Sleep that night is problematic for me as Munro has deemed fit to turn off the air conditioner and my foot and 53 mozzy bites (yes, that's an accurate count) throb and itch. Benedryl doesn't really help block the histamine and I'm just dozing off at 5:30 AM when Munro wakes me up.
Now, before you all think I'm a complaining, ungrateful wench because of these bites, please understand that my legs and arms are covered in bites and they throb and itch with great abandon. I've brought cortisone cream, dry mustard to apply as a poultice, and Benadryl as a histamine blocker. Oh, let's not forget the bottle of 100% DEET (now empty) and the sunscreen with 20% DEET.
My left foot is swollen, the mustard packs provide only temporary relief, and Munro announces he wants to go back to Bastimentos, stay overnight in a very suspect 'hotel,' and hike through uncleared forest to find tree frogs.
Now, under normal circumstances, I'd be the first to head to see tiny red tree frogs. I adore the little colorful frogs. But I can't bend my big and second toes on my left foot and I'm exhausted. Vacations with Munro can be an endurance test at times - no lazing on sandy beaches with cabana boys serving cocktails!
I lose it as the 'hotel' he has in mind had gaps between the planking, no electricity, a shared toilet (shower not even mentioned) and there is no place to eat on the island unless we bring our own food.
Citing extreme pain and sleep deprivation (our hotel is adorable, but it's a block away from the prison and the local party house. NYC discos don't create the same amount of bass thump and noise!), and a sincere lack of desire for one more hot, sweaty, buggy hike through a forest, I object.
Actually, I burst into tears, said I was leaving the god-damned island no matter what, wanted a divorce, was taking all the cash and heading back home. I'd be happier (I sobbed) sleeping in an airport waiting for a standby flight home than getting bitten by more microscopic spiders!
Also, I thought the plan was to take off to the Pacific side and go to Mono Feliz and check out monkeys and surf.
Back up details: Except for the first 2 nights, Munro has refused to state how many days he wants to stay at Hotel du Parque, necessitating a complete packing job every day, storage of our bags during the day, and a new check in every night. This is a pain in the butt and I know the proprietors thinks we're odd. Heck, I think it's odd. We had also discussed heading West (optimally via plane, but in typical fashion, Munro refuses to even find out about reservations and timetables and actively discourages me from doing so as well...his mother must have had a lid on his playpen or something. He hates structure! Lonely Planet gives complex directions to get to Mono Feliz, and will require us to rent a 4 wheel drive in David.
After I melt down, I tell Munro that I'm game for the trek (there's that word again!) to Punta Burica, but will not go back to tiny spider island. The 2 sets of bites are now bigger than the bug that bit me and are beginning to blister. Charming.
So, off we go, after a breakfast of the freshest fruit, to find out the plane schedule. We get to the hotel office at the other end of town to find out that Lonely Planet's plane schedules are not accurate. Shocking. There is only 1 plane, it is scheduled to leave in 20 minutes (we can make it though, if we grab a cab and get back to our hotel quickly), and the nice lady will call to find out if there are seats.
Uh oh! Plane has just left! Early, for whatever reason. This being Friday, there be 'no plane 'til Monday,' to paraphrase Jimmy Buffett. Fun aside: He (Jimmy Buffett) had just left Bocas a few days before we arrived. His yacht was there for several weeks and Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg was their guest.
We mope a bit and then figure out an alternative plan - take a water taxi to Almirante, grab a bus to David, and find a rental car place (the subsequent Internet cafe search yields the David Airport as our best bet), figure out the tide tables, and head out.
Downside.... we calculate that the tide will be high when we finally reach Punta Burica, so we decide we'll get as far as we can, nap in the car, and do the 30K beach drive around midnight.
You gotta love the plans we make!
Water taxi to Almirante is $4 per person and a lovely drive across the bay. The bus stop is a 15 minute walk away or our friendly bicycle guide informs us where we can get a cab.
We hike to the 'cab stand,' once again a dusty patch of road, unmarked except for the people hanging around and asking us where we're going. Everyone is helpful, hailing our cabs, loading our gear, and waving us off. We reach the 11:00 bus stop (across from the 'Store Melissa', looking like a cement structure in Baja), just as it's pulling away. The locals stop the bus as we pull up behind it, grab our gear and load us on. I am constantly amazed and touched by how wonderful and helpful everyone is. Of course, it freaks out my NYC "don't touch my stuff, dude" attitude and I'm always wondering if I'll be chasing a guy on a bike down a dusty road as he makes off with my backpack. Then I pick up my pack, which for some reason has most of our gear, and realize the poor guy would tip over before reaching the pedals!
The bus to David is air conditioned, but tiny - about 12 rows and the seats were made for munchkins. It's a pleasant ride up from the Caribbean through the mountains. We stop at several roadside rest areas for a stretch, snack and bathroom breaks. Lots of schoolchildren appear roadside (coming from where? the forest?) and get dropped off at equally remote locations.
This ride is more like the one I pictured, still without the livestock, but full of locals. No baggage area, so everyone's stuff is piled on the space behind the driver. Lots of locals, wonderful local rest stops that are the model of efficiency and cleanliness.
We arrive in David (dah-veeed) and start making phone calls to the rental car agents. A very nice man comes by and informs us that we just need to get a $2 cab ride to the airport and choose our rental car company there. The people are so nice and helpful - he even offers to help us to the cab and confirm we won't pay a cent more than $2 and is concerned that we get away safely.
Off to the airport, pick up a rental car - a really cool Nissan 4WD that is diesel and gets gas mileage for DAYS. It's a huge car and nice and clean and new. A few days with us will take care of the clean bits. National Car rental was wonderful. We found out later that we could have reserved on-line and gotten an even cheaper deal, so keep that in mind for the future!
Off to the supermarket to load up on goodies - wine, rum, limes, cheese, juice, fresh bread and more necessities..... and then driving down the Pan American Highway to the Costa Rican border where we'll turn left to Punta Burica.
The Pan American Highway is a 4 lane road, sometimes divided, that looks just like highways did when I was young. You remember - stop lights, gas stations, stores, homes... and military check points! OK, we didn't have military check points on Long Island, but you get the idea.
We drive to the border and turn left to Punta Burica. Except that's not on the sign posts. We find that this part of the trip has lots of military checks (passports and a resigned nod from the soldiers when we tell them where we're going) and few clear directions through Puerto Alejulles (SP?). We ask a cab driver directions to the petroleum plant (yup, you read that right - the refinery at the edge of the port, which is not much of a port, more like a pit stop!). Again, the Panamanian people come through - he offers to lead us out of town and to the road through the refinery!
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Friday, April 29, 2005
Island Getaways and Fire Ants
We've switched hotels as the Bocas Inn had other reservations for our room. The Hotel du Parque is lovely and looks like something out of the Garden District in New Orleans. Dark, polished wood, deep shaded balconies at each end of the upstairs corridor are scattered with hammocks and gaily painted chairs with overstuffed floral cushions. The balconies overlook lush gardens and create an oasis of calm. It's much less expensive at $33 per night but isn't on the water. Instead, it overlooks the central park area by the Municipal building in the middle of Bocas Town. Books and magazines are left behind as visitors finish them and are available for taking or trading. It's more like a lovely home than a hotel.
Robert's appointment is at 8 am to go over web work and then on to look at the properties. Again, we leave by boat, this time from a house that the realtors are renovating at the far end of town. They have 2 monkeys in a cage on their dock that they have rescued from the Indians and are in the process of rehabilitating them for release into the wild. It's doubtful they'll be accepted into a troop, but possible. Max is a 1 year old White Faced monkey and quite the flirt! He loves women and when I approach the cage, sticks his hands through the wire and holds on to me for dear life. His little hands have leather palms and he is adorable! They're not so cute when the get older.... as proven by the photos in our gallery.
Off by boat to see the property that is purported to be about a 1/2 acre but proves to be smaller by a good amount. Most property measurements in Panama are suspect and we're told to get proper surveys done if we decide to buy. We're heading to a property that is about 3 hectares subdivided by the owner of a butterfly farm. Also, it's not on the water nor can we get concessions to build over the water. The frontage is a mangrove forest with a small cut-through for a potential dock that may or may not get built. We arrive at the butterfly farm dock. The farm is under construction and will be exquisite when finished, but the property abuts it and privacy will be at a premium once the tourists arrive. Living next to a tourist attraction leaves us cold, naturally!
We head to another island within an island called the "lollipop" due to the lollipop shaped tree at the front of the mound of the property, of course. It's another ROP and is backed by a mangrove swamp, it tall and rounded, has no dock (we squish through the muddy muck and lose flip flops several times. Yuck!) I'm wearing shorts, so Munro heads to the top of the island for the view - which is stunning, but the title is in dispute (so why are we here, I think, but say nothing) and the Indians live on all the surrounding mainland, which could also be problematic for title and concessions. Heading back, I step on a nest of fire ants and about 20 of them attack my big toe! Tricky little bastards - they're so tiny you don't feel them walking on you and they swarm and send out a signal to BITE!!! "OH F*&%" is becoming one of my favorite phrases as the buggies decide I'm the best treat they've had all season.
We tour a couple of other properties on Isla Bastimentos but don't debark as they're just not what Munro has in mind. We do get to see the Wizard Beach surf break even though it's flat, you can see the potential.
Back at the office, we thank Don and Walter for their time and head off to find a water taxi to take us back to Bastimentos for a trek through the rain forest to another beautiful beach. If you think there's a bit of a theme developing here about difficult treks to beautiful beaches and potential surf breaks, you are correct. My life with the Albatross consists of hikes, rides, and treks to pieces of paradise. In his defense, it's always worth the work to get there!
We find a taxi driver to drop us off in the 'town' of Bastimentos. This is an interesting and unusual island in that much of it is already a national park devoted to the red frog, which only lives there. While we didn't get to Red Frog Beach, we did get to Wizard and the trek was amazingly beautiful.
About the town of Bastimentos - there are several settlements around the island and it's basically the island where the black workers on the other tourist islands live. Our taxi drops us off and we head into the settlement and find a local bartender to change our $20. NOTE: If you go to Panama, bring singles! You'll need them and quarters for tipping and just to buy things. There is an ATM in Bocas town, but no bank (odd but true) so changing money from large bills is a chore.
We are in a scene from the 50s in the South - colorful homes, blaring music, 4 middle aged black ladies with their hair in curlers and wearing housecoats playing cards while small children play at their feet. As I scratch and swat at the buggies, I'm amazed that none of the islanders have a bite on them. I envy them and can see them staring at my bumps and bites. One of these days, I'll offer myself up to medical science (or at least the DEET people) for experiments in bug repellent. Our driver agrees to come back to get us at 6:45 PM and off we go. This is another key thing to do - otherwise you may find yourself abandoned in a remote area (no food, no phone, no shelter) until the tourists arrive in the morning. In this case, there is not much in the line of lodging or food stores in Bastimentos, so we must get a driver back.
Our trek leads us through the town and up a one-person dirt track over the spine of the island. Some of the land is cleared for pasture, but most of it is ringed with trees so the monkeys and birds have a corridor for feeding. It's hot, humid, and buggy. DEET is melting my flip flops and only driving the bugs into a greater feeding frenzy... but the scenery is lush, bird song is almost deafening, and we pass a few other people heading back into the town, some carrying surfboards.
Wizard Beach is beautiful with a long, sloping sandy bottom. Lots of rips and the surf must be amazing when it's going off. There is a thatched hut area for camping, but again, no food or drink at the place. It's wonderful to relax, walk along the beach, and swim. Munro takes off for about an hour to photograph everything.
Our walk back in the dusk is beautiful. Parrots are creating an amazing din as they head home for the night. Every tree we pass under is full of them and we can hear the howler monkeys making their dusk dinner patrol down the valley to our left. Other birds compete with the noises and we stop repeatedly just to soak it all in. Oh for a tape recorder to capture this! Lack of man-made sounds just intensifies the noise around us as if the industrial silence amplifies the bird calls. It's almost disappointing to reach the edge of town and hear the "disco" music blaring, radios, and people chatter in the bar.
We meet a man originally from Queens, NY while Munro is snapping photos of the houses. During the chat, a tiny spider - about 1/4 inch long and very colorful (yeah, I know colorful in the tropics means toxic - I still have the scars) decides to chomp, not once, but twice! Swearing and swatting, I hop up and down and we leave, not before snagging a couple of beers for the ride. Our driver is waiting for us and our ride home consists of his driving close to the docks and yelling "Bocas! Bocas!" and picking up additional rides.
Everyone is so wonderful and pleasant and kind. The people are full of laughter and fun and puns. We worry that they may end up like the locals in the Virgin Islands - outwardly nice, but really seething at the usurpation of their lands.
We have one of the best dinners ever once we're back in town. On the other side of the park is a restaurant called La Balleena, owned by and older Italian man. He makes his own pastas and sauces, cooked to order. it rivals Mezza Luna in NYC and the price is a whopping $35 for a huge salad, pasta dish, and $14 bottle of Chilean Chardonnay (quite delish, btw). We shared everything as the portions were huge. It was the perfect ending to a wonderful, if buggy day.
Robert's appointment is at 8 am to go over web work and then on to look at the properties. Again, we leave by boat, this time from a house that the realtors are renovating at the far end of town. They have 2 monkeys in a cage on their dock that they have rescued from the Indians and are in the process of rehabilitating them for release into the wild. It's doubtful they'll be accepted into a troop, but possible. Max is a 1 year old White Faced monkey and quite the flirt! He loves women and when I approach the cage, sticks his hands through the wire and holds on to me for dear life. His little hands have leather palms and he is adorable! They're not so cute when the get older.... as proven by the photos in our gallery.
Off by boat to see the property that is purported to be about a 1/2 acre but proves to be smaller by a good amount. Most property measurements in Panama are suspect and we're told to get proper surveys done if we decide to buy. We're heading to a property that is about 3 hectares subdivided by the owner of a butterfly farm. Also, it's not on the water nor can we get concessions to build over the water. The frontage is a mangrove forest with a small cut-through for a potential dock that may or may not get built. We arrive at the butterfly farm dock. The farm is under construction and will be exquisite when finished, but the property abuts it and privacy will be at a premium once the tourists arrive. Living next to a tourist attraction leaves us cold, naturally!
We head to another island within an island called the "lollipop" due to the lollipop shaped tree at the front of the mound of the property, of course. It's another ROP and is backed by a mangrove swamp, it tall and rounded, has no dock (we squish through the muddy muck and lose flip flops several times. Yuck!) I'm wearing shorts, so Munro heads to the top of the island for the view - which is stunning, but the title is in dispute (so why are we here, I think, but say nothing) and the Indians live on all the surrounding mainland, which could also be problematic for title and concessions. Heading back, I step on a nest of fire ants and about 20 of them attack my big toe! Tricky little bastards - they're so tiny you don't feel them walking on you and they swarm and send out a signal to BITE!!! "OH F*&%" is becoming one of my favorite phrases as the buggies decide I'm the best treat they've had all season.
We tour a couple of other properties on Isla Bastimentos but don't debark as they're just not what Munro has in mind. We do get to see the Wizard Beach surf break even though it's flat, you can see the potential.
Back at the office, we thank Don and Walter for their time and head off to find a water taxi to take us back to Bastimentos for a trek through the rain forest to another beautiful beach. If you think there's a bit of a theme developing here about difficult treks to beautiful beaches and potential surf breaks, you are correct. My life with the Albatross consists of hikes, rides, and treks to pieces of paradise. In his defense, it's always worth the work to get there!
We find a taxi driver to drop us off in the 'town' of Bastimentos. This is an interesting and unusual island in that much of it is already a national park devoted to the red frog, which only lives there. While we didn't get to Red Frog Beach, we did get to Wizard and the trek was amazingly beautiful.
About the town of Bastimentos - there are several settlements around the island and it's basically the island where the black workers on the other tourist islands live. Our taxi drops us off and we head into the settlement and find a local bartender to change our $20. NOTE: If you go to Panama, bring singles! You'll need them and quarters for tipping and just to buy things. There is an ATM in Bocas town, but no bank (odd but true) so changing money from large bills is a chore.
We are in a scene from the 50s in the South - colorful homes, blaring music, 4 middle aged black ladies with their hair in curlers and wearing housecoats playing cards while small children play at their feet. As I scratch and swat at the buggies, I'm amazed that none of the islanders have a bite on them. I envy them and can see them staring at my bumps and bites. One of these days, I'll offer myself up to medical science (or at least the DEET people) for experiments in bug repellent. Our driver agrees to come back to get us at 6:45 PM and off we go. This is another key thing to do - otherwise you may find yourself abandoned in a remote area (no food, no phone, no shelter) until the tourists arrive in the morning. In this case, there is not much in the line of lodging or food stores in Bastimentos, so we must get a driver back.
Our trek leads us through the town and up a one-person dirt track over the spine of the island. Some of the land is cleared for pasture, but most of it is ringed with trees so the monkeys and birds have a corridor for feeding. It's hot, humid, and buggy. DEET is melting my flip flops and only driving the bugs into a greater feeding frenzy... but the scenery is lush, bird song is almost deafening, and we pass a few other people heading back into the town, some carrying surfboards.
Wizard Beach is beautiful with a long, sloping sandy bottom. Lots of rips and the surf must be amazing when it's going off. There is a thatched hut area for camping, but again, no food or drink at the place. It's wonderful to relax, walk along the beach, and swim. Munro takes off for about an hour to photograph everything.
Our walk back in the dusk is beautiful. Parrots are creating an amazing din as they head home for the night. Every tree we pass under is full of them and we can hear the howler monkeys making their dusk dinner patrol down the valley to our left. Other birds compete with the noises and we stop repeatedly just to soak it all in. Oh for a tape recorder to capture this! Lack of man-made sounds just intensifies the noise around us as if the industrial silence amplifies the bird calls. It's almost disappointing to reach the edge of town and hear the "disco" music blaring, radios, and people chatter in the bar.
We meet a man originally from Queens, NY while Munro is snapping photos of the houses. During the chat, a tiny spider - about 1/4 inch long and very colorful (yeah, I know colorful in the tropics means toxic - I still have the scars) decides to chomp, not once, but twice! Swearing and swatting, I hop up and down and we leave, not before snagging a couple of beers for the ride. Our driver is waiting for us and our ride home consists of his driving close to the docks and yelling "Bocas! Bocas!" and picking up additional rides.
Everyone is so wonderful and pleasant and kind. The people are full of laughter and fun and puns. We worry that they may end up like the locals in the Virgin Islands - outwardly nice, but really seething at the usurpation of their lands.
We have one of the best dinners ever once we're back in town. On the other side of the park is a restaurant called La Balleena, owned by and older Italian man. He makes his own pastas and sauces, cooked to order. it rivals Mezza Luna in NYC and the price is a whopping $35 for a huge salad, pasta dish, and $14 bottle of Chilean Chardonnay (quite delish, btw). We shared everything as the portions were huge. It was the perfect ending to a wonderful, if buggy day.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
The Search for the Perfect Beach (Break)
As I review my previous posts, I realize they're pretty long. Apologies to those of you who may be daunted by the size, but so much happened every day that was almost an assault on our senses. We were constantly busy and on the move. Putting it all down and remembering it is important. So skip the bits that bore you, skim or search for the bits you like, and leave your comments in the comments area if you care to.
:-)
We head to the realtor for another over-an-hour-long chat. Even longer, because Munro showcases our work and tries to drum up business with this company. Once that is finished, time Walter, the licensed realtor from Panama City, is there with additional listings. Now, I adore my husband, but those of you who have spent a lot of time with him know that when he's into his looking/buying mode he thinks he's playing poker and doesn't clearly talk about what he's looking for. As salespeople, we would dismiss him as a tire kicker and not want to spend much time with him - a feeling I get from the folks in the room because their attention wanders frequently. It frustrates the heck out of me because he's hoping to get more info from them by not saying anything and I know that a bullet point type of list of:
- what he wants to spend
- where he wants to live
- type of land he's looking for
- type of house we may want to build
- title or concession issues we want to avoid
is what our realtor needs to hear to want to show us stuff. After about an hour, my New York City genes kick in and I interrupt. I've also overheard a conversation between Jen, the lady land speculator, and a potential client. He's clear, concise, and made an appointment to see land that seems to be what we want. Taking cues from the conversation, we decide on 3 parcels we'd like to look at and make an appointment for the next day. All seem happy and relieved and we head off to bother other realtors in town.
Next stop is a realtor situated at the bottom of a hotel/restaurant on the "Main Street." They turn out to be expat Californians who came here for the sun, surf, and a less complicated lifestyle. Left unsaid are their thoughts that 'the likes of us' and the land sharks/speculators are disrupting this lifestyle.
We get quite a lesson in ROP land vs. titled, what the laws really are or may be changing to. Short story: ROP land was deeded to native Panamanians in order to give everyone their "40 acres and a mule," to borrow a phrase. This land can only be sold if there is a corporation attached and what is sold is a lease of those shares of the corporation. Concessions are also leased, but not every piece of land has or is eligible for concessions. What are concessions, you ask. Well they're actually the right to build or grow crops on your land. Concessions are becoming increasingly difficult to come by because the Panamanian equivalent of the EPA is cracking down on mangrove forest disruption. Therefore, you may "buy" yourself a lovely piece of ROP land on the water, surrounded by mangroves and if there is no prior opening for a dock or even a dock or concessions for a dock, you will have to wade through muck to get to your home. Makes Spring in New England seem positively tidy (never mind the smell, ugh!).
Most of what the first realtor showed us was ROP without clear title or even approved for resale by Panama City. Interesting. We get Jerry and Aleene to take us out by motorboat to a tract of ROP on one of the other islands. It's pretty in photos, but is basically swampland and difficult to get into. Munro wades out through the muck and heads off to survey the property. Sadly, it's hot, airless, on the wrong side of the cove and just basically too expensive.
We head back - the 'commutes' in Bocas are fun. Everything happens on the water. When we were ready to go see this parcel, I headed to the street instead of the dock and was kindly reminded that taxis don't float. A ten minute boat ride is considered below average and twenty minutes well worth it. Considering it takes us at least that long just to get to I-5 on ramps, a 'car' on the water is pretty nice.
Once through with the realtors for today, Munro has planned a bike trek for us. We find the local bike rental place and choose 2 that will actually hold air in the tires, be only marginally painful to ride, and whose chains don't clank too badly. We strike a deal for a 1/2 day rental (because it's already after 1 pm - what a great time to go riding in the tropics...).
Once again, we are carrying scanty provisions but Munro and the bike guy assure me that the 10 kilometers is 'easy and not really that far.' I'm skeptical as I've had these conversations with Munro in the past and have found myself 20 kms from civilization and many miles needed to go before we achieve the perfect place he has deemed we must visit.
The roads vary between potholed blacktop and tan, sandy dirt potholes surrounded by bits of leftover tar. We wobble off in the general direction of the road to Bluff Beach, which I've been assured is one of the most perfect places in the world. About halfway there, the heat and lack of water (did I mention we were ill-provisioned?) and jounce-y roads get the best of us. Fortunately, we meet some natives who are working on beach-side construction and are taking their cocoanut break. They kindly machete open 2 cocoanuts for us and we drink the water - oh it's just so good and refreshing and we toddle off again.
The road turns to pure sand and we start pushing our bikes. A quick stop at a beautiful house 'se vende' to meet the man from Massachusetts who is selling it for a whopping $375,000 (it's really not that pretty and San Diego prices in Bocas are off-putting), and we grab a cab for the rest of the ride.
A cab, you say with your eyebrows raised. Well, yes. We keep passing signs stating "Bluff Beach (Playa Bluff) 5K" and we go what we think should be about 5K and ..... another sign teasing us with 1.5K. This continues through enough signs that the taxi (a pickup truck) takes us the remaining 5K for a whole $2.
Bluff beach is practically deserted and about 1/2 mile long. The sand is golden, the water turquoise, waves gentle (but we do see where there is potential for decent surf), and giant sea grape trees shade the upper part of the beach. Towels down and in the water! We've brought the Leatherman, Robert finds a big stick and levers off a few cocoanuts, and we relax. Bliss at Playa Bluff in Bocas!
The taxi has promised to return around 5:30 and we stay late swimming and walking the beach. When we decide to leave, the shadows are lengthening and the air is significantly cooler so we bike all the way back.
NOTE: Bugs such as no-see-ums, mosquitoes, sand flies, etc. are all over Bocas. I brought a bottle of 100% DEET along with a sunscreen specially formulated with DEET. Didn't help. Bugs in Bocas think DEET is a lovely marinade and thanked me for pre-seasoning myself. They didn't bother Robert much. Not sure what that says about either of our body chemistry, but the bugs voted me tastiest to the point of extreme pain. My pain, not theirs, sadly.
After showers, we head off to dinner at Cocina del mar, upstairs from the Starfleet snorkel tours proves a delight. Inexpensive, like all of Bocas and Panama, the chef is a woman from Brooklyn and turns out perfect meals. Small salad starters, fish in a special white sauce steamed in banana leaves, and perfect pina coladas. Robert finds the hammock on the deck and swings away in the gentle breeze.
:-)
We head to the realtor for another over-an-hour-long chat. Even longer, because Munro showcases our work and tries to drum up business with this company. Once that is finished, time Walter, the licensed realtor from Panama City, is there with additional listings. Now, I adore my husband, but those of you who have spent a lot of time with him know that when he's into his looking/buying mode he thinks he's playing poker and doesn't clearly talk about what he's looking for. As salespeople, we would dismiss him as a tire kicker and not want to spend much time with him - a feeling I get from the folks in the room because their attention wanders frequently. It frustrates the heck out of me because he's hoping to get more info from them by not saying anything and I know that a bullet point type of list of:
- what he wants to spend
- where he wants to live
- type of land he's looking for
- type of house we may want to build
- title or concession issues we want to avoid
is what our realtor needs to hear to want to show us stuff. After about an hour, my New York City genes kick in and I interrupt. I've also overheard a conversation between Jen, the lady land speculator, and a potential client. He's clear, concise, and made an appointment to see land that seems to be what we want. Taking cues from the conversation, we decide on 3 parcels we'd like to look at and make an appointment for the next day. All seem happy and relieved and we head off to bother other realtors in town.
Next stop is a realtor situated at the bottom of a hotel/restaurant on the "Main Street." They turn out to be expat Californians who came here for the sun, surf, and a less complicated lifestyle. Left unsaid are their thoughts that 'the likes of us' and the land sharks/speculators are disrupting this lifestyle.
We get quite a lesson in ROP land vs. titled, what the laws really are or may be changing to. Short story: ROP land was deeded to native Panamanians in order to give everyone their "40 acres and a mule," to borrow a phrase. This land can only be sold if there is a corporation attached and what is sold is a lease of those shares of the corporation. Concessions are also leased, but not every piece of land has or is eligible for concessions. What are concessions, you ask. Well they're actually the right to build or grow crops on your land. Concessions are becoming increasingly difficult to come by because the Panamanian equivalent of the EPA is cracking down on mangrove forest disruption. Therefore, you may "buy" yourself a lovely piece of ROP land on the water, surrounded by mangroves and if there is no prior opening for a dock or even a dock or concessions for a dock, you will have to wade through muck to get to your home. Makes Spring in New England seem positively tidy (never mind the smell, ugh!).
Most of what the first realtor showed us was ROP without clear title or even approved for resale by Panama City. Interesting. We get Jerry and Aleene to take us out by motorboat to a tract of ROP on one of the other islands. It's pretty in photos, but is basically swampland and difficult to get into. Munro wades out through the muck and heads off to survey the property. Sadly, it's hot, airless, on the wrong side of the cove and just basically too expensive.
We head back - the 'commutes' in Bocas are fun. Everything happens on the water. When we were ready to go see this parcel, I headed to the street instead of the dock and was kindly reminded that taxis don't float. A ten minute boat ride is considered below average and twenty minutes well worth it. Considering it takes us at least that long just to get to I-5 on ramps, a 'car' on the water is pretty nice.
Once through with the realtors for today, Munro has planned a bike trek for us. We find the local bike rental place and choose 2 that will actually hold air in the tires, be only marginally painful to ride, and whose chains don't clank too badly. We strike a deal for a 1/2 day rental (because it's already after 1 pm - what a great time to go riding in the tropics...).
Once again, we are carrying scanty provisions but Munro and the bike guy assure me that the 10 kilometers is 'easy and not really that far.' I'm skeptical as I've had these conversations with Munro in the past and have found myself 20 kms from civilization and many miles needed to go before we achieve the perfect place he has deemed we must visit.
The roads vary between potholed blacktop and tan, sandy dirt potholes surrounded by bits of leftover tar. We wobble off in the general direction of the road to Bluff Beach, which I've been assured is one of the most perfect places in the world. About halfway there, the heat and lack of water (did I mention we were ill-provisioned?) and jounce-y roads get the best of us. Fortunately, we meet some natives who are working on beach-side construction and are taking their cocoanut break. They kindly machete open 2 cocoanuts for us and we drink the water - oh it's just so good and refreshing and we toddle off again.
The road turns to pure sand and we start pushing our bikes. A quick stop at a beautiful house 'se vende' to meet the man from Massachusetts who is selling it for a whopping $375,000 (it's really not that pretty and San Diego prices in Bocas are off-putting), and we grab a cab for the rest of the ride.
A cab, you say with your eyebrows raised. Well, yes. We keep passing signs stating "Bluff Beach (Playa Bluff) 5K" and we go what we think should be about 5K and ..... another sign teasing us with 1.5K. This continues through enough signs that the taxi (a pickup truck) takes us the remaining 5K for a whole $2.
Bluff beach is practically deserted and about 1/2 mile long. The sand is golden, the water turquoise, waves gentle (but we do see where there is potential for decent surf), and giant sea grape trees shade the upper part of the beach. Towels down and in the water! We've brought the Leatherman, Robert finds a big stick and levers off a few cocoanuts, and we relax. Bliss at Playa Bluff in Bocas!
The taxi has promised to return around 5:30 and we stay late swimming and walking the beach. When we decide to leave, the shadows are lengthening and the air is significantly cooler so we bike all the way back.
NOTE: Bugs such as no-see-ums, mosquitoes, sand flies, etc. are all over Bocas. I brought a bottle of 100% DEET along with a sunscreen specially formulated with DEET. Didn't help. Bugs in Bocas think DEET is a lovely marinade and thanked me for pre-seasoning myself. They didn't bother Robert much. Not sure what that says about either of our body chemistry, but the bugs voted me tastiest to the point of extreme pain. My pain, not theirs, sadly.
After showers, we head off to dinner at Cocina del mar, upstairs from the Starfleet snorkel tours proves a delight. Inexpensive, like all of Bocas and Panama, the chef is a woman from Brooklyn and turns out perfect meals. Small salad starters, fish in a special white sauce steamed in banana leaves, and perfect pina coladas. Robert finds the hammock on the deck and swings away in the gentle breeze.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The Great Panamanian Land Grab
As I write this, I debate about using our real names. Will our family and friends think pseudonyms are silly? Probably, but if the search engines list us well, do I really want our real names here? Well, maybe. The Albatross is a good nickname and has excellent family origins (he was named thus by his late Uncle Earnest during his (the Albatross', not Earnest's) 4 year circumnavigation because, like the Albatross, he wanders for years and eventually comes home to roost), but is a pain to type. So, I'll go with the pseudonyms - for now. All of you who know us, stop giggling now, please! Thank you. Although the Albatross is happy to be called that or Kiwi Dundee, both are a pain to type and referring to myself as the leopard is awkward. So, I'll resurrect a childhood nickname - Sam - for me, and call him Munro (which is the only thing he answers to anyway, go figure).
Munro is all gung-ho to get up at 6:00 AM (oh the luxury of a lie-in, not), explore the island and bother realtors. Oh this will be fun! I convince him to take dawn photos and panoramas by telling him how perfect the light is now and how brilliant he was to discover this awful hour of the morning, which keeps him busy for another hour, allowing the staff to actually arrive to prepare breakfast and me the time to come to life without coffee, but definitely a shower. As I'm getting ready, I hear someone yelling at a fisherman in Spanish and then switching to English. Turns out, Munro has noticed the large puffer fish and other pretty fish that hang out directly under the deck of our hotel so he's decided to "have a flick" and see what he catches. What he may have caught, had the fish been interested in his plastic lure, was any of the 'pet' fish that are fed by the hotels so the tourists can enjoy watching them. As one of our fellow guests said "Ooo, what's that on the plate? Our little Harry the Puffer fish?" Munro comes back to the room looking sheepish and folding up his rod.
A note about the staff - the cost of living in Panama is very inexpensive. Most hotels that charge anything more than $30 a night include some sort of breakfast in the morning. If any of us were to retire or live in Panama with our current incomes (or even less), we'd be living well with Indian gardeners, staff for cleaning and cooking, and anything else we wanted to job out. The Bocas Inn has a lovely group of about 6 people who make a hot breakfast every morning (included in the cost of the room) with fresh coffee, juice, and home made jams. Couple that with being seated at a gorgeous hardwood table looking out into a jungle-rimmed bay with cruising sailboats anchored in the channel and you have a pretty darn good start to your day.
The night before a young boy was pestering us about a snorkeling tour and we told him "maybe" hoping to get rid of him and do the tour bargaining ourselves. As we set out at 8 AM, it's already hot and humid and we walk to the center of town to check out realtors and look at the homes. The Caribbean colors and designs are beautiful and festive. Already the vendors are out in spades selling everything from molas, fruit, snorkeling trips, and more. We find that the trips leave at 9:30 and return at 4 and we decide to go to Zapatilla Island, a nature preserve and not on every itinerary. As we walk and bargain, we finally decide on a man at the far end of the street and head back to the hotel to get our gear. A young man (20s) on a bike tries to get us to take his tour telling us the old man we booked with (but have yet to pay - you only pay at the end of the trip to ensure you get what you want) is a crook. Turns out the old man is his uncle and the young boy in their pay. Very odd Bocas mafia way of dividing up the tourists and making sure everyone makes money on any given day.
Our boat takes us on an all-day tour starting with Bahia de Dolfines. We do see some dolphins, but they're shy and we head through the mangroves (which are the side streets of all the islands) and out to Zapatilla.
Zapatilla is a must-see on this trip. The tour that includes this reserve is $20 pp vs. the usual $15, but well worth the extra time. The sand is like sugar and the reef is big and beautiful. The others from our boat oddly enough do not snorkel here - they walk around the tiny island and sunbathe. We find that the 1.5 hours isn't enough to enjoy the island.
Next stop is Coral Cay, where we get a lunch and relax before heading off to Hospital Point for more snorkeling. Fresh fish is prepared and we watch the nurse shark and baby turtle that are kept in a pen under the pier. It's beautiful, but we spend too much time here and later find out that the guides will linger because they're getting free food and drink and hanging with their families. Hint: If you go, get all the folks on board to agree to a maximum amount of time at the lunch stop and hustle the boat captain. Otherwise, you lose the opportunity to do all the islands you're promised.
Hospital Point has some caves and we snorkel there for about an hour. Munro and I head to the caves and note that while the first foot of the water is hot, once you dive down, the temp drops dramatically and their are all different kinds of fish and anemones to look at. Munro pokes some of the sea fans and the close up tight. I'm laughing so hard I fill my mask with water and have to surface.
Upon our return, we decide to go check out one of the realtors. We end up spending 2 hours with them talking about the differences between ROP (right of possession) and titled land. They seem very sharp and sharky and remind me of the real estate hustlers we've met in Baja who are carving up Rosarito into overpriced pies. We learn a lot and agree to meet again the next day to discuss more properties and also legal issues.
Panama is rife with legal problems for foreigners these days. If you own land you used to be able to get a 3 year visa. This was recently reduced to 1 year, then 3 months and now 30 days. ROP land really belongs to the government and was appropriated for the native Indians so they would have land. Any beachfront is ROP and concessions must be authorized for any building, especially out on the water. and Congress is sitting on new laws and the stories one hears are conflicting at best. We walk away armed with lots of information and a long list of questions, but know we would need our own lawyer and an additional $10k for title research before moving on anything.
On a positive note, the real estate people need a new website. They're paying a lot of money to someone in Ft. Lauderdale to do their photos and any and all uploads and site changes. Good thing "We have the technology!" Tomorrow's meeting will start with a demo of our software and web products.
We eat at Kung-Ju, the Chinese restaurant and out on the deck with a couple of cold Panamas and some decent food. Well, I thought it was OK for a huge meal for $10, but Munro was cranky and complained. He does not handle the disappointment of the real estate situation well. He sees the tropical dream moving away and sulks a bit. I can understand his feelings, but know that we'll figure something out - hopefully after the Panamanian Congress decides the fate of foreign investors and the new rules for expats.
Figuring a pina colada will help, I drag him to another bar and the bartender makes super cocktails that are dessert and a sleeping pill all in one. Tomorrow we visit the realtor again and will rent bikes to go to Bluff beach.
Munro is all gung-ho to get up at 6:00 AM (oh the luxury of a lie-in, not), explore the island and bother realtors. Oh this will be fun! I convince him to take dawn photos and panoramas by telling him how perfect the light is now and how brilliant he was to discover this awful hour of the morning, which keeps him busy for another hour, allowing the staff to actually arrive to prepare breakfast and me the time to come to life without coffee, but definitely a shower. As I'm getting ready, I hear someone yelling at a fisherman in Spanish and then switching to English. Turns out, Munro has noticed the large puffer fish and other pretty fish that hang out directly under the deck of our hotel so he's decided to "have a flick" and see what he catches. What he may have caught, had the fish been interested in his plastic lure, was any of the 'pet' fish that are fed by the hotels so the tourists can enjoy watching them. As one of our fellow guests said "Ooo, what's that on the plate? Our little Harry the Puffer fish?" Munro comes back to the room looking sheepish and folding up his rod.
A note about the staff - the cost of living in Panama is very inexpensive. Most hotels that charge anything more than $30 a night include some sort of breakfast in the morning. If any of us were to retire or live in Panama with our current incomes (or even less), we'd be living well with Indian gardeners, staff for cleaning and cooking, and anything else we wanted to job out. The Bocas Inn has a lovely group of about 6 people who make a hot breakfast every morning (included in the cost of the room) with fresh coffee, juice, and home made jams. Couple that with being seated at a gorgeous hardwood table looking out into a jungle-rimmed bay with cruising sailboats anchored in the channel and you have a pretty darn good start to your day.
The night before a young boy was pestering us about a snorkeling tour and we told him "maybe" hoping to get rid of him and do the tour bargaining ourselves. As we set out at 8 AM, it's already hot and humid and we walk to the center of town to check out realtors and look at the homes. The Caribbean colors and designs are beautiful and festive. Already the vendors are out in spades selling everything from molas, fruit, snorkeling trips, and more. We find that the trips leave at 9:30 and return at 4 and we decide to go to Zapatilla Island, a nature preserve and not on every itinerary. As we walk and bargain, we finally decide on a man at the far end of the street and head back to the hotel to get our gear. A young man (20s) on a bike tries to get us to take his tour telling us the old man we booked with (but have yet to pay - you only pay at the end of the trip to ensure you get what you want) is a crook. Turns out the old man is his uncle and the young boy in their pay. Very odd Bocas mafia way of dividing up the tourists and making sure everyone makes money on any given day.
Our boat takes us on an all-day tour starting with Bahia de Dolfines. We do see some dolphins, but they're shy and we head through the mangroves (which are the side streets of all the islands) and out to Zapatilla.
Zapatilla is a must-see on this trip. The tour that includes this reserve is $20 pp vs. the usual $15, but well worth the extra time. The sand is like sugar and the reef is big and beautiful. The others from our boat oddly enough do not snorkel here - they walk around the tiny island and sunbathe. We find that the 1.5 hours isn't enough to enjoy the island.
Next stop is Coral Cay, where we get a lunch and relax before heading off to Hospital Point for more snorkeling. Fresh fish is prepared and we watch the nurse shark and baby turtle that are kept in a pen under the pier. It's beautiful, but we spend too much time here and later find out that the guides will linger because they're getting free food and drink and hanging with their families. Hint: If you go, get all the folks on board to agree to a maximum amount of time at the lunch stop and hustle the boat captain. Otherwise, you lose the opportunity to do all the islands you're promised.
Hospital Point has some caves and we snorkel there for about an hour. Munro and I head to the caves and note that while the first foot of the water is hot, once you dive down, the temp drops dramatically and their are all different kinds of fish and anemones to look at. Munro pokes some of the sea fans and the close up tight. I'm laughing so hard I fill my mask with water and have to surface.
Upon our return, we decide to go check out one of the realtors. We end up spending 2 hours with them talking about the differences between ROP (right of possession) and titled land. They seem very sharp and sharky and remind me of the real estate hustlers we've met in Baja who are carving up Rosarito into overpriced pies. We learn a lot and agree to meet again the next day to discuss more properties and also legal issues.
Panama is rife with legal problems for foreigners these days. If you own land you used to be able to get a 3 year visa. This was recently reduced to 1 year, then 3 months and now 30 days. ROP land really belongs to the government and was appropriated for the native Indians so they would have land. Any beachfront is ROP and concessions must be authorized for any building, especially out on the water. and Congress is sitting on new laws and the stories one hears are conflicting at best. We walk away armed with lots of information and a long list of questions, but know we would need our own lawyer and an additional $10k for title research before moving on anything.
On a positive note, the real estate people need a new website. They're paying a lot of money to someone in Ft. Lauderdale to do their photos and any and all uploads and site changes. Good thing "We have the technology!" Tomorrow's meeting will start with a demo of our software and web products.
We eat at Kung-Ju, the Chinese restaurant and out on the deck with a couple of cold Panamas and some decent food. Well, I thought it was OK for a huge meal for $10, but Munro was cranky and complained. He does not handle the disappointment of the real estate situation well. He sees the tropical dream moving away and sulks a bit. I can understand his feelings, but know that we'll figure something out - hopefully after the Panamanian Congress decides the fate of foreign investors and the new rules for expats.
Figuring a pina colada will help, I drag him to another bar and the bartender makes super cocktails that are dessert and a sleeping pill all in one. Tomorrow we visit the realtor again and will rent bikes to go to Bluff beach.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
It's All About the Journey
Five o'clock in the morning is definitely not my best hour.... especially without coffee....ugh. But we have to get dressed and grab our backpacks and get that all-important 6:30 AM express bus to Panama. One wonders what exactly the term "express bus" means in Central America, a land where timetables are suspect once you leave the airport.
For a whopping $10 per person you can take a 6-hour ride to the Costa Rica/Panamanian border. I'm anticipating a third-world experience of a patchwork painted rusted old school bus stuffed with locals, tourists, and livestock. I'm doomed to disappointment as the bus turns out to be modern, clean, air conditioned, and the only locals are ex-pat gringos.
The bus station is clean. Well, except for the dead rat in the middle of the food court floor. I inform one of the vendors and he says "Of course it's a dead rat." clearly dismissing my concerns and returns to making eggs and coffee. For all I know the rat is still there. Gosh, almost felt like I was back in Penn Station! As we make our way there, we meet the locals who are heading out on their commute and the tourists heading to ... Bocas del Toro. It's going to be a crowded bunch of islands.
We meet Dan, the ex pat gringo who started the tree house association. Dan used to live in a tree house in Northern California and now does holistic healing ("Bury yourself in the dark sand in Puerto Vieja. It's magnetic and will cleanse your spirit.") OK whatever. California hasn't completely gotten to this NYC gal.
The mountains surrounding San Jose are beautiful. Razor sharp edges (I picture the NYTimes headline: Bus plunge kills 85; Tourists from US, NZ, etc....) leading to deep, wooded, big bouldered chasms. Beautiful and only scary on the turns when our bus is passing the semis and the oncoming traffic decides to speed up.
The ride is pleasant and uneventful with great little rest stops. When we make it out of the mountains and to the edge of the Caribbean, the weather turns hot and humid, of course. Time has stopped in this beautiful section of the world. Roofs are still made of tin, homes (shacks?) in various stages of disrepair tilt on stilts in case of tidal floods. The water is shades of emerald green and turquoise. Sadly for my surfer man, it's also flat as a pancake. Oh well, at least the snorkeling will be good!
How to cross the border from Costa Rica into Panama? It's easy, sort of. The bus dumps you off in the middle of a dusty road and cab drivers, whose accents are a mixture of Caribe sing-song and pure outer-borough nasal, surround you and try to sell you overpriced rides in the back of rickety trucks. You can walk, but it's hot, sticky, and about a mile away to the check point. So you bargain and get the price you should pay anyway - $1 per person stuffed into the back of a rusty, dusty truck with no springs. They all have friends who will drive you to different ports that will take us to Isla Colon, where Bocas Town is, but the prices are outrageous. We get to the Customs shed, which is perched on the edge of a cliff next to a disused rail road bridge (that we must walk across with packs and luggage...), pay our $5 each to leave the country and toddle off with our new friends.
We've met a couple who have emigrated from the US to Costa Rica and opened a B&B in Alujela, right by SJO airport. They are getting their Costa Rican citizenship and must leave for 72 hours and go to the Changuanola consulate to get their papers in order. We hope in a mini van that is painted with turtles, dolphins, coral, and tropical fish and find that many from our bus are already stuffed in. Stuffed being the operative word as it doesn't have a luggage area, so we are packed into our seats and our stuff is packed in around us. For $5 US we are taken through to the Changuanola water taxi station.
It's a fascinating trip as we wend our way through the now-Chiquita banana plantations. I've never really thought about how bananas get to us. We see rusty cables strung over metal loops in the ground and later see that these are conveyor belts for the bananas to come out of the deeper parts of the plantations to the road where they're trucked to the sorting and cleaning sheds. Nothing is modern - the roads are tan dirt filled with potholes. I expect to see donkeys coming out of the jungle carrying sacks and find out later that they are still used. But the workers wave and smile as we go by. We will find that everyone in Panama is unfailingly nice and warm and friendly and helpful.
The boat ride to Bocas del Toro island is another $5 per person and please show your passport - again. We find we're tracked on pieces of paper everywhere we go and somehow this information, from notebooks and notepads, follows us everywhere. they are more efficient without computers than we are here in the States with every technological advance. There's a moral in here somewhere, and when I stop sweating in the heat, I'll get around to figuring it out.
Our taxi ride is in a 30 foot motor boat that takes us through the mangrove forest on the inside of the reef. We see wood and thatch huts in various states of tumble-down and people sitting in lawn chairs, children playing at the edges of the mangroves (yes Virginia, there are crocs, so watch out!), and hear the hum of cicadas over the sound of the engine.
The journey takes about 40 minutes and we pull into a wharf and shed that is the "main terminal" of Bocas town. We're surrounded by 'guides' who would love nothing more than to take us to the most perfect hotel, where they will of course receive the 'propia' or tip for bringing us in. But Kiwi Dundee does not work that way! He brushes them off and now to find a hotel.....With my Albatross in charge, we find the pay phone and he starts making phone calls. He identifies a few places and we hail a cab on the main street (where prices range from $65 for a street view room to $160 for a modern suite without a view). Since all the houses are build out on the water, we would like the view because, like Venice, all the action really happens on that side. After getting a taxi and checking out several hotels that range in price and cleanliness, we end up at the Bocas Inn, run by Ancon Eco Tours. It's a beautiful, Caribbean, Key West style green painted hotel with a palm garden street side and dark wood decks and chairs on the water side. It's now almost 13 hours of traveling and we're hot and sweaty. And I want a beer!
Thankfully, both the beer (Panama, not bad) and the swim happen within minutes. On an interesting note, none of the piers that go over the water have railings on the ends. That's because the taxis and delivery boats drop everyone and everything off at all hours. So we jump in and snorkel over to a sandbar to check out the fish and fauna. Lots of both, and I finally relax and cool down.
Hint - the tropics in late April are humid, which just intensifies the heat. No wonder the DEET didn't work - it just slid right off!
Our upstairs room has a view, hammocks on the veranda, and Adirondack chairs. Oh bliss and ours for 2 nights! Real estate looking and island exploring to come!
For a whopping $10 per person you can take a 6-hour ride to the Costa Rica/Panamanian border. I'm anticipating a third-world experience of a patchwork painted rusted old school bus stuffed with locals, tourists, and livestock. I'm doomed to disappointment as the bus turns out to be modern, clean, air conditioned, and the only locals are ex-pat gringos.
The bus station is clean. Well, except for the dead rat in the middle of the food court floor. I inform one of the vendors and he says "Of course it's a dead rat." clearly dismissing my concerns and returns to making eggs and coffee. For all I know the rat is still there. Gosh, almost felt like I was back in Penn Station! As we make our way there, we meet the locals who are heading out on their commute and the tourists heading to ... Bocas del Toro. It's going to be a crowded bunch of islands.
We meet Dan, the ex pat gringo who started the tree house association. Dan used to live in a tree house in Northern California and now does holistic healing ("Bury yourself in the dark sand in Puerto Vieja. It's magnetic and will cleanse your spirit.") OK whatever. California hasn't completely gotten to this NYC gal.
The mountains surrounding San Jose are beautiful. Razor sharp edges (I picture the NYTimes headline: Bus plunge kills 85; Tourists from US, NZ, etc....) leading to deep, wooded, big bouldered chasms. Beautiful and only scary on the turns when our bus is passing the semis and the oncoming traffic decides to speed up.
The ride is pleasant and uneventful with great little rest stops. When we make it out of the mountains and to the edge of the Caribbean, the weather turns hot and humid, of course. Time has stopped in this beautiful section of the world. Roofs are still made of tin, homes (shacks?) in various stages of disrepair tilt on stilts in case of tidal floods. The water is shades of emerald green and turquoise. Sadly for my surfer man, it's also flat as a pancake. Oh well, at least the snorkeling will be good!
How to cross the border from Costa Rica into Panama? It's easy, sort of. The bus dumps you off in the middle of a dusty road and cab drivers, whose accents are a mixture of Caribe sing-song and pure outer-borough nasal, surround you and try to sell you overpriced rides in the back of rickety trucks. You can walk, but it's hot, sticky, and about a mile away to the check point. So you bargain and get the price you should pay anyway - $1 per person stuffed into the back of a rusty, dusty truck with no springs. They all have friends who will drive you to different ports that will take us to Isla Colon, where Bocas Town is, but the prices are outrageous. We get to the Customs shed, which is perched on the edge of a cliff next to a disused rail road bridge (that we must walk across with packs and luggage...), pay our $5 each to leave the country and toddle off with our new friends.
We've met a couple who have emigrated from the US to Costa Rica and opened a B&B in Alujela, right by SJO airport. They are getting their Costa Rican citizenship and must leave for 72 hours and go to the Changuanola consulate to get their papers in order. We hope in a mini van that is painted with turtles, dolphins, coral, and tropical fish and find that many from our bus are already stuffed in. Stuffed being the operative word as it doesn't have a luggage area, so we are packed into our seats and our stuff is packed in around us. For $5 US we are taken through to the Changuanola water taxi station.
It's a fascinating trip as we wend our way through the now-Chiquita banana plantations. I've never really thought about how bananas get to us. We see rusty cables strung over metal loops in the ground and later see that these are conveyor belts for the bananas to come out of the deeper parts of the plantations to the road where they're trucked to the sorting and cleaning sheds. Nothing is modern - the roads are tan dirt filled with potholes. I expect to see donkeys coming out of the jungle carrying sacks and find out later that they are still used. But the workers wave and smile as we go by. We will find that everyone in Panama is unfailingly nice and warm and friendly and helpful.
The boat ride to Bocas del Toro island is another $5 per person and please show your passport - again. We find we're tracked on pieces of paper everywhere we go and somehow this information, from notebooks and notepads, follows us everywhere. they are more efficient without computers than we are here in the States with every technological advance. There's a moral in here somewhere, and when I stop sweating in the heat, I'll get around to figuring it out.
Our taxi ride is in a 30 foot motor boat that takes us through the mangrove forest on the inside of the reef. We see wood and thatch huts in various states of tumble-down and people sitting in lawn chairs, children playing at the edges of the mangroves (yes Virginia, there are crocs, so watch out!), and hear the hum of cicadas over the sound of the engine.
The journey takes about 40 minutes and we pull into a wharf and shed that is the "main terminal" of Bocas town. We're surrounded by 'guides' who would love nothing more than to take us to the most perfect hotel, where they will of course receive the 'propia' or tip for bringing us in. But Kiwi Dundee does not work that way! He brushes them off and now to find a hotel.....With my Albatross in charge, we find the pay phone and he starts making phone calls. He identifies a few places and we hail a cab on the main street (where prices range from $65 for a street view room to $160 for a modern suite without a view). Since all the houses are build out on the water, we would like the view because, like Venice, all the action really happens on that side. After getting a taxi and checking out several hotels that range in price and cleanliness, we end up at the Bocas Inn, run by Ancon Eco Tours. It's a beautiful, Caribbean, Key West style green painted hotel with a palm garden street side and dark wood decks and chairs on the water side. It's now almost 13 hours of traveling and we're hot and sweaty. And I want a beer!
Thankfully, both the beer (Panama, not bad) and the swim happen within minutes. On an interesting note, none of the piers that go over the water have railings on the ends. That's because the taxis and delivery boats drop everyone and everything off at all hours. So we jump in and snorkel over to a sandbar to check out the fish and fauna. Lots of both, and I finally relax and cool down.
Hint - the tropics in late April are humid, which just intensifies the heat. No wonder the DEET didn't work - it just slid right off!
Our upstairs room has a view, hammocks on the veranda, and Adirondack chairs. Oh bliss and ours for 2 nights! Real estate looking and island exploring to come!
Monday, April 25, 2005
We're Off to Panama!
I've picked up the travel journal I used when we went to Costa Rica in 2000. The black cover is a bit worn but the tortuga is still bright and glossy.... I managed to keep a couple of days running and then got distracted with the beauty and heat in Costa Rica in the summertime. I did manage to keep a list of "firsts," though. And lots of blank pages!
America West has terrific fares from San Diego to Costa Rica, so we're heading off to Panama to check out land for investment/retirement. I'm a typical American... unsure of what I'll find in a post-Noriega Panama and wondering if the O. Henry depictions of the "land of the lotus eaters" still holds true. How much is the same in the Caribbean of the United Fruit Company of the 1890s and how much has changed?
I've changed. In the 5 years since my Kiwi mate and I set off for Costa Rica, I've gone from a super organized, must-have-a-detailed-itinerary person to a "Well, we know we have round trip tickets and that's about it.... if the surf stinks or it rains, we can go somewhere else." So off we go through Phoenix to San Juan, Costa Rica (SJO if you're looking for fares) and then a bus to Sixaola (pronounced "seeks-a-ola") and a walk across the border to Panama and on to Bocas del Toro, the province and islands where the surf, snorkeling, diving, and people are supposed to be some of the best in the world.
We land in San Juan late at night and need a hotel. Lonely Planet's Costa Rican guidebook from 5 years ago is our bible.... and a taxi driver, too. So we pick a hotel and he says "No, senor, I have a better one for you." Of course he does! They all get a "commission" for bringing you to certain places and the ones we've suggested aren't on his list. Or more to the point, he's not on theirs. So we drive around and find a place we can all (me, the Albatross and the driver, of course) agree on called Hotel Venezia. Word of caution - it bears absolutely no resemblance to anything Venetian except for the smell of mildew in the halls. But it's cheap, clean and reasonably quiet and only 5 blocks to the bus stop.....
So what if the tiles are incomplete in the shower? Who cares if the curtains are made of bed sheets and cover rusty wrought iron bars? No bugs, but skimpy towels. Skimpy towels are to be the norm during this visit and there is a very good reason. Any plush, deep, large, fluffy towel will not dry in the tropics! We of course find this out the hard way as we and our fluffy, large, Costco beach towels soggily wend our way through Central America.
America West has terrific fares from San Diego to Costa Rica, so we're heading off to Panama to check out land for investment/retirement. I'm a typical American... unsure of what I'll find in a post-Noriega Panama and wondering if the O. Henry depictions of the "land of the lotus eaters" still holds true. How much is the same in the Caribbean of the United Fruit Company of the 1890s and how much has changed?
I've changed. In the 5 years since my Kiwi mate and I set off for Costa Rica, I've gone from a super organized, must-have-a-detailed-itinerary person to a "Well, we know we have round trip tickets and that's about it.... if the surf stinks or it rains, we can go somewhere else." So off we go through Phoenix to San Juan, Costa Rica (SJO if you're looking for fares) and then a bus to Sixaola (pronounced "seeks-a-ola") and a walk across the border to Panama and on to Bocas del Toro, the province and islands where the surf, snorkeling, diving, and people are supposed to be some of the best in the world.
We land in San Juan late at night and need a hotel. Lonely Planet's Costa Rican guidebook from 5 years ago is our bible.... and a taxi driver, too. So we pick a hotel and he says "No, senor, I have a better one for you." Of course he does! They all get a "commission" for bringing you to certain places and the ones we've suggested aren't on his list. Or more to the point, he's not on theirs. So we drive around and find a place we can all (me, the Albatross and the driver, of course) agree on called Hotel Venezia. Word of caution - it bears absolutely no resemblance to anything Venetian except for the smell of mildew in the halls. But it's cheap, clean and reasonably quiet and only 5 blocks to the bus stop.....
So what if the tiles are incomplete in the shower? Who cares if the curtains are made of bed sheets and cover rusty wrought iron bars? No bugs, but skimpy towels. Skimpy towels are to be the norm during this visit and there is a very good reason. Any plush, deep, large, fluffy towel will not dry in the tropics! We of course find this out the hard way as we and our fluffy, large, Costco beach towels soggily wend our way through Central America.
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