hot springs time. Still no worries. When we got to the turn off, the bus driver signaled to us and we got off. Before we walked off a little voice told me to double check when the last bus was back to David. In an hour and a half the driver replied as he closed the door and drove away to double check. Now this should have been no worries too, except the hot springs were at least a 30 minute hike away, which would leave us very little time for the hot springs. We started the hike down the hot, dusty, deserted side road through some very pretty countryside. After 20 minutes we found ourselves on a huge construction site where some sort of aqueduct and bridge was being built. We found our way around it and after another 15 minutes of hiking up and down hills we spotted another sign (photo above) just over a bridge. The hot springs were another 500 metres away. Uphill. That was it. Our desire for the hot springs was gone, replaced by a need to catch the last bus to town and an extreme thirst.

The only witnesses to our failed attempt were the hundreds of cows that lined the road. So when I finally had to give in to my bladder, I chose a small rock by the side of the road and asked Adrian to keep a look at for cars. Of course as soon as I start to pee, Adrian screamed "Car!" a little too late. I’m pretty sure I gave the car load of construction workers a good show. Oh well. I’m glad someone had a good laugh.

We got back to the highway with 10 minutes to spare – good thing we didn’t try to get to the hot springs. But it was good that we were early because with a crack of thunder, it began to pour. There was a deserted store with an overhang and a step where we waited for the bus joined by a couple of stray dogs and some chickens all trying to keep dry too. No worries, the dry bus would be here soon. Or not. It was another hour until the bus finally pulled up. Which meant we could have enjoyed the hot springs after all. Although we would have been drenched on the walk back. But rather than admit our defeat, we gave the hot springs a thumbs up to the staff of the hostel. There was no need for everyone to know about our trip on the road to nowhere (except you guys, of course).

Shark attack.

When I was far too young I saw Jaws. Ever since then I’ve had both a fascination and extreme fear of sharks. I loved watching nature programs about them but could also freak myself out in a swimming pool imagining that there was a shark in there somewhere – like freak myself out to the point of having to get out of the pool. One of the reasons I decided to finish my certification in Utila was that I’d read that there were sharks further down the coast. I figured that I already had enough stress on my hands with that silly mask skill and didn't need to throw sharks into the mix. Now that I had the certification, I’d forgotten about the possibility that we might meet a shark while diving. How quickly it would come back to me.

In the morning, I tried to have breakfast but my stomach was still doing flip flops. I wasn’t sure if that was my nerves or the remnants of my stomach bug. What ever it was I decided to skip lunch so I’d be okay on the dive. Plus, the sea was looking pretty rough and I didn’t spend my time on the boat hanging our the edge throwing up.

At the dive centre, we met our divemaster, Leandro, and the other guy diving with us, Michael from Denmark. He had all his equipment and I assumed he was a hardcore diver but he’d just finished his certification in Norway and all his equipment is brand new for the trip. In fact, he spent most of the briefing interrupting to ask how to work his dive computer and bcd. The British have a saying that sums him up: All the gear but no idea. Thankfully, Leandro, although he looked about 12, was calm and experienced and patient. My relief was soon replaced by worry when I saw the boat. It was small and I immediately worried about how I’d get back in it after the dive and, more importantly, how it was going to stay afloat in the day’s big waves. Leandro told me not worry and pointed to the small ladder being loaded on. Okay, so that was one concern taken care of but the waves weren’t going anywhere. Sure enough, as we headed out to the dive site called the Garden, the small boat was tossed about and we were fully airborne at least twice. It was a bit too much excitement for me. But it was just the beginning.

In order to get under the water where it was much bound to be much calmer, I had to attempt a back boat entry. I'm not scared of it now. But that first time I was terribly frightened and sat on the edge of the boat hanging on for dear life. Leandro suggested I could put all my equipment on in the water. But I saw the huge waves and quickly decided to take the backward plunge. Even with a flotation device holding us up, the waves continued to crash over us and we submerged as soon as possible to escape them. Unfortunately, the visibility wasn’t the greatest and the reef looked a little lackluster thanks to all the silt but we did see some small rays, lots of parrot fish and a whole bunch of sea cucumbers which looked like giant alien slugs. It was so relaxing and calm under the water that when we resurfaced I had forgotten just how crazy the waves were. But they worked in my favour, pushing me up out of the water and into the boat.

The worst was far from over. On our nailbiting trip back to the dive centre to get new tanks. Michael made the mistake of sitting at the front of the boat. After one too many times of being thrown up in the air, his butt was more than sore so he climbed over the benches further back into the boat. Thankfully, while the new tanks were loaded back into the boat, the wind shifted and the waves calmed down. YAY!!!!!

We headed back out to our second dive site with the uninspired name of 05. I wasn’t expecting much especially since Leandro told us we wouldn’t see anything at first. So I was surprised when we got under the water. The visibility was better. The coral was in better shape. And there were tonnes more fish. Halfway through our dive, Leandro pointed over to an overhang of coral. He made a hand signal, one I’d never seen before. I looked over expected to see another fish. There was nothing. I looked again and then realized what he was pointing at. It wasn’t a small colourful fish; it was a gigantic 2 metre, grey-coloured shark lurking under the overhang. My heart jumped up into my throat and as my momentum carried me towards the coral and the shark, I tried to swim backwards. When that failed I peeled off from the front of the group to the back, and hoped if Jaws got hungry it would pick someone else off first (not Adrian of course). Leandro all but laughed at me, and when I looked back at the shark, it hadn’t moved and appeared to sleeping. Okay so Jaws wasn’t going to make lunch out of one of my limbs today but I didn’t dare get any closer. Even as we swam away along the reef, I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following us. I think we saw some pretty amazing fish too, but all I could remember was the outline of Jaws under the coral.

Once we were safely back in the boat, Leandro informed us it was a nurse shark and almost completely harmless. Instead of rows of razor sharp teeth as big as our hands, it has a gummy denture-free mouth. I was still a little shaky having come face-to-face to a childhood fear but Adrian decided that he really likes diving now. Appropriately, we had fish and chips for dinner that night. Too bad the fish wasn’t shark; maybe eating one would help me get over my fear of being eaten by one.

Rainy days in Bocas always get me down.

it never got better than this.

“Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in” that was the way I felt at the moment. I thought I’d cleared up the stomach bug after the visit to the hospital in Cahuita. But I was still suffering. And for those of you keeping count, it had been over a week – otherwise known a really long freaking time to be throwing up. I did a little investigation and found out that the antibiotics I was taking had the same side effects as the stomach virus. I also discovered that I had been given two rounds. So I stopped taking them once I finished the first round and crossed my fingers that the grossness would stop.

The good thing was that the lack of appetite was keeping our food budget way, way down. The bad thing is that it meant I couldn’t meet up with the friend of the friend who’d given us so many amazing tips about Bocas. It also meant we couldn’t enjoy most of the things she suggested we do. But even if I had been 100%, the weather was in on the conspiracy. It was absolute crap. Since we got off the boat three days ago it had been pouring constantly. Not the best thing when you’re in a beach town/Caribbean island. Grr.

All this icky stuff really hadn’t done much to improve my opinion about Bocas. And since the other islands were beach islands too there was no point in moving. But rather than dwell on the lemons, we decided to make lemonade. Since the weather was wet, we’d go scuba diving.

We headed out to the dive centre we’d visited previously and signed up to go out the next afternoon. Since it was my first time going out after certification so I was nervous. An email from the friend of the friend didn’t help. She let me know that the swell was coming in tomorrow morning. I had no idea what that meant but she explained that that was the reason for the crappy weather and meant that the sea was going to be quite rough tomorrow. Gulp.

Risking our lives to cross the border.

not our picture but i was too scared to dig my camera out

Cabinas Safari’s motto is your home away from home and it was. Although our time in Cahuita had been stressful, the awesome folks not just at the hotel but throughout town had made it one of my favourite places. However, today we were moving on to Panama.

We were close to the border but because our destination was Bocas del Toro, a group of island off the shore, it was not going to be easy to get there. But thanks to an awesome website I found and emails from a friend of a friend living on one of the islands, I had a clue how to do it and what to it expect. There was one comment from the friend that did puzzle me. “Be forewarned about the bridge crossing b/w CR and Panama,” she wrote with no further details. Curious and curiouser. I guess we’d find out soon enough.

At the bus station we used the bank machine to take out American dollars which are the local currency in Panama (although they still call them Balboas, handy). Then hoped on the bus to Sixiola. The ride was relatively short and the town was just as small. Just a couple of stores beside the river. We walked to the Costa Rican border control where we were stamped out of the country by a border guard who didn’t even look up at us. The next step was the Panamanian border control on the other side of the river. Getting there involved crossing the bridge and once we stepped on it, I understood the reason for the cryptic email message. The bridge was an old railway bridge, meaning that it wasn’t made for foot traffic. Instead there were wooden slats with huge gaps between them revealing the river below. At some point in time, wooden planks had been lain down on top of them to make it easier to walk but they were half rotten and no longer nailed down. On the Panamanian side I was surprised to see heavy trucks lined up waiting to drive across. I know I wouldn’t want to drive across it. I didn’t even want to walk across it. Walking without packs would have been a challenge in itself but with packs our centre of gravities were thrown off and we walked very slowly and very deliberately and made it across in one piece.

Now we had to deal with immigration and that proved as challenging as the bridge. The woman at the office wouldn’t let us in until we had proof of exit from Panama. Luckily, there was a bus ticket office across the street. It was just a shack, and I’m not even sure there were buses but they sold us two tickets for $20 to prove we were leaving Panama. Part of me can’t help but wonder if this is some scam run by the immigration lady but I swear I’m not a conspiracy theorist. We headed back to the lady expecting to be stamped in. But not yet. Next she sent us to another office to buy our official tourist card for $5. Only once we had all that did she stamp our passports and welcome us to Panama.

Once that was done, the money changers swarmed us. We changed our remaining colones to dollars and the rate wasn’t too bad. One of the touts then tried to shuttle us onto the $15 “bus”. It was clearly marked turismo and is a minivan. I told him I wanted the public bus and he again tried to convince me his tourist van was the public bus. I spotted the real bus around the corner and told him that’s where we were going. He then changed tactics. He called out “it’s not going where you want to” so I pointed to the sign in the bus’ window that said it was. “It’s too dangerous” he called out. We ignored him and began boarding. “You’ll have to take a taxi to change buses. It’s too much money.” He was still shouting after us as the bus drove away. We paid 75 cents for the first half of the journey to Changuinola where we changed buses. And then it was another $1.50 for the second half to Almirante. $15 my ass.

Once we were in Almirante the drive signaled to us that we were at our stop which is the docks. We follow the rest of the passengers (all locals a good sign) to the water taxi office. The boat ride costs just $4 each which surprises me considering our other boat trips had been so much more. I soon realized why. Bocas wasn’t some far away island chain. It was a group of islands just thirty minutes from town or 10 minutes from land. It was also bigger than I imagined it. Yet once we stepped off the boat it was exactly what I imagined and feared. It was very built up with cars and roads which also manages to give it a run down and seedy feeling somewhere between Belize and Utila. Of course coming from the peace and quiet of Cahuita I was bound to be disappointed.

In such a touristy place, there were also a lot of touts, one of whom begins following us as soon as we step on the dock. He tries to get us to his hostel but armed with reco’s from the friend of a friend who lives in town I tried to shake him. He still followed us to the place and as luck would have it, it was closed for renovations. While Adrian and I try to decide where to go next, ignoring the touts pitch of his “friends” place, we are rescued by a woman. She was the maid at the hostel we’re standing in front of but now she was working around the corner and she says they have room. We follow her. The Estrella de Bocas hotel (yup a hotel not a hostel) looks really nice. It was $25, has a private bath and a tv. With that last point, Adrian was already unpacking. I left the tout as he asked the owner for a commission but closed the door before I could find out if he succeeded.

When we left to the hotel to explore the town, I expected the tout to still be there. Luckily he was gone. But our trip around town took just 30 minutes and was still disappointing. The clouds had rolled in casting a grey pall over the town and the line ups of hotels, and tourist greasy spoons are a bit depressing. Since we didn’t need dinner (we still had lots of pizza left over from the night before), we popped into a dive centre. Thanks to a relationship with our schools in Utila we would get a 10% discount on our dives. Sounds like a plan. I told the guy we’d be back in tomorrow to book something once my stomach bug has cleared. He said he understood as he was recovering too. Oh great, the virus was here too.

That leaves only bars left to check out and since I still couldn’t drink we decided to pass. It was back to the hotel to chill out in front of the tv. After our death-defying walk across the border and yesterday’s trip to the hospital, I think we deserved it.