The humidity here creates a constant human body water cycle, taking in and expelling, so my clothes are usually drenched by the time that I finish the 10 minute walk to school in the morning. I spent the morning doing number identification with pre-kindergartners, and if you don't think that that is blue-collar labor, try it some time. At recess I was playing catch with one student, then two, then three, then suddenly there were about eight different types of balls coming my way at once. All of the kids on the playground were laughing, the teachers were falling out of their chairs, and an uproarious time was had by all.
School was let out before noon, but I waited around for my couchsurfing host to coordinate a volunteer project. After walking to the library with two friends, we walked back to her house to say goodbye. I was switching my lodging to Cabinas Jimenez because my host had some new surfers coming in for the night. I checked in, got all of my things dispersed in the room, then took a kayak out for a paddle around the bay. About 1/2 an hour out, I ran into the front of a squall, so I did a U-turn and enjoyed my first afternoon downpour since leaving Ashland.
Tonight, I'm enjoying a beer, watching a ball game on the laptop, and basking in the first air-conditioned room since I left Panama City. Tomorrow I'm up early to see whether I can help get the kindergartners ready for their parade, after which will be a local bake sale and fair. Then I'll be checking with all of the local tour companies to see whether I can glom onto a group hike into Corcovado National Park to get the group rate. I've been conserving money on this trip, but the promise of exotic bird and animal sightings will make it worth the expense of hiring a guide.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Don't Believe Everything You Hear, and Only Half of What You Google
I met my ping-pong buddy, Willie, at the bus stop this morning at 8:00. We were both heading to Costa Rica today, and he proved to be an invaluable asset at the border. There is a four-step process at the border that involves going to four different stations: the immigration window for leaving Panama was first, only one woman in front of me, so I was through in less than 5 minutes. Willie then led the way to the money-changers and worked the best deal ($1 for 500 colones). The money changers were under the same roof as the Panamanian immigration but with no signs advertising their service. Next he led me across the street and down the block to the Costa Rican immigration, no simple matter in itself because trucks are lined up for hundreds of yards on each side of the border waiting to get through, then roaring away quickly when done. Finally, we returned back toward the Panamanian immigration but on the other side of the road to catch the bus to Golfito, a town on the coast about an hour-and-a-half by bus.
Willie had lived in Golfito for the last 20 years, having moved there from Hawaii, with a few Rainbow Gatherings sprinkled in between for good measure. He got us off at the right bus stop in Golfito to check on the lancha schedule for Puerto Jimenez. We had time for a beer before catching the lancha at 1:00, so he led the way up the Street of Dreams to a nice little bar where we had a cold one to celebrate our arrival. He saw me off at the landing, putting me on an 18-passenger lancha whose pitometer was reading 35 knots, and it still took 1/2 an hour to get across the Golfo Dulce, 3rd deepest gulf in the world, rimmed by green, tree-clad mountains above a calm, aquamarine, inland sea. It was so unexpectedly beautiful that I couldn’t stop smiling. I say “unexpectedly” because all of the other travelers I had talked with had found Costa Rica expensive and unappealing compared to Guatemala, Nicaragua, and Panama, so I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come over here. Wrong! Southern Costa Rica is beautiful, and although more expensive than Panama, a couple of amazing contacts have softened the landing.
Janina, my couchsurfing host, met me at the Puerto Jimenez dock with her bike, and walked me back to her house, where I learned about her company for the next couple of hours. She coordinates homestays and eco-volunteer situations for people who prefer to go on vacations by volunteering to work to create a sustainable Costa Rica. She easily has all of the bigger eco-tourism places beat on price because she does all of her own legwork for finding volunteer situations and places to stay. She has me going to both a public and a private school tomorrow to help teach English to elementary school kids before heading out to her friend’s sailboat for cocktails at sunset. If you're interested in a volunteering vacation, check out her website: Green Life Volunteers
Puerto Jimenez is on the Osa Peninsula, home to the Corcovado National Park; squirrel monkeys, surfers, and scarlet macaws; 50% of the biodiversity of Costa Rica; and 2.5% of the biodiversity of the world. Dolphins and whales are frequently spotted in Golfo Dulce while bicycles and gringos are frequently spotted in Puerto Jimenez.
I plan to stay a few days to sample the sights of this natural paradise, to soak it in with the help of my newfound friends.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Blowing Out of Town
Cool breeze dominates Boquete with an almost
full moon chaser of life, adventure, stars
to hang my eyeballs on when I put them away for the night.
River sound, leaf sound separate and commingle
slipping in and out of wind-blown branches
curling into my cabana like a friendly boa looking for my mice.
The boa,searching onward, slithers across a line on a map
unaware of silver other than as a cool sliver
on the rock that has lived on the face of the timeless cliff.
The almost moon gives a jagged smile to the constrictions
painted here and gone, leaving behind
the barest trace: a mouse hair or three, an “s” track in the sand, a drop of blood.
No politics or presidents, only silent assassinations in the night
small mice missed only by their families.
As the snake resumes its affiliation with the hunt,
the breeze from Lower Monkey laughs and sends him on his way.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Meant to Swell a Scene or Two
This business of blogging daily requires a belief that my words are meaningful, even simply to myself. The humdrum, the everyday occurences can happen even when traveling. A traveler, a writer, a person, anyone has to work sometimes to find the nugget of beauty within the ordinary.
My verbal sparring opponent and I went for a walk to look at neighborhoods in Boquete, and wound up in a resort community that included a couple of labyrinths, a tennis court, an indoor pool, a golf course, a mini-golf course, two koi ponds, an amphitheatre, and a chichi neighborhood of multi-million dollar homes from which we were escorted out by a couple of security guards in a golf cart. Apparently we were suspicious because we were on foot and taking photos, probably to case the residences for later robberies. I'm sure we broke several other laws along our route through that community known as Valle Escondido (Hidden Valley). We walked on cart paths that said "Golfers Only", we sampled basil and cilantro and oregano from the herb labyrinth, and we were tempted to pick bananas, but they were out of reach so we contented ourselves with devising schemes for harvesting them in plain sight of the security guards.
After leaving the resort, I fell prey to the relaxing song of the river, spending the rest of the afternoon vacating: chatting with the other travelers in the hostel, watching sports on TV, and sending emails back and forth to my couchsurfing host in Costa Rica. It looked for awhile as though my couch was falling through, and it has been trimmed back to a single day, but I'd like to check out the small town where it's located, Puerto Jimenez, even if just to say that I made it to Costa Rica. There is a Crocodile Sanctuary there, so that should be interesting, and my host is involved in several conservation projects, so I'll be talking with her about the possibility of other Ashlanders coming down and getting involved.
The couchsurfing project sounds intriguing, bringing people from all over the world into your living room or spare bedroom. I'm dipping my toe in to see what the water temperature is, but my friend Debbie says that she's had some great experiences with it, and never had a bad one. The key seems to be vetting the potential surfers by reading their profiles, seeing what they have to say about themselves, and what others have to say about them, especially those who have already hosted them. I have another potential host down in Panama City with whom I'll be talking today to see whether we can arrange some dates that work for the two of us (although it sounds as though I would be staying with an entire family there.)
I think that two surfing experiences will be enough to help me decide whether to recommend to my wife that we offer to host once I get back to Oregon. It seems to be a way to get some of the flavor of travel without leaving home, which actually sounds very appealing to me right now.
My verbal sparring opponent and I went for a walk to look at neighborhoods in Boquete, and wound up in a resort community that included a couple of labyrinths, a tennis court, an indoor pool, a golf course, a mini-golf course, two koi ponds, an amphitheatre, and a chichi neighborhood of multi-million dollar homes from which we were escorted out by a couple of security guards in a golf cart. Apparently we were suspicious because we were on foot and taking photos, probably to case the residences for later robberies. I'm sure we broke several other laws along our route through that community known as Valle Escondido (Hidden Valley). We walked on cart paths that said "Golfers Only", we sampled basil and cilantro and oregano from the herb labyrinth, and we were tempted to pick bananas, but they were out of reach so we contented ourselves with devising schemes for harvesting them in plain sight of the security guards.
After leaving the resort, I fell prey to the relaxing song of the river, spending the rest of the afternoon vacating: chatting with the other travelers in the hostel, watching sports on TV, and sending emails back and forth to my couchsurfing host in Costa Rica. It looked for awhile as though my couch was falling through, and it has been trimmed back to a single day, but I'd like to check out the small town where it's located, Puerto Jimenez, even if just to say that I made it to Costa Rica. There is a Crocodile Sanctuary there, so that should be interesting, and my host is involved in several conservation projects, so I'll be talking with her about the possibility of other Ashlanders coming down and getting involved.
The couchsurfing project sounds intriguing, bringing people from all over the world into your living room or spare bedroom. I'm dipping my toe in to see what the water temperature is, but my friend Debbie says that she's had some great experiences with it, and never had a bad one. The key seems to be vetting the potential surfers by reading their profiles, seeing what they have to say about themselves, and what others have to say about them, especially those who have already hosted them. I have another potential host down in Panama City with whom I'll be talking today to see whether we can arrange some dates that work for the two of us (although it sounds as though I would be staying with an entire family there.)
I think that two surfing experiences will be enough to help me decide whether to recommend to my wife that we offer to host once I get back to Oregon. It seems to be a way to get some of the flavor of travel without leaving home, which actually sounds very appealing to me right now.
Friday, April 19, 2013
That's a Fact, Jack
Laid low yesterday, doing a bunch of couchsurfing for the rest of my trip - inquiries in Bocas del Toro, Panama City, Colon, and San Blas. So today I'll do a bit of walking, shooting photos, and fact finding about the town.
The infrastructure of Panama is very solid. The highways connect west to east between Panama City and Costa Rica, some in better condition than those of the US. The highway continues east of Panama into the large, untamed area known as the Darien Gap, but there it ends on the way to Colombia. There is talk of continuing it on into Colombia, but for now, there remain only rutted, rocky, smuggling roads to get from one country to the other. The northern coast along the Caribbean is also rather remote, with limited access to the coast except near Bocas del Toro by the Costa Rican border, and down by the canal, in the central portion of the country.
The internet grid offers great coverage through the developed communities, and cell phone service is widespread. Although electricity is prevalent throughout Panama, even the more up-to-date communities like Boquete have some archaic wiring systems, and solar is not very widespread. The panels that are here have to be angled almost horizontally and covered with mosquito netting to keep the bugs from nesting. The government is busy putting an extensive hydroelectric system in, much to the chagrin of the local greenies.
Tap water is drinkable and pretty darn tasty everywhere I've been, but I hear that I shouldn't drink the water in Bocas del Toro. Can recycling seems to be starting up, and of course, most Panamanians do a better job of recycling their food waste, giving it to the chickens and pigs, as well as putting it back into the ground for soil enrichment. They also do a better job of reusing materials such as metal and wood. However, there doesn't seem to be bottle or paper recycling that I have seen. Here in Boquete, and occasionally elsewhere, there are elevated household garbage cages that look like rectangular metal grid barbecues with doors that the garbage collectors can open, but the animals can't.
The northern (Caribbean) and eastern regions are the malarial centers, but Panama only had 1/4 the number of cases reported that Mexico had in 2011, and no reported malarial deaths. The incidence of yellow fever is also going down.
Once you get out of the Panama City/Colon/Canal Zone, the crime rate goes down substantially, and there's a palpable ease. The Panamanians seem friendlier once you get out into the country a bit, although I have begun to notice more hard looks and posturing by the Panamanians around Boquete, probably due to such an influx of illegal aliens from the US. Panamanian law was changed in the last year, making residential visas more easily obtainable, but the process is arduous, costing a couple of thousand dollars usually, because you have to use a lawyer to submit all paperwork, and it takes 5-6 months to complete.
Well, the sun is shining, and I'm running out of facts, so it must be time to go walking.
The infrastructure of Panama is very solid. The highways connect west to east between Panama City and Costa Rica, some in better condition than those of the US. The highway continues east of Panama into the large, untamed area known as the Darien Gap, but there it ends on the way to Colombia. There is talk of continuing it on into Colombia, but for now, there remain only rutted, rocky, smuggling roads to get from one country to the other. The northern coast along the Caribbean is also rather remote, with limited access to the coast except near Bocas del Toro by the Costa Rican border, and down by the canal, in the central portion of the country.
The internet grid offers great coverage through the developed communities, and cell phone service is widespread. Although electricity is prevalent throughout Panama, even the more up-to-date communities like Boquete have some archaic wiring systems, and solar is not very widespread. The panels that are here have to be angled almost horizontally and covered with mosquito netting to keep the bugs from nesting. The government is busy putting an extensive hydroelectric system in, much to the chagrin of the local greenies.
Tap water is drinkable and pretty darn tasty everywhere I've been, but I hear that I shouldn't drink the water in Bocas del Toro. Can recycling seems to be starting up, and of course, most Panamanians do a better job of recycling their food waste, giving it to the chickens and pigs, as well as putting it back into the ground for soil enrichment. They also do a better job of reusing materials such as metal and wood. However, there doesn't seem to be bottle or paper recycling that I have seen. Here in Boquete, and occasionally elsewhere, there are elevated household garbage cages that look like rectangular metal grid barbecues with doors that the garbage collectors can open, but the animals can't.
The northern (Caribbean) and eastern regions are the malarial centers, but Panama only had 1/4 the number of cases reported that Mexico had in 2011, and no reported malarial deaths. The incidence of yellow fever is also going down.
Once you get out of the Panama City/Colon/Canal Zone, the crime rate goes down substantially, and there's a palpable ease. The Panamanians seem friendlier once you get out into the country a bit, although I have begun to notice more hard looks and posturing by the Panamanians around Boquete, probably due to such an influx of illegal aliens from the US. Panamanian law was changed in the last year, making residential visas more easily obtainable, but the process is arduous, costing a couple of thousand dollars usually, because you have to use a lawyer to submit all paperwork, and it takes 5-6 months to complete.
Well, the sun is shining, and I'm running out of facts, so it must be time to go walking.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
"To meet the faces that you meet...."
Yesterday was market day for gringos at the Picipi across the bridge from Suenos. Organic veggies, homemade breads and marmelades, handcrafted coffees from the mountains around Boquete (one of which won a gold medal in Japan a couple of years ago and sold for more than $100/lb.), local books being sold by local authors, water purification systems, handicrafts of all kinds from all over Central and South America.
I recognized one of the vendors. He is an indigenous Kuna from the San Blas Archipelago along the eastern coast of Panama. There are 365 islands in the archipelago, stretching most of the way from the northern end of the Panama Canal to Colombia. He didn't give me a first name; his apellido or last name is Lopez. We had met at breakfast a few days prior, the only patrons sitting on the patio of a small family restaurant that I have adopted because I rarely see gringos there. Senor Lopez told me a bit of his history, having left San Blas some 22 years before to seek a living elsewhere. He lived in Panama City for a while before moving to David to live with his uncle for 5 years, then on to Boquete where he lives in a little one-bedroom stucco duplex on the river, close to the bridge, that costs him $130/month. He works 7 days/week as a cook at a local restaurant, sells hand-embroidered molas at the market for his mother and sister back in San Blas, and watches a booth for an Ecuadorean friend from time-to-time during the week.
I met him again this morning and invited him to lunch with me in the same place where we had met. After lunch, I decided that it was time for me to return to write the blogpost. However, on the way back to the hostel, Senor Lopez asked me to step into his house and write down the translations for various words and phrases that he uses to sell the Kuna molas. I gave him not only the correctlt written word or phrase, but also the way that you would write it in Spanish to correctly pronounce it in English, like s-i-d for "seed" or b-a-y for "by".
He is a man of good heart, one of those people who has a shy smile that comes from a sincere place. He is quiet-spoken and neither completely open nor guarded, but available. I sat with him awhile during the time that he was watching his friend's booth, watching and listening to him both then and when his friend returned. He seems imbued with trustworthiness.
I also met Willie right after breakfast yesterday morning. Willie is a graying, long-haired, ex-Rainbow Gathering hippie-turned-evangelist from LA who has been living in Mexico and Central America for years. Within a couple of minutes, he was already inviting me to meet him at noon after the market at the 2-for-1 Tuesday beer gathering at one of the local ex-pat bars named Mike's. He must have meant Panamanian noon (similar to Ashland noon) because he wasn't around when I showed up. I lolligagged a bit but didn't buy because I didn't want to drink two beers by myself in the early afternoon, so I wandered down the street to Amigos Restaurant where they had the same type 2-for-1 special going all day. The ping-pong table next to the patio, though, induced me to believe that I could possibly drink a couple of cervezas if I could find an opponent to sweat some of it out of me....and I did find one: Willie! Turns out that he was more than able to kick my butt at ping pong, but we laced our match with liberal doses of conversation that involved equal parts religion, philosophy, humor, and personal history.....ok, maybe it was a bit heavier on the humor than the other parts because every time he went into scripture, I went into puns, put-ons, and parody which sent him into paroxysms of laughter followed by a sportive response. We kept it up for a couple of hours before I said my goodbyes and went to find dinner.
Two such very different encounters, but I am hopeful to continue the friendships with both for the remaining week that I have in Boquete.
I recognized one of the vendors. He is an indigenous Kuna from the San Blas Archipelago along the eastern coast of Panama. There are 365 islands in the archipelago, stretching most of the way from the northern end of the Panama Canal to Colombia. He didn't give me a first name; his apellido or last name is Lopez. We had met at breakfast a few days prior, the only patrons sitting on the patio of a small family restaurant that I have adopted because I rarely see gringos there. Senor Lopez told me a bit of his history, having left San Blas some 22 years before to seek a living elsewhere. He lived in Panama City for a while before moving to David to live with his uncle for 5 years, then on to Boquete where he lives in a little one-bedroom stucco duplex on the river, close to the bridge, that costs him $130/month. He works 7 days/week as a cook at a local restaurant, sells hand-embroidered molas at the market for his mother and sister back in San Blas, and watches a booth for an Ecuadorean friend from time-to-time during the week.
I met him again this morning and invited him to lunch with me in the same place where we had met. After lunch, I decided that it was time for me to return to write the blogpost. However, on the way back to the hostel, Senor Lopez asked me to step into his house and write down the translations for various words and phrases that he uses to sell the Kuna molas. I gave him not only the correctlt written word or phrase, but also the way that you would write it in Spanish to correctly pronounce it in English, like s-i-d for "seed" or b-a-y for "by".
He is a man of good heart, one of those people who has a shy smile that comes from a sincere place. He is quiet-spoken and neither completely open nor guarded, but available. I sat with him awhile during the time that he was watching his friend's booth, watching and listening to him both then and when his friend returned. He seems imbued with trustworthiness.
I also met Willie right after breakfast yesterday morning. Willie is a graying, long-haired, ex-Rainbow Gathering hippie-turned-evangelist from LA who has been living in Mexico and Central America for years. Within a couple of minutes, he was already inviting me to meet him at noon after the market at the 2-for-1 Tuesday beer gathering at one of the local ex-pat bars named Mike's. He must have meant Panamanian noon (similar to Ashland noon) because he wasn't around when I showed up. I lolligagged a bit but didn't buy because I didn't want to drink two beers by myself in the early afternoon, so I wandered down the street to Amigos Restaurant where they had the same type 2-for-1 special going all day. The ping-pong table next to the patio, though, induced me to believe that I could possibly drink a couple of cervezas if I could find an opponent to sweat some of it out of me....and I did find one: Willie! Turns out that he was more than able to kick my butt at ping pong, but we laced our match with liberal doses of conversation that involved equal parts religion, philosophy, humor, and personal history.....ok, maybe it was a bit heavier on the humor than the other parts because every time he went into scripture, I went into puns, put-ons, and parody which sent him into paroxysms of laughter followed by a sportive response. We kept it up for a couple of hours before I said my goodbyes and went to find dinner.
Two such very different encounters, but I am hopeful to continue the friendships with both for the remaining week that I have in Boquete.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
A Non-Hostel Environment
A group of Aussies who had started in Mexico a couple of months ago reserved the hostel next door to Suenos, and Sueno's duena, Itza, made a deal with that hostel's owner to take the overflow, so I am kicked out for a couple of days. "Kicked out" might be a wee bit harsh since Itza is offering up a room in her own home up in the hills above Boquete in a little town called Estrella. Estrella has no internet connectivity, so my connection with the world outside of Panama will be limited for a couple of days.
I arose this morning, Monday, and decided to hike the famous Quetzal Trail, purported to be one of the more spectacular trails in the world, up onto the slopes of Volcan Baru from where one can see both oceans. I enjoyed one of the funnier bus rides of my trip: first going around the block to return to our starting point just to play a joke on one of the riders, after which we stopped at every little super-mercado (each about the size of a corner convenience store) to yell out the window at the owner to see whether they had any gas (propane) on hand for sale. The first four only had empty containers, but the 5th had what we needed and we continued on up to the top of the route where they let me out.
I hiked up the paved road awhile until I came to a sign that said "Sendero Culebra" (Snake Trail) above another sign that said "Waterfalls" in English. Deciding to take a short side hike, I followed the trail down and across a small river. Once across, I met four Brits on their way back down from the waterfall trail who told me that there was a $5 entrance fee to see the falls, so I decided to double back to a road that veered off to the left and upstream just across the bridge. I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon exploring the various beautifully clear swimming holes that I encountered the rest of the way up to a little barbed-wire-gated driveway whose sign declared that it belonged to the Cabanas del Bajo Mono.
Undeterred by the barbed wire, I decided to see what the cabanas rented for, walking across a hand-made footbridge that led to a series of buildings surrounded by a well-kept lawn that also encompassed various flower and vegetable gardens. I approached cautiously, yelling out "Buenas tardes!" every 20 meters or so to give the owners warning that someone was around, but I needn't have bothered. No one appeared the entire time that I was there, so I wandered back down the hill and out onto the road, where I happened to catch the same bus with the same bus driver. This time, he drove down a side road to another small store where he dropped off a man who, I presume, was the store owner, since the bus assistant unloaded cartons of soda, sacks of potatoes and onions, and boxes of dry goods. Then we stopped at a local warehouse to grab a couple of 100 lb. sacks of potatoes to take to Miguel someone or other and continued on our way back into Boquete.
Itza made dinner for four of us before taking me out to introduce me to her dogs, her husband, and her house. When I awoke in the morning, there was a beautiful view to the mountains beyond, but the sound of the laughing river had been replaced during the night by dogs barking, so I was more than grateful for my morning cup of coffee.
I arose this morning, Monday, and decided to hike the famous Quetzal Trail, purported to be one of the more spectacular trails in the world, up onto the slopes of Volcan Baru from where one can see both oceans. I enjoyed one of the funnier bus rides of my trip: first going around the block to return to our starting point just to play a joke on one of the riders, after which we stopped at every little super-mercado (each about the size of a corner convenience store) to yell out the window at the owner to see whether they had any gas (propane) on hand for sale. The first four only had empty containers, but the 5th had what we needed and we continued on up to the top of the route where they let me out.
I hiked up the paved road awhile until I came to a sign that said "Sendero Culebra" (Snake Trail) above another sign that said "Waterfalls" in English. Deciding to take a short side hike, I followed the trail down and across a small river. Once across, I met four Brits on their way back down from the waterfall trail who told me that there was a $5 entrance fee to see the falls, so I decided to double back to a road that veered off to the left and upstream just across the bridge. I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon exploring the various beautifully clear swimming holes that I encountered the rest of the way up to a little barbed-wire-gated driveway whose sign declared that it belonged to the Cabanas del Bajo Mono.
Undeterred by the barbed wire, I decided to see what the cabanas rented for, walking across a hand-made footbridge that led to a series of buildings surrounded by a well-kept lawn that also encompassed various flower and vegetable gardens. I approached cautiously, yelling out "Buenas tardes!" every 20 meters or so to give the owners warning that someone was around, but I needn't have bothered. No one appeared the entire time that I was there, so I wandered back down the hill and out onto the road, where I happened to catch the same bus with the same bus driver. This time, he drove down a side road to another small store where he dropped off a man who, I presume, was the store owner, since the bus assistant unloaded cartons of soda, sacks of potatoes and onions, and boxes of dry goods. Then we stopped at a local warehouse to grab a couple of 100 lb. sacks of potatoes to take to Miguel someone or other and continued on our way back into Boquete.
Itza made dinner for four of us before taking me out to introduce me to her dogs, her husband, and her house. When I awoke in the morning, there was a beautiful view to the mountains beyond, but the sound of the laughing river had been replaced during the night by dogs barking, so I was more than grateful for my morning cup of coffee.
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