As much as we tried to mentally prepare for this moment, it's still a shock to the system. Especially after sitting on the runway for 35 minutes with the air conditioning on full blast, or considering we flew from Toronto where they were experiencing FREEZING RAIN!
We wander through the airport in a semi-daze and are immediately approached by a man who asks, "Taxi?"
I tell him the name of the hostel and he replies, "Anywhere you want to go miss." I can actually feel Mike rolling his eyes.
We agree on a price and follow him to his 'cab' - an unmarked white Escalade. I watch the city skyline come closer into view as his subwoofer rattles in the trunk.
We arrive at Hostel Mamallena and just as my friend Sam warned, the exterior is pretty seedy. It's compound-style property boasts a triple barbed wire fence and a buzz-in gate; the neighbourhood has seen better days but at least the property is secure...
At reception they give us our room key and tell us to relax and return for check-in when we're ready. We are overheated, overtired and a little frazzled from 24 hours of straight travel so we pick up a few cervezas and some food from the market and take up residence in a courtyard hammock.
We try to stay up, but our flights were overnight and included a transfer and neither of us did little more than doze, so we don't make it past 8:00 pm.
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| View of Panama from the plane |
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| Panama skyline |
The next morning, we're eager to make the most of the day. We get up early[ish] with intentions of visiting the infamous Panama Canal. We know there's a bus we can catch from the main terminal, but the metro card we need can only be purchased at the main terminal so we decide to walk. It looks pretty close on the map, we've got to eventually adjust to this heat and besides, the streets are doted with police presence.
Cut to half an hour later, Mike and I are walking through a sketchy area full of dilapidated buildings and loose pit bulls, where a mysterious dark coloured liquid flows from random rooftops. We walk a bit farther and suddenly we seem to be at an army base. Now we're walking alongside a highway and nothing resembles a bus terminal. I begin to panic, but Mike remains cool and leads us to our destination. We decide to quickly nip into the neighbouring mall to take advantage of the AC and so Mike can buy some proper shoes for his poor blistered feet. As it turns out, Mike is a giant compared to most Panamanians, so finding size 11 shoes is harder than expected but we persevere.
Eventually we cross the street to the terminal and buy a metro card, but nowhere amongst the hustle and bustle do we see a schedule or route map, in fact, there is no signage at all. Buses just seem to be arriving at random and stopping at will and all the locals clearly have it figured out. We ask a guy who works there where we can catch the Miraflores bus and he simply turns and walks away.
"Do we... do we follow him?" we wonder aloud. We do and he tells us to wait here at the end. We see some other fair skinned Europeans who are also going to the canal, so we keep close to them. Buses come and buses go, but none of them say 'Miraflores.'
Suddenly we hear a gruff voice call out, "Make sure you use lots of sunblock!" and before we know it, we're in the midst of a conversation with an Alabaman who tells us about his army stints around the world, this being his last until retirement.
"I live 120 miles from Panama City but I come down here to go to Costco and 'cause they got Burger King down here. We got McDonalds where I'm at, but it just ain't the same. Love me some Burger King!"
That's when I see it, about 3 stops down: Miraflores. We politely excuse ourselves from Alabama, motion towards the Europeans and run for the bus. While we wait to board, a very fashionable young Panamanian boy, grasps tightly to his mother's hand and gives Mike the stink eye. He looks from the glowing white skinned legs, to the top of his head and back down to his feet; his mouth hangs agape and he cannot break his gaze. This will not be the last time on our trip that someone stares at Mike.
We get to the canal visitor centre, there aren't any boats going through the locks yet so we check out the museum. It's amazing that the same basic model they created back then is still being used today with some technological additions.
We watch the movie about this history of the canal and it makes me cry. I didn't know that the US controlled the canal for so long or the amount of Panamanian students who died in protest. Even when the 1977 Torrijos–Carter Treaties declared a handover, Panama did not actually gain control of the canal until nearly 2000! It's so shameful, the negative presence America has had in nearly every country and it makes me cringe when I think that many people may associate me with the states and its actions.
I dry my eyes and we join the hordes of other tourists on the viewing decks and watch a couple huge cargo ships enter the locks where the water drops to allow them to descend from the man-made lake and into the sea. It's incredible.
We return to our hostel and I'm hungry and lazy so I suggest we check out a nearby eatery. We both get peposas, mine seafood and Mike's chorizo. Mike tells our 8 year old waiter, "No mayonesa por favor." So of course it comes out drenched in mayo. I attempt to wipe it off and Mike tries a bite and his mouth immediately goes numb. Mine is also covered in mayonnaise and also some sort of thick tomato sauce. The bread is stale yet somehow mushy at the same time. It's downright disgusting. We pay our bill and pretend to take our food and then guiltily toss it when no ones looking. Mike passes out in a Benadryl induced slumber while I spend another night battling insomnia.
In the morning we're eager to get out of the city and get to the station just in time to catch our luxury double decker to David. We climb the stairs to the top and snatch the front row seats in order to better enjoy the view. We soon discover that the seat numbers are assigned as we get booted from our prime spots and banished to the back of the bus. The seats are comfy and the AC is cranked and our butts barely leave the seats for over 8 hours.
We climb off the bus and consider trying to hoof it to our hostel, but David is busy and chaotic so we opt for a cheap cab, and it ends up being the right decision because our hostel is impossible to distinguish amongst the other homes in what is largely a residential area. Hostel Bambu is a chill crowd comprised of many other Canadians. We grab some groceries and cervezas and enjoy a lovely home cooked meal and a dip in the pool.
In the morning we're out early and off to Bocas Del Torro. But first we stop to buy new cellphone chargers because we've both managed to lose ours already (d'oh!) Luckily there is a cell shop next to the bus depot and despite not speaking English, the girl behind the counter is very helpful and we manage to communicate to her what we need.
We hop in the little taxi bus and we're off! Through thick jungles and sparse landscapes, the drive is beautiful. I become slightly fearful when our driver takes off at 90 km in a 50 zone, but at least he seems to know the roads well. We arrive in Almirante and take a quick cab to the water taxis. Upon arriving we are rushed towards a ticket booth and pressured to sign something while another guy grabs at our bags. The whole scenario is reminiscent of a negative experience my mom and I had trying to catch the public boat to Lombok and makes me uneasy, but the ticket price is what we expected, although the guy who forcibly grabbed our bags refuses to return them and demands $1 tip
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The boat ride is fast and rough but we arrive at Isla Colon unscathed We wander down the main drag into the first hostel we see. It's called Selina and it's definitely the place to be, with names of European DJs dotting the marquee. We quickly discover that private rooms start at $80 a night and that they have zero availability. We've been totally oblivious to the fact that it's a) the weekend; b) a major tourist destination; and c) a somewhat small island with fewer hostels.
We wander from hostel to hostel to no avail. We end up at Calipso Hostel where a nice Italian girl tells us there are two dorm beds left and if we book for two nights its only $12. We take it, drop our bags and stroll the town centre.
We rent bikes and bike out to Playa Punch for a quick dip. We're already feeling the heat and getting hungry so we have a quick rinse and grab some groceries. We meet a couple cool Europeans who are all solo travellers, but our hostel is otherwise occupied with a large group of standoff-ish Aussies so we do our own thing. There's some kind of festival or celebration going on cause the streets are packed and men dressed as devils simulate sword fights. We watch all of this go down (along with a slightly worrisome display of commercial grade fireworks being launched into the tree tops and power lines) from the safety of our hostel balcony.
The numerous bars serving up shots until 3 am obviously gets the best of some of our roomies because he staggers in and vomits profusely onto the floor (or so I'm told, I sleep through the entire thing... God bless ear plugs!) Upon awaking, we quickly flee the puke covered room.
It's Sunday and nearly everything is closed. We opt for a chill beach day, but while walking through the sand, we experience a strange sensation on our feet and toes. It almost feels like a bunch of slivers, but the pain is sharper and it comes and goes. The only thing we can come up with is there was some seaweed we trekked through that had little squiggly balls so maybe they sting to protect themselves?
[If anyone can shed any light on this, I would much appreciate it!]
But despite this unpleasantness we have an awesome swim and chill beach day. Mike even eats some pork grilled roadside over a fire and grate. I'm super impressed to see Mr. Foodsafe throw caution to the wind.
That night, my dreams are filled with huge bed bugs and when I wake up I'm itchy all over my legs. I am obsessive about bug spray and wore pants the previous night so I know it's something more sinister than mosquitos. Mike and I are covered with probably a hundred bed bug bites each. Knowing what we know about bed bugs we know these bites likely occurred a couple nights ago, plus our current hostel diligently wraps their mattresses in plastic so we're pretty sure they're from Panama City. To make the situation worse, we're sunburnt as Hell and we have to switch hostels. We shake it off, store our bags and rent a little electric bike for the day. The guy at the store doesn't speak English and what I gather with my pathetic Spanish skills is that he doesn't want us to go out to Bocas del Drago if we're doubling. Why? That I'm not sure... Maybe it'll hurt the suspension? In any case, I assure him we won't. We fly around town aimlessly and enjoying the sights. We end up down a rural, thickly forested road. Intrigued, we continue further and further until we notice a sign that says 'Bocas del Drago.'
Nervous, and aware of the fact we are in the middle of no where, I insist that we turn back to the safety of the town. We finally understand why he didn't want us venturing out there: our battery is nearly dead, any further and we would've been stranded. We go for a quick dip but quickly retreat to shore when a while jellyfish rubs up against Mike (white jellyfish are the nice ones right? Right?!) We stop for a bite and head to our new hostel. The vibe there is way more chill: there's a grassy yard with trees and a bar, plus there's even a small pool that we gratefully splash around in before relaxing with the other hostel go-ers. We meet some awesome Swedish girls, one of which is currently living in Vancouver, and a guy from Mexico. After a few beers they convince us to come out to the Iguana Bar which happens to be right on the water so Mike can't resist the urge for a quick dip. We call it a night since we have to be up early for a tour.
In the morning we're a bit fuzzy, but ready for our island tour. We see dolphins and sloths and even visit the island that Survivor was filmed on (Zapatillas).
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| Zapatillas Island |
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