Bocas del Toro, Panama

At the beginning of the trip, Linnaea and I both agreed that we would avoid Bocas del Toro at all cost. Bocas is Panama's answer Cancun. Or Oahu. Or a fusion of both. The primary activities in Bocas del Toro are quite obvious: sex, posturing and posing in trendy surf threads in effort to obtain sex, surfing, posturing and posing as an actual surfer in effort to obtain street credit/sex, heavy drinking, and retiring. Neither Linnaea nor I had any interest in visiting such a wonderful location in which superficial sex is king and surfing's the mayor.

However, we ran into a couple interesting bicycle enthusiasts while in Boquete who had some decent things to say about Bocas. They took a water taxi through the archipelago and saw some dolphins, poison dart frogs, and sloths. We were only three hours by road and another by water taxi from Bocas, so we figured we might as well give it a shot. Within five minutes of hiking down to the highway and sticking out our thumbs, we were picked up by a friendly engineer from David. He took us to the Caribbean side and dropped us near a bus stop, at which point we rallied the rest of the way in a crowded Caribbean mini bus. There were some similarities between the Pacific and Caribbean sides. Rural agriculture, co-ops, etc. Despite the similarities, there were some definite differences between the two coasts. Banana plantations, Caribbean cuisine with more fish and less chicken, somewhat of a Pidgin Spanish, less salsa and more reggae. And although the Pacific side was quite laid back, the Caribbean side is champion when it comes to lounging...

I'll speak for myself when I say that, despite our negative preconceptions of Bocas del Toro, it turned out to be a beautiful spot with good weather, sloths, poisonous nickel-sized amphibians, and some friendly people. It did, however, live up to its reputation of sex, surfing, touring, and retiring...

Relaxing beachside with a girl from California and an aspiring expat hoping to soon call Nicaragua home.

A bit of a labyrinth of palm trees and mangroves opening up to the soothing Caribbean.

The first major rainforest mammal sighting of the trip!

Hangin' in there after what appears to be one too many tokes of opium.

A great white egret snacking upon the local fishy cuisine.

La Fortuna - Las Lajas - Boquete, Panama

Nestled in the mountains of the La Fortuna Forest Reserve is an ecolodge run by a couple of Canadian expats. After not meeting many fellow travelers for the first couple weeks in Panama, it was interesting to stumble upon a collection of fun loving gringos sipping coffee and smoking excessive amounts of cigarettes in this ecolodge compound in the Panamanian cloud forest. We arrived at the tail end of the rainy season, and the beginning of the windy season, and were lucky enough to have both seasons high up in the hills. "Brisas," or little breezes, pick up in early December, and can hit the 70 to 80 mile an hour mark with regularity. What a place to experience both seasons, the rain and the monstrous winds, tucked away in the cloud forest with a bunch of good people, some incredible bugs, hummingbirds, and reptiles, and a high quality foosball table. I must admit, I was impressed and surprised at my respectable performances in the nightly foosball tournaments.

Biodensity in the tropical rainforest of La Fortuna. The noise in this forest was incredible, in a subtle sort of way. On the surface, it was nearly silent. But if you stopped to listen, the wind blew powerfully through the upper ends of the canopy and dozens of different birds rang through the trees. I kept stopping, anticipating to hear a gang of howler monkeys hoop it up. It never happened. I did, however, hear some great birds and see some great plants. Like the ones above, growing on an enormous tree that looked like a less spidery cousin of a banyan tree. The Canadians at the ecolodge apparently called this one something similar to "Old Grandpa," and advised us to sit under the tree to listen to its secret wisdom. I attempted, and was rather immediately devoured by jungle bugs. I walked forty feet down the trail, and somehow managed to elude the cloud of insects. We stood around for a while near the tree, looked at the plants and interconnected systems of vines, and contemplated the several million-strong army of ants that extended several meters down the trail.

Although we saw no sloths or heard no howlers, we did take a break every now and then to admire the creatures dangling from various leafs and branches. This caterpillar was one amongst many miniature beasts wandering around the jungle. Each time we stopped, we'd see several large spiders, nations of ants, caterpillars, leaf bugs, stick bugs, and beetles. If we'd had a local expert meandering through the jungle with us, I'm sure we would have also seen the several thousand insects and mammals that were likely right in front of our eyes.

One very rough-around-the-edges beetle that came to join us for dinner one evening. At night, the monster bugs came out in force. They didn't bother us, as most were slow moving and seemed to be most interested in doing what their genes designed them to do: blend in with the landscape and try to score a free lunch somehow.

Three Pacific-side girls traversing the beach east of David, Panama in their cowgirl boots.

The small town of Boquete, Panama. I assumed I would immediatley dislike this town, as I had heard it was overrun with North American retirees looking for tax loopholes (Panama does not charge property tax and land in Panama is cheap, therefore making it appealing to North Americans to pick up sticks and settle in the spring like climate of Boquete). However, the town has a pull to it, and we ended up staying several days longer than originally expected. In the hills surrounding town are numerous coffee plantations, and two LSD inspired gardens.

Sobre del Volcan Baru, Panama!

Making our way from Santa Fe/Santiago toward David and Parque Nacional Volcan Baru, I was reminded of Gabriel Garcia Marquez more than a few times. History seemed to be repeating itself in Panama, with external corporations snatching up resources intended for Panamanians. We drove past several pine tree farms, planted in the 70's under the direction of Omar Torrijos, to be harvested in 40 years as a source of income and affordable lumber for local Panamanians. The trees planted 40 years ago are now mature, yet for one reason or another, local level or national level Panamanians can't seem to transcend their differences in order to harvest these tree farms. As a result, the government is accepting bids from outside countries like Colombia and Costa Rica to come in, harvest the trees, and export them, leaving no lumber, pulp, or money for the locals. The Peace Corps volunteer I talked to suggested that the problem rests in the co-op system of rural Panama. It seems very idealistic on the surface, but when it comes to making decisions that affect the community, there are so many differing opinions and points of pride that it becomes impossible to reach any conclusions. With the delay in decision making, other countries are stepping in to perform the old snatch and grab...

Also on the drive, I saw the first mosque of the trip. Reading Garcia Marquez, there are constant references to Arab and Turkish migrants setting up shop in Colombia and Panama in the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries. See Shakira, who apparently is part Lebanese, speaks fluent Arabic, and whose hips suggest some amount of belly dancing lineage...

A few miles down the road, I saw a pair of Panamerican adventurers riding their bikes loaded with full panniers, waving their Argentine flags from their rear wheels. With such heavy loads pointed in the direction of the southernmost city in the world riding on the Panamerican Highway, I chose to believe that they had started in Alaska and were working their way to Tierra del Fuego. Who knows if that was really the case, but it made a fella think for a few moments about future endeavors...

Eventually we reached Boquete. A conglomerate of a North American retirement community and wild, ecclectic mountain town Latin America. Volcan Baru hovers immediately overhead. There are only a handful of places in the world from which you can see the Pacific Ocean and Atlantic Ocean. Volcan Baru, the tallest mountain in Panama near the Costa Rican border, is among those locations. Baru, weighing in at 11,398 feet, is a climatic enclave of chilly, damp weather in an otherwise tropical region. As we soon found out... The round trip was only about 25 miles, but it required a fair amount of elevation gain. Six thousand feet or so... In Panama, some of the trail routing is pretty straight forward: straight up, regardless of the grade. Needless to say, it made for a sweaty climb. We were told we needed at least 7 hours to reach the final camp at about 10,500 feet (known as "communidad de volcan," or volcano community). We had a late start and decided to push through the climb to try to reach camp before nightfall. When we reached the top, we were met by four Spaniards, one Frenchman, and a couple Panamanian guides. We realized we'd climbed about 5,000 feet in elevation over the course of 12 miles in about three and a half hours. I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I will admit I was ready for bed...

What would a Latin American point of interest be without the requisite cross, crucifix, or Virgin Mary? Located smack on top of the summit was this cross, which was framed by an eery sundog in the early morning light. Ironically, this photo registered as number 666 on my memory card. Muy bizzaro! I heard a story later in Panama that on full moons, a group of Christians or Catholics from the Chiriqui Province hike to the top of Volcan Baru in excited anticipation of the end of the world. It has yet to happen, apparently. However, I'm not sure of the story's validity, as we were on the summit on what was quite close to a full moon and saw zero end of the world parties...

When we woke up at 5 am, the sky was perfectly clear and we could see more stars than you could shake a stick at. We started clambering up the last mile toward the summit, and the clouds began to roll in. Once we reached the summit, it was completely socked in. We waited around for an hour or more, hoping the fog would burn off. It did, somewhat, to provide this view in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean.

Descending back toward the volcano community, the clouds broke up a little more and provided a view toward the Caribbean. Not sure if we actually saw either ocean, but the views were pretty magical nonetheless.

Linnaea wandering through the misty high elevation forest near the volcano community. Once the sun would hit the trees and bushes, we'd hear an explosion of birdsongs. Pretty cool.

We were "warned" about jaguars and tigres pequenos (ocelots and margays) by several people before heading to Baru. Not sure if they were warning us for our safety or for the safety of our cookies and yoghurt, but we didn't expect to come across any big cats in the jungle. However, as I was laying awake contemplating the bright, nearly full moon shining through the tent, I heard what reminded me of a heavyset cat running around the house at night. I wasn't sure if I was halfway between the world of make believe and the world of conscious cognition. But a few minutes later, the cat-like prancing noise returned. Then I heard it again, run immediately next to our tent. It sounded to be a decent sized animal. Maybe 20 - 40 pounds. Margays range from 7 to 20 pounds, and ocelots between 20 and 35. We checked for prints around our tent the next morning, but it is most difficult to find a cat track on stone and moss... I will, however, accept this: we were visited by some species of tigre pequeno under a full moon in the volcano community of Panaman's highest mountain.

Two quiet pueblos, Panama

Public transportation in Panama is rediculously easy. In the city, there are dozens of school buses deemed unsafe for use in the US, so they were shipped to Panama for public transport. Each one is painted with intricate care and detail, but also with intricate craziness and color. They're called Diablo Rojos, or Red Devils. Fare on one of these buses is about 25 cents to most anywhere in the city. I didn't manage to snap off any photos, as we were only in the city for a day and I left my camera behind for most of it. However, for a quick glimpse at these buses, check it out at: http://http//farm4.static.flickr.com/3578/3344104413_6b42c10040.jpg.

Transportation between cities is via minibus. All you have to do is flag down and jump on a bus that has a sticker plastered to the front window declaring its general direction and final destination, and get off when the bus accelerates through your preferred destination. Fare on these generally runs about $1.50 per hour (not sure if that was the local price or the gringo price). A three hour ride would run about $4.50. Not a bad deal, considering taxis in Panama want to charge you $5 to travel 5 miles.

The minibuses can get laughably crowded, depending on what time of day you ride and whether or not school is in session. I learned from a Peace Corps volunteer I met in the mountain town of Santa Fe that Panamanian kids are out of school just about as often as they are in. In the month of November, she told me students were out of school for close to a dozen days, not including weekends, due to national and local holidays... Hard to retain the philosophy of Kant and learn logarithm functions, let alone basic literature and multiplication tables when you're out of the classroom more days than you're in one. Needless to say, the Peace Corps volunteer was frustrated at the local schooling system..

We were lucky enough to ride on a few minibuses with television screens, dvd players, and kickass soundsystems. The most popular dvds that were played were, of course, Latin music videos in which there is a strict paradigm that the artists must follow: a moderately creepy looking man, a beautiful woman who is either angry at or indifferent toward the creepy man, a long enduring courtship in which the man fluctuates between being passionate and being lazy, and in the end, a heavy makeout session between the man and woman. There were certainly some variations on this video: some were filmed outside, others were filmed inside. Some were filmed depicting a poor bartender pursing the hot waitress. Others depicted a highroller with superfulous bling pursuing an indifferent gringa on the beach. But rest assured, in the end, they always got the girl. Much different from a 17 hour bus ride I took in Argentina, during which we watched a dvd complication of Steven Seagal's greatest hits dubbed in Spanish..

The small town, or pueblo, of Santa Fe. This was one of the cleanest towns in Panama I saw. There were signs posted throughout town asking its residents to refrain from throwing their food wrappers and unwanted Fanta bottles out of the windows of minibuses. And yes, that is a regular occurrence. Finish a bag of Doritos, and rather than throw it in the garbage bucket in the front of the bus, simply open your window and throw it outside..

While talking to the Peace Corps volunteer I met, I learned that a Canadian mining company was moving into the area for a mining project. They have officially stated and publicly posted their plans for their project, which include displacing thousands of local campesinos away from the land they've lived on for hundreds of years. They also made aware the fact that after they've begun their mining project, the water in the local river will be unsafe for drinking. This is all small print on the flyers in town. The large print declares that minerals in the ground are dangerous, so the mining company should come into the area to take them all out of the ground and send them back to Canada (seriously). Obviously, this is not a unique event, but rather one of hundreds of projects throughout Latin America with parallel plans of action. And people wonder why guerilla movements develop in the rural hills... The next night, we had a great conversation with a local elementary school teacher. We asked him about the mine and he shook his head. I told him it was the same where I live, in Montana and Alaska. He asked us to spread the word of ecotourism in Santa Fe, so that gringos can come to the region and see how beautiful it is, generating sustainable revenue to the community and potentially raising a voice of opposition to the proposed killing of the local watershed. So, at his request: visit Santa Fe, Panama. It is beautiful, quiet, and slow paced. Great vistas, waterfalls in every direction, and plenty of tropical birds. And apart from us, we only saw four other gringos in our entire stay in the area: a Belgian who runs an absolutely gorgeous guesthouse named Hostal La Qhia, an American real estate agent who is trying to prevent irresponsible land sales and keep land in the hands of locals, a Peace Corps volunteer, and a journalist from East Germany.

Morning view from the hammock in front of our hotel room in Santa Fe. We stayed at Hotel Santa Fe, run by a helpful Colombian lady with the assistance of her goofy little puppy YaYa. The food was great, but it was a bit pricey for what we were looking for. If you're in Santa Fe, continue up the road toward the town center and follow the La Qhia signs to the tranquil compound of private rooms, dorms, hammocks, and garden run by the friendly Belgian lady.

Wandering around up a dirt road outside El Valle de Anton, we unexpectedly came across the entrance to Chorro Macho, which loosely translates to: Manly Waterfall. I can't remember the exact name of another waterfall near town, but it loosely translated to: Little Girls Waterfall... We attempted to swim in the pool beneath this waterfall, but the pool was small enough that it was much more of a soak than a swim. And a soak in cold mountain stream water isn't the most ideal soak... Walking toward this waterfall with a friend we met from Brooklyn, we saw the only toucan of the trip, the only massive iguana of the trip, and a sizeable troop of leafcutter ants.

Linnaea and Garrett, a guy we met in Panama City who runs a non profit for children with cancer in the Brooklyn area, walking through one of El Valle de Anton's quiet residential streets. Much of this town was filled with retirees from Panama City. If you're in El Valle, it's worth looking into getting a guide to go rumbling through the jungle and on top of the ridges of the surrounding volcano caldera. He'll probably show you the animals that we never saw...

Touchdown in Panama

Panama City

Back in Latin America, in Panama. A genuine Banana Republic, and so much more.

Panama has quite an interesting history. Typically exploited, like the rest of Latin America, with the unique twist of one of the world's biggest resources: the canal. Panama's history is worthy of volumes and volumes of books. But I'll do what I can to summarize it, skipping out on a lot of gory details and nitty gritty information...

In the late 1800's, fresh off of independence from Spain, Panama wasn't even nationally known as Panama. It was still part of Colombia. A few powerhouse countries understood Colombia's narrow strip of land's significance and its potential for enormous wealth. Japan was interested in building a canal to provide a shipping shortcut between the Atlantic and the Pacific, but didn't manage to get their efforts off the ground. France gave it a go, opting to try to dig the canal below sea level. It didn't work. A few decades passed, a few countries mulled over the idea of trying to construct the canal, but nothing happened. Then, in 1903, with the full support of the United States, Panama declared independence from Colombia. Less than 12 months later, a major US contracting firm began what would become the successful construction of today's Panama Canal. Although employees funneled to Panama from all over the world to work, most of the billions of dollars generated in the construction project quickly found their way back to the US. Not much remained in Panama. As the completion of the canal neared, the US declared the immediate land on both sides of the canal as US territory. The canal tolls and fees would be handled almost exclusively by US banks and interested parties. Again, not much remained in Panama. One small sliver of land bisecting a tiny country, worth billions and billions of dollars, declared as the property of a dominant country more than a thousand miles away. Talk about the ultimate piracy of the 20th century!

Half a century passed, and resentment grew. People and politicians began arguing for, lobbying for, and petitioning for the return of the land surrounding the Panama Canal to Panamanians. The US declined. In the 70's, the popular Omar Torrijos gained momentum in the push to keep money generated from Panamanian resources in Panama for Panamanians. In 1977, Torrijos and President Jimmy Carter crafted the Torrijos-Carter Treaty, which returned the canal and its surrounding territory to Panama, scheduled for the year 1999. After the signing of the treaty, and during his enormous regional popularity, Torrijos' plane mysteriously crashed into a remote mountainside, killing all passengers (within months of a similar accident to the president of Ecuador who shared Torrijos' ideals: money made from Ecuadorian resources should remain in Ecuador for Ecuadorians. His plane also crashed into a remote mountainside).

At that time, a military commander with significant narcotics connections by the name of Manuel Noriega rose in popularity, both with Panamanians and with the CIA. He was among the favorites on the CIA's bankroll, helping funnel resources, dollars, and regional influence into US control. In 1983, he became president of Panama. Then President Reagan and Vice President Bush (former director of the CIA who helped pay Noriega, and indirectly the man in charge of the notoriously corrupt United Fruit Company) determined that the Panama Canal was too valuable to not be in US Control. They offered Noriega "incentives" to return the canal to the US. They assumed he would accept. He didn't. For one reason or another, Noriega recanted his old connections with the CIA and insisted that the treaty with Jimmy Carter be honored. Shortly thereafter, under the guise of removing a narco-dictator with communist sympathies, the US invaded Panama, a country without much of a military, and ultimately killed several thousand Panamanian civilians in the process. The UN strongly condemned the actions by the US. Yet the act was portrayed as heroic in the US.

Ultimately, their plan to retake the canal did not succeed, and the canal was returned to Panama in 1999, as stated in the original treaty.

So here we land, in Panama, 20 years after our country bombed their capital city strictly for economic motivations... A few weeks to wander around the country without any particular plan. 

The tile flooring of Manuel Noriega's former house, 20 years after it was bombed by the US invasion. Inside the skeleton of this old colonial home, we saw a group of Panamanian teenagers smoking, skating, and in general shooting the shit. What a surreal place for a group of teens to meet for a quick cigarette and a few kickflips... The former home of the infamous Noriega, and the site of a dubious bombing campaign by a global superpower. Most kids I know generally skate in parking garages or organized skate parks! And previously that morning, we saw something like a professional photography shoot with two girls in leathery outfits posing at the place's front door. If you're interested in paying a visit, there were no barricades, police, or guards preventing entrance into this old skeleton of a home.