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.

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.