We had to go through David, which is West of Boquete when we were headed East, because there were no bus routes that left for Bocas from the mountain town of Boquete. The little shuttle bus from David to Almirante, the Caribbean town from which we would take a water taxi to Isla Colon, was air conditioned, a true luxury in Central America. We drove four hours through some beautiful windy mountain roads. The lush green landscape of central northern Panama was pretty uninhabited except for the scattered tiny indigenous villages comprised of 3 to 6 thatched roof open ait wood homes. The homes rest on high stilts to escape the flooding that must be common in this part of the world. We witnessed the beginning of the rainy season, and I can only imagine what several more months of constant heavy rain could do to places with lack of irrigation systems. The stilts must have come as a result of nasty ruins years and years ago.
The indigenous homes are extremely simple, no running water or electricity, no glass windows, just open holes. Clothes hanging to dry from every inch of available space, naked kids running around amongst chickens and roosters, stray dogs begging for scraps. Mothers and young children sitting around, waiting for their husbands to return from work in the fields (the majority earn their keep from farming) or for their school aged children to return from school. As we drove through sparsely inhabited parts of Chiriqui (the largest province in Panama located in the northwest) and the Cordillera Central , we picked up school children and women to drop them off down the raod, the women to run errands and the kids to get to the very few and overcrowded schools. The bus would often stop in what seemed like the middle of nowhere to drop passengers off. The schoolchildren are dressed in uniform, white buttown down shirts with navy blue ties, and skirts or pants. They travel miles on a bus everyday to go to crowded classrooms , and most probably dont make it past 8th grade, proof being the thousands of teenage kids working in shops, collecting bus fares, in fields, etc...
There was an ad on the radio in Panama for a government sponsored literacy initiative. The ad was a staged conversation between a young man and his mother. He was convincing her that she too could learn how to read and write despite her concerns of having too many household chores to tend to. Government sponsored health projects in rural areas were not much more than one or two small stone buildings . Peering into the bare boned edifices, one could not spot a trace of modern medicine, just a man sitting behind a desk with massive amounts of papers strewn across his work space.
It seems as though every woman from the age of 17-25 is toting a kid around with her. The bus was long and I finally passed out, mouth gaping and woke up to a toothless black man knocking on the bus window trying to sell me a lottery ticket. We were in the Caribbean, I could taste the salt in the air. Almirante is not much more than a port town, at least not from the little I saw. The lottery ticket guy was convinced I had dreamt of the winning numbers, he made me smile although I knew he was just trying to make a buck off of me. A $4 water taxi took us from Almirante to Isla Colon, the most populated island in the archipelago of Bocas del Toro in less than a half hour. Homes with tin roofs stood tall above the water on stilts and fishermen sat patiently waiting for the fish to bite as dusk slowly and quietly fell over the Caribbean Sea.
Bocas boasts a strong Caribbean vibe, obvious in the taste of cocunut milk infused rice, the sound of patois in the streets and the sight of racial diversity (and beautiful mixing) in its people. The United Fruit Company brought workers from Jamaica, the Dominican Republic, and Haiti to Bocas to begin the fruit empire. The mixing that ensued left a rich diversity that remains and lights up the islands with a colorful array of different music, skin color, food and traditions. In half a block, you can hear Spanish, patois and English spoken.
We stayed at Hostel Heike, $10 a bed, nice common room, big kitchen located on the main drag lined with sodas, shops and almacenes. The sister hostel, Mondo Taitu, is right around the corner and hosts crazy costume parties, 80s night and free "suicide shots" to those daring (or stupid) or broke enough. You snort the salt, shoot the tequila and squeeze. Happy to be able to get some sleep in Heike. Well described by Lonely Planet as a "treehouse like hostel", the place had a very relaxed feel to it, with painted murals and the "spaceship", a rooftop hammock haven we fell fast asleep in. We woke up to Hallelujah songs. From the balcony overlooking the central park you could spot the source of the ruckus. A preacher with a karaoke machine was preaching to a group assembled in rows of plastic chairs plopped in the middle of the park. mobile church. Tomorrow we beach it. I look forward to snorkeling, bronzing, island bike cruising, ladies night boozing and surfing. For a few days, we are no longer travelling but vacationing.
Stay tuned for bat caves, island hopping and other fun stuff that happened. we're back. sad story, but a true one. back to reality, oops there goes gravity. so i am writing from memory now, memories that fade with the passing minutes, images effacing from my mind like the writing on the wall dissolves in the rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment