Panama what it Stands for

It was our last time together and our first time backpacking in a third world country. It only lasted for four days, but it was still a taste of something well balanced, like wine and cheese or barefeet and soft grass.

We had hoped to climb Vulcan Baru, but physical and mental conditions made us choose to camp at the local hot springs instead. It was a wet excursion to get there in this rainy season and the falling night, but the bottle of wine made the road we walked seem very short. Looking at the photo we are not very different then a pair of baggers on their way to the next liqour store, drenched in New York rain.

Of course nobody else thinks about doing this, so we had the super natural pools all to ourselves. Hot water, candels, wine all after 4:20 made this a place to talk and enjoy ever lasting.

The care-taker of the property took us on a horseback trip in the area,

and planted us onto his pet-water buffalo for an hilarious ride up and down the field, it was so funny.Time to say our last goodbye's. Zeph took a bus back to Costa Rica planning to go travel in South America in Oct/Nov/Dec of this year, and I took a bus to Cerro Punta, another super fresh and pretty town in the hills. From here I walked once again through the mountains, sleeping in my tent to end up in Boquete once again.

Underway I came across many Ngobe-Bugle people who live in this part of Panama. Many live high in the mountains, totally self sustained. The only reason they come down to town is for salt and cloth for their tipical dresses.

With the bus to Santa Fe where I camped in someones garden and discovered one of the most pretty waterfall area's I've seen in a long time ...... and I've seen many waterfals.

The next town I hitch hiked to was El Valle. My ride with the truck with workers turned out to be the invitation to a house where I could stay for the next two nights. He did not use this house and was happy someone used the light and bed.

El Valle is a town in the bottom of an old vulcano and so it's surrounded by an edge very suitable to walk and enjoy views to the Pacific and surrounding towns.

The next bus ride went to Panama City. Many sky scrapers bundel together to form a dramatic skyline that might seem impressive from a distance, but in fact is a maze of cloged up roads covered in garbage and thick with exhaust smoke. I was so not impressed that I only stayed for one night. Even the old part of the city that should hold some interesting history was disapointingly run down.

So I took a colorful bus out of this grey mass and pricked a finger on a town where I should stay the night. I went on my way towards the Darien, an area infested with illegal imigrants from Colombia, roaming bandits, narcotraffickers and the guerrillas. Besides the facts that it's a difficult environment, it's hot and humid and misquito's carry malaria.

Of course I used my healthy travel mind and did not venture too deep into this unhealthy habitat for blond travelers with a desire to live longer then today and so I kept to the Pan-Americana highway where there are many police controls where they want to know your name and where you are going so they have an idea who goes where.

When I got dropped off in the town where I had payed my ticket to (Miss, are you sure you want to stay here? There are no hotels or restaurants.) I was wildly surprised with my greeting sight.

A super traditional Kuna village! There are still quite a few around and I had never thought to find one right off the highway (well, highway, it's more a rickety half asphalt half mud road with too many potholes). My first footsteps were noticed in a heartbeat and shy woman stood looking in their doorways what I was coming to do. Man I'm so happy my Spanish is getting good and I can interact with all around me. Straigh I got invited to come inside and the questions of who I was came firing down.

Most Kuna people live in the San Blass Islands in the Caribbean. They wear a very specific dress: The front and back of their short sleeved blouses are made from Molas, a fine patchwork of different colors and figures, a famous thing for them to make and sell to tourist. A colorful cloth is wrapped around as a skirt and the head is adorned with a red scarf. the most beautiful thing are the beaded under arms and legs, the woman get their first when they get their period and will replace them every month or two. Geomatrical paterns show a chosen design. There is a stripe on the face from forehead to the tip if the nose and a golden ring worn through the septum.
It was emberasing to ask to make photo's, but when I made one from the house, the kids started giggling and it was clear they wanted to be captured more then ever. Within five minutes I had more kids around me who all wanted to be part of it, the parents looking on from the side. Untill one of the kids wanted to be photographed with his mum. She ran inside, letting me be in wonder what I did wrong or if I should stop pointing in that direction.

Nothing was less true, she had changed entirely to be in her sunday best for this photo. Even her little baby got dressed up in it's americans best with a hat to protect it from the 25c heat.

Eventually I met a guy in his hammock who said I could pitch my tent beside his house. His kids were wild enthousiast they had the visitor of town sleeping beside them and for the rest of the evening I was accompanied by one or more of them. They loved my little house. The whole night they listened to my I-pod and played little games with me.

Alvariño, the father had to go to work the next morning in a long boat, to his piece of property on a little island where he grows vegetables for his family and a little for sale.

Me and the kids walked around and discovered that someone had caught an iguana to smoke and eat. I did not try, but I know they taste like dry, smoked chicken this way.

Alvarina, Alvariño and Alindita's oldest daughter of 15 had a 9 months old baby, Joshua.

His skin died with a purple fruit just for fun.

I caught some busses to eventually take a ride in a lancha to La Palma, the biggest town in the Darien. My backpack and I were looking forward to the stay here. It had been a long road.

Within ten minutes I had found the smallest comedore in Panama and I was waved in by a good smell and Sabol, 45 and Colombian. We got talking over Ohaldra's (deep fried bread) and fish with rice and his connections with someone in Colon who maybe could get me on a boat to Colombia made us hang out and talk more.

Another man, a bit older and also from Colombia offered his house for me to stay, he had many bedrooms and did not want to see me camp in the park down the street.

The next day I was fixing his car (well, more a rusted heap of nothing in the form of a car) my hands deep in the oil, to later take a ride around the isthmus to meet other people.

The most fun thing came a day later, when it became clear that he wanted to take me for a boat ride. You have to know that Sabol has been half paralized two years ago, and so he walkes with a massive limp and he has no power in his right hand. When you see him walk or hear him talk you think he's grazy or debil. But he's got it all together. He waved to the boys that were looking at him and his blond help and ordered them to help him push this boat into the water.

We laughed so hard, it seemed impossible, 'Sabol! Que Mass!' EVERYBODY here knows him and his Colombian expression. But we all did it, this massive rotten thing got hopped bit by bit into the discusting sea and Sabol and I had a nice little tour with the two of us along the coast with huts on poles.

And then, in the afternoon I met his brother, he lives in Panama, is pretty ritch and owns a little chesna......... I deared to ask how this all came to be, and Sabol started to grin and snikker like a giant secret that we all know. Let me take one guess: Colombia, planes and richness.

He asked his brother if we could make a circle around the town before he would fly back to Panama and that was fine.

Wiehaaa, we soared SO close to the townstreet, everybody saw us that day cause we made four turnes and shook the poles under the house free from all their crabs.

Walking in La Palma, houses in every angle on every grade.

The third night in town it was Friday and we drank Atlas cervesas and ate chevice.

Sabol, me and Ankel a Dominicano.

This evening I met Daisy, in the heat of destroying all the man who tried to only give her a wink. She was so against all the horney man that it became funny to see her give that tipical look so famous for black woman who know they can deal their own cards.

It was her 27th birhtday the next day and I promised to come visit her and her two kids.

I played a cardgame with her mum and sister and made them laugh with new tacktics that still made me loose two bucks. She made me stay another day, and that night I slept with her and her two kids in the little four-by-four shack on poles.

She taught me how to make ohaldra's in the morning.

On my way back to Panama City I decided to visit another Pueplo I had seen from the bus window. It turned out ot be an Embera town. Another tribe in Panama. Those people live in houses on high poles.

Their dress is a little more normal besides their skirts, they are super bright. Here you can see them hanging to dry.

Their tipical craft is Cocobolos. Baskets, plates, bowls, maskes and more made from wickery straw like material. Here you see how it's first a stick that gets split in straw and hang to dry. In this town again I got to know many houses and people, I saw the craft been done and was surrounded by many kids at the end.

Before heading back to the Kuna village to spend another night with my new friends I drank tea in a road side restaurant to write my diary. Jahyra en Jose, the kids of the single mum who ran the comedore made me laugh so much

I had not set foot in the pueblo and everybody started laughing: "Ehhh, Holanda!!!!" The kids from the family I had stayed with before, Maycol and Carlos came running and hang on my arms: 'Matoe, Matoe' Even mum and dad were happily surprised I was back. All of them, maybe 30 people, watched us set up my house and all the kids were of course allowed to go in.

This time it was Alvariño and his wife Alindita who dressed up with the Sunday hat to have a photo taken. And this time I was invite to eat inside (last time I had gone to bed without eating anything since breakfast): beans and two very ripe banana's. It felt great to get an empty I-pod back in the morning from dad because he had listened to my music all night.

And then up to Colon. The hurricane season is starting on the Caribbean side, so many cruise boats leave there to go through the Canal on their way across the pacific. It was easy to find a boat here that needed another line handler to cross the Canal. It took me less then five minutes.

Mark, 43 has owned his 45ft sloop for 10 years and has been sailing from South Africa for five years now. Sometimes with his daughter, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. Working here and there. At the moment he's sailing with his daughter Kerry, who is 15 now and his girlfriend Katie, 37.

So the canal has a lot of history, it's build almost a hundred years ago and costed A LOT of deaths because of Malaria. French and Panamanians payed with lives to finish this massive project. The locks have three sessions which make you rise and later fall for 70ft to Gatun Lake.

At the moment there are only going three sailing boats per day through, the rest of the time it's huge righter and cargo ships. It's super busy.

You start by night, around 8pm. You need to have a captain on board and four people who can handel the lines. The canal will provide you a help captain who will tell you where to go and what to do. The three yachtes are rafted together for the passage through the locks, but go single filed (of course) through the rest of the canal, to be rafted again for the locks on the other side.

The entrance to the locks by night.

Closing doors.

Within ten minutes, 100.000 liters of water is pumped into the first set of locks.

You will go through three sets of locks before you reach Gatun Lake.

The night you spend mored in the lake and in the morning a new captain is dropped on your boat to guide you through the lake. Before the construction this area was a hilly jungle. They build a dam and flodded all of it. The islands that you see are the hilltops and you can still see the tops of trees sticking out from the water. Little boats and big ones have a different route.

They are massive. Tug-boats help the big ones to steer.

Approach to the locks on the other side.

Me doing a line while the doors are opening. You hold the three boats in place by four lines that go to the docks.

Ok folks, my sailing into the Pacific is the end of this story. If I would wanted I could get many rides all the way to New Zealand, but I headed back to Colon to find a boat to Colombia. That's where I am right now and where I will all leave you to make more stories.

Have a good one.