This side of the Chiriquí highlands felt unexplored. I headed to what would be my favorite region and found myself stranded at a Catholic Church shortly after an accidental homestay. These small villages revealed hidden nature, a strong dose of Panamanian culture, and lots of strawberries.

 

 

Day 6: Volcan

I got up as the Heike kitchen opened and took my leftovers with me to the Taxi 25 lancha dock. The set price for foreigners is 6USD back to Almirante on the mainland, a dollar extra than what it is for Panamanians. I left a my Facebook for Marcos to add, scribbled on the back of a Panama City map, and handed to the desk lady. We’ll see if he ever gets his act together enough to add me.

 

 

It turns out Guatemalan motorcycle man, George, was headed to David as well so I just followed him. The boat ride out was the prettiest thing I saw in Panama. The skies had finally cleared overnight. Gray mountains remained distant, mangroves flew by. When we slowed down it was quite like undeveloped Florida. Shacks on stilts jutted out of the forest while their inhabitants stepped from their porch onto their canoe.

 

 

A taxi, again 1USD, takes us back to the terminal where I got on a bus for David for 9USD. I was elated during the ride because highlands are always a treat, no matter where in the world.

 

 

David itself is near sea level, particularly hot and dusty under the sun that day. The bus terminal is quite busy lined with shops; heladerías and fruterías dot the adjacent blocks. I had no idea where my next bed was and thus considered taking George’s recommendation on spending the night here, but immediately lost interest.

My problem was soon solved as I headed for Cerro Punta (3.5USD). The lady next to me was friendly as heck despite the major language barrier. We bonded over our aguas de pipa, ice-cold coconut water bought from the streets out of the bus. You can’t go hungry on these rides. I told her about my time in Bocas and how I was now on a mission to meet friends tomorrow at Cerro Punta. Dora lived in Volcan. She invited me to her house.

So why did I trust her? She wasn’t ratchet, she’s raising young kids, she’s got a sister-in-law in the States. I knew Panama was a safer third-world nation. I’ve previously stayed with a local in Costa Rica which resulted in an enriching experience. And to be honest, I had been planning on seeing if it would be doable to knock on doors anyway, if all the lodging in Cerro Punta turned out too expensive.

Avoiding a hostel in David was also because I wanted solo time, or time absorbing local life tonight. I adore meeting each backpacker out there, but this gave me a chance to catch up on work (yes, work exists!) and to straighten my thoughts.

 

 

Dora’s house wasn’t big. Toys and clothes and dishes sprawled everywhere. The kids had attacked every surface with crayon. And I loved it. Francisco, her husband, was a gentleman who told me how thoroughly he knew the local hiking and wildlife. He left for work and Dora fed me lettuce and chicken from the supermarket because they weren’t the type of family who cooks a lot.

 

 

I went for a run in the neighborhood surrounded by mountains. I kicked around a flattened soccer ball with Corina, the 6-year-old, and wrote out her exam for English, an assignment that was way too difficult for any kindergartener to attempt. Why did the teachers write the directions in English when the parents can’t even read it?

 

 

When Dora learned I was a full-blooded Chino, she professed her love for fried rice. I thought about it and concluded that I could totally whip it up with what we had in her poorly stocked kitchen. She had soy sauce and pre-cooked rice sat on the stove, which is really all you need. I used the eggs, broccoli, and canned peas and carrots I had bought for myself earlier, found a bit of cabbage and half an onion in the fridge. Dora was so freaking happy. Corina was super helpful with washing veggies and beating the eggs. She asked me five times if I actually wanted to put cilantro in the eggs. Sí. Sí, sí sí. It’s the easiest dish ever that we Chinos forget about, but I can tell I’ll be making this a lot as I learn how arroz-frito-obsessed the rest of the world is.

 

 

This was the only time I did homework outside of airports. It was heart-warming to see Francisco and his friend clean off heaping plates of my cooking when they got home. I was given a super springy bed with plenty of thick blankets.

 

 

 

 

Day 7: Las Nubes, Parque Internacional La Amistad

 

 

I left $10 and hugged the family goodbye. Across the street, I had just missed a Cerro Punta shuttle, but caught another 20 minutes later.

1.35USD and another 25 minutes got me to the steps of the only Catholic Church in Cerro Punta. Small and locked, luckily the sides weren’t fenced and there was a small dry spot out of the drizzle. My life was hell. I was so stressed out I finished large bag of roasted nuts and all the rest of my food, save a can of peas. I made friends with the man living next door explaining my situation across the hedges and shrubs separating us. I made friends with the workers who showed up to work on church renovations. They offered me coffee. I was told to meet the rest of our Panama group at these specific coordinates between 7 and 8am, and that they would wait for me until 9. I didn’t have wifi overnight, didn’t know if they were still in Panama City or delayed elsewhere, didn’t know if they were at another church (CP also has a non-Catholic church) or at another village. I arrived at 7:30am, confirming with everyone over and over if this was the only church, and spent hours watching in torture as 20 more “Cerro Punta” busses drove through.

 

 

I was laughing at myself and my life, I do this a lot. I told myself wait two more busses. It was past nine. I was hallucinating. The second bus arrived…a shadow of a hand was waving, and the bus driver started pointing at me to stay. But it wasn’t them because it drove away! It paused a few meters down, and I glued my eyes to see if people were getting off and coming up the hill. No. It was gone.

It came back. It stopped in front of the church. 6 beautiful souls got out and I was doubling over in relief hugging like crazy. So happy to see Katie. Holy crap.
We headed for Las Nubes, catching a taxi on the main road after some confusion and smushing into the back seat. So ended the solo travels, to be continued.

 

 

 

It was drizzling and cold just as Dora had warned. At the Panamanian entrance to this international peace park shared with Costa Rica, everyone was starving and snacks flew around. We had to walk uphill to reach the visitor center where we got to drop off our bags. All trails were half-flooded so they only asked for simple donations; usually the entry fee is 3 for locals and 5USD for foreigners. We headed towards the waterfalls and soon enough I was soaked through. Ankle brace, inside of my rain jacket, everything.

I was back in the world of cloud forests that I first fell in love with in Costa Rica. There was no views or animals, but there was that something about hiking I constantly crave. Nature makes me feel like I’m doing travel right. I was the slowest, but one of the happiest. Some of the beginners were disgruntled with how relentless a drizzle can be, and I had to remind myself that I used to care about comfort, it took years of similar situations to train me.

 

 

They had told us to stop at the lookout point, but as true adventurers we attempted to keep going. Slipping on our bums and soaking our undergarments, we eventually found the main falls. We admired it until we got to cold, and returned.

 

 

 

 

Girlfriends. It felt so good to catch up with Marcela and Katie. We discussed bras and leg hair.

There’s no cell service for the staff to call a taxi so we walked back out and quickly found a ride in the back of a pick up truck. Then the sun was out and we were lucky to see the sweeping mountainsides of Chiriquí for the first time. It was breath-taking. Marcela said she was peaking.

 

 

 

I found more peanut butter at the minisuper, again using mandarin to communicate with the cashiers. My Chinese even helped Marcela find what she needed, and she’s fluent in Spanish.

A bus picked us up. Marcela said looking out the window was like watching a movie. I could pick out the trout farm where visitors could go fishing and the gringo-owned, picturesque lodging Lonely Planet was talking about (Bambito). Making it clear to the bus crew we wanted strawberries, all the other passengers had to wait for us as we jumped out to buy fresas con crema. In the land of strawberries, how could I not?

 

 

We were able to be dumped right at the street sign for Hostal Llano Lindo. A short walk from the highway took us to a lovely, and quite large, house. The beds were the cleanest of the trip. They’ve got roomy areas for dining and watching TV, filtered water, hot showers, and a big kitchen. Omar was very accommodating with our breakfast order for tomorrow, included in the 12USD per night (40 for a private double, 15 for a shared double).

I was so thrilled to see Marcos had liked my blog’s page that I fell to the floor. Cheering. On cold tile. All the girls had been asking me about him.

 

I should’ve been exploring before the sun went down. I tried to not let my disappointment show when we not only picked a sit down restaurant, but also ordered pizza. I felt like this is precisely why some travelers look down on Americans, although I knew every backpacker around the world enjoys a good pizza. I had it with friends in Nairobi. But on the second day?! Marcos would understand me. He was always sautéing onions. I sat out, still feeling sick from eating an ungodly amount of cheap peanut butter.

We walked on the main road to the modern Supermarket Romero to stock up for tomorrow’s trek. I realized Llano Lindo was only blocks away from Dora’s.