Panama

I got on the Red Donkey, turned the key and hit the start button. Nothing. This was not a good sign. After loading the bikes onto a dugout canoe and ferrying them a rather long way to a muddy shore I now had a dead bike. Apparently dragging them out of the canoe and up a muddy slope wasn’t enough fun. So, I began about an hour long project of taking panels off the bike to check connections and fuses. I found one of the accessory fuses was corroded. I replaced it and the bike fired up. I’m not sure if this corroded fuse was related to the bike not starting or if I now have a mystery electronic problem.

Anyway, with the bike loaded and running, Mark and I set off for Panama City. Our first obstacle was a large river. It was wide, but fortunately not very deep; it was approximately up to my knees in the deepest spots. We both crossed without problem and were on our way through an interesting unpaved jungle road. The road closely followed the topography of the land and was either pitched steeply up or steeply down, while being very curvy at the same time. It was a fun road.

We had something like 120 miles to travel to Panama City. About 45 minutes away from the beach landing, we spotted a lavendaria and got the motos washed. I was concerned about all the time my moto spent in salty air and wanted to do everything possible to avoid electrical problems. After the starting problem that happened earlier in the day, I wish I had spent a couple hours applying dielectric grease to connections before leaving the U.S.

With clean bikes, we were on our way. The ride was pleasant and followed a fairly quiet country road that lead us through farms, jungles and small towns. Things changed rapidly, and dramatically on the outskirts of Panama City. We quickly went from lush green landscape to sprawling city, with very heavy traffic. Following my GPS and its more or less useless map, we continued on, headed for the hostel at which we planned to meet the rest of the crew from the boat. What a mess. Panama City in rush hour is a traffic nightmare. Plus, the one way streets and randomly blocked off intersections really caused a great headache. We went in circles for what seemed like an eternity in the scorching hot weather, frustrated by the never ending standstill of traffic. Finally, after breaking many laws, including going the wrong way down several streets, we found the hostel. But no, we found where it used to be several years ago. Thank you Footprint Guides for not updating your material on a timely basis. 2009 edition, yeah right! At this point, I was not very happy and it was starting to rain. Mark chatted with some locals, who where nice enough to help us find the correct address. With a set of interesting directions, we were back on our way. In the mean time, a torrential downpour had begun. We arrived at the hostel soaked from head to toe only to discover that it was full, our friends were not there and the internet was not working.

The rain quickly turned into deluge. Mark and I pondered our options. Apparently, after waiting for us for quite a while, Brian had left a message at the desk, but none was to be found. The hostel suggested a hotel nearby. I checked it out and it turned out to be a love hotel. Clean, but not really an inviting atmosphere. Shortly thereafter, the internet was back in action and we found out where our friends were. It was not close. The hostel receptionist basically informed us that it was not possible for us to find our own way there, especially in the dark. She helped us out with the address and basic directions, then Mark and I hunted down a taxi cab. With my somewhat unpolished Spanish, it took a bit of time to get the driver to understand that we wanted to follow him to this address, on our motorbikes. Our new leader got the idea and we were off. Not to be disappointed, this driver went about his work as to be expected; driving erratically, usually fast and with many seemingly unnecessary lane changes. Even better, it was dark and the sky was still belching rain at an impressive rate. I felt like I was cruising around Panama City on a jet ski, but just fully clothed.

After a couple wrong turns (by the taxi driver) and even more rain, we made it to hostel number 2. It was a decent place, with good parking and dry spaces to sit. I ended up staying there for five nights. During this time, I hung out with the original boat crew, an American guy who drove and surfed his way down from California and a Colombian family with an interesting story.

Before he left, Brian and I took a cab to the Miraflores locks on the Panama Canal. Its an impressive place.

The next day, Mark and I signed up for a tour. It first brought us to Panama Viejo, the site of the original city, which was sacked by the pirate Henry Morgan once upon a time. After that, we went to Casco Viejo, the historical walled part of the city. Casco Viejo is an interesting area. It seems to be made up of a few interesting old buildings that are very well kept, with the remainder of the buildings being decayed and ready to fall down at any given moment. The old neighborhood is a huge contrast to central Panama City which is full of a maze of modern, new, shiny high rise buildings and shopping malls.

The next spot on the tour was another visit to the Miraflores locks. Finally, we wrapped up the tour by visiting a beach area near the Balboa Yacht club, where we taught a bar tender how to make iced blended coffees.

Oh, before I left on this trip, a number of people asked me “how will you get over the Panama Canal?”  I took a bridge to the other side.

The next day was the 4th of July. The other American and myself though it would be fitting to head to the Balboa Yacht Club for a day of BBQ, Hot Dogs, beer and fireworks. We enlisted the support of a Colombian and a Mexican to join us for this festive event. Upon arrival, we discovered that the even had been mobbed with hundreds of angry retirement aged gringos. This group does not travel well on an empty stomach. The retirement aged VFW gringos who were hosting the event seemed to be somewhat confused. They had tremendous difficulty making change and selling food tickets. Inadvertently the four of us ended up at the front of the line, saving ourselves approximately one decade of waiting. Some of the gringos viejos did not like this, but all they did was make indirect snide comments. We got our food. It was not good. Then, after nearly getting into a fist fight with a Colombian family over a table, we ate some of the BBQ. I’m glad I did not wait three hours for the meal.

Our group largely abandoned the food and transitioned to buckets of cerveza. Now that the old gringos were getting fed, they were more pleasant. Add some beer to this group, and they become reasonably friendly. It was a very strange crowd. I got the impression that many of the people had grown up, lived or worked in Panama during the canal days. The U.S. built and operated the canal for almost 100 years, so the area had a very significant American presence for generations. Especially military personal. The canal only changed hands in 1999, and up to that point, many people, including multi-generational families lived around the canal zone.

When I had enough of Panama City, I made my departure, ending up in San Carlos, a nice little pacific beach area. There I let a bi-polar old man who was manning a beach restaurant talk me into spending the night in an open air palapa, sleeping in a hammock. For $2, this sounded pretty good. I set up shop and went to the restaurant for lunch. They were closed, so I settled for a beer. I met a couple, a Slovakian guy and a British woman where staying nearby. They saw my shabby lodging and invited me to stay with them. At first I declined, but then, the wind kicked up with fury, and again, it started to rain. Walking on the beach felt like my legs were getting sand blasted. My stuff was all full of sand. I loaded up the bike and headed to their clean two story little beach house, very happy not to have to sleep on the beach.

The next day I left early and stopped at Playa Las Lajas to have lunch and watch a portion of a world cup game. After that, I made my way to Boquete where of course, I encountered heavy rain. I’m becoming very upset with my $300 riding jacket that is clearly no longer waterproof. I bought a big tube of silicon caulking and as soon as it is dry will attempt to fix this annoying problem. Anyway, I didn’t plan to stay in Boquete very long, but the town is up in the mountain and the weather was nice and cool. It never stops raining in the town, but at least I was not sweating.

Boquete is an interesting place. Due to its climate and very beautiful mountain valley location, it is home to a very large gringo retirement community. These folks seem to do everything possible to recreate Orange County in Panama. For example, most of them live in a secure gated community, with enormous Orange County style houses, a golf course and pretty much everything else found at Leisure World. From time to time, these retirees wander from their enclave and seem to be friendly, but seem to be surprised by the fact that the locals are difficult to understand. As far as I can tell, most speak less Spanish than me, which is not much.

When I pulled up to my hostel in Boquete, I was pleasantly surprised to find two other KLR riders there.  A couple days later, another guy came along on a KLR.  It was nice to be around so many other bikers.  Callum and Thomas were great fun to hang out with.  My first day in Boquete, we hopped on the bikes and wet to a hot spring situated conveniently along a river.  The place even had a monkey.

I spent part of the next day on a coffee plantation tour. We only visited one site, but it was pretty interesting. The farm was not a big commercial operation, which are frequent in the area. Instead, it was a small coffee farm owned by a very ingenious man. Not having any money, the owner has made all of his own equipment from various parts and scraps. For example, his roasters are made from car and washing machine parts. He’s taken two manual bean grinders, a 4wd transfer case and an electric motor and built a double electric grinder. I was very impressed by this latin McGuyver.