September 6, 2023, Panama. I woke at 8:30 and went to Buckle Tip for a latte—I hadn’t had one since Friday. I stopped by the artisan market to say hello to María. She thought the three supplements I’d recommended for her mom weren’t available on Amazon, but I found them and sent her the links. Then I visited María at Hello Travel. I really appreciated seeing her—she knows Richard and sympathized with my experience. We talked about what had happened with Sarah as well. She was incredibly supportive. The boss María dropped by, still recovering from a jewelry show in the park over the weekend.

Later, Brian took me to see El Río Encantado, a beautiful spot in Caldera created by Frank, one of the original expats who arrived in the ’90s. It’s full of winding garden paths, carefully tended plants, cabanas, Chiriquí and pre-Columbian artifacts, all centered around a peaceful pool beside a gurgling river and a giant turtle-shaped rock.

I had a couples counseling session at noon and hoped to use the Wi-Fi near the pool. Of course, I didn’t have the password and couldn’t find anyone around, so I walked back to the entrance where José and his friends were hanging out in their car. He told me it was $10 per day, 10–3 p.m. We paid, he gave me the password, and I returned to the pool.

The session was a huge relief. Leia was empathetic—she’s traveled and knows what it’s like to depend on the kindness of strangers. She said I’d been in abusive, toxic situations and asked if I’d noticed any red flags. I admitted I had with Richard. She encouraged me to not only recognize those signs but to develop the strength to understand I don’t deserve that kind of treatment. She said whenever I start appeasing people and bending over backward, as I had with both Richard and Sarah, I’m likely responding to a felt sense of disapproval. That, she said, should be a red flag in itself. Trying to win someone’s approval isn’t worth the cost.

I’d felt so grateful to be included by Sarah—to feel like part of a family. Shawn empathized with that loneliness, recalling his trip to Europe and how desperate he was for connection. It’s a powerful need, especially when you’re a stranger in a strange land.

After the session, I called Shawn. We had a good conversation that ended with him telling me about a New Yorker article called “Pets Welcome”, about wealthy people bringing their emotional support animals into restaurants and public spaces, regardless of behavior. I appreciate how solid Shawn is—he’s been helping my mom with decisions and managing the cottage.

It was already 1:30, and I had only about an hour and a half left to enjoy the pool. I jumped in, swam, and splashed—freshwater swimming always brings out my child self. It’s one of my favorite things. I wanted to swim in the river too, but the current looked strong. I didn’t want to risk it. We stayed until 3:30, but I didn’t want to test the owner’s patience by staying longer.

Back in Boquete, I walked up toward Arco Iris. I stopped at Hotel Central to check prices, but the cheapest room was $55—a tiny space on the main road with a shared bathroom and windows that didn’t close. The fold-out sofa bed I had for free was better.

September 7. I returned to Buckle Tip, but the latte was terrible—too hot and no foam. One of the worst I’ve had. There, I met Juan (of German and Colombian heritage) and Yami, a Panamanian woman from Panama City with Afro-Antillean roots. Juan was chatting with Tim, an eccentric Oklahoman who’s basically the town’s unofficial social coordinator. He’s been involved with Rotary, worked at Bambuda Castle, and uses Buckle Tip as his office and networking hub. He’s very animated and talks to everyone in both Spanish and English. He claims to be American Indian and told me a wild story about working in the Eel River area in California “on the rez with outlaws.” I had my doubts.

Later, I returned to Hello Travel, where María told me more about what had happened with the man who helped her build her loft. They had agreed that he could stay in exchange for help, but over time he took more and more liberties—modifying “his” room, using her mother’s car for work, and letting his girlfriend stay over and use their kitchen and laundry. Eventually, María asked him to leave. He then claimed she owed him $3,000 for building materials. She paid him $1,000 and said the other $2,000 covered rent. He argued rent should have been $30, not $250. A classic example of the dangers of not having a clear agreement.

She also knows Tim. When she worked at Ventura Castle at 19, he was her supervisor. He used to tell her he wasn’t sure if he’d rather have her as his daughter or his wife. Gross. She also shared about being in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship with a man nearly 10 years older—it was difficult to end.

After María left work at 4:30, I walked up to Valle Escondido. I’d always wanted to go to the end of the road when I was staying with Richard, but never had the chance. It’s a beautiful valley, almost like a nature reserve. I kept expecting security to stop me—it is a gated community, and pedestrians are supposed to stay on the road.

I stopped by Doug’s and left him a note asking for his dive master’s contact info in Florida. He’d said he would share it, but after the Sarah fallout, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from him.

On the way back, I visited Morton’s Bakery and hung out with Zoe, a woman from Chicago who studied environmental science in Panama and was married to a Panamanian for 20 years. I also had a nice chat with her Venezuelan coworker while they closed up shop.

September 8 – My birthday. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I had a latte, then said hello to María at the Ecuadorian-owned store. Since she’s a Jehovah’s Witness, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Earlier, I’d gone to the Artisanal Market, where María’s warm and round friend gave me a big birthday hug. I also stopped by Hello Travel—María gave me a birthday hug too.

I’d hoped to attach my pink shell to my necklace, but it had broken into pieces. I replaced the metatarsal pad in my orthotic, and María told me about wanting to return to private university to finish her architecture degree. I encouraged her—said that once she committed, things would likely fall into place. She also wants to learn to drive. Her boyfriend’s father owns a construction company and needs an architect to sign off on plans. I told her that if she finished her degree, she could work with him. Again, I encouraged her to go for it.

I asked Brian if he’d be up for a birthday trip to Río Encantado. On the way, we stopped at the German bakery where I got a slice of lemon meringue pie and a brownie—birthday sweets were a must.

But first, Brian wanted to show me Los Cangilones de Gualaca, a stunning river gorge. There were kayakers training there, and I jumped in, letting the strong current pull me downstream. It felt like skiing—float down, walk back, repeat. I swam in place against the current for a while—it was so strong, I could barely move forward. I did this for nearly two hours.

On the way back, I had a great talk with the former Director of Emergency Services for Panama, who now runs a 12-step training program for river guides. I also met Ángel, a young man taking the course who started a foundation with his brother after a canyoneering accident. Their guide had used a rope that was 10 meters too short for a waterfall descent. Both brothers were injured. Ángel wants to create safer tours and raise awareness about the risks posed by unqualified guides—a major issue in Panama.

Then we went to El Río Encantado. I’d been told there would be 26 kids there, but it was actually 15 teachers from various public schools—absolutely hilarious. We arrived around 1:30. They were already drinking beer and cracking jokes—most of them sexual. I couldn’t keep up with the fast-paced Spanish, but I caught the gist. I had great conversations with an older teacher and the English teacher. It was so heartwarming to see how much fun Panamanians have—something we Northern North Americans could learn from.

One woman lost a gold earring in the pool. Two guys with goggles jumped in and pretended to search, turning it into a sexual joke when one of them surfaced near her and shouted, “¡Encontré oro!”

I hadn’t experienced that kind of witty repartee since arriving in Panama. This was an educated, quick-tongued group with the gift of gab. As thunderclouds gathered, I agreed with the animated PE teacher that we didn’t need to get out until we saw lightning. I’ve gotten quite casual about tropical storms—they’re almost daily here.

By the time we left around 3:30, I needed to walk. It was only 4:20, so I decided to head toward Jaramillo. I stopped at Hello Travel, but María had already gone home. I climbed the stairs behind the artisan market, letting my guard down—until a tiny, fierce puppy I’d never seen before started barking and chasing me. Every time I turned my back, it tried to bite my calves. ¡Ay caramba! How many times have I turned back from a walk because of a perro bravo? Too many.

Eventually, I reached the crossover road where Hacienda and Coffee Estate Inn lies. Just as I passed a gate with at least ten dogs behind it, the owner opened it—and all hell broke loose. I didn’t see them, but a local man walking toward me shouted a warning. Just in time, I grabbed a big stick and alerted some dog walkers ahead. One man declined the stick, so I kept it—grateful later.

Ironically, it was one of the most peaceful walks near town—despite the canine chaos.

Back in Boquete, I stopped at the hot dog stand across from the fairgrounds and had a long chat with Rubén. Turns out he’s a long-standing Boqueteno, as is his family. His grandmother had a big finca in Gualaca. He’s one of the few locals I’ve met from “landed gentry”—or really, campesino stock. His grandparents grew their own food, had livestock, and worked from sunup to sundown. Not an easy life. One of his relatives now guides multi-day treks on the Sendero de la Culebra to Bocas del Toro. He showed me some stunning photos of the jungle wilderness.

Brian asked where I’d like to go for my birthday dinner. I’d already asked if he’d help me celebrate, especially after the emotional fallout and “expat hazing” I’d experienced a few days earlier. I chose Ngöbro, a quaint riverside restaurant I used to pass daily when staying with Richard. Turns out the chef has won top awards in Panama.

There was a lovely classical guitarist playing Brazilian, local, and gringo songs. He had such a sweet presence, and we tipped him well. It was a peaceful and elegant scene—until the power went out after our meal. I figured dessert was off the table, but they told me it had already been put in the oven. When it finally came out, it was nearly raw—and almost a raudal de leche (a milk flood). Definitely not something I’d write home about.

Strangely, the best part came after we left. We stepped outside, and the sky was breathtaking. The Milky Way was bright and vivid—finally some quiet. Given that it was Friday night around 10 p.m., that was saying something.

Unfortunately, about an hour later the power came back on, and with it, the cantina’s bass pounded until 4 a.m. I didn’t sleep.

September 9. I had a latte, stopped in to see María, visited Marie at Hello Travel, and went for a walk up the Palo Monte. Toward the end of the day, I saw a few fireflies—subtle but beautiful.

September 10. Since I was leaving soon, I wanted to go back to Carlos’s finca to see if I could spot a quetzal. I wandered around Boquete in the morning and around 11 asked Brian for a ride to the Three Waterfalls Trail.

About ten minutes in, five dogs greeted me. Luckily, the owner was nearby in a shack and kindly called them in, saying it was safe to pass. I appreciated that greatly. At the ranger station, I asked if the trail was open. It wasn’t. The guards were stationed outside all day just to keep people off it.

So I headed back toward the steep road that leads to Carlos’s farm, stopping at the Small Waterfall Trail on the way. It was striking how suddenly quiet and peaceful the area felt. I was surprised to see Carlos’s truck—I hadn’t contacted him that day, though we had touched base a few days before. I later learned he’s almost always at the finca on weekends.

Carlos welcomed me, introduced me to his right-hand man (whom he described as a brother), and invited me up to the shack. He told me he’d be heading down to Boquete in about 30 minutes and offered me a ride. I didn’t want to miss it like I had on my previous visit, especially since it was Sunday and buses were sparse that far up the mountain.

I hiked up the muddy hill to the two trees where the quetzals usually feed, but none had been seen in days. When I returned, Carlos and his crew were loading up carrots, cabbage, and broccoli. Up at the shack, we chatted for a while. He told me business had been terrible—so bad he couldn’t even afford to plant his fields. He partly blamed the war in Ukraine, which has driven up the cost of organic commodities. I hadn’t realized Ukraine played such a role in that market.

He said many prices had doubled. To stay afloat, he was now planting a two-hectare coffee farm in El Valle and commuting there regularly. I’d seen online that he’d been spending a lot of time there lately.

Carlos seemed more subdued than I remembered. Normally he has a sparkle in his eye, a lively energy—but he was getting over a cold and clearly run down. I felt sad for him and wanted to help, though I wasn’t sure how to offer—money? Resources? Instead, I did what comes naturally: try to connect people. I reached out to Jonathan from Truly Panama, whom I’d met on my trip to Portobelo, and asked if he’d consider offering eco-tours to Carlos’s farm. He said he’d reach out. I really hope something comes of it.

On the way down the hill, I mentioned the vivero (plant nursery) that Brian had pointed out on the edge of Boquete. Carlos dropped me off there. I ended up chatting with an employee who grew up around expats, was originally from Guatemala, and now lives in Panama. Like many people here, his background was multicultural. We talked about the carved wooden masks on the wall and the tradition of diablos sucios, which came with the Spanish.

I decided to walk in the direction Carlos had driven. I figured he might pass me on the road. But only about 100 feet in, a dog in the middle of the road charged at me. He looked fierce. I had no stick or rock, so I slowly backed away and returned to the nursery. The employee told me the dog was “loco”—which confirmed my instincts.

Thankfully, Carlos came back shortly afterward. He had to deliver more produce to colleagues headed to Panama City. He dropped me off near Meye Buone, a casual eatery known for its cheap and tasty food. He said he might call after a nap, though I didn’t expect to hear from him—he had to leave for El Valle at 1 a.m. for more work on the coffee farm. Times were clearly tough.

I had a great $4 lunch of chicken and beans, then wandered over to the library park, where lots of families were enjoying their school break together. I loved watching the multi-generational groups sitting and talking. That’s something I rarely see in the U.S.—extended families just being together.

Around 5:30, I went for a short walk up toward Arco Iris and stopped at Sweets & Coffee, where I met a lovely Argentinian couple singing and playing guitar. They’d driven a colorfully painted 1981 VW bus from Mexico, which they had bought from another Argentinian couple who’d driven it there earlier. They had two kids. I wondered if something like that could be safe for me to drive.

We talked about their travels, safety tips, and how they navigate the road. They don’t drive at night, which I’d also heard from others. In countries like Honduras, they park inside fenced lots for safety. They added me to an international traveler WhatsApp group. It was a warm and inspiring end to the day.

September 11. I did my usual morning routine, and around 11 Brian found out we couldn’t go to Río Encantado because of a group reservation. Instead, he suggested we go to a beach near David, and I agreed.

But first, we had to wait. The young man running Safety First was supposed to open at 11:00. He arrived at 11:40. 🙂 I wanted to buy something for dog protection, and this place had been recommended.

While waiting, I had homemade ice cream from the family’s adjacent café, The Garden Café. I had a nice chat with the sister, and we drooled over the menu together—pancakes and other specialties.

When the shop finally opened, I bought an electric shock device—not ideal, since it doesn’t have reach like a stick. It’s a close-contact defense, which I hoped I’d never have to use.

We drove to the beach, and I went for a long walk in both directions, took a dip in the pool, and then made the mistake of ordering seabass. It was terrible—nothing like the fresh fish I’d had at Pascal.

To top it off, we had to pay $16 just to use the pool. Pretty steep, especially considering the place was falling apart. When thick storm clouds gathered on both sides of the beach, Brian suggested we head back—and good thing, because we did get caught in the rain on the way home.