Saturday, February 11, 2006

 

PANAMA

Costa Rican law requires visitors to leave the country for at least three days every three months. I arrived on November 9th. On February 3rd Sam and I headed forPanama. Our destination was Isla Bastimentos.

We left Punta Uva by bus at 8:30 am. An hour and a half later we arrived at the border town of Sixaola. There the authorities gave us the all important stamp out of the country.

The crossing was by way of an antiquated train trestle which had been converted for use by pedestrians, cars and trucks. We had to watch where we stepped for fear of falling through the spaces between the railroad ties and the wooden planks that were scattered about to provide some semblance of a walkway. The Sixaola River was wide and far below.

The Panamanian authorities in Guabito stamped our passports and issued us visas for $5 a piece. (Did you know that Panama currency is U.S. dollars?) Then Sam negotiated with a taxi driver to take us to Changuinola, where we caught a bus to Almirante on the Caribbean Coast. From there we went by boat to Bocas del Toro on Isla Colon, the largest tourist destination in the archipelago. The whole trip took us less than four hours.

Bocas reminded me of a typical tourist town with plenty of hotels and restaurants along the water and both sides of the main street. The town square with its big old trees gave it a charming quaintness.

While wandering around in the late afternoon we came upon a group of guys playing percussion instruments--three conga drums, bongo drums, a snare drum, cymbals, wooden sticks and a gourd filled with beans. This appeared to be a social club of some sort and they couldn’t have been enjoying themselves more. I could have listened to the catchy Caribbean rhythms all night.

Not far away was an unusual watering hole with a bar area built out over the sea. There were tables on a pier that encircled water lighted from beneath. We observed fish swimming by. The lack of hand railings made me wonder how many tipsy patrons had joined the fish.

After a refreshing bottle of Balboa beer apiece we carefully made our way to a pool table which was sitting on a sandy floor. Only the size was standard. One pocket had a piece of cardboard wedged in it and a plastic crate underneath to catch the balls. Sam learned the not too subtle slopes towards the cushions before I did and easily won three out of four games.

During dinner on a second story balcony that overlooked main street we joined others in watching a local fellow pulling a giant model of a jet plane on the end of a rope tied to a 4 foot long stick. After many minutes of encouragement from scores of onlookers he ran until it took off. We were told the man was “mentally retarded” and loved airplanes. His mother wouldn’t let him go to the airport there on the island so he built his model and used main street as his runway.

On our way back to the hotel we saw a dog walking along the street with a small monkey riding on its back. There was no apparent owner in sight. The two of them seemed quite content. And so were the two of us as we retired for the evening.

The next morning as we headed to the dock Sam struck up a conversation with a man who was looking for people going to Bastimentos. In no time we were on his boat speeding across the bay. Our “captain” was like a man on a mission and clearly had a place inmind for us to stay.

He docked at El Jaguar Hospedaje which was owned by his mother and operated by his brother and a nephew. It was a series of eight rooms off a single passageway with a large covered deck boasting five hammocks along with a table and chairs. The whole structure rested on pylons coming out of the sea. Our room was complete with two beds and a private bathroom. The cost was $18 per night.

As we were settling in a young man entered and introduced himself as Davis, grandson of the woman who owned the place. He was our unofficial concierge and one of the most fascinating individuals I’ve ever met. Before long we learned that he was sixteen but mature beyond his years.

I found Davis to be an extremely intelligent young man. And there was no doubt that he was well aware of it. When I told him how much he impressed me he explained that his teachers, particularly his biology teacher, also recognized that he thought and talked differently from his classmates. Consequently he was selected to participate in programs for what I would call “talented and gifted” students from around the country. Those students constituted his circle of friends.

His confidence was complemented by a pleasing personality and accented by an engaging grin. He talked at length about the history of Bastimentos and shared stories that sounded to me more like legends. As you might guess some were about pirates and buried gold guarded by ghosts. One tale was titled “TheJuicy Man” and recounted the consequences of taking too long to bury a man. I urge you not to ask for details!

Davis told us that his father was black and his mother white. His 15 year old sister C.C. was the lightest of his siblings. He was the darkest. Andrew was 13 and “in-between.” I wondered but decided not to ask if that was an issue with him.

He shared with us his opinions on the Bible and his attitudes toward the people on his island. Parents who let their young children, especially girls, wander the town late at night and the girls who have children at an early age troubled him. He expressed concern about the multi million dollar resort under construction on the other side of the island. He was clearly proud of his heritage and said he wanted to take it with him when he leaves the island, which he realized he must do to take advantage of his intelligence.

The next morning we hiked a muddy trail over to the other side of the island. Much of the land had been cleared for grazing horses. Along the way we heard the marvelous song of an Oro Pendula and then Sam spotted it with its distinctive yellow tail. There was the occasional “finca” (farm) and a primary forest as we descended to the shore.

Wizard Beach was beautiful! The water was crystal clear and the patented Caribbean aqua blue with streaks of foamy white where the surf broke on the coral reefs, sand bars and beach. At the west end of the beach jutting out into the sea was a rocky cliff draped with a curtain of lush green vegetation.

There were a couple campers, a bunch of backpackers and several surfers. Sam and I took to the sea like the proverbial duck to water. (We’ve managed to spend time at the beach every day but one since his arrival.) The waves were perfect for body surfing. So we did!

Davis was standing on the foot bridge near the hospedaje when we returned. Several similar bridges have been constructed along the single sidewalk that runs through the town. There are no roads hence no cars. When asked what he was doing he replied, “I’m counting the number of people who cross the bridge at various times of the day and night.”

Davis introduced us to his father, Jaguar, an educator and what amounts to a superintendent of schools in the region. They invited us to their house to watch the Super Bowl that evening with another tourist named Kevin, a surfer from Seattle, whose father was going to be in Detroit at the game.

Jaguar is a rabid NY Yankees fan. He watches virtually every game received by his satellite dish. “I like the Chicago White Sox and Cubs too” he assured me, “but I’m always for the Yankees.”

Baseball is one of the most popular sports in Panama. The other is soccer. Basketball comes in a distant third. Jaguar was eager to tell us about the famous Panamanian major league baseball players, especially Mariano Rivera.

I asked about basketball. He was quick to say he didn’t like the Chicago Bulls at all. I responded with a “not even Michael Jordan?” He ignored me and announced that his favorite team was the Boston Celtics dating back to the era of Larry Bird and company.

So there we were, Sam, Kevin, a couple of tourists from Nebraska who were staying next door, Jaguar and I watching the Super Bowl in the home of an Afro-Caribbean family on Bastimentos, Panama. During the half time show Jaguar got us another beer. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

A light rain began to fall during the second half. Sam and I hadn’t eaten since early afternoon but we decided to stay until the outcome of the game was obvious. The end came none too soon. We walked though the drizzle to one restaurant after another to find all of them closed. So we went to bed on empty stomachs but with our heads full of images and memories.

Our return trip was by a slightly different route. After boating to Bocas we took a water taxi directly to Changuinola (Farm #60) by way of an inland manmade canal. The scenery was remarkably pastoral and picturesque.

From there we hired a taxi to take us back to the border crossing at Guabito. Among the passengers were three Peace Corps volunteers. Our driver was a politician who had run unsuccessfully for the national legislature.

I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him about Panamanian politics and economics. He was more than willing to answer my many questions, including the one about the people’s attitudes toward the U.S. invasion that ousted Manuel Noriega. His comments about the Chiquita Company and the banana industry in Panama were particularly disturbing. I look forward to sharing them with those of you who are interested.

Instead of waiting for over an hour for the next bus to Puerto Viejo Sam and I decided to take a taxi for$6 US a piece. On that leg of the trip we traveled with a young couple from Norway who had their eight month old son in tow. And from there we took another taxi to Punta Uva so we could spend some time at thebeach before the sun went down.

The day after our return I received an e-mail from Davis. He expressed interest in keeping in touch. That pleased me very much and made me think of something his father said while we watched the Super Bowl. Tourist who stayed at El Jaguar Hospedaje not long ago invited Jaguar to visit them in Minneapolis. On the way there he’d like to go to New York to see his team play at Yankee Stadium.

I told him he should stop at “Peekel’s Place inPalatine” so he can see the Cubs and the World Champion White Sox. Some day he may just do that. I’ll bet you Davis will make it to the U.S. before long. There’s nothing like travel to make me realize that “Life is so interesting, don’t you know!”

Contributing Editor Sam Knowlton

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