It's early on Saturday morning, January 8th, and I'm sitting up in bed with my laptop, having decided that it's time to start and finish reviewing, in written words, my journey through Panama. Eventually I'll have to pause and get dressed for breakfast, pack up, and maybe write some more, until leaving for the airport about 11:30. Say it ain't so! Could this really be my last day? Home is not calling out to me. I am not calling out to home. I have no sense of place right now, and I really like that feeling! I won't always feel that way, I know, but I'm OK with it during this time away.
The last time I wrote about where I've been was about landing at Isla Boca Brava, which is a little island near Boca Chica, southeast of David, south of Horconcito. I had taken the five-minute water taxi to the island on the afternoon of Dec. 27th. The "hotel" I stayed at, creatively called Hotel Boca Brava, is more of a backpacker kind of place, with one area of hammocks that some people rent instead of staying in a private room. There are a few 'fancier' rooms that apparently have hot water and television, and then there are rooms like the one I stayed at, pretty basic with water (no hot water, but who needs hot when the air is so warm?), and a bathroom like in India, one big room complete with shower, toilet, and sink. My room, like all the rooms, came with a view so beautiful. It was so easy to wake up to gaze at the Gulf of Chiriqui (the Pacific) and other islands. It was as if I was nestled away in some form of Paradise for a few days.
That night, I sat in the open area which served as the restaurant, and chatted with Brad, the owner, who told me he was from Holliston, Mass., not far from where I grew up. In fact, he attended the River School in Weston, very close to where I lived as a child, only it was at that time known as River Country Day School. Like me, he left the Boston area and headed west to Colorado for college, though we attended different universities there. Eventually, like me, he found his way to the west coast, to California, then to Mexico where he owned a restaurant, and not so long ago, came, with his partner Kelly, to Boca Brava when the opportunity opened up to buy this place. We chatted a while about life in the fast lane of the east coast, about the places we had in common in Massachusetts, and what it's like to live on an island and run a business. I really didn't come to this island to talk about my hometown, the Natick Mall and Shoppers World (memories of when the mall was being built and memories of Shoppers World before it was torn down), but we had a good time, anyway, chatting about it. His cook prepared for me jumbo prawns, caught locally, grilled in butter and garlic, which became my daily main meal. Each meal was washed down with either a Balboa beer or a Boca Colada, which was Brad's version of a Pina Colada. I was having my own little celebration, just me and my umbrella drink!
The next morning, I woke up to screeching from the howler monkeys and birds singing just outside my window, which is a fine way to wake up, much better than an alarm clock. After a breakfast of fresh papaya, pineapple, and bananas, yogurt, Panamanian fried bread, and freshly squeezed pineapple juice, I went on a hike through the island jungle to a couple of other beaches. As I was sitting on the rocks watching the waves roll in, I started hearing noises above me, and suddenly, growing louder and louder, was the howling sound of the monkeys. I couldn't see them at all, but they were obviously above me somewhere — probably they were talking about my hair, which, due to the humidity and the salt water breeze, was taking on the Janis Joplin look again. It entered my thoughts, briefly, that they might swoop down, land on my head, and try to take my snack away (like the monkeys in India would do — stealing my snack, that is). Later, as I continued hiking, I looked up at one point and saw in the tree above me at least twenty of the monkeys, watching me quietly. No howling this time, and as I chatted with them, they cautiously (or so it seemed) observed my antics, and I continued trying to converse with them and take their photos. They'd have none of that, as it turned out. Click on this video to hear them...it's me speaking at the end, asking them to say 'excuse me' after such a loud howl!
There were three vultures that didn't even move as I took photos...when I was finally about twenty feet from them, they hurried away, but didn't fly.
After half a day of hiking and reading, I went to the 'restaurant' (which is, of course, outdoors and has a spectacular view as well) and as I walked onto the deck above, a woman looked over at me and asked, "I know you! Where are you from? Who are you?" I was a bit taken aback, as I looked at her and thought she looked familiar but I didn't know her. As it turned out, she looked a lot like an old friend in Corvallis, but it was not her. This woman in front of me now lives in Panama, but had lived in Eugene for many years, and used to come up to Corvallis to play music and visit with friends. We knew some of the same people, and most likely were at the same parties in the 70s and 80s. (Her name is Mickey Kaplan, for those of you who are curious.) We spent a few days talking and playing card games, along with her husband and stepson, who was visiting from Columbia University.
As I was sitting at a table reading and watching the blue nothingness of the ocean in front of me, a guy at the bar turned to me and asked where I was from. I said Oregon, and that started another conversation. Turns out this guy is Bill Nokes, a former attorney in Corvallis who quit his practice to do what he had a passion for, sailing, and he's been doing it ever since. He's got a sea-weathered face and lots of stories to share, that's for sure. He's sailing with a woman he met where he's based in Oregon (Bandon) and for now he's at port in Boca Brava. Sailing where his heart leads him, that is kind of what I want to do, though not necessarily on a boat (but I'd sure give it a try!).
On Wednesday of my stay, I joined in with about nine others and hired a boat to take us to some other islands. It was about a half-hour ride to the first one and forty minutes to the second. We snorkeled and swam and sunbathed. One of the boatmen climbed coconut trees to shake down some coconuts for us to eat right there, and I munched on fresh coconut while reading my book in the sun. What a life!
The next island we went to was so narrow that we could go from swimming in the calm waters on one side to the rougher waters on the other. It was also full of coconut trees that one of the boatmen climbed again for us.
I think it's time to get a new swimsuit. I've been traveling with this one for a few years now. I keep forgetting to go shopping for one.
Thursday meant it was time to pack it up, so at noon I took the water taxi back to the mainland and Gomez was waiting to take me on to my next stop, Boquete. This was the last day I'd feel the heat of the sun for while.
Life certainly is good.
The last time I wrote about where I've been was about landing at Isla Boca Brava, which is a little island near Boca Chica, southeast of David, south of Horconcito. I had taken the five-minute water taxi to the island on the afternoon of Dec. 27th. The "hotel" I stayed at, creatively called Hotel Boca Brava, is more of a backpacker kind of place, with one area of hammocks that some people rent instead of staying in a private room. There are a few 'fancier' rooms that apparently have hot water and television, and then there are rooms like the one I stayed at, pretty basic with water (no hot water, but who needs hot when the air is so warm?), and a bathroom like in India, one big room complete with shower, toilet, and sink. My room, like all the rooms, came with a view so beautiful. It was so easy to wake up to gaze at the Gulf of Chiriqui (the Pacific) and other islands. It was as if I was nestled away in some form of Paradise for a few days.
That night, I sat in the open area which served as the restaurant, and chatted with Brad, the owner, who told me he was from Holliston, Mass., not far from where I grew up. In fact, he attended the River School in Weston, very close to where I lived as a child, only it was at that time known as River Country Day School. Like me, he left the Boston area and headed west to Colorado for college, though we attended different universities there. Eventually, like me, he found his way to the west coast, to California, then to Mexico where he owned a restaurant, and not so long ago, came, with his partner Kelly, to Boca Brava when the opportunity opened up to buy this place. We chatted a while about life in the fast lane of the east coast, about the places we had in common in Massachusetts, and what it's like to live on an island and run a business. I really didn't come to this island to talk about my hometown, the Natick Mall and Shoppers World (memories of when the mall was being built and memories of Shoppers World before it was torn down), but we had a good time, anyway, chatting about it. His cook prepared for me jumbo prawns, caught locally, grilled in butter and garlic, which became my daily main meal. Each meal was washed down with either a Balboa beer or a Boca Colada, which was Brad's version of a Pina Colada. I was having my own little celebration, just me and my umbrella drink!
The next morning, I woke up to screeching from the howler monkeys and birds singing just outside my window, which is a fine way to wake up, much better than an alarm clock. After a breakfast of fresh papaya, pineapple, and bananas, yogurt, Panamanian fried bread, and freshly squeezed pineapple juice, I went on a hike through the island jungle to a couple of other beaches. As I was sitting on the rocks watching the waves roll in, I started hearing noises above me, and suddenly, growing louder and louder, was the howling sound of the monkeys. I couldn't see them at all, but they were obviously above me somewhere — probably they were talking about my hair, which, due to the humidity and the salt water breeze, was taking on the Janis Joplin look again. It entered my thoughts, briefly, that they might swoop down, land on my head, and try to take my snack away (like the monkeys in India would do — stealing my snack, that is). Later, as I continued hiking, I looked up at one point and saw in the tree above me at least twenty of the monkeys, watching me quietly. No howling this time, and as I chatted with them, they cautiously (or so it seemed) observed my antics, and I continued trying to converse with them and take their photos. They'd have none of that, as it turned out. Click on this video to hear them...it's me speaking at the end, asking them to say 'excuse me' after such a loud howl!
After half a day of hiking and reading, I went to the 'restaurant' (which is, of course, outdoors and has a spectacular view as well) and as I walked onto the deck above, a woman looked over at me and asked, "I know you! Where are you from? Who are you?" I was a bit taken aback, as I looked at her and thought she looked familiar but I didn't know her. As it turned out, she looked a lot like an old friend in Corvallis, but it was not her. This woman in front of me now lives in Panama, but had lived in Eugene for many years, and used to come up to Corvallis to play music and visit with friends. We knew some of the same people, and most likely were at the same parties in the 70s and 80s. (Her name is Mickey Kaplan, for those of you who are curious.) We spent a few days talking and playing card games, along with her husband and stepson, who was visiting from Columbia University.
As I was sitting at a table reading and watching the blue nothingness of the ocean in front of me, a guy at the bar turned to me and asked where I was from. I said Oregon, and that started another conversation. Turns out this guy is Bill Nokes, a former attorney in Corvallis who quit his practice to do what he had a passion for, sailing, and he's been doing it ever since. He's got a sea-weathered face and lots of stories to share, that's for sure. He's sailing with a woman he met where he's based in Oregon (Bandon) and for now he's at port in Boca Brava. Sailing where his heart leads him, that is kind of what I want to do, though not necessarily on a boat (but I'd sure give it a try!).
On Wednesday of my stay, I joined in with about nine others and hired a boat to take us to some other islands. It was about a half-hour ride to the first one and forty minutes to the second. We snorkeled and swam and sunbathed. One of the boatmen climbed coconut trees to shake down some coconuts for us to eat right there, and I munched on fresh coconut while reading my book in the sun. What a life!
The next island we went to was so narrow that we could go from swimming in the calm waters on one side to the rougher waters on the other. It was also full of coconut trees that one of the boatmen climbed again for us.
Thursday meant it was time to pack it up, so at noon I took the water taxi back to the mainland and Gomez was waiting to take me on to my next stop, Boquete. This was the last day I'd feel the heat of the sun for while.
The way to the 'hotel' is up those stairs....I gave up counting after 75, carrying my pack and carry-on.
The hotel from the boat...
Looking out from the restaurant area of the hotel, the place we'd meet, talk, play cards, read...
Panama's Flag
Life certainly is good.
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