March 20. Emilio was kind enough to give me a ride to the Allbrook Terminal in Panama City. You can catch a bus anywhere in Panama from here. Practically. A friend of his used to live in El Valle and suggested that I try to find her and ask if I could put my tent up on her land. I made my way to the bus terminal and bought a ticket and then stood in line and waited with some Canadian women. They had just arrived from the airport. I also spoke with a woman from El Valle de Anton. She asked where I was staying, and I said I didn’t know. She said she would call her brother and see he might rent out his house to me. I imagined that it would be fairly expensive, but waited to hear. Because the bus was so crowded and we didn’t stop or get out, I never found out whether she reached him. Unfortunately. The route along the Panamá highway was very ugly. It took us 3 1/2 hours to reach our destination, and on the way stopped in many squalid looking places. The bus was packed with people standing, and as usual we were practically on top of one another. The driver drove as fast as he could and I wondered whether we would make it in one piece, particularly when we headed into the mountains. I had no idea where to get off, but decided to get off at the center. When I arrived, the guy helped me with my backpack and I walked around asking people where I might be able to stay.

What I found upon disembarking was that many hostels charge $15-$20 for tent campers who supply their own tent. I decided to park my stuff at an Internet café and have a look around, unencumbered by my backpack and other luggage. I had no idea where Emilio’s friend Albertina lived, and wished I had an address for her. A local told me to ask the police if I could camp on the edge of their soccer field. They weren’t very helpful, but one guy said I should ask at the fire station. I headed to the bomberos and explained that I could pay for a tent spot. I was expecting to hear no, and was taken by surprise when he said yes, no money needed. I figured I’d be sleeping under a bridge. Gratefully, I put up my tent. 

From there I took a nice walk around town and down the road past a barbecue cook off in front of the community center and information museum to a tranquil boutique hotel called Caracoral. I wondered how much they charge and asked. 150 a night for a simple room to 250 for a larger one. Yikes. They showed me the. garden and thermal pool. It was a nice spot but not nice enough to justify that price. I continued to the butterfly garden which was closed. $7 a pop! On the way back to the main street, I tried to do an end run to avoid three drunk guys who started heckling me. I quickened my pace and made my way back to the cook off, where they were playing music at about 150 dB. 

There was a small market just pass the barbecue and I decided to enter to see if they had any chocolate. Unfortunately, they didn’t. I was told that most markets in Panama are owned by Chinese immigrants. It seems that it’s a niche that they are permitted to occupy, similar to dry cleaners and restaurants in the US. On the way back to my tent I saw a fruit tree laden. which I’d seen on my way, and was tempted to try the fruit, but saw two men sitting on the front patio and was afraid they would yell at me. Instead, one of them said go ahead. We exchanged a few pleasantries in Spanish, and I could tell from their accents that that they were probably Americans. I asked them as much and they said yes. We resume speaking in English, and after about five minutes of me yelling from the fence, I asked if it was possible for me to get closer as it was difficult to hear. We ended up talking for three or more hours. I listened to Alan and Mark as they both told me about their life here. Alan, he was very gracious, and offered me some cookies as he said was customary here, has lived in Panamamia for 48 years and was a Major in the US Army in the Canal Zone.  

He told me about how beautiful it was back in the day. He agreed about the lack of urban planning and how it’s a mess there in terms of infrastructure and sewage, and such. He recommended some places to visit including valley of the kings of Chocle where Americans are doing an excavation, and the river of gold. He also recommended Los Cangilones de Gualaca, a park en route to Boquete, and Mark mentioned the Nomadic movement YouTube group in Boquete who are trying to create some kind of commune there. Alan recommended the Don Pepe Estate Coffee tour and showed me his favorite coffee beans. He also mentioned a river of limestone on the way to Bocas del Toro. 

Mark said that Americans archaeologists are taking the gold artifacts from the valley of the kings and river of gold back to America, and that he would like to open a museum in town to exhibit the artifacts. He feels they are being misappropriated. He arrived 16 years ago and opened the Windmill hostel with his Colombian wife. She was a dealer at a casino in Cali where he was player blackjack and was winning big. He said he was one of only two hostels at the time, and there was very little competition for the first three years. He told me about his project to build strong concrete blocks and how he was shut down and ended up building a hostel instead. He has a Koi pond and is very eccentric. He is still angry about a bike path project that resulted in the cutting down of his 85 years old bushes that were 20 feet high. In anger and I assume a desire for privacy he built a huge brick wall and said that they sent 20 police to arrest him as a result. 

He is from Memphis Tennessee with a thick drawl and very stereotypically an ugly American. Drinking and smoking and putting down the locals. Though he would give you the shirt off his back. They raved about Trujillo, a recent Panamanian president who reminded them of Trump for “getting things done for the people”. I Inwardly rolled my eyes. I told Alan of my background in biology and interest in the local flora and fauna and he recommended that I visit Hotel Campestre where Eduardo and Heidi are leading a project to breed the golden frog in captivity, a poison dart frog in the area, due to fungus that is wiping out all the frogs here. Alan recommended a limestone river in Gualaca to visit. Their organization is EVACC. Alan and Mark told me about many things in Panama. The broken educational system. The way that males in this country are pampered by their mothers and are very lazy. The way that people from other countries, like Chinese, end up bringing kin as kinds of indentured servants to use tbeir labor for 10 to 15 years in return for passage and citizenship. It reminded me of the Irish who had to pay for their Atlantic passage in a similar way. Some things never change. 

They also mentioned the broken water system in Panama City and how there is so much corruption that one doesn’t know whether the water is safe to drink. And how the water here started tasting like pool chemicals in the last year because the person in charge of water sanitation is also in charge of pool chemical sales. They told me about the sewer pipe in Panama City which dumps near Isla Perico, and how fish and other seafood in the area are contaminated as a result. I enjoyed talking with them. Then Mark abruptly asked me why I wanted his number. I had hoped to connect with them the next day and didn’t know how to do so without some kind of contact information. I felt like I had somehow imposed or done something wrong and felt ashamed. He had been drinking all night and so was quite belligerent in how he asked me. I felt rather sheepish and said I was simply trying to connect. I wondered whether in living in a tourist town there is a desire not to make friends with people because he knows they will leave.

It was very windy that evening and when I got back that night it had blown over, and only my backpack was keeping it from blowing away. Both tent stakes had been pulled up, and I had to find them in the dark. I had a rough night because it was the first time I slept on my sleeping pad and was trying to use the silk sheets but it’s torn and made me uncomfortable. Finally in the morning I got to sleep, but the sun woke me up early.

March 26. I rolled out of bed onto an ants nest and got eaten immediately. They were fire ants, and they stung me harder than I’ve ever been stung. I was boiling because the tent fly keeps me very warm, and once the sun hits it, I have to leave the tent. I move the tent again at night, hoping to get off the ants nest. From there I planned on going to the Victoriano Lorenzo museum, but wanted to get something to eat. Doña Nella had been recommended to me but I wasn’t hungry enough yet to eat a full meal. I was told that most of the eating establishments here are owned by Chinese people which is strange. I really wanted coffee and decided to go to Unidos which I had had in Casco Viejo. 

On the way I passed Alan’s house and thanked his wife for allowing me to sit with her husband and Mark the night before. I ended up spending two hours writing my blog in the air-conditioned Unidos café, and bought some food at El Rey which unlike the other supermarkets actually had a lot of items that I see in the US. It’s very surprising since El Valle is such a remote location. I watched young people practicing what looked like the Mexican hat dance and spoke briefly with Carlos and his wife, who own an ecofarm where they grow their own food. I was hungry and thought I would go to Doña Nella for lunch, but decided to try eating at the museum instead. I had pollo guisada, a local dish cooked with veggies which was very good, but had only two bites of chicken. It left me quite hungry and I ended up filling up on rice and potatoes, which I don’t like doing.

Three skeletal dogs were begging at my feet, and I had to avert my eyes out of guilt. I wondered if this was it what is like to eat in countries like India where people are begging for food. I looked for a way to enter the Victoriano Lorenzo museum and couldn’t find one and finally found a woman and asked if I could enter, and she directed me to a young man watering the lawn. He asked me to wait and proceeded to give me a tour of the five room museum. The first room centered on the geology of the area as well as competing explanations of how we got here, one of creationism and faith, the other of evolution. I was intrigued that he mentioned Darwin when explaining the mural showing monkeys becoming men. 

There were three huge trunks of petrified wood, all of which came from the same tree. The second room featured how Christianity was expressed in various neighborhoods in the valley. Each region is dedicated to particular saint. From what I could tell, A Sicilian priest in the 1930s evangelized the area. I say that because the entire tour was in Spanish and it lasted about half an hour. I was surprised at how much I understood. Probably 90%. The people here are very devout Catholics. Earlier this morning I stood in the back of the main church at the end of mass and marveled at the quantity of people. There were probably 500. 

The third room consisted of information I was most interested in, that of local life and cultural traditions. There was a wealth of information about a particular indigenous man, Victoriano Lorenzo for whom the museum is named, who fought in the guerilla war for independence against Columbia. His reward for his efforts was to be shot in front of a firing squad. He was local to the area and not well known in the rest of Panama. 

I was intrigued by the cultural elements in the room, including the jugs for water and gourds for

carrying various items. There were also gourd musical instruments. The next room featured pre-Columbian relics and replicas of some of the gold artifacts raided from local cacique tombs. Outside the museum they displayed 

wooden machinery from yesteryear for processing sugarcane, as well as a model a casa de Quincha. One of the displays featured a huge wooden bowl made out of a solid tree trunk with three giant poles that women used to pulverize rice. Apparently the women would pound in rhythm. 

I enjoyed the tour and thanked the young man for answering my questions. I asked him which trails he suggests, and he gave me his recommendations. I rushed to the information center where I learned more about the biodiversity of the area and watched a short film. From there I headed back to my tent before walking toward the Piedra Pintada, which is apparently covered in petroglyphs. On the way, I met a lovely older gentleman who told me he was 72 who explained some of the history of the area. He told me that most of the endemic frogs have been wiped out due to climate change and told me about the captive breeding program here and in Gamboa for the golden dart frog.

I told him I was surprised that the human history of the area only dated to the mid-1800.  He said that the previous inhabitants simply died off but I’m not certain that there wasn’t some cause. He told me that one gentleman, Don Tomas Arias, arrived in the mid-1800s and claimed all of the land from the main road towards the mountains. He had a large ranch and many famous people, including John Wayne, came to visit. All the land on the other side of the road was owned by Noriega‘s father. Before his death, Noriega divided the land into plots and sold them, whereas Arias gave plots to his workers and made a huge reserve to protect the jungle, including Chorro macho. Apparently Noriega‘s father was responsible for having a road built up to El Valle in the 1930s. The distinguished gentleman also told me that his god father owned the land where we were standing, were there had once been a beautiful garden and animals, a library, and a main house. There is only a very small garden left. He said it was a real shame because it had been a beautiful spot. 

I was moved by his beatific smile and perfect posture. He was a man of grace and kindness, and I was glad that I had met him. I told him it was an honor to meet him. Those are the kinds of experiences that I remember for a lifetime. From there I headed towards Piedra Pintada petroglyphs. I figured I wouldn’t get there before dark but wanted to walk as far as I could. On the way I stopped at the hostal  casa de Juan, and asked about a shuttle to Boquete. It might be worth the $60 to cut three hours off the trip, which I was told would be at least eight hours in the terrifyingly speedy mini buses ubiquitous here. You may wonder why they take three hours longer if they are so fast. The drivers constantly stop to let people off and on, then race to make up time. They make money for every person they pick up. As a result, they are often so full that people are standing in the isles and even leaning over people on the seats. I’ve even seen people request to deposit their bags with those seated. 

The hostel said that their van was broken and that they are repairing it. Seems like everything here is in repair. I walked as quickly as possible to the entrance of the Piedras, as it was getting dark and seemed like I was entering a dicey area. In response to a few cat calls, I walked as quickly as possible. One guy was so drunk he fell over and almost hit his head on a rock. I wasn’t sure whether he was disabled or drunk until I heard him speak. I finally made it to the entrance a nice man explained that it was closed and to return in the morning. I rushed back down the hill 

And felt safe when I hit the main road. Many people were out on their bicycles with their kids as it was a Sunday night. It seems that locals primarily socialize on Sundays.  I was inspired to try Raspado, which is a candy made from sugarcane that taste like crystallized molasses. I headed to the main market and bought a huge bag of them as well as guayaba paste chews, then made it back to my tent. I was really tired. I 

Barbara Castro was very much on my mind that night. I lay awake thinking about the ink paintings she had made me years ago. One was a picture of lightning and said “through the chaos and intensity of the lightning come stability and inner peace”. The other was a picture of a willow tree and indicated that the tree that learns to bend will survive the storm. I reflected on how Barb’s values conformed so closely to mine, and how she was such a powerful mentor to me when I was a young teenager. Her love of plants and the natural world as well as her activism to protect the environment, bring peace to the world, and social justice to those who had none, made a huge impression on me growing up. I may have unconsciously modeled myself after her. 

I finally fell asleep around three or four in the morning, only to be awoken at 7AM by hammering on a roof 10 feet from my tent. I kept hoping it was temporary, but gave up trying to sleep after 30 minutes of persistent hammering. I moved my tent yet again under a nearby mango tree, hoping it would provide some shade in the early morning.

March 27. Like in many rural areas, dogs bark all night long. I was walking along a path the day before when I was almost bitten by a dog. He lunged at my leg, but I moved back in time. I should carry some sort of stick to protect myself. I sat in a nice jungly café, while I charge my phone, and wrote my blog. I had a latte and a waffle, which was a treat. It took me by half an hour to make my latte and get a waffle going. After a couple of hours I made my way up the to EVACC, the captive breeding project for golden frogs. I hitched a ride with a truck halfway up as it was a hot walk. There I hope to meet Edgardo, the biologist who arrived to the valley in 2005 and began collecting golden frogs. I lucked out. He driving away in his truck, when I stopped him and told him I was looking for Edgardo. He said that’s me and I asked if I could have five minutes of his time and he left the truck running and jumped out. We had a short conversation and then I asked whether he would mind if I accompanied him downtown since I knew he was busy. He agreed, and we headed to Dona Nella to pick up lunch. I caught him on a day when hehas students from the School for international training, a US based program which sends students abroad for 3 months. He is teaching a 3 day intensive on frogs of the area complete with lectures and field work. 

And this is what he told me during that 15 minute conversation. During his studies in Panama City in parasitology, he did a lot of reading about the state of frogs in Panamá. He realized that the golden frog endemic to El Valle was endangered due to a waterborne fungus. He changed his major to zoology and began collecting golden frogs and 6 other species in 2005 in the wild. In 2010 he began a captive breeding at the local zoo in El Valle. In 2019, due to the pandemic, they moved to a small building behind Hotel Campestre where they made terrariums in shipping containers that re-created the natural habitat of the frogs. He met his partner and wife Heidi, in 2007 while working in Hornitos NP. She was a biologist and peace corps volunteer in a remote village nearby. They shared the same values in protecting the local flora and fauna, and came together to work on saving the frog. 

He has worked with several organizations in collaboration, since the Panamanian government is very unwilling to support conservation projects. His work with the Smithsonian Institute was difficult due to their imperialist views towards researchers in developing countries. There is a kind of paternalism and bureaucratic motivation that makes working with some agencies very difficult for him. The Golden frog is the most endangered because of its natural history and reproductive behavior of laying their eggs in the water in one place. Since the fungus is water borne, it has been wiping out the population. While I was at the center, the assistant showed me frogs that were hiding in their tanks. I then took a short walk through the forest of square trees and spoke with a nice German couple from near Stuttgart who have been in Panama for five weeks. We compared notes and they said don’t bother with Bocas del Toro. Part of the reason was a huge downpour that continued for a week. They couldn’t really go anywhere.

After visiting the center, I walked back to town, at least a mile, admiring the beautiful gardens and houses on the way. Many of the fanciest homes are owned by wealthy outsiders, mostly Panamanians, who come here rarely. The occupation rate is very low as a result. I wanted to see Chorro Macho, a waterfall in the jungle across from Cerro Gaitál. It’s a particularly beautiful area, and there are more birds than in other parts of the valley. An American owns the waterfall and runs a company called Canopy Tours, which offers very expensive. Zip line tours through the Kanopy and guided tours through the jungle out of Chorro Macho. He also owns an ecolodge. I met a local who works for him. They charge five dollars to walk 600 feet and see the waterfall. I didn’t think it would be worth it and thought I might be able to see the waterfall from the road. Unfortunately, the jungle is too dense and they have security cameras, so I wasn’t willing to risk jumping the fence. I could just see myself in jail because I wanted to see a waterfall.

On the way back, I followed a mother and child on a dirt road into the part of town known as Santa Cruz. It feels a little bit rough around the edges in this neighborhood, and many people stare at me as I walk. I say hello to passerbys, hoping to feel less out of place. On the right side of the road there is a large finca that appears to be a remnant of days gone by. There are some very large trees including one that has recently fallen. It looks like it might’ve been 80 feet tall. I had a hankering for ice cream and went to the only ice cream spot in town. Unfortunately, it was 350 a scoop, and I decided against it on principle. I headed back to my tent. When I hit the fire station, I met Julian, one of the firemen, who was very kind and told me to ask if I needed anything. He said he was free the next day, and could walk around with me. We exchanged a few words, and I was excited to have a companion to walk with me, who knew more of the local flora and fauna, and was interested in nature.

March 28. I work pretty early. Guys had already started hammering the next-door neighbors, roof at 8 AM, and gardeners were doing work in the yard with loud machines, cutting the grass and edging it. It was impossible to sleep with all the ruckus. I looked for Julian in the fire station. They said he was out buying food and then I should wait. I walk to the hospital and use the bathroom. I felt awkward using the facilities since I was not staying there. I asked if I could use the facilities and the Australian running the place said I should pay two dollars a day. I thought that was really steep given that they charge $10 a day for someone to camp there and use all their facilities including refrigeration and cooking, shower, water, internet, and  bathrooms, as well as hang out in the backyard as long as they want.  I decided I would pay two dollars for the entire five days. All I was doing was peeing twice a day and filling my bottles with tapwater. 

I walked back and found Julian. He seemed hesitant to walk with me which was quite different from his enthusiasm the night before. Then I realized that he was afraid that his boss would think poorly of him for fraternizing with a tourist. We headed to a little used trail up the back side of Cerro Gaital. It was a long walk to the base of the mountain, and while walking there he told me about his life growing up near Playa Blanca. He hates the heat and prefers it here at 2000 feet above sea level. He’s been a runner for many years and loves physical fitness. He has five brothers and sisters and grew up extremely poor. I think it gave him great empathy for the impoverished, and in 2010 he created a foundation to bring food medicine and other essentials to poor Panamanians living in isolation far from civilization. He sought help from several companies, and brings 10 or so four-wheel-drive trucks full of supplies to such places every month.  

As an 18-year-old with no money, he headed to Panama City to try seek training as a fireman. He completed a grueling 4 month training near the Chagres River, where he ate nothing and was only given water to drink. They would sleep for a few hours, then be woken up with a dunk in the cold river. No joke. 

We got to the skirt of the mountain and entered the so-called trail. In about a minute we lost it, and I went off in one direction and he in another to try to find it. I appreciated my experience as a backpacking leader, because I was very good at finding the trail and was able to do so now.  We walked for a while into the deeper jungle, and at some point stopped and just listened to the birds and looked up in their canopy. It was nice to be with somebody who appreciates being in nature. After what seemed like eternity, we decided to head back and found ourselves back on the road. Two men who worked in the rich person’s house next to the trail lectured us about the dangers of giant snakes and other wild animals that would attack us. When we left them, Julian said they were trying to scare us because homeowners in the area don’t want hikers in their neighborhood.

We decided to head to the trail head for Cerro Indio Dormido, and I picked up food at Doña Nella on the way. It was nice walking with Julian and talking about his life and what it was like to be here. He’s only worked here for eight years and works three month shifts in four different regions in the area. His wife and son live near his mother at the beach near Coronado. His wife is a nurse and would like to work at the centro de salud  that is being built here. Apparently, his son loves nature and animals in the mountains like he does. 

We had a pretty grueling hike to the top. By the time I got there, my heart was pounding. I had to stop at few times, but I loved the petroglyphs that we saw on a huge rock called La piedra pintada near the trail head by the river. We saw a few mothers with kids climbing the 60° incline in rubber rain boots. They live in the mountains and get to and from home and town on this trail. The kids either ran ahead or dragged behind. These families live without electricity or running water. Some men carried 50 to 100 pound bags of rice and beans up the hill. Most come down every day to bring their kids to school or sell produce at the market. 

By this time it was 2:30 PM and Julian needed to make his way back home near Playa Blanca. He said it was a two hour bus ride for a 20 mile trip. That’s a normal pace for buses here. People spend most of the day waiting for or riding the bus. I bid him goodbye and said I was looking forward to hiking with him the next day. He planned on turning around the next morning and heading back by bus to hike with me on his day off. 

I saw Simon coming back from his hike to Chorro Mazas, which he reached a few hours after we saw him on the summit. He was interested in hiking some bigger mountains the next day. He said he was staying at the windmill hostel in his tent and that he found it very comfortable. Apparently there’s a pool there. I guess Mark built some shelters for tent campers so they’re not blown away by the wind. My knee was really hurting and difficult to bend for the last four days or so. I think I had been walking too much in Panamá City. I had hoped to go to los Pozos thermales or warm springs later this afternoon to sooth my knee, but didn’t make it. Instead, I headed to the garden where I had eaten a waffle and latte the day before. It was closed, but I could access the outlet on the outside, and I asked the Chinese man working in the garden if I could use it and sit a while. I think he might have been the owner.

Around 5pm, I left and headed back to the jungle near Chorro Macho, which I loved around dusk. I walked past the entrance to the falls, enjoying Cerro Gaital and some of the most gardens in the area, which were very well-maintained and more natural than the ones in town.  As the sky darkened, bird song filled the air, and I saw a few of the five planets that were supposed to align in the next few days.

On the way down the hill, I said hello to a man who I had seen sitting outside the evening before. He greeted and waved to everyone passing by from his walker stationed inside the gate. I learned that his name was Angel Hernandez and that he had been an engineer for high tension electricity. He’s very proud of the fact that his daughter and son are also engineers. Over the course of a few hours, I found out more about his life here where he was born and grew up. He has seen many changes some good and others not. He said he’s a big conservationist, and always reports people when they try to hunt iguanas and other animals for food. He wants to leave the wild animals in peace and enjoys the few living on his land. 

He said he has a few armadillos that lives at the creek at the edge of his property and graze in his yard during the rainy season, as well as puma further up the hill that he sees occasioballywhere cows graze. There are several three different species that they refer to as Conejo which means rabbit, including the capabara. He said he noticed and reported deforestation near his home to a conservation-oriented agency some years ago. Since then, the Forest has recovered almost to the point where you wouldn’t notice. He spoke out against building a geothermal electricity generator in the valley in fear that it would spew sulfur into the atmosphere and cause acid rain. 

His mother learned English from a woman who worked in the Canal Zone. She encouraged him to learn English, though he only knows a few words. He claims that his daughter speaks seven languages. That seemed unlikely to me given that she grew up in El Valle, but given how dedicated people seem, nothing is surprising. We talked until dark, and I said I would come back at dusk the next day to continue our conversation. I headed down the road to hostal de casa de San Juan. I liked the vibe there and had stopped there a couple of times to ask about the shuttle to Boquete. 

I used the bathroom and listened to music for a couple of minutes before walking down to the center of town and working on my blog. It’s nice for me to occasionally drop into a hostel and chat with some of the young people. I had hoped to see Alan again and chat with him, as well as Heidi, Edgardo’s partner, who is also a biologist working on the captive breeding program for the golden frog. Unfortunately I didn’t make it back to see her as I had hoped. She had told me to return at 2 o’clock, but I was hiking and got tired and forgot. 

March 29. Today was a rest day. My knee had really started hurting. My chiropractor suggested that it was probably because of tightness in my quad and IT band. I had emailed her about it. She was certainly right about the tightness. Since I learned that I’ve been making a roller out of whatever I can find, including water bottles. Julian said he would be available to hike on Thursday so I thought I should rest up today. I told him I wanted to hike Cerro Gaital, the highest volcano in the area. I wanted to have coffee and sit at the nice outdoor café in the jungle setting. However, it was closed, like many other places that are closed during the week.

So I headed to meet us because I knew I would get a latte there and wanted to write my blog. I ended up sitting for almost 3 hours writing. I had a really nice banana bread. When I was tired of writing, I went to El Rey to buy some chocolate chips and a piece of chicken and headed back to the fire station, where I offered chocolate chips to some of the guys there. From there, I decided to walk to Hostal Casa De Juan to ask about the shuttle to Boquete. They said their van was in bad shape and wouldn’t be fixed for sometime. I decided to walk to the thermal Hot Springs, hoping that they would be open for a bit. Upon arrival, I was disappointed to learn that they closed at 5pm, which only gave an hour. However, my muscles hurt so much that I decided it was worth eight dollars for an hour. I wasted no time getting in large warm pool where I met some Russian Americans from Ohio. They were kind and let me take a spot near the warm water coming out of the pipe. 

It turns out the water was barely lukewarm. It was a long list of minerals that were supposedly inside, and I hoped it would help my knee. I told the couple about my knee pain, and they said i should rethink my plans because when injured, it’s very difficult to travel. I said I would and thanked them for their concern. I enjoyed looking up at the canopy, with the lovely trees waving in the wind. A nice French couple came in close to closing time, and I spoke some French with them. It turns out they’re from Rennes in Brittany.  I was in Rennes last May and loved it. They have an apartment which they rent there. They mentioned they were driving down to meet some friends the next day. I asked where, and they told me that it was along the Pan-American Highway. That planted the seed for the possibility of getting a ride with them part way on the long ride to Boquete, about 10 hours by bus.

The hour went by quickly, and the outdoor springs turned off the tap at 5 pm on the nose.  I got a ride back with the French couple to casa de Juan where they were staying, and we sat as they had a beer and talked about their adventure. They were tired from the hike up Cerro Caraguana, so after an hour I bid them good day. I headed back towards my favorite haunt, the jungle near Chorro Macho, which is so beautiful at dusk. After a short walk, I headed to Angel, who, whom I told I would visit the day before. He let me in the gate this time, with the consent of his four dog guardians. And while he sat on his walker I sat on a rock, and we talked about conservation in the valley, and the efforts to keep it nice. He was drinking Panamanian beer like water. Soon, it was so dark that I could no longer see. As I was a little concerned about walking alone at night in this neighborhood, I thanked him for the visit and told him I would go to the next day.

I walked back through town and found the ice cream place that I had resisted for days. I decided to break down and get a scoop of banana ice cream on a cone, which is really good. So good in fact that I decided to get another scoop. In the course of my time there I met two friends who knew each other from New York City. They were talking about philosophy and the role of women and society, and comparing Islamic cultures to western ones. It was a really interesting conversation, and I couldn’t help adding my two cents. 

Sophie is married to a Muslim and was sharing what it’s like being part of that culture. Anthony is moving to Barcelona with his partner in a year. They had decided to come to Panama for a week because they got a cheap ticket. She agrees that it’s much more interesting in the mountains then on the beach in Panama. She doesn’t like the party scene. They were staying at the Weinell hotel, so I walked with the parkway and then headed back to my tent.

I’d become used to the torrential winds, but this night was the worst I’d seen. After watching my tent poles contort wildly every time the wind blew, which was every minute, I finally decided to pull up stakes, literally, and try to find a spot in the yard that wasn’t so affected. Even the roof of the fire station was affected. It seems like the roof is going to blow off. In desperation, I went into the fire station and asked if there was a place I could put my tent where I wouldn’t get blown away. They suggested an indoor spot where there were a lot of oil stains on the cement. The television was blaring and an overhead light was on. I said , as politely as I could, I probably couldn’t sleep with the light on.

That prompted them to let me sleep in the bunk room. They were six or seven beds available, and they indicated for me to sleep on one in the corner. I spent the night trying not to make noise and listening to the snoring and the music playing on peoples radios. And the loud fire station radio which blared with what seemed like crank calls most of the night. Needless to say by the morning I felt like a zombie.