Thanks Ma!

I don't know if there's a tougher woman in the world!

The things I put my mom through these past two weeks would have make any other person throw up their hands and say "basta, Alisa!"

So I say, Thanks Ma, for always having a positive attitude during the ups and, yes, the downs of the past two weeks. It certainly hasn't been the easiest of trips, but thanks for making it a fun, unforgetable adventure!

Safe travels and see you soon!

Love,

Alisa

I went all the way to Mompós and all I got was this blog post...

While traveling, especially the way I travel, you end up putting yourself, your safety, and your possessions in the hands of others. It’s that trust in someone you've just met that is so difficult, but sometimes unavoidable. As a tourist you can’t know everything; you have to ask advice or help from the locals. Either I don’t know which stop to get off at or I don’t know the best way to get around a city or I don’t know how much everything is supposed to cost. And in these cases, I often find myself completely vulnerable.

When we were on a bus to Magangué and told to get off at the random deserted intersection, we had no idea where we were. If I had been given a map of the country and asked to point out our location, I wouldn’t have been able to. It’s one of those times when you have to acknowledge that you are helpless and you have to do a difficult thing: surrender control of the situation to those around you. And believe me, as scary as it is to trust a stranger, more often than not, the inherent kindness of people shines through.

And of course you get the people that will try to cheat you out of a few bucks. You find them everywhere. But if you look them straight in the eye, the desconocido mist around you disappears and you become a person, just like them. They see you not as a gringo, but as un ser humano. And the chances that they will give you an honest answer are significantly higher

That being said, you always have to be careful. Siempre. Stay vigilant. If you feel like something is wrong, follow those feelings and ask the right questions. Always keep a door open, a possible escape route, you know por si a caso.

Y por eso, I’m not surprised at all that we finally made it to Mompós. It did set us back a few thousand pesos and left us drained, but we made it.



The woman in our collectivo brought us to the hotel where she was staying and we negotiated the price down a little bit. We set our bags down and I collapsed into the bed. What a day so far!



After un descansito, I was ready to explore this city that we had spent so much effort to get to. We started walking up and down the streets. The preferred modes of transportation in Mompós have two wheels. Motorcycles and bicycles dominated the streets. There were pedestrians of course, but we were clearly outnumbered.


Mompós is too small to be a bustling big city, but too big to be a cute little pueblo. It’s at that awkward adolescence period. Nor is Mompós a tourist city. Para nada. There’s no one running down the street asking us to please step into their store or selling the trinkets hanging from their arms. Everyone is quite content leaving us alone and continuing with their day. We get tired looks, but it seems as though my tourist status isn’t going to win me a popularity award.

The streets are narrow, the houses are short and colorful, the ground is not paved, the big export here is wooden rocking chairs. We walk along the water past plazas and churches. We get apathetic looks from the locals. The funeral homes outnumber the number of restaurants that I see. No more of that carefree Caribbean coastal attitude. I’m starting to doubt Lonely Planet’s suggestions. Oh no. Was Mompós a mistake? Sigh. Maybe.

But then I think about it. Mom and I are tired from our full day of traveling and I’m pretty certain that my countenance expresses the stresses of the hectic transportation system. So I start smiling and turning to people on the street with a simple “buenas!” Pleasantly surprised, they smile and return the greeting. Now we’re getting somewhere! The people of Mompós aren’t cold, they just don’t know what to do with tourists who swing by their city but don’t bother to interact with the residents. Fair enough, that makes sense to me.


But after a few hours of wandering up and down the small streets, we’re tired. At this point I don’t know what I really think of Mompós. I was so excited for it based on the hype of Lonely Planet, but what confronted me was mildly disappointing.



That night I felt something on my foot, so I brushed it off. Even though the room was dark, I could tell it was something larger than I expected.

In the morning Mom says that she found a waterbug in the bathroom, which must have been what was hanging out on my foot. Ugh. I cringe just thinking about it. It also must be what chewed its way into my plastic bag of galletas.

We decide to walk around Mompós again, now that we’re rested, to give it another chance to impress us. We walked by a produce market and I asked the names of some of the fruits, but have forgotten them since. We waded through puddles that had collected on the dirt road. I really want to like this town, but I don’t know if I can.

As I write this we are on route to El Banco to take the bus to Bucaramanga. The car is completely packed and they're trying to stuff more people in. The guy next to mom keeps staring at me. The car is past capacity at this point. Everyone is complaining. The rooster is squacking. The air conditioned ride we had been promised has turned into a hot sardine mess. I’m sure we’ll look back at this and laugh, but right now no one is even smiling. Oh, Colombia.

Hours pass. Mom and I have some of the best seats. The van lurches and bumps on the potholed road. The journey is not for the faint of heart. We go from 40km per hour to 2km per hour and back again. Slam! There are the brakes again. And acceleration! Now we are backing up into a dirt road. We pass concrete houses without electricity. Tiny barefoot children play in the road. An old woman tries to wave us down. Long narrow wooden boats glide over the water. Trees of all shapes and sizes frame the countryside. And we continue bouncing along.

We arrive in El Banco. I climb on top of our van to retrieve the bags while mom fends away the persistent people looking for money. We are told that our bus for Bucaramanga leaves at 2:30pm! It’s 2:15! I grab two bags of plantain chips and rush back down to the bus. There we wait. And wait. And eat some sweet pastries. And wait. And wait.

Ok. We should have known, things in Colombia never go as they say. It’s close to 4:30pm when we set off. We prepare ourselves for the 7 hour journey. Hardly a half hour into the trip, we squeeze onto a ferry with two other large buses. We glide along and a bald guy tried to get me to take a picture of him and his turtle. I told him not to tell me what to take pictures of. In reality, I was trying to eavesdrop on a political conversation that was desarrollando at the front of the boat.



The sun was setting. And it turned the countryside into all sorts of wonderful colors. When the paisaje disappeared, we settled back and watched some bad movies and tried to sleep. We made a rest stop where almost everyone got off the bus to take another route to Bogotá. The airconditioning was blasting and we curled up as best as we could.




We arrived to Bucaramanga around midnight. Disheavled and tired, we grab a cab to a hotel. The cab driver was super nice (although he kept referring to me as señora) and put us in a great mood. We got to the hotel and he didn’t try to rip us off. The woman at the front desk of the hotel was also wonderful. I think I’ll like this city.



The next morning I grab a tinto from the lobby before heading out. We walk through the bustling streets. Bucaramanga has an exceptional energy about it. Mom and I both agree that this city is pretty awesome!




We walk through the busy streets in search of breakfast and we order our usual scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions and an arepa.




On the way back to the hotel we stumble upon a lovely plaza. People are sitting, relaxing, selling, strolling, eating... just doing, Bucaramanga style.






But, sigh, we must not overstay our welcome in this wonderful friendly city. So we hop a colectivo to the Terminal for an Omega.




What we didn't know at the time was that that fateful Omega bus would land one of us in the local medical clinic and leave the other fearfully hysteric and covered in blood.

(to be continued...)

Pareces Latina…

Is a phrase I hear often. Whether it’s a pickup line or just local commentary, I am thankful. Looking like a local makes traveling a little easier.

In Cartagena, we settled on a double room at the simple and very basic Hotel Holiday, with an outdoor mosquito-infested courtyard. We’re in the middle of Getsemaní with tons of cheap hotels, cheap restaurants, and cheap convenience stores. The streets are narrow and often busy. And although there are many gringos staying in these parts, the locals outnumber us by a large ratio.




After settling into our hotel, armed with the guidebook and the itch for stretching our walking legs, mom and I set off in no particular direction. We walk through a litter-strewn park where we encounter a rather large iguana. We stumble upon the touristic old city under the big clock and wander along the cobble stone streets. We climb up on the crumbling rampart and then down into the craft plaza. It’s Sunday so many shops are closed. I get us reasonably lost, but I have my bearings so I know which general direction we want. We find the local bus hub and stick a bookmark in that memory for later.





My panoramic camera skills need work!


After a comida corriente dinner and agua de canela with Paul and Justin, mom heads back to the hotel while we find the Bavarian bar to meet the folks from the boat. No one’s there so we head back to the happening plaza where a woman makes fresh fruit drinks and people pick at streetcart food. Ding! A lightbulb idea goes off in my head! We grab two small bottles of Colombian rum and head back to the plaza. We timidly ask the juice woman to slip a little (no… a lot) of rum into the fruit smoothies. Ooooooh! They are just delicious. Seven of us end up ordering a total of 15 of them from her. The poor woman worked so hard and I think we drank up all over her passion fruit, banana, coconut milk!

The small darkened cobble stone streets were packed with people. Smiling people! What a change from Panamá, eh? Doors were wide open revealing the interiors of homes. Music blared and people danced salsa in the street. The mood was friendly.

Soon we gather the troops and there’s 12 of us wandering around in a big gringo pack. Since I love speaking Spanish to random people, and I have the most experience with Spanish, I act as the Latina tour guide and navigate us to the bars. We end up at an outdoor bar in the old walled city fighting off vendors and sipping drinks. We talk and laugh and drink for hours.

The next morning, I’m still asleep when I hear knocking on the door. Disheveled, I open the door and Paul just laughs at me as he hands over a very large cup of coffee. The room is swaying. I couldn’t tell if it was a side effect of living on a boat for 5 days, or too much rum the night before. Either way after I showered, I felt much better.



Mmmm… breakfast at what seemed to be an awesome spot. Huevos revueltos con tomate y cebolla, patacones, y ensalada. But when the bill came, poor Justin and Paul had racked up quite a tab.





Wandering followed. We lost track of the guys and headed back into the old city. We walked up and down the narrow streets. Brightly colored buildings with balconies outlined the street. Bright pinks and blues and yellows! We went craft hunting and it was a success for everyone involved. I splurged on a 1.000 peso bracelet! ($0.53)




I got us lost again, but we ended up seeing more of the city that way. We ducked into alley ways and resurfaced in the restaurant zone! Mmmm… We snacked on unas arepas con queso de cabra, which ended up being really salty.


Dinner with the guys. Another comida corriente meal, but this time the agua de canela wasn’t as good. Everyone had agreed to meet at our hotel for drinks and such. We sat around talking (with Felix!!) and then moved once more to the awesome plaza where cuba libres were the drinks of choice. The smoothie woman wasn’t there this time, I guess with all the business that we gave her last night, she was able to retire or at least take it easy!

I said goodnight and goodbye to everyone around 12something. They were all staying in Cartagena, but mom and I had decided to move our trip to Mompós. It’s funny how much bonding time you get when you spend 5 days on a boat together! I’m sure I’ll run into a few of them again along the path to Patagonia.

The next morning we were met with rain. I was feeling sluggish from not enough sleep. When the rain subsided, we took our chances and shouldered our packs. We headed to mail our post cards and encountered huge flooded streets. Some men had set up planks of wood for us to walk across. They held our arms steady and waded through the dirty street water so that we could get across. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bit of change. I guess I handed him 400 pesos. He was grateful. Against the Lonely Planet’s advice, we end up taking a local bus to the Terminal, which meant that it took longer, but we got to drive through the outskirts of Cartagena instead of passing it by.

The bus dropped us off at the Terminal and we were shuttled to a bus. They took our bags and we paid for our tickets. The ride was luxurious and air conditioned.

Our bus a Magangué bounced along the rural Colombian roads. The rolling hills were so incredibly green. Green trees contrasted the green grass. The layers of vegetation were evident from the bus window. We passed dirt road barefoot villages. Scrap metal houses were nestled in the countryside.

Colombia rivals Guatemala in my mind for the most wild and ruggedly beautiful paisaje. I close my eyes to catch whatever sleep I can to make up for lost shut eye. As the scenery rolls by, I take advantage of the free time to catch up on my Colombian history. I read about los indíjinas, Spanish conquistadors, slave trade, Conservatives vs Liberals, civil war, cocaine production, the FARC, and the Bush administration. History is so much more interesting when I can live through it, or at least look its consequences face-to-face.

As we stop in the little towns to pick up more pasajeros, here come the vendors. Galletas! Tinto tinto! Chicharrones! Aromáticos! Empanadas empanadas! They walk up and down the aisle of the bus selling food and drinks to passengers. I bargain for an arepa con huevo and a fried corn ball, I’ll be darned if I pay the gringo price!

And then we’re back on the road. The country side is so lush and untamed. I love it. Every so often we stop to let people off and on. Hard to believe this is only the first of the 3 part journey to Mompós!

I wouldn’t mind living in Colombia to be quite honest. (Ya hear that, Nate?!)

My writing is interrupted by announcements for Magangué! I quickly fold up my computer and jump off the bus to get our bags. The bus leaves and we look around. Hmm… It seems as though we are in the middle of nowhere. There are only few shops selling fried food and gaseosas. Skinny dogs are hanging around. The ground is hot and dry and we quickly take shade. A vendor selling galletas tells us to sit down. I strike up a conversation. Looks like our bus to Magangué wasn’t actually going there at all. Now we have to take another collectivo to get into the city. As we sit and wait for our next mode of transportation, I have a walk around with my camera. Our new friend leads me over about a hundred meters and the view opens up! I can see green forever. My photos don’t do it justice!


I sit and joke around with the guys. I tell them how much I love Colombia, which makes them orgullosos. Our colectivo bus arrives and at first we’re told it’ll be 10.000 pesos for each of us. Ugh. I can’t believe we’re spending so much money on transportation alone! But when we get on the bus and I try to pay half of the estimated price, I’m told that it’s already been paid. What?! I can’t believe my ears and so the ayudante has to repeat it; it’s already been paid. It leads me to believe that our new friends at the random intersection just paid for our trip… And to thank them, I’m including their picture in my blog.


I feel like a clown in one of those teeny tiny cars. The ayudante just keeps packing them in. At one point there’s someone practically sitting on my lap and people are falling out the door. On the bright side, all the paisaje is beautiful! Rich rolling hills in all directions. Green is such a beautiful color. My eyes are glued to the views whizzing by the windows. Hours go by. We’re still driving. I make friends with the guy sitting next to me. I make sure that he tells me when I’m supposed to get off for the challupa to Bodegas. At one point, the car breaks down of course. What else would I expect?

It’s hot. I’m tired. This is turning out to be a ridiculous day of bus hopping. Oh, but we’re not done yet.

Finally we arrive in Magangué and we’re practically pulled from the car by a crowd of people yelling Mompós! I have to snatch our bags out of the hands of a dozen men. They all want our pesos, but we can carry our own bags, thank you very much! We walk through the streets and I think that I could thoroughly explore them if I wasn’t so flustered! I felt so taken advantaged of, tossed from one bus to the next just so people can get as much money from us as possible. Come on, Colombia, step it up!

We almost walked right past the boats for Mompós. We bought our tickets and I joked with the people inside the kiosk. We strapped our bags to the top of the boat and hopped inside. Someone handed us lifejackets, a luxury that we didn’t have on the Stahlratte. The driver started up the motor and we casted off. Faster faster fasterfasterfaster! We were flying! I couldn’t believe how fast we were going! Mom held on to her hat as we raced across the water. The turns were tight and I clutched my bag as thoughts of losing my computer to the water ran through my mind.


We arrived to Bodega and were mobbed by a group of men. They were grabbing at us and at our bags hoping for some propina. It was ridiculously overwhelming. People yelling and swarming us. I almost gave them a piece of my mind. Instead, though, I hopped in the colectivo after settling on a price. Whew. It was hot and everything around us wasn’t helping.


On the road, I rolled down my window and invited the wind to whip at my face and hair. We were cruising 30 km/h faster than the speed limit and the driver slammed the breaks to avoid the potholes, cows, motorbikes and speed bumps. We picked up a woman in the next town over who squealed when she saw pigs strapped to a bike or a roadkill fox. She helped us find a hotel.


So after a bus, another bus, a colectivo van, a chalupa boat, another colectivo, some waiting around and some mobs of people, we were finally in Mompós! This better be a great city for it all to have been worth it. But we were in for a surprise...



Food Highlights:
Comida Corrientes: This is the Colombian signature dish. It usually has rice, beans, some salad or vegetables, and your choice of meat. But changes from restaurant to restaurant. Usually for less than $3.

Home Sweet Stahlratte

Fact: Panamá and Colombia share a land border. Opinion: You should not cross it.

The Pan-Am Highway stretches 29,800 miles from Northern Alaska to Southern Tierra de Fuego. It has revolutionized the way that people travel, making it possible and plausible to travel through the Americas. There is, however, one part of the highway that has never been completed. It happens to be the part that would connect Panamá and Colombia. Why has it not been constructed? People are scared that it would provide the Colombian druglords an easy was to ship their goods to Central and North America. What is left in its absence is the Darién Gap, thick jungle full of guerrillas and unknowns. Or so I’m told.

I usually don’t like to be told that I can’t go somewhere. It taunts me and makes me want to go there even more. But in this case I think it wise to find some other means to get to Colombia. At least this time.

5 days and 4 nights. That’s how long it will take from Panama to Cartagena. Our boat is the Stahlratte, one of the many boats that make the journey shuttling people between the two countries.

Day 1:
15 of us pile onto the boat with all of our backpacks. We meet the 4 crew members and, after a mad scramble to choose our beds, we meet up on deck for lunch and an orientation. Mmm… Pumpkin soup with sweet biscuits topped with pumpkin seeds. So delicious and surprisingly filling.

After a bit of sitting on deck in the sun, we arrived at a group of uninhabited islands. We jumped into the warm clear blue water. It was perfect! The salty water cooled our sweaty faces as we swam to the closest island. Starfish hung out near shore and we had to watch where we walked to avoid stepping on them. Some people were content on that island. I can see why, the sand was pure white and soft. Palm trees loomed overhead. The weather was perfect the water was perfect. But a German named Norbert and I swam to the next island. Island hopping?! You better believe it!

We sat on the beach sifting the white sand through our fingers and toes. We talked about traveling and life goals as we watched the paradise around us. It truly was a scene out of a postcard. As the sun started to set we saw an interpecies feeding frenzy! Jumping fish shot out of the water and caught bugs as much as 5 feet into the air. The pelicans hovered and swooped down to catch their dinner. The tiny fish near the shore nibbled at us. As we swam back to the starfish island what must have been a jellyfish stung me on the arm. By the time we reached the island, I had a small welt! Ouch!



With the sun dipping down, we walked around the island stepping over fallen palm trees not really wanting to go back to the boat just yet.



Dinner was pasta of two varieties. I don’t know why, but it was VERY tasty! I fell asleep that night on a slanted mattress in a submerged room under a trapdoor.

Day 2:
Every day 3 or 4 people are in charge of cooking and cleaning for that day. The second day it was supposed to be me, my ma, Charlie, and Kai. We got up at 7:30 and started making breakfast. We made a fresh fruit salad with bananas, mangos, apples, melons, and passion fruit. And fresh guacamole with fresh squeezed orange juice. Kai never made it to breakfast preparations, but that doesn’t surprise me at all.

After peeling and cutting many many potatoes, I got my daily dose of saltwater swimming. But the heavy rainclouds spoiled the party and we had to head back to the ship to avoid the relámpago. Lunch was crepes and after watching the on/off rain we decided to go ahead with the island barbeque. Chop chop chop. Made a fantastic potato salad. Chop chop chop. We cut up veggies and sausage for kababs. By the time we out to the island, the fire is already going. We make our own kababs and then point to them as our daughters take pictures! We eat and eat and begin what will turn into a long night of drinking.


The sun sets and we are left in the light of the campfire with beer and rum. After talking a bit with the Irish and Americans and being crawled on by sand crabs, I sit staring into the fire. Guillermo, an Argentinian crew member, comes by and sits with me and we exchange stories. After a while we walk around the island. The water laps up on shore and brings with it photoluminescent plankton. The night is dark, especially as we leave the light of the fire. I look for constellations.

Back at the campfire I get mistaken for Sinaid by a very drunk woman and am accused of stealing a bottle of rum. Not once, but twice. A few of us exchange jokes in a circle. The woman in the red dress from Trinidad and Tobago stumbles around demanding that we take body shots from her. Kai is passed out against a tree. The fire is getting low. The alcohol is running out. I suggest that we start heading back to the boat.

The first group of people head back to the boat. Back on deck the party continues. So much so that we forget about the other people still on the island, who end up having so swim back. We play drinking games and Charlie tries to share his rubbing alcohol whiskey. Sobering up, I sit downstairs with Paul and Aaron talking and taking care of our drunken munchies. Up on deck we hear people POUNDING! Dancing on the table ensues. I just sit back and laugh. I end up going to bed way before the party is over.

Day 3:
People were slow to get up the next day. Boat life is so different. For one thing, my entire sense of location, distance and time are all warped! I don’t have a watch or a compass. There are just water and islands. There’s something so peaceful about sailing. It forces you to relax. There are no TVs or radios. You can ‘t just get on your shoes and walk somewhere. You can’t jump into a car and drive somewhere. You are forced to either swim in the ocean or lounge on deck. If you try to fill the time with productivity, you’re bound to fail. If you try to stay busy, you will run out of things to keep you occupied. You just have to relax, or read, or write, or rest, or think, or feel, or dream. And you’ll probably end up doing all of the above because there are so many more hours in the day than you realize!



Mom and I swam out to the starfish island and returned just in time for the storm clouds to roll in. I took shelter in the wheelhouse and learned how to nagevate the boat. When the sky temporarily cleared, I climbed up to the crows nest. It was terrifying! The rope ladder got narrower and narrower at the top. Soon I was swaying on the ropes, holding on for dear life! My knees were shaking, but I kept climbing. I stayed up there no more than a few minutes before beginning my descent. I was so petrified that I almost forgot to enjoy the view!







Some Kuna men brought us fresh fish, which was then scaled and gutted on deck. There were also tiny lobsters, langostinos! Mmm… we ate well that night.


Day 4:
After three days on the islands, we began the 30 hour sail to Cartagena. We awoke at 4:30am to the sound of the engines starting up. Chug a chug a chug. The whole boat shook and swayed and the sound was deafening. I didn’t sleep much after that.

The whole day the boat swayed and we stumbled around like drunkards! We were not used to moving through the open seas. My head spun and my stomach lurched. No one could stay awake! Every flat surface was covered with unconscious bodies. People were sprawled everywhere. It was like the whole boat was infected with some deadly plague!

The whole day we passed in and out of sleep. Dramamine was the prized commodity that day. I ended up not taking any of the circulating seasickness drugs, but that meant that every time I stood up, I fell back down clutching my head. I could barely keep my eyes open and my head straight. As you can see, I didn't take any pictures that day! It was pretty miserable.

By nightfall, the ocean calmed a little. There was water, and only water, in all directions. The stars peeked out from behind the clouds. I stayed up and kept Guillermo company during his 11pm-2am watch. We saw a boat in the distance and I learned how to tell which direction it was going based on the color of its lights. I checked the navigation system, we still had 10 more hours of sailing! To pass the time I told ancient Greek stories about the constellations while watching the distant lightening and swinging my legs overboard.

Day 5:

COLOMBIA! Oh how I’ve drempt of this day! I watched Cartagena’s skyline sneak closer as we ate breakfast and before I knew it, we were docked in the port waiting for the immigration officials to board. We waited. And waited.


Finally the officials boarded. They strutted in trying to look official. They sat us down around the table and started arbitrarily picking on us individually, asking us questions in rapid fire style. I was singled out many times.

In the end, I think he was only trying to seem official while we waited for someone who never showed up. It gave me more evidence to my theory that there are very few rules or formalities in Colombia. Things just happen and you have to go with the flow.

While we waited for him to run the passports through the máquina, we ate the huge fish that was caught the day before with some curry sauce. We packed up our bags and when the passports returned surprisingly early, we were shuttled across to land. We said goodbye to the boat’s crew, who were hilarious and put up with all of our silliness. One last picture before we jumped in cabs and bombarded Getsemaní looking for hostels!




I love Colombia so far. I don’t know what it is, but gives me a good feeling and I can’t stop my excitement from smiling!

Food Highlights:
Everything! Fresh fruit, fresh veggies, fresh fish! The meals were simple, yet delicious. No complaints from this happy pasajera!

Panama panama panama...

Panama has never been (and probably will never be) my favorite country. Its capital struggles with the split personality of rich American colonizers and poor shantytown dwellers. The women have been unbelievably and unreasonably rude and the men are very nice and helpful; a little too nice maybe. The exhaust from the evening traffic coats our sweaty faces. At times the city drowns behind an inpenetratable curtain of rain. So why in the world did I decide to come back here?

Almost 4 years ago, the Pan Am Highway carried me down from México to Panamá. Seven countries in five weeks. A real whirlwind adventure and Panama City was the final stop on that trip. So this time, with my eye set on Patagonia Chile, I thought why not just pick up where I left off? I didn’t want to jump right into Colombia, especially with my Spanish so rusty. Panama seemed like the logical decision.

So here we are, mom and me, navigating the busy streets and being attacked by the humidity. Our hotel hadn’t received our reservation and didn’t have any rooms, so we trudged our packs through the rain to Hotel El Parador. Um. It certainly lives up to its review: “The Parador is popular with the Panamanians, because it’s a bargain, but the service is mediocre, and if the receptionist smiles, consider yourself lucky… indifferent staff.” And it was true. I have never been so furious at anyone. But all in all, we had a place to sleep and that’s all we could ask for.

We had one day in Panama, only one. After an egg and toast breakfast, we confirm our boat reservation with Zuly. We are scheduled to leave on the 20th (the day after!) for Cartagena via the San Blas Islands. We decide to leave the angry receptionist hotel and stay instead in the drab backpackers hostel. From the bus stop in front of the McDonalds, we ended up at the Albrook terminal. Friendly woman showed us to the buses to Paraíso. We grab the seats behind chatty Colombians. The guy talks my ear off, the woman just held her head in her hands.


We jumped off the bus at the sign for the Panama Canal. We walked the uninviting path to the visitors’ center. The Colombian was a little clingy, so I walked faster.



From the top level of the center, we watched a boat pass through the locks while listening to statistical commentary. I look over and mom’s hair is standing straight up! She looks at me and giggles. Is this St. Elmo’s fire?! I’m not about to wait around and find out. We find shelter and not a moment too soon because the rain starts. Slow and steady at first and then bursting suddenly into a full-fledged downpour. We decide to splurge on a taxi back into town. The taxi driver and I make small talk.

Back at the hotel we leave immediately for food. We ask for typical Panamanian food, but we are given directions to a rather touristy restaurant. We end up wandering around to the point where we’re very hungry. We sit down at a nice looking restaurant populated with locals. There’s only one dish with the choice of chicken, lamb or pork. I choose chicken and we explain mom’s vegetarianism to the waitress, who frowns.

The minutes pass. And pass. We’re getting worried about our 3pm check out time. When our food comes we scarf it down. Mmmmm… Arroz y frijoles con ensalada de pasta y pollo. We get mildly lost finding our way back to the hotel. 10 minutes til 3pm. I ask for the key for room 202 and sprint upstairs with the key only to find that the puta recepcionista gave me the one for 302. I sprint back down. I ask again and the cabrona gives me 402, but this time I’m ready for her and catch it. Did she really want us to miss our check out time?! Or was this some sick joke? Either way I curse her under my breath as I sprint back up. Quick pack up and then back down stairs with a few minutes to spare. Ha!

We trek our stuff over to Zuly’s and then head to Casco Viejo. Bus to Calle 12 and get off at Parque Santa Ana. On the ride I glance at my map and realize that we are heading into the no-go zone for tourists. The dangerous no tourist zone.

Off the bus, we walk. Past abandoned skeleton buildings. Past the tourist police. Past children biking. Past the bustling market. Within a few blocks we reach the plaza de catedral. Down to the water and follow the coast on a pedestrian walkway. Past indigenous artisans selling colorful fabrics.
We can see the skyline of the new city, skyscrapers reaching toward the clouds. Everything is familiar. That night we have a tasty dinner at Restaurante Jimmy.

Panama just redeemed itself. Our four-wheel drive car to the Caribbean coast leaves the hostel at 5am, but we’re up at 4. After a few stops we’re on our way. We’re packed in like sardines. I’m sandwiched between the driver and mom with no foot room because of the stick shift. The car is falling apart. Everything is just barely hanging on. There are no door handles or windows. It’s going to be a great day! The sun was rising over the water. The driver pointed in that easterly direction and said that in just a few hours we’d be there: San Blas! The highway narrowed to one lane as we approached the passport control. It was just a formality though, they asked us questions and jotted down our answers incorrectly. Soon we were on our way.

Breakfast was puffy fried bread, called hojaldre, with tortillas de maíz. When we were finally back on our way, the road conditions got noticeably worse. But as the potholes multiplied so did the jungle appearances of our surroundings. We kept seeing signs for the Darien Gap. Oh man. I get goosebumps just thinking about it.



Today our destination is San Blas, the autonomous region of the Kuna Indians. So exciting, especially to see a culture that has survived the Spanish conquest!

We climb up up up! The weighted down Land Cruiser chugged slowly along. At times I didn’t think we’d make it up the hills! The jungle is lush and green and wild all around us. And we’re exceptionally thankful for the beautiful weather. The sun was out and at times we could see forever. At a small makeshift passport control we passed out of Panama and into the indigenous territory.

And the road quality never recovered. We bounced around, groaning up one hill after another and squealing brakes on the way down. After hours of the up and down, side to side, we spotted the coast! The drivers threw down our bags and demanded the money. We then had to lug our bags through slippery muddy paths down to the river where we were loaded onto some long wooden boats.







We motored through the jungle. Our eyes were open wide to take in every detail. The banks of the salty river were lined with thick vegetation and crocodiles. Kuna indigenous folks calmly paddled by. I love it! What a complete 180 from Panama City, eh?

Then we reach the coast and its open water. The sky is sharp and clear. Islands filled with palm trees dot the horizon. The water is a brilliant blue. Everything is so bright and pure, like it was taken right out of a postcard! We approach the Stahlratte, our home for the next 5 days. It’s a huge sailboat with a very friendly crew. What is to follow is a journey full of wonderful people, rum, swimming, bbq, island hopping, star gazing, jellyfish attacks, starfish spotting, wonderful food, reading, writing, and dreaming. Much more to come in the next blog post, so keep your senses tuned!




p.s. I have fallen in love with Colombia. I may never leave.