Luau!

We spend a quiet day exploring and relaxing. Yesterday morning there was a rainbow in the ocean, right off our balcony. It was beautiful. The trade winds are howling.

There is a luau at the bride and groom's hotel. I'm dragging Munro because I want to go to a luau in Hawaii and see the real thing. Plus we'll have many tables as most of the wedding guests will be there. One of our friends is ill and taking it easy so he can come to the wedding, so we're "escorting" his lovely other half.

Hula Dancing and Scenery

Maui is nice. It's not too humid, but it's eeriely reminscent of where we lived in Ventura. I swear I could be on the road from our old apartment on the ocean heading to Ojai and it would look the same. It's very dry here. We're planning on going to Hana and hopefully the 7 sacred pools so we'll get some lush tropical vegetation later.

The bride and groom have been amazingly generous and open. Wednesday evening they hosted a happy hour with appetizers and drinks at the outdoor bar in their hotel. Later, we all trooped upstairs to the "pre-bridal suite" for more champagne and laughs. Pretty much everyone attending the wedding was there and it gave us a chance to get to meet and greet.

The bride lived in Maui and is an accomplished hula dancer - something we didn't know before. She's had just enough to drink that she offers to dance for us. We watch and listen and are in awe at her grace, beauty, and the passion of her dance. There is only one jarring note - one of the audience is the badly behaved offspring of a couple who are there. She chatters almost non-stop and her parents don't tell her to shut up. Now before anyone says anything, I have children. As does everyone in that room (except the bride). None of our children would have been so rude.

However, the impact of the dance and the bride's generous offering of something she holds so private and close to her heart is so strong that we are left with the glow of her gift. I've seen hula before, but never with such passion and grace.

Our hotel is about an hour away from this one, so we head back. Tomorrow we explore our part of the island and then... luau!

Maui Wowee?

I've never been to Hawaii. Munro has been to Kauai and Maui a couple of times. Everyone says they don't want to raise my expectations, but that I will love it. Hawaii, or any of one the islands that comprise the archipelago, has never held much interest for me. But friends are getting married and we haven't had a real holiday in years, not since Panama. So we're grabbing the excuse with both hands and ... off we go.

Our flight left at the crack of dawn and we flew to SFO to catch our plane to Maui. I'm seated on the right side of the plane, so I have an excellent view of not only the sunrise but the wildfires devastating Southern California.

I see the mountains, which are clearly outlined against the beginning rays of sun. The Santa Ana winds have blown all the smog out to sea. As I look below, I see glimmers of red and gold along the hillsides, reminiscent of the way windows along Sunset Cliffs look at.... sunset (d'oh!). Then I realize the colors I see aren't the sunrise's rays on buildings but fires. Long, glimmering, twisting lines of fire with wind-whipped mares tails of smoke heading out over the land for miles, blocking views of the land and the beaches.

It's a scene from hell. LAX is completely obscured. So is much of Northern San Diego County, Orange County, and northwards. The smoke cover is so thick that I'm reminded of the cloud cover over New Zealand. Except this cloud cover is more deadly.

I'm thankful that we moved our flights to change planes in SFO and my heart goes out to everyone left behind.

It's an uneventful flight (the best kind, as Dad always says). We land in Maui with our final approach over pineapple plantations and surf breaks on the North shore. Munro is pretty happy.

Luggage, check. Boogie board, check. Car at rental place, check. Now for lunch at Mama's Fish House (recommended by the guard at the rental gate).

It's windy here as we wend our way through Pa'ia to the infamous Fish House. We are a bit cranky (well, he is, I'm ready for a Mai Tai and some fish).

Mama's is on the beach in a lovely setting and decorated with "found" objects. Now everyone will tell you to go here. Be prepared - we spent over $120 for lunch and had:
1 mai tai (me)
1 rum punch (Munro)
1 hearts of palm salad (teeny tiny bits of palm, and expensive)
1 main course (not even the most expensive at $36)
1 glass of wine (mediocre sauvignon blanc, shared).

The food was decent. Not outrageousely good, but decent. It's an easy $100 plus per head. Now I'm no cheapskate where fine dining is concerned, but I expect value. West steak house in Carlsbad delivers amazing value for the buck (and you pay mucho bucks there, but I'd move in - it's that wonderful). West, worth it. Mama's, not so much.

We leave and head out to do some basic grocery shopping. We're staying at a condo-hotel so we can pack picnics and make our own breakfasts. Our hotel is nice and we upgrade to a 9th floor room with sweeping views of the bottom half of the island and Molokini across the water. We're both a bit shattered from the flight and not much sleep the night before, so it's an early night.

Getting Out Of Dodge

We are to leave for Maui in the morning. It's hard to feel festive and in the mood for a vacation when hundreds of thousands of people are out of their homes. When the sun and sky look like something out of an Apocolypse movie set, I get the heebie jeebies.

As of now our friends are safe. Some have lost homes, others are cleaning up smoke damage. The fires are raging and converging.

The airline we're taking is allowing passengers from San Diego, Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and surrounding affected airports to make changes to itineraries due to the flames. I'm not the best of travelers, so I call and convince the agent at the other end of the line that I need to fly from San Diego to San Francisco in order to actually get out of town tomorrow. My husband agrees and lets me manage this.

I'm worried for our friends and the others affected and not happy about leaving town. Then again, I'm having a hard time breathing, so leaving town is my only option.

Our prayers will be with everyone back here.

San Diego Wildfires

I get anxiety attacks. Usually with good reason. Last night I was up most of the night and prowled around the apartment. The air was dry and I was sneezing, which I blame on the Santa Ana winds howling around the balcony. It's an eerie night as the sky looks funny.

I go back to bed and get up (again) very early. I turn on the news and find that San Diego, heck all of Southern California from Santa Barbara to the border of Mexico - is in flames. And it's getting worse.

Friends are evacuating. Others are packed and waiting it out. The smoke at the beach isn't as bad as it was during the Cedar Fires, but bad enough to kick in my asthma and make me close all the windows.

We are to leave for Maui on Tuesday. I'm wondering if we should.

Big Boat Series Practices..

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday were practice days. We saw great wind (20-30k) and worked our butts off. Crew work is coming along nicely and I have goose bumps from sailing around Alcatraz and short-tacking up the San Francisco City Front. I do Pit with other gals - our shirts say "Nothing goes Up without the Pit Gals!" Nice.

Today is a "rest day" but how much rest can you get if you go to West Marine 6 times?

Racing starts tomorrow. A few new folks will be joining the crew and there will be some shuffling around as we have more than the allotted 22 people for crew. We are the party whenever we walk in anywhere. And we've been doing a lot of partying.

C'est Arrive in San Francisco - It Begins

We arrived safely in Point Richmond to stay on "The Slab" to stay with wonderful new friends. On Thursday night we drove to Temecula, met up with our Viking Skipper, spouse, his 85 year old Danish Dad, and another couple to begin the nighttime drive to Northern California.

Driving Mobile Homes ain't like driving Miss Daisy. They sway.

"Squirrely little bugger." said Munro through clenched teeth as he took the wheel at 4 AM.

Viking Skipper and Mainly Dave (because he trims Main) had already done their driving duty (note: as on sailboats, men drive... sigh...). Now there is a lot to be said for driving up in the middle of the night - no rush hour, being one of them. The downside is semis. Lots and lots of semis. Like you read about. Miles of trucks creating HUGE slipstreams which rock our overloaded and badly load-balanced little mobile home swayed and slipped and rode the air "wakes" pretty badly.

We arrived in time for breakfast, coffee, and a short nap before heading out to the boat to start working to get it ready for 4 days of practice for 4 days of racing. Others will show up for practice and sailing.

There was a party that night at Richmond Yacht Club. Excellent margaritas and you grill your own steak. HUGE salad bar. I'm going to like it here!

We're Off to San Francisco's Big Boat Series!

Once again, we're off and running again! After a long hiatus on travel due to my Dad's poor health (flying back and forth across the country on a regular basis doesn't really count as adventure travel unless you count adventures with hospitals, surgeries, etc.) we're taking a trip to San Francisco to compete in the Rolex Big Boat Regatta on .... wait for it... a big boat.

Actually, we're on the biggest boat in the regatta. At 73', we're carrying 22 in crew (without sandwich people or drink wenches). All 22 will be working - hard. There's breeze in San Fran that isn't available here in "Dago."

We'll be piling into a motor home with 2 other couples and doing the night drive from Temecula to Point Richmond. Should be entertaining!

Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Mark your calendars on September 19th. It's the National Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Munro is a pirate. Always has been, always will be. What else would you call a man who sets sail from South Africa to head home to New Zealand on a one year cruise that turned into a four year cruise?

A pirate.

The small fact that he lined the hull of his sailboat (another thing, real pirates are SAILORS not powerboaters) with "booty" for bribery, trade, and.... well, it's a mere detail in the life of a pirate!

Visit this web site for more information. And get a link to your Pirate Name.
Talk Like A Pirate!


My pirate name is:
Red Mary Kidd
Passion is a big part of your life, which makes sense for a pirate. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Arrr!

Munro, of course, gets the COOLEST of Pirate Names:
Dread Pirate Rackham
Like the famous Dread Pirate Roberts, you have a keen head for how to make a profit. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Hurricane Katrina Homeless - Help Them If You Can

The devastation created by Hurricane Katrina has been compared to the Tsunami last December. In an effort to help those left homeless, a web developer called Gabe Roffman has created a web site that will match up people with room in their homes (and hearts) with those left homeless.

He's not looking for money, just people local to the areas of devastation to help out. All information will be kept confidential and Gabe will be working with the Red Cross and the Salvation Army to coordinate efforts.

Go to his site, Homes for Katrina Victims and sign up to help. Or pass this information along.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims.

Elvis the Squirrel Monkey Has Died

Our stay at the Mono Feliz Sanctuary in Punta Burica, Panama was the highlight of the trip we took. There we met the irrepressible Mickey and his sidekick Elvis. Elvis was a bit more shy than Mickey and also a bit older. He had little sideburns and loved to play with the laces on my sneakers. He tried and tried to tie bows, but only succeeded in untying my shoes.

Allegra Marshall has been wonderful about creating a newsletter and keeping everyone up-to-date on the happenings at Mono Feliz. We've just received the latest update informing us about Elvis. Here are her words:

.....Our precious little Elvis, who had been unwell twice during the year already, and who had lost so much body weight each time, took another turn. This time it was a lot worse though and he ended up dying in my arms on the 13th June. Jane and I trying homeopathic medicine and I frantically tried everything I could, but it was of no use. We buried him in front of the house, in front of his favourite little bush. John and I were devastated. Mickey did not understand what had happened, constantly looking around for his big brother who had always been so patient with him, always letting him have first serve of the milk bottle. Elvis was simply the best monkey! Jane was upset too as she never got a chance to know him. His little presents that she had so lovingly bought were put in a bag and tucked away. We are still not sure what happened, but a poisoned leaf or perhaps mushroom could be to blame....

A week or so after all of this, one of the locals brought us a baby monkey he had found. He knew how devastated we were losing Elvis. Mickey had been moping a lot too, and we are all too familiar with "cabanga" or heart break as they call it here - when an animal loses its partner, it often decides to die too. Birds are reknown for this and monkeys too. This did provide John and I with a huge moral and ethical
issue though as this little monkey was not injured. (Usually we only accept injured animals). It was too late though to reverse the operation, so we gracefully accepted the little guy.

Mickey was just too excited for words, jumping around,smelling him, wanting to play. He had not been sleeping since the day Elvis died. Elvis could sleep alone, but Mickey never was able to. We also had been having sleepless nights as a result. It took the little guy only a few days to settle in, but it was obvious he was a cry baby. We have called him "Mongy" as a result ("mongongo" means cry baby) but he is certainly not like that anymore! (My initial choice for a name was Felix). He is dominating Mickey in a few ways and now Mickey has to take on the older brother role, as Elvis had had to do with him.

Mongy was a lot of work the first few weeks as we had to watch him constantly, but it's amazing how quickly he has adapted. He and Mickey are completely independent now and spend most of the days in the trees catching little bugs and playing. They sleep very well together, although I still need to do a milk feed around 130am! Hopefully this will end soon as it is exhausting, especially after a late night with
tourists....."

Munro and I cried when we heard about Elvis. He had such an endearing personality. We are looking forward to going back again and meeting Mongy.

Rumor Control - We're NOT Moving!

To all you who have asked, after reading the bits of the blog that are up on the web: NO! We are NOT moving to Panama! Munro was looking into investement real estate ONLY. And what we learned taught us that now is an especially bad time to buy in Panama as their laws on foreign investement are up for some serious changes.

These changes may severely reduce the ability of foreigners to buy and hold land and even stay in the country for more than 30 days at a time.

Besides....We LOVE San Diego and our Beach House Apartment and we're staying put for a long time. So please don't get the wrong idea about our trip!

More to come on the monkeys of Mono Feliz....

Catching up on posts....

To anyone who reads this.....if you like what you've read already, please come back and visit again. Apologies for how long it's taking me to create this....

I realize that my e-mail with the link to this blog was way premature as I didn't have any clue as to how long it would actually take me to complete this. So much happened and every day was such an adventure, that the posts I've already created don't do the trip justice.

Thanks to all of you who have written or called with positive comments. Feel free to post anything (anonymously or not) in the comments fields. We will be keeping this blog going for a while.

Mickey is a 1 year old titi or squirrel monkey living at Mono Feliz in Punta Burica, Panama. The squirrel monkey is an endangered species - there are only 3,000 left in the wild. He's been hand raised from the time he was 2 days old when his mother was killed and he was brought to Allegra and John's sanctuary. Allegra is working on turning Mono Feliz into an official non-profit sanctuary, create a wildlife corridor and National Park in Punta Burica.
copyright Acorn Interactive

The Happy Monkey - Mono Feliz!

It's barely 6 AM, but Munro can hear the surf outside the car, so off he goes to explore. I'm bushed from doing most of the driving the past day, so I'm wrapped in my sarongs and napping away. I do convince him that since Mono Feliz is a sanctuary and not the Ritz, and the folks running it probably won't be up until about 7 or so.

Munro, true to form, explores everything, including the Mono Feliz grounds. As he's sauntering around the kitchen/dining room, he walks to the main house and Allegra pops up out of bed, scared silly (as we're not expected at all and no one is expected at 6:30 in the morning) and says "Who the hell are you???" in her lovely Australian accent.

Introductions are made, coffee is put on the boil, and Munro comes to fetch me. As I head up the beautifully tended path, I'm struck by how eco-friendly all the work done is. We find out later that every stone and rock is picked by hand from the beach and put down by John, Allegra, and Osvaldo. What a back-breaking labor of love! Birds are chirping wildly, I can hear howler monkeys in the bush far away and I'm delighted beyond belief to find that there is coffee in my future!

This is where the magic starts - Mono Feliz Sanctuary. As I look back on this time, I can't believe it was real. For more pictures, please visit our photo gallery. Note that all photos are copyrighted to us and our company, Acorn Interactive.

The kitchen dining area is large, airy, thatched, and has a sink with running water! John is an engineering genius -there are toilets, showers, and a beautiful built-in swimming pool. It's breathtaking.

Allegra and John are delightful, warm, and passionate about their guests and the monkeys. They are also in awe that we arrived via the beach at 3 in the morning! The barking dogs are theirs and split up to keep watch on the guest houses when there is company. Two of them were at the beach cottage, and that was the noise we heard. We are awarded "most adventurous" arrivals.

Seated at the table, I feel a light pressure on my sneaker-clad foot and look down - there is a squirrel monkey untying my shoelaces!! I give a start, and he jumps on the seat next to me, on to my shoulder and hauls off me to the top of Munro's head and uses that to hop into the tiny hammock hanging from the rafters. Thus we meet Elvis, named because he has dark sideburns. He and Mickey are the resident rescued monkeys, along with several dogs and a cat in heat.

We are delighted as the monkeys play with us and hop around. We're warned that they will steal anything shiny and love to play. They will also take food off your plate or from your hand, take your sunglasses, and generally run amok and "help" with everything you do.

Elvis is the oldest and Mickey is the baby. Both still get bottles for extra nutrition. We grab our food supplies from the truck and share our fresh fruit with John and Allegra as we sort out accommodations and get the "guest list of dos and don'ts." Both the beach house and garden house are taken, but the guests are leaving that day. We will have our choice and decide we want to stay in the garden/forest house.

The ONLY bad note during our visit occurred during breakfast, when we met the other guest, Harry. Harry is a land speculator from New England who now lives in Bouqete and is in the process of buying as much property as he can and developing it just like the States. High density housing, shopping centers, and more. Ugh. He’s also swearing he’s an ecologist and wants to set up a competing hotel/eco-tourism place near Mono Feliz. He’s so horrible, such a carpetbagger, that I’m appalled. Robert and I listen as Allegra gives him an earful.

Later, after he’s left, I offer to help her hide the body should he return. This part of Panama is so lovely and fragile and needs to be protected. The clear cutting of the forest for cattle grazing and farming has left the monkeys living in isolated troops and without food. Allegra is working with friends and the government to have all of Punta Burica declared a national park and Mono Feliz a non-profit wildlife sanctuary.

As we get settled, we are face with all the choices in activities. We opt for a swim and a walk on the beach.

A word about our “cottage.” It’s painted green and is concrete. The concrete walls come up to about my ribcage and the windows are open to the elements. The tin roof comes low enough to protect the area from rains, and there is a net for nighttime bug repellent. I see a coil for mosquito repellent and hope that this won’t be a repeat of Bocas. It isn’t and within a day the blisters on my feet have gone down. I still do bear the scars from the fang punctures, but they’re tiny and fading over time.

Adventures in Navigation

The refinery is along the coast and has little gates and guards who give you passes. It's sort of like passing through a European border point. Long yellow bar across the road, passport checks, names on clipboards, and laminated passes for the dashboard. But it's a pleasant drive - only large silver pipes lining the grass and a beautiful view of the bay.

As it got dark, we found ourselves on another rutted dirt road that paralleled the beach. We decided to see how far we could go so that when we began our midnight 30 kilometer trek across the sands, we'd be closer to our goal.

Stopping at one of the (very) few homes, we ask a family. Once again, our requests are greeted with much hilarity and they point down a windy hill in the forest(full of what I'd call potholes, but are really mini-ditches)and tell us to keep going to the end.

It's getting dark and the road is twisting and turning and cow eyes in the headlights are bright yellow. It's a beautiful night as we bounce along the rutted path and hope these are the "best $@#%-ing monkeys we ever see!"

The road dead ends at the sea and we part just off to the side under the sand. It's FABULOUS being on the West Coast - our windows are open, there's a lovely breeze, the ocean sounds are soft and.... NOT A BUG IN SIGHT!! Woo Hoo!

We break out our supplies, have a glass of wine (OK, maybe more than that!), and put the seats back to grab a few hours sleep.

The plan.... As always... Is to nap while the tide goes out and then get up and make the rest of the 25K drive to Mono Feliz along the beach. The tide will be going out, so Munro figures "no worries."

Midnight on the beach. No moon, slightly overcast, and a few stars poking out in the sky. Munro is on my right as nag-a-vator and I'm ready to rock and roll.

The first several kilometers go smoothly and quickly. The beach is wide, the tide is going out at a pretty good rate, and the headlights are nice and bright.

BIG NOTE: After a few kilometers the rocks start showing up. Depending upon how much surf there is, the rocks are either nicely silted up with sand or they look like deep, long, jagged ditches that go from the sand banks on the right all the way down to the tide line. Our ride back followed several days of calm water, so it was far less of an adventure...

This being us, the jagged ditches are right there. It's 1 AM and I'm worried that we'll puncture a tire, so Munro goes out to check the "road." Slipping and sliding, he finds a path to smooth sand again. Off we go, down the beach and skirting ever-increasing numbers of rocks. At one point, we pass a fisherman, who looks a bit startled to see a huge white SUV coming his way. Sometimes we think we can't make it any further and we turn around. But we keep heading back and find signposts like the piece of driftwood that looks like a coyote howling at the moon.

At one of these turnarounds we spot a man on a bicycle. Yup, Panamanian bicycle man at 2 AM. He is so toasted that I can smell the rum from where I'm sitting in the car, but he's very friendly and Munro's Spanish holds up enough so that the man offers to lead us to Bella Vista, the last town before the final 15K to Mono Feliz.

Off he pedals, and we're astounded and amazed - he's steady and heading around the rocks with great ease. Every once in a while, he hops off his bike and walks it across the rocks (I wish we'd taken a photo of these things at night - it was land of the dinosaur rocks!), and then waves us through with wild hand signals. He's very proud of us every time we navigate a tough spot and cheers us on with great rum-soaked glee.

We arrive at his home, a concrete shack on the beach, and several of his mates are up and about as well. Robert wants to offer him the small bottle of rum, but I think he's had enough and is probably highly flammable as is. We settle on giving him a dollar, which he originally doesn't want. The Panamanian believe in their "propia" or tips, but only on formal occasions. They are very generous with their help. Our little man is so thrilled with the dollar he offers to take us all the way to Mono Feliz - a 30K round trip for him. We decline and head off, figuring that all should be well from here.

Ha! We encounter more and bigger and more challenging rocks and terrain, a small town (featuring a man with a flashlight and backpack at the "entrance" to the town - said entrance just a sand ramp with rocks for erosion protection up the beach). He says Mono Feliz is not far, but wants us to head back the way we came and give him a ride. After much to-ing and fro-ing, we get him to guide us to the beach entrance to Mono Feliz.

Up we go - on a dirt track through the jungle. Cows to the left, beach sounds and insect sounds all around and every once in a while, a wooden sign with "Mono Feliz" printed on it. Allegra and John must have a sixth sense about putting up signs - they're placed just as you despair of hope!
We finally reach the wooden fence that marks off the Mono Feliz sanctuary. Hooray! We find what looks like a campsite and hear dogs barking. It's now 3 AM and we're pretty tired, so we make our bed in the car seats again and go to sleep. I can't wait to see what the morning brings. Are we in the right place? Will we be safe? Are the monkeys really happy?

Farewell to Bocas Del Toro

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!

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.

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.

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.