Day 3

I was quite close to becoming a popsicle overnight. We made several stops but I chose to not ask my bladder if it ever needed relieving and chose to instead just hold it. Me and all the other foreigners (there’s only one place we all go) were hustled off the bus at 7:30am. And straight into taxis that took us to the boat dock, 1USD. Then we walked to the ticket booth, still not fully awake, and paid 6USD to get to Bocas town on Isla Colón.

I was definitely in a different world. The Caribbean is slow and no one is too serious. We flew over the water and soon enough I found Hostel Heike across the Simon Bolivar park. 11USD gets you a clean bunk with fan, pancake and banana breakfast, good wifi, and filtered water. I would later find that the attentive staff treats guests like family and maintains a great atmosphere, and that this was my favorite stay in Panama.

 

 

 

Being in a new place always means new stress. I felt better when I got some vegetables, sautéed them, and ate them. But I’m pretty sure that’s just me. Then I met my roommates, German girls who were actually my age. And nice.

I went to a drop in hatha yoga class with an English girl who had been on my night bus. After reading stellar reviews I knew I had to get myself to Bocas Yoga and learn from Lauren. Originally from Arizona, she’s probably the hottest woman you’ll ever meet in her 50s—free flowing hair, curves, toned abs and legs. The whole studio was very relaxing and cozy. She even offers blankets for all students. Her teaching style is quite spiritual as she sits in the middle of her friends in one row, which faces the row of non-regular students. She kept talking about what “curvacious” beings we were and got us to stick our butts out in classic poses, because “it just feels more yummy.” She complimented me on my attempt on her variation of bridge pose. We began and ended class with om. Classes are offered daily except Sunday, 5.5USD, and .5USD for matt rental.

 

 

After getting some laundry done I took a collectivo from the park to Playa del Drago, interested in some underwater stargazing. I loved looking out the window catching glimpses of beach nature and local farm life. Our van stopped at a roadside grill piled high with pork chops and chicken thighs. One of the two men chilling on a low-hanging tree branch got up, chopped up a hunk from the grill with a machete, wrapped it in foil, and handed it to our money collector. On my last day in Bocas I passed by again, and took a screenshot of  the coordinates to define this obscure snack stop.

 

 

40 minutes later I was at a small beach with tourists. Wooden posts jutting out of the stunning water each had a seagull occupying it. I wandered off towards the left, cutting through a bit of private property and sand, mainly sticking to the shaded dirt trail parallel to the beach. Everyone told me 15 minutes would get me to Playa Estrellas. I was dismayed to find zero starfish, and only more visitors snorkeling and playing. Or beach bumming with fruity drinks at the restaurants.

 

 

Some water taxi drivers told me to go back five minutes the way I came. So I did. A sting-ray popped out of no where and startled me after I had almost stomped on it. Then a kid holding a rainbow volleyball told me to go deeper. So I was wading chest-deep staring into the water about to give up but there one was, super big and orange. Completely still on the ocean floor. Soon they began popping up everywhere, red and yellow too, and I counted about 30 in the 20 minutes I was exploring. Some Brazilians came over on a motor boat and joined me. The dude picked some up despite signs saying no touching, I took a few photos when he handed them to me, but don’t do it because I later found out it only takes a minute or two being out of the water to kill them!!

 

 

I retuned to Estrellas and peppered with volleyball boy for another half hour before walking back. Within ten minutes I was back in a collectivo (they run till 6pm), now next to a family from Texas. Had they not told me they were Panamanian-Puerto Rican, I would’ve assumed they were African American. The Caribbean coast always has a mix of inhabitants of Hispanic, African, and indigenous origin.

 

 

At Heike my roommates were back and said I was free to join them for ceviche at some guys’ place. Apparently they met while water taxiing or something. I washed, booked a surf lesson for 9am tomorrow, and went looking for the Dutch Pirate. Thank you Lonely Planet for having it in your book. Turns out it’s a dive shop run by four decently attractive guys from various parts of the world. I said I was friends with the Germans, and was showed to the back to what Americans would call the pre-game.

They served lightly toasted patacones to eat with lionfish ceviche. The catch of the day. It tasted like seafood salsa cause this time there was tomato, and it was the best I had in Panama. I guess Omar is a passionate amateur chef, so I gladly helped rub garlic cloves directly on hot baked bread as he sprinkled on the olive oil. Served with parmesan and mugs of wine.

 

 

Other girls who showed up were Finnish blondes and Chileans and Argentinians. Me and Gesi didn’t smoke or have any beer, and Luisa sipped a can of Balboa, the most popular brand. Every time I go out I get tired. We took a break and went back to the hostel where my roommates napped for half an hour. Back on the streets we ran into more guests from Heike and all wound up at some really bad beach party.

I had no energy. I had to surf. When we left, I went to bed while the others continued the partying, which is always more like searching for partying.