Leaving David Behind

I awoke early in the little house with no air conditioning, no wi-fi (pronounced "wee-fee"), and no number, eager to be on the road and wanting to get to Boquete before dark since I had a long day of bus rides ahead of me.  The bus rides on this day would be totally unlike the first ride up from Panama City in the plush, air-conditioned, smooth-riding liner with TV and reclining seats.  These buses were closer to what you imagine to find in a third-world country:  busted shocks, inoperable windows, people jammed together, but fortunately no chickens, pigs, or snakes.

After changing buses three times, a light rain shower sent me on the way out of David, the last city before arriving in Boquete.  We were climbing into the Cordillera de Talamanca, the northern section of the steep, rugged chain of mountains that separates the Caribbean from the Pacific in Panama. We were climbing to the town at the base of Volcan Baru, home of the Panamanian cloud forest, the howler monkey, and the quetzal bird.  Boquete itself reminds me of Sedona in the 70's:  hip town with incredible scenery and a river running through it...on its way to having its own little vortex.  The road into town is becoming a four-lane divided highway with curbs and gated communities, while stylish, stuccoed perches dot the hillsides above the river.

Soon after the bus deposited me at the town square, I found a small restaurant/bar with wee-fee and began my search for the night's lodging.  Discovering a place called Suenos del Rio (Dreams of the River), I called but got a fax screech for my efforts.  I then asked the off-duty waiters sitting at the table next to me, and they had never heard of it, so I opted for a first night's soft landing at the place next door to the bar, Mamallena's Hostal.  It was filled with young adventurers from all over the world.  After settling in, I went in search of lodging where I might want to spend a week instead of a night, and found it only two blocks away.

Suenos del Rio sits on a bluff above the Caldera River, downstream from the hot springs which give it its name.  Suenos is a small pension on a quiet sidestreet, with only 5 or 6 rooms, each with its own bath, and a shared kitchen.  The two other guys that I met are both around my age, and are long-term renters. Both were sitting outside reading, with the sound of the whitewater in the background.  I negotiated for one of the rooms that opens right onto the river, but reluctantly returned to my international hostal after a relaxing conversation with the duena, a conversation that reminded me of hammocks and howler monkeys and languid tropical nights.