PANAMA
1081 Kilometres – 43 Days
18 April – 30 May 2012
17 April - Capurgana, Colombia – Puerto
Obaldia, Panama
It rained
hard during the night, causing a fresh and damp start to the day. The boat operating
between Capurgana, Colombia and Puerto Obaldia, Panama was expensive, and
waiting at the dock was best to get a better offer. Finally, a deal was made,
but the “regular boat” had a problem with the “good offer”. After fighting it
out amongst themselves, we were taken to Puerto Obaldia at no extra charge.
The
sea was rough, but our tiny boat got us safely to Puerto Obaldia where we proceeded
to the immigration office for a second time. Still, it took explaining in
broken Spanish (proudly presenting the embassy’s letter) that South Africans
didn’t need a visa to Panama beforehand. Nonetheless, we were told to return in
the morning when the boss was in the office. At least we weren’t sent back to
Columbia, like three days earlier.
The annual rainfall in the
area was more than 10m/a. Luckily, a covered area on the veranda of a derelict
community hall provided space to pitch the tents. By then, I had $85 to get
Ernest and myself to Colon, rumoured to be the first place with an ATM. Ten
dollars were spent buying food and a few beers and with rain gushing down, we settled
in. The roof we camped under at least allowed cooking and chatting.
Even though in Panama, we
weren’t out of the woods as no roads ran to or from Puerto Obaldia. The small
landing strip could nonetheless accommodate small planes. Still, I had no
money, and even if I did, the six-seaters which flew to and from Puerto Obaldia
couldn’t accommodate bicycles.
18 April - Puerto Obaldia
Following a long rigmarole,
Ernest and I were eventually stamped into Panama. Hallelujah!
Puerto Obaldia was a
military post with truly little happening. Meeting Simon, who hailed from Italy,
didn’t take long. Simon was travelling by 50cc motorbike from Ushuaia to Alaska.
He had, by then, already set a new record for distance travelled by a 50cc. For
several days, Simon had been stuck in Puerto Obaldia, searching for a boat
around the impenetrable Darien Gap. The Darien Gap is a break in the Pan
American Highway between Colombia and Panama. The area is a dense jungle
stretching almost 100 kilometres without roads or facilities. It’s considered
home to the lawless, anti-government guerrillas and drug-smuggling cartels. The
gap made overland travel across Central America pretty much impossible, and the
only way around was, thus, by sea or air.
Spotting a small wooden
cargo boat (the Rey Emmanuel) anchored in the bay, we searched for the captain,
who, like any good captain, was found drinking in the cantina. I didn’t know if
this was a good time to negotiate as I didn’t have enough money to pay for the
trip. Luckily, Captain Marseille was in a good mood
and offered us a fair price ($80 each) and agreed I could pay once in Miramar.
Furthermore, he informed me that
an ATM was located about 50 kilometres from where the boat was to anchor. The
trip was reportingly going to take between three and six days. Cooking wasn’t
allowed, and no food was included in the price. Armed with this information, the
three of us took off to the single shop to buy canned food, and ingredients we
thought one might be able to cook whenever the boat docked.
The only canned food at the little
shop consisted of spam and pork & beans, which we purchased, hoping one could
stock up at a few islands. The captain further informed us he could take us to
Miramar, a village along the Panama coast from where a road ran to Panama City.
The Rey Emmanuel delivered supplies to the San Blas Islands, a group of tiny
islands off the coast of Panama. The captain collected outstanding monies,
empty bottles, and gas cylinders on the return journey. I presumed the trip
would be a lengthy affair.
As the Rey Emmanuel was anchored
in the bay, a “lancha” had to be arranged to row us out to the boat the
following morning. According to the captain, he was departing at 9 a.m. sharp. Therefore,
not wanting to miss the only boat, a “lancha” was organised to ferry us across
at 6.30 a.m.
19
April – Day 1
The
following day, we gathered at the jetty eagerly awaiting our passage but were
told the captain was NOT leaving that day. Laughing at the madness, we hung
around and waited for further news. Nine o’clock came and went, and still we
waited, hoping something would crop up.
Then,
in a sudden rush of urgency, the captain emerged and told us he was sailing
that very minute. The two bicycles, motorbike, and luggage were hurriedly loaded
onto a “lancha” and paddled out with great urgency and speed. Besides the crew
on the boat were Simon, Matthias from Uruguay, a Colombian guy, and a lady from
Colombia on her way to visit family in Miramar. It has to be mentioned that the
boat was small and didn’t cater to passengers. The crew, therefore, wasn’t particularly
friendly, which one could understand as we were in their way. Finally, we all settled
down upon the wooden deck amongst the crates, trying our level best to roll out
mats to lie upon.
Eventually,
the boat sailed off; small and unstable, she rocked and rolled over the big
swells, while the three Europeans clung on, tooth and nail, not to be flung
overboard. Finally, there was little else to do but find a spot and wedge
yourself in, hugging your knees and feeling like a refugee. Moving around was
impossible, and due to the noise from the diesel engine, conversation was out of
the question.
After
roughly three hours of sailing, we caught our first glimpse of the San Blas Islands.
Three hundred and sixty-six islands, and a few so tiny they could barely
accommodate one or two huts. Once amongst the islands, the sailing was far
smoother. Still, it remained impossible to move about or chat. The captain anchored
twice to pick up empty gas cylinders and empty crates of cooldrink bottles.
Finally,
Captain Marseille must’ve relented about the meals as all passengers were served
lunch (rice accompanied by chicken wings and feet, give me strength!). By 4 p.m.,
the Rey Emmanuel reached yet another tiny island, where she moored for the
night. Supper consisted of cooked bananas (plantain), cassava and salted pork
or, -, pork fat.
Three
other boats also moored along the jetty, and everyone knew one another. Soon darkness
fell, and all settled in, crew in hammocks and passengers underneath them on the
hard, wooden slats of the boat deck.
20
April – Day 2
Our
first morning dawned, and the boat sailed out of the small harbour at around 6
a.m. The first stop was shortly afterwards at an island village to collect the
necessary goods, where a breakfast of boiled banana and chicken feet was
served.
As
a vegetarian I had great difficulty with the food. Still, the others were happy,
as there was a lack of shops on the islands. The cans of pork & beans
purchased turned out simply beans in watery tomato juice – quite gross. Gross
or not, we had quite a few of these cans to work through, and I had a choice
between chicken feet or beans in a watery tomato juice. Soon after departing,
the crew caught a large fish, and I was sure it would be our evening meal.
The
inhabited islands were packed “wall-to-wall” with reed and palm-thatch shacks.
Islanders wore traditional clothes and were surprisingly short. The Rey Emanuel
slowly putt-putted between the San Blas’ teeny islands, stopping numerous times
to load empty crates and gas cylinders, and collect outstanding money. The Rey
Emmanuel couldn’t have covered much distance before our overnight stop. Sure
thing – supper consisted of rice and fried fish, which was a great deal more
edible than the salted pork fat.
Life
in the San Blas was at an unhurried pace. With no electricity, we all went to
bed when it became dark and woke at sunrise, making it a long night on the
uncomfortable deck.
21
April – Day 3
Day
3 brought an earlier departure than the previous day. Breakfast was served at
the first island stop, consisting of boiled banana and salty pork fat. I’m not
ungrateful, but I couldn’t eat it. The crew, on the other hand, seemed
delighted with their breakfast. Mercifully, we still had a few stale rolls,
half a jar of peanut butter, and the famous pork & beans (without pork).
Following
loading, sailing continued past numerous small islands with coconut palms and
white, sandy beaches. They looked idyllic, and the water was clear enough to see
fish swimming even in the deeper water – the San Blas was indeed close to
paradise. Unfortunately, the Kuna people were shy and didn’t like being
photographed. I did, nevertheless, manage to steal a blurry shot or two. Small bare-bum
kids ran about or rowed their wooden dugout canoes, seemingly before they could
even walk.
The
days became increasingly hot, but it wasn’t too unbearable while sailing.
Still, the heat sent everyone running to a shady spot when we moored. The
rhythm of loading, off-loading, and then sailing to the next island to do the
same became a familiar routine. While we moored, food was served, and a good
thing too, as the boat rocked far too severely to cook or eat. Lunch was rice,
beans and liver. I happily gave my liver to Ernest and ate the rice and beans,
neither of which would ever make it to my favourite list.
By
evening, anchoring was at a relatively large island, for the San Blas, (approximately
500 metres x 800 metres). We all sat watching the teams play basketball and I
thought it a good thing the tiny Kuna people played each other. Supper
consisted of a boiled banana and fried fish. We sat around the square until we
realised this was it, and nothing more would happen. Then, when darkness fell, we
all crawled in, trying to get as comfortable as possible while listening to the
snoring and farting of the crew in their hammocks above.
22
April – Day 4
The
Rey Emmanuel stayed moored the entire day as the captain had business to attend
to. Still, I never saw him doing anything but swing in his hammock, or drink
beer on the dock. At least breakfast was slightly different, and consisted of
boiled banana and tinned meat (spam). The island sported a branch of the Bank
of Panama and someone mentioned an ATM inside and we decided to check it out in
the morning.
So
small was the island that it took no time to criss-cross it. It rained on and
off for the greatest part of the day and the kids loved it, playing endlessly
in the puddles and never seeming to tire. Each island had a central basketball
court where all gathered. The courts were well-used, and various basketball and
football games were played simultaneously. I felt privileged to have the
opportunity to experience these remote islands.
23
April – Day 5
The
following day, we were up early to be at the bank as soon as the doors opened,
but after rushing over in the bucketing rain, we found no ATM inside. Receiving
wrong information seemed a daily occurrence. Tails between our legs and
empty-handed, we returned to the boat to eat our fish and boiled banana
breakfast.
Instead
of sailing in the morning as planned, nothing happened, and we all sat around
waiting. The rain never ceased and could’ve been the reason for a non-sailing day.
Lunch was crab and rice, and everyone was delighted except me.
Captain
Marseille finally steered us off to the next island at around 3 p.m. The boat putt-putted
through the islands for roughly two-and-a-half hours before anchoring. Supper
was rice with tinned sardines, and we were all grateful for the change of
cuisine. Still, we fantasised about pizzas, wine, coffee, and whatever people
could think about.
Unfortunately,
the weather turned absolutely foul, with a strong wind and bucketing rain. The
boat rocked and rolled, and the crew swung wildly in their hammocks (some
eventually opted to sleep on the floor). Simon tried sleeping on the dock, but
the rain soon drove him back onto the boat.
24
April – Arriving in Miramar – Day 6
With
the rolled-down canvas (to keep the rain out), we all slept late, and it must’ve
been around 7 a.m. before our unfriendly crew started moving about. The boat was
out of coffee for days by then, but they must’ve found a wee bit stashed away
somewhere as there was a sip of coffee before breakfast. Then, in a sudden
spurt of urgency, the engines were started, and in no time the boat was untied
from the quay, nearly leaving Matthias and the Colombian guy who had camped
ashore behind.
The
sailing routine continued to the next island, where the captain collected
outstanding money and served breakfast. Rumour had it this was our last stop
before a straight six-hour sail to Miramar. We all had enough of the boat by
then and couldn’t wait for the trip to be over.
Immediately
after clearing the San Blas islands and reaching the open ocean, the weather deteriorated. I am not speaking hyperbolically
when saying I feared our tiny boat wouldn’t make the final stretch. She rolled
and pitched, and whatever wasn’t latched down, came flying across the deck. It
was a scary experience, and landing at the bottom of the ocean was a real
possibility. There was little to do but wedge yourself in between the cargo and
hope for the best. The rain came down so hard that the engine noise was virtually
drowned out, and visibility was barely a few metres.
Finally,
and to everyone’s relief, the Rey Emmanuel, against all expectations, docked in
Miramar in the late afternoon. We couldn’t have been happier being off the
boat. All the passengers went in search of accommodation in the village. Ernest
and I shared a room, and Simon, Matthias and the Colombian guy were in the
other room. The place was pretty basic, but I think we were all happy to be on
a mattress of sorts and to shower (the first in more than a week).
By
this time, no one had any money and Ernest cooked our leftover pasta mixed with
the infamous pork & beans without the pork. Matthias also threw in his last
few cans and, in the end, it became quite a substantial pot of food.
25
April - Miramar – Portobello – 44 Kilometres
Early
morning, I gave Ernest my bank card and Simon gave him a lift on his 50cc
motorbike to the ATM at Portobello, almost 45 kilometres away. I still had to
pay for the boat trip and the captain had kept my bicycle on the boat as ransom.
I also had to refund Matthias as he kindly paid for the previous night’s
accommodation.
This
was all easier said than done as the motorbike’s front tyre had a large hole,
and Simon glued a piece of old inner tube over it. I had my doubts as to
whether the tyre would last 45 kilometres. Soon after their departure, the
Colombian guy hurriedly caught a bus to Panama City. Matthias and I waited until
Simon and Ernest returned.
They
returned all smiles, and although Simon hadn’t been able to get any money in Portobello,
at least I had money to pay for the trip, and could get my bike out of the
pound. Unfortunately, Simon discovered that his costly Canon camera and lens
had vanished from their room. He straightaway reported the incident to the
police, but they could do little.
Eventually,
Ernest and I saddled up and headed along a lush and forested route toward Portobello.
The way was reasonably good but came with a few steep hills. Still, we reached Portobello
in good time. I was pretty surprised to find a tiny, but fascinating, village sporting
the remains of an old castle and fort.
Many
international sailing yachts anchored in the bay - indicating this was a
popular sailing route. The well-known Captain Jacks was a tad pricy for a dorm
bed, and looking elsewhere was best. In the process, we located the reasonably
priced Hospedaje La Aduana. While not the cleanest, and with mice nibbling at
our food bags during the night, the place wasn’t all bad as the room featured a
large balcony from where to people-watch.
26-27
April - Portobello - Colon - 44 Kilometres
I
awoke with an upset stomach and felt like I had dined from a garbage truck the
previous night. Despite this, we packed up and biked along a scenic coastal route
to Colon.
Unfortunately,
my camera was playing up and, as Colon was a free trade zone, we turned in to
see if there were any camera bargains. There were plenty of warnings about Colon
being a nasty and dangerous place. We, nonetheless, met only friendly people
(all warning us about the dangers), ready to help us find a safe place to
overnight. Our hotel was lovely, and I searched out the free trade zone. Unfortunately,
I thought the shops were a rip-off, not a place to get a good deal. I looked
but couldn’t see any cameras I liked at a reasonable price and thought it best to
have mine fixed.
The
following day was laundry day and time to sort out internet tasks, which was
long overdue by then. Colon was close to the Panama Canal, but I never saw the
canal.
28-30
April - Colon – Panama City - 90 Kilometres
Panama
is a small country that made for effortless pedalling across from the Atlantic
coast to Panama City on the Pacific coast. The ride wasn’t bad; a tad hilly but
no rain. On riding into Panama City, we encountered a sprawling, cosmopolitan area.
The city was the centre for international banking and trade in Panama and, hence,
sported a modern skyline of glass and steel towers.
Biking
around searching for a budget room revealed we were in the wrong area. Instead
of budget accommodation, we only found international hotels to the likes of Le
Meridian, The Radisson and the Continental. Ultimately, a more reasonably
priced room was discovered in the old part of town.
The
next morning, an even less expensive abode was sought and, in the process, we rode
through the old town and onto the famous Panama Canal. Panama City was situated
at the Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal. Still, the canal wasn’t half as
impressive as the Suez Canal, and I thought it was an audacity to charge an
entrance fee.
In
Panama, sunrise was at approximately 6:20 a.m. and sunset at around 6:20 p.m.,
every day, year-round—no wonder it’s amongst the world’s top five places to
retire.
Sadly,
my camera packed up entirely, and I searched for a new one or a place to fix it.
Being Sunday, I found the majority of shops closed. The next day turned out a
public holiday, and little got done.
1-2
May - Panama City
Back
and forth between all the large shopping centres I went. Firstly, in search of
a place to fix the camera and, secondly, to check on new ones’ prices. Both
were found and I handed my camera in to be repaired, but then went wild and
bought a new Canon Rebel. This deed, unknowingly, marked the start of a long
love affair with Canon.
I
spotted a professional-looking bike shop, handed the bicycle in for a service,
and then returned to the room to play with my new toy.
2
May - Panama City
The
old town, known as Casco Viejo, had a fascinating history. The city was a
significant trading post for oriental silks and spices. Being a wealthy city, Casco
Viejo was the envy of many pirates. In 1671, the town was ransacked and
destroyed by the Welsh pirate, Sir Henry Morgan, leaving only the stone ruins
of Panama Viejo. At the time, the area consisted of crumbling buildings and
narrow lanes, forming part of a high-density slum. Even though the suburb was considered
unsafe, the only danger we encountered was the missing drain covers.
3-4
May - Panama City
Panama
was a confusing country, direction wise. Due to its ‘S’ shape, north, south, east
and west were never where I expected. In Panama City, the sun rises over the
Pacific Ocean and sets over the Atlantic Ocean. It surely must be the only
place in the world where that happens. The canal, therefore, runs roughly north
to south (not east to west, as imagined). Weird.
5
May - Panama City – Chepo – 73 Kilometres
The
camera repairs would take 20 days and I was secretly happy as this allowed
heading into the Darien. Unfortunately, the unsurpassable jungle of the
Panamanian Darien Region had a reputation for danger (drug traffickers and
Columbian rebels). Still, my desire to explore was mainly due to the area being
one of the most remote places on Earth.
I
was excited to get going, but Ernest dragged his heels, (big eye-roll) and the
time was 11 a.m. before we finally got underway. As a result, nearly the entire
way was built up, and it took almost 50 kilometres of cycling before the road
spat us out in the countryside.
On
arrival in Chepo, we met Mr Singh, who ran the Pizza King. Chatting with him, we
learned he had lived in South Africa for almost five years. No sooner were the
panniers off-loaded than Mr Singh presented us with a pizza. He further
insisted we visit the shop for coffee and cake. That evening, an enjoyable time
was spent chatting about his life in our home country.
6
May - Chepo – Unknown settlement – 60 Kilometres
Woken
by Mr Singh, who invited us to breakfast, didn’t come as a surprise. After
scurrying across the road, we had a good old chat while enjoying his
complimentary breakfast.
No
sooner had we departed than it started bucketing down, forcing us to take shelter
until the worst had passed. To our surprise, the paved section ended abruptly, and
the ride became a battle along a muddy, gravelly path until, finally, a paved
road reappeared.
Finally,
at around 5 p.m., we reached a settlement where pitching the tents was at a cantina.
I can assure you no cantina has ever made peaceful camping. The music blared
until late in the evening and people were understandably noisy. I could only
hope no one would fall on the tent. Covered in mud, but with no privacy to
wash, I crawled in, muddy feet and all, humming ‘There are days like this’.
7
May – Unknown settlement - Torti – 38 Kilometres
One
went through stages of things breaking. This must’ve been the tent-pole-breaking
stage, as in one night, both Ernest and I suffered broken tent poles. Luckily,
duct tape, cable ties and the odd hacksaw blade came in handy. Following a late
start, the route led past unmapped hamlets featuring thatched huts and
indigenous people going about their daily tasks. I, however, found the amount
of deforestation in the area alarming.
Upon
arriving at Torti, Ernest spotted a hotel. The price was reasonable, and I desperately
needed a shower and booked in. The room came with hot water, which made it an
excellent opportunity to do laundry. Torti was an area where farmers still
travelled by horseback, hence it was the place to find the iconic saddle makers,
who made magnificent, decorative saddles.
8
May - Torti – Meteti – 77 Kilometres
On
entering the Darien province, the path deteriorated even further. Nevertheless,
the ride was picturesque through a densely forested area. Police stops were frequent,
and bags were searched. Precisely what they were after, I couldn’t figure out.
Drugs, I guessed.
Once
again, I couldn’t believe ants bit me, and it appeared I had developed a slight
reaction to ant bites. I immediately started itching under my armpits. It seemed
worse every time it happened. How strange.
Luckily,
we reached Meteti early and shortly before the rain came down. It rained so hard
we could barely hear each other, just the weather one could expect from one of
the last remaining wildernesses.
9
May - Meteti – Yaviza – 54 Kilometres
The
weather wasn’t merely sweltering but also exceptionally humid. Like any good
jungle road, the area had a few hills. At Yaviza, our route came to a grinding
halt. The village marked the end of the Pan-American Highway and the start of
the infamous Darien Gap. The assumption that there would be a boat from Yavisa to
La Palma was clearly incorrect. This meant we had to backtrack to Puerto Quimba,
where we were told boats left for La Palma. The lack of information made this
more guesswork than anything else.
10
May - Yaviza – Meteti – 55 Kilometres
Backtracking
wasn’t all terrible as we escaped the rain and it became a pleasant day of
cycling. A vendor presented us with pineapples, avocados, mangoes, and a
strange unknown fruit. He wanted no money, and with panniers bulging, we continued
until Meteti.
11
May - Meteti – La Palma via Puerto Quimba – 20 Kilometres
Departing
Meteti was at a leisurely pace to cycle the short distance on a slightly hilly
and gravelly road to Puerto Quimba. The area was beautiful in its remoteness and
at times so quiet that the forest noises sounded deafening. Once in Puerto
Quimba, a boat to La Palma was located and, being a short distance, the ride barely
took 30 minutes.
La
Palma, capital of the Darien Province, strangely, wasn’t reachable by road and
consisted of a few colourful houses on stilts. La Palma only had one ‘street’
along a muddy riverfront. There was nothing else besides the few shops, bars,
and restaurants lining the only path. Our accommodation consisted of a ramshackle
stilted bungalow where one couldn’t just hear the water sloshing underneath but
could also see it through the floorboards.
12
May - La Palma – Sambu - By boat
Initial
information was that the boat to Sambu was in two days. Still, at the slipway, one
got the impression there could be a boat that very day. Someone once said the
service in Sambu was “as slow as molasses” and I couldn’t think of a better
description. There was little else to do but hang around, watching boats come
and go.
Eventually,
a boat appeared, and we flew across the Gulf de San Miguel at breakneck speed
on an open speedboat. At the same time, brown pelicans and shearwaters drifted
effortlessly above. The Gulf was scenic and peppered with tiny islands.
Soon
after setting out, the boat turned up the River Sambu and, after two hours,
arrived at the little settlement of Sambu, home to the Embera and Cimarrones.
Interestingly enough, these were people of African descent whose ancestors
escaped the slave trade by living in the jungle. Sambu was situated deep in the
forest, and one would never have spotted it without getting off the boat.
Albeit
tiny, the settlement was considered substantial for the Darien as it had a
payphone, landing strip, clinic and school. The centre of the village was a
large, shady mango tree where everyone gathered. If wanting to contact anyone
in the community by phone, the payphone was the number to dial, and anyone in
the vicinity of the phone would answer.
The
landing strip was the single paved road in the area, and where kids rode their
bikes and lovers took a stroll in the evening. Ernest and I overlooked the
action from our little veranda, and I was pretty happy being there. Watching
the activities, I realised that although the Embera people lived in reed huts
on high stilts, cooked on open fires and wore traditional clothes, they were no
different from city folk.
13
May - Sambu
Early
morning, I sauntered to the river where people bathed and I watched village
folk go about their daily tasks. We later inquired about a boat to Panama City.
The answer was, yes, there was indeed one, maybe today, maybe tomorrow.
When
the boat finally arrived, I was pretty shocked at the state of the old rust
bucket. It didn’t appear seaworthy or capable of reaching the capital. I was further
slightly concerned about getting myself, panniers and bicycle up the narrow gangplank
and onto the deck. Word had it the Doña-Dora was sailing the following morning.
The reason for the delayed departure soon became apparent. The tide went out
leaving the Doña-Dora firmly on the muddy riverbed. At least we knew she wasn’t
sailing without us.
My
trundling resulted in an invitation into one of the homes. I was surprised at
how spacious and airy these homes were, and interesting to see they cooked on
open wood fires even inside. A concrete slab was placed in one corner for this
very purpose.
I
bought a wrap-around skirt from the lady and felt I blended in a little better
(ha-ha, not that I would ever blend in at all). As there were no shops, vendors
pushing wheelbarrows appeared, selling their wares. Fish, cucumbers, even a cow’s
head, and later the shrimp man, whom Ernest supported. He must’ve overeaten as he
was dreadfully sick during the night. By evening, I sat on the balcony,
watching a lightning display and listening to the sounds of the forest.
14
May - Sambu
We
were operating in low gear and when told the boat was only departing at 10 p.m.,
the news was taken in our stride. Unfortunately, it rained the best part of the
day, and there was little else to do but watch the Embera people paddle their
dugout canoes.
Each
household had a few chickens which were, by far, the ugliest chickens. Fish were
the staple diet as riverside living made easy fishing, even if just catfish.
Rice, beans, bananas, mangoes and avocados accompanied all meals.
By
late afternoon, we headed to the Doña-Dora where it required a trapeze artist’s
skills to get our stuff and ourselves onto the boat, as the sole access was via
a long and narrow gangplank. Once on the boat, we found tiny wooden cabins – six
bunks to a cabin, leaving little headroom or manoeuvring space. Most bunks were
broken and not all the beds could be used. Our fellow passengers were quite interesting,
travelling with live lizards in hessian bags, parrots in boxes and buckets of
fresh seafood. I’m not kidding you!
15
May - Sambu – Panama City - By boat
The
following day, the boat anchored in the Gulf, off the village of Geruchine,
where launches came out to meet us. Plenty of fish, empty drink crates, gas
cylinders and more passengers were loaded. Getting on board was quite a
spectacle as passengers had to be pushed and shoved onto the Doña-Dora from the
panga boats which came alongside.
Once
out of the Gulf de San Miguel, and in the open waters of the Pacific Ocean, we sailed
along smoothly while watching dolphins and flying fish. Seeing flying fish was
a novelty and this wasn’t even the South China Sea, where the flying fishes
played according to Kipling. Brown pelicans followed in our wake, diving for
food, while shearwaters soared above.
The
meals served were based on boiled bananas and their staple of rice and beans. Although
not haute cuisine, the cook was a great deal better than on the Rey Emmanuel (at
least it wasn’t just chicken feet and salted pork fat).
At
around midnight, we cruised into Panama Bay. Coming from the jungle, the night
view of the towering city lights was quite spectacular.
16-19
May - Panama City
I
woke on our rocking boat and could barely believe the Doña-Dora had made it to
Panama City. We watched the city skyline, waiting for high tide to go onto the
pier. Breakfast and lunch were served, and as other passengers had gradually
left by small launches, the meals served were heaps better.
The
high tide allowed for mooring, but the swell made getting bikes and panniers
off the boat tricky as the boat bashed back and forth against the dock.
However, I was more than ready to get off and be on my way. Once off the boat,
we headed to a hotel to shower. A nearby supermarket provided supper, which was
much different from the past few days.
20
May - Panama City – Capira – 55 Kilometres
Departing
Panama City meant biking across the Bridge of the Americas, which spanned the
Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal. There was no riding over this bridge
without snapping a few pics of the container ships coming into the canal.
The
rest of the day was spent biking along an excellent but hilly route as we
followed our noses toward Costa Rica. As usual, the day came with blistering
heat and high humidity, which required frequent stops to fill up with water.
Upon
reaching Capira, a rural settlement in the Cermeno Mountains, we found a
typical Spanish Colonial-type town centred around a church plaza. A room with a
balcony, where I could watch the rolling hills around the city, was home that
night.
21
May - Capira – Anton – 79 Kilometres
The
next morning, we returned to the Pan-American Highway, which was pretty much the
only way to Costa Rica. Meeting other cyclists, thus, didn’t come as a surprise
as it was very much the classic North-South bicycle route. The last time biking
this highway was in Chili, many moons ago. No highway ever made exciting riding
and it became a monotonous and uneventful day.
22
May - Anton – Aguadulce – 73 Kilometres
Early
morning, a truck driver stopped and offered me a cycling helmet. He told us the
highway was dangerous with many trucks and it was safer to wear a helmet. What
a thoughtful man. Again, we met other cyclists heading to Panama City, which
was the end of their journey. The road flattened out, making it comfortable riding.
The rain we encountered soon cleared, and we made our way to Aguadulce.
23
May - Aguadulce – Santiago – 58 Kilometres
Central
Panama, situated between the continental divide and the Pacific, was a sparsely
populated area, dotted with farms and ranches. I watched in fascination how ranchers
herded cattle by horseback, which is always a pleasure to observe.
Using
a public phone confirmed my camera would be ready the next day and we stayed
put.
24-25
May – Santiago
Early
morning, I caught the bus to Panama City, picked up the camera and jumped on a
bus for the return trip to Santiago. This little excursion was a whole day
affair and arriving in Santiago was after dark. At least I had my old, trusted
Panasonic back.
26
May - Santiago – Los Ruices – 64 Kilometres
The
day’s riding was considerably more demanding than anticipated with the weather
sweltering, humid and hilly. The going was slow, and all I saw was the sweat
from my face dripping on the tarmac. So hot was it, by mid-day, I felt faint
and nauseous, but there was little one could do but soldier on.
By
afternoon, a teeny settlement with an abandoned restaurant and small veranda made
it good enough spot to pitch the tents. Discovering a laundry trough with
running water out back was a bonus. Ernest cooked pasta and, as there was
little to do when wild camping, we crawled in early.
27
May - Los Ruices - San Feliz – 58 Kilometres
On
packing up, Ernest discovered a broken spoke and nothing came of our planned
early start. It seemed there was no escaping the heat and I keenly looked at
the sky wishing for a cooling shower. Regrettably, it became one more rainless
day.
Mercifully,
the route reached a high point, and the remainder of the day was a beautiful
ride through the mountains, where the highlight was encountering the Guaymi
tribe. Guaymi women made traditional crafts for their own use and to sell for
extra income. These included handmade bags from plant fibres called “kra,” colourful
dresses called “nagua” and beaded bracelets and necklaces. Men, typically, made
hats from the same material.
When
the Spanish arrived in Panama, they found three distinct Guaymi tribes in what
is today western Panama. Each was named after its chief, and each spoke a
different language. The chiefs were Nata, Parita and Urraca. Urraca became
famous as he defeated the Spaniards, forcing them to sign a peace treaty in 1522.
Nonetheless, Urraca was betrayed and captured, but escaped and made his way to
the mountains, vowing to fight the Spaniards unto death, a vow he fulfilled. The
Spaniards feared Urraca so they avoided combat with his men. When Urraca died
in 1531, he was still a free man.
Several
Guaymi still choose to live secluded lives away from modern society and with few
facilities.
28-29
May - San Felix – David – 84 Kilometres
The
day was marred by blistering heat. Fortunately, there weren’t any hills, but the
road deteriorated, and the shoulder vanished altogether. The heat made riding
exhausting, and I was dead tired getting to David.
Parque
Cervantes was surrounded by vendors selling anything from clothing to fruit
juices (mainly lottery tickets). Accommodation was a pricy affair, but I couldn’t
care less as I only wanted to shower and lay down. We stayed an additional day to
do the dreaded laundry.
30
May - David, Panama – Paso Canoas, Costa Rica – 55 Kilometres
Following
a leisurely departure, we found the route levelled out, making it comfortable riding,
past plenty of fruit sellers en route to the Panama-Costa Rica border. The
border crossing was an uncomplicated affair, which simply required a stamp in
the passport.
Plenty
of duty-free shops lined the road and after searching for bargains, none were found.
Being a typical border town, Paso Canoas was packed with trucks and buses, dodgy-looking
money changers and food vendors. Still, Ernest wanted to stay and continue in
the morning. He had his reasons.
