On Thursday I reluctantly left Boquete. I was sad because I was passing up a trip with the hostel couple to a place where you can go cliff jumping into the river.
Lucky for me, the bus ride to Changuinola was four hours of bliss. The mountains and clouds were absolutely beautiful. Totally worth the $7 dollars I paid. From Changuinola I took a water taxi out to Bocas del Toro, a cluster of rain forest covered islands with amazing beaches. The boat ride was also well worth the cost ($4).
I arrived at my hostel and was immediately disappointed by the heat. Bocas is smoldering. I ended up in a dorm room with six beds, but only two Australian gals as roommates. Hoping to make some friends, as well as some plans for the next day, I was disappointed to learn my roommates were leaving town in the morning.
After settling into my room, which is essentially hanging my cloth wall hanger with several pockets (thanks Teresa!), I ventured out to the hostel balcony. I had read in Lonely Plant that this was the place to meet other travelers. I didn´t have much luck, so went in search of something to eat, other than chicken. I am so sick of chicken!
I found a inviting place on the ocean (just a few blocks from my hostel) that had taco salad wit grilled veggies. I was sold. At the restaurant I befriended the bartenders and picked their brains about where to go and what to do while in Bocas. They suggested dancing. Every night is ladies night in Bocas, no joke. This entails free cheap rum drinks. I haven´t had one of these free drinks. I have opted to pay the $1 for crappy beer instead. I have yet to have a hang over on this entire trip and I intend to keep it that way.
The idea of going dancing wasn´t at the top of my list. I was sweating just sitting eating dinner. But the idea of going back to my dusty, dark dorm room didn´t sound appealing either. After changing into cooler clothes, I met up with my new bartender friends at one of the bars offering ladies night. They introduced me to other locals and I got to ask everyone all sorts of questions.
For example, bartenders in Bocas make about $600 per month, where as most people only make about $300, if that. Most places will only hire women as supervisors because the men will give away free beer and drink on the job. I learned all about what it is like to work at the shipping yard (at the canal), whether their is racism within Panamanian society, that many Bocans learn English at home and Spanish at school (Jamaican English that is) and much more. I was surprised that everyone not only tolerated my prying, but seemed eager to share their life stories.
I danced a little, drank more water than beer, and went home a little bummed that I hadn´t made friends to make plans with the next day. All the locals had to work... In Boquete it was much easier to meet up with people and find things to do. It was also much cooler.
When I got back to my dorm room, there were two more girls and the room was a sauna. When I had arrived earlier, the city had just shut off the water because there wasn´t enough rain. Not only did the showers stop working, but the toilets wouldn´t flush either. Barf. I was hoping the water would be back on by the time I was ready for bed. No such luck. I had to go to bed dirty, sweaty and grumpy.
I didn´t sleep very well. The Aussies got up at 6am to leave and the other two gals kept coming and going from the room all night and were really obnoxious. I woke up thinking of leaving, but before I left, I was at least going to get my complementary pancake breakfast.
The kitchen was swarming with sweaty people. I hovered around, still grumpy, but clean (the showers were working again when I got up). I figured out that I had to make my own pancake from batter that was next to the stove. Oh well. At some point someone asked where I was from. When I said ¨California¨ a girl from Oregon introduced herself. Yay a fellow Westcoster!
I was able to make plans to go to the beach with her and several of the other dorm dwellers. I was relived. I don´t mind spending time alone, but going to the beach alone is a safety issue. If a jelly fish stings me, I need someone to pee on me, right? ;)
While we were waiting for the bus, we realized that the Panama Gold Metal Olympic Winner for the long jump, Saladino, was going to carry his metal through the center of the town (which just happened to be where the bus stop is located!) Exciting. The whole town came out for the event.
Saladino looked right at me and smiled for a picture. Sweet.
While the town was still going crazy, we left for the beach covered with starfish. I never made it...
When we got the entrance of the beach, the gal from Oregon and one other solo traveler, a guy from Switzerland started talking with a man on a horse. Turns out the guy owns the beach and many more on the Island. Not to mention 1,250 acres of banana and pineapple farms... Mr. Farmer is very rich.
Somehow, I was invited to go along with the three of them to a beach MTV recently rented from Mr. Farmer. MTV had built a cabanna set for the latest Spring Break show. We had to ride in a pick-up truck and do some 4-wheeling to get there, all part of the adventure.
The beach where the set was located was gorgeous. No starfish, but there was a fresh water lake that linked to the ocean, palm trees and pretty sand. We went swimming in both the ocean and the lake. The water here is clear and you can see the bottom of the ocean, even when you can´t touch bottom while swimming. Plus it is really warm. I can´t believe people get to live here year round.
I freaked when I thought I swam into a jelly fish, but it turned out to be a giant plastic bag floating in the water. I dragged it to the shore and was told by Mr. Farmer that the bag was from a drug runner, probably dumped off by Colombians. It´s crazy how drug trafficking is just another fact of life in C.A.
Mr. Farmer was a local who really wanted to show off his wealth. Apparently most landowners here in Bocas are proud and eager to display their wealth and show their land. He was very nice and generous. I can´t say he was very modest. The girl from Oregon spoke fluent Spanish and was our translator for the day. After the three of us solo travelers finished swimming, Mr. Farmer had the caretaker of the beach crack open some coconuts for us and we all enjoyed coconut milk.
When we were stuffed with coconut, a make shift sail boat landed on the beach. The crew turned out to be Mr. Farmer´s employees who had been out diving and fishing. We got to see their catch of the day, which included many different varieties of fish, octopus, and about 30 lobsters.
After hanging out at the beach for a few hours we headed back to catch up with our scheduled taxi.
Along the way, Mr. Farmer stopped when he saw some fruit hanging from a palm tree. We got sticks and with a group effort were able to knock down the bunch of fruit. This led to the three of us foreigners being asked to stay for dinner. It turns out that Mr. Farmer has a personal chef back at the starfish beach. With no hesitations we all agreed.
When we got back to the beach we went to a beach front house with sprawling docks and several buildings. While the palm fruit (Pejibaye) was cooking, Mr. Farmer suggested a cruse around the bay. We zipped around at 75 miles per hour in a yellow speed boat on crystal blue water. Mr. Farmer showed us some fancy resorts and a spot he claimed he was going to build a hotel over the water.
While we were floating around the area where the future glass bottom hotel (dude was a bragger!) was to be, three dolphins started playing near the boat. I was so happy. Dolphins NOT in an animal park. Majestic.
When we got back to the beach palace, Alex´s chef made us the palm fruit, which was delicious, and some other Panamanian dishes. I can hardly believe how lucky we were. We paid $6 for a round trip ride to a beach and ended up sitting at a gourmet dinner.
The girl from Oregon mentioned that she wanted to go dancing when we got back to town. Mr. Farmer claimed that he could dance to any music even if he was over 50 (and had a giant beer belly). We decided to take him up on his claim. The chef, who turned out to also be his nephew decided to join us.
We joined locals and other tourists at a bar near our hostel. The bar is called the Sunken Ship because it has a deck that is built around a sunken banana boat. There are no walls and if you´re not careful you could dance yourself right over the edge of the docks.
Again, I drank more water than beer, but this time I danced for hours and had a much better time than the night before. Mr. Farmer was true to his word and out danced about 5 partners before he called it quits.
I danced until my knees were aching. I went back to my hostel knowing it was the last night I would be there (it was awful). My new friend from Oregon told me of another, much cleaner, much nicer hostel nearby that had single rooms with a closet and desk for only $1 more a night. Needless to say I woke up early the next day and moved.
