This post will probably be a long one. I was waiting for a moment to write about Costa Rica and I meant to do it now. However, I have just returned from Colon and that made all the difference. I’ll be writing backwards, starting with Panama. It is a bit strange but you’ll understand why I’m doing it this way.
I am stuck in Panama. I can’t move on because of the guerrillas’ activities in the Darían Gap. It is virtually impossible to cross by land; some tried and most never came back. So, I am not intending to this by land but the other options are expensive and/or complex. Well, I’m still working on this, so will keep you up to date. That will be a either a coconut cargo ship or an airplane. The cargo or a sail boat is definitely a more appealing option; this is why I had to go to Colon to check out the marina. Well, it was some experience I tell you.
Earlier I was speculating about the word “peligroso” (danger), the true meaning of this word was reviled today in Colon. Couple of days ago I met an American girl and together we walked to the old (colonial) part of Panama City (San Filipe). The general direction we were going to described as dangerous. I told her that Latinos abuse this word and apply to anything they fell like. After some picture taking and exploration, naturally we got lost a little. It has gotten dark, and Caroline began to worry, so we decided to go to a nearby Police station to ask directions. The policeman made crazy big eyes and gave me another of the “mucho peligroso” speech. He looked so scared, as if we jeopardized his safety by asking questions. To relieve the natives we took a taxi ride back.
There was some suspicious activity going on the streets, more so when I came back there the next day. I met a guy in Guatemala who told me about a black market in Panama City, where they sell stolen stuff. Ironically, he got his camera stolen there too; he said that he took the camera to take pictures. The market was in San Filipe too. There was a local guy with us that day, an islander from Kuna Yala. He knew where it was, or at least he said he knew. We went there, all three of us, Carolina, an American girl, Gamaine and me.
Three musketries marching through hidden but somewhat obvious merchants, keeping our belongings as close to the skin as possible. Not only I bought a cell phone there, I even took a picture of them after the trade. It was $30 for a Samsung SGH-X156, not like I needed it but I had to do this for the hell of it, I was curios. Later, I found out that the phone was locked to a Panamian carrier, and it took me the next afternoon to unlock it using the “power of the internet”.
I have been to dangerous towns before. Hell, all of them are dangerous, or at least everybody says so. I had a blast in Mexico City, but there was a Korean guy I met traveling for a year and that was the only place where he got mugged. In Belize City and Tegucigalpa people stay in their hostels after dark or avoid these towns’ altogether, well, I had a good time there too. In San Jose, I met a guy who returned from Puerto Viejo where he got robbed in front of the hostel where he was staying and another time when he arrived to San Jose. I went to Puerto Viejo the next day (not because of this, I planned to anyways) I consider both cities relatively safe and definitely a lot of fun, especially Puerto Viejo.
This previously described “peligroso” experiences are nothing compare to Colon. I read that it was especially dangerous, a lot of people told me so, as well. However, to get to Colombia, I needed to know which boats leave for Cartagena and when. The other option is to find one of many sailboats doing just that, they advertise these services in local hostels and the price for such voyage is around $275!
So, I wanted to see if it was possible to get a better price by talking directly to the captains of the boats. I went to Colon and there took a bus to Coco Solo – cargo ship port. One the most dangerous places in Latin America. I hoped to get to the gates of the marina without exercising my luck there. It was really meant to be that simple. I look a little Latino but I can’t help looking like not a local kind of Latino. So apparently there were some people who were interested to get to know me “closer”. It was heavily raining, which contribute to the image of “unwelcomeness”. I had to find someone to help me; there was a guy on the bus, and he almost dragged me out of the bus before the last stop. I guess he saved me from those people… There were no streets, just couple of unpaved roads with very almost ruined buildings, surprisingly they looked inhabited. I told him that I was looking for the port and he walked with me there. It was like walking through the war zone or a wild jungle at night, I could feel the eyes on me from the ruins. We waked to the gate. I could not stop wondering how helpless this place was. I have seen things like that in some rural parts of Central America and Russia. But this was different, it looked like Chernobyl, yet people lived there. I asked Carlos (this was the guy’s name) why would he live in such a place, the answer was obvious: the money, I don’t even think anybody charges them to live there…
Anyways, I did not get in to the port. Apparently, it was bought off several years ago and now the entrance was restricted. Now, I had to go back, the bus was not supposed to be back for another hour. Taxis were none existent there and telephones did not work. This was when I met Pastor Michael. I actually did not know he was a pastor. He certainly did not look like one. He had black sandals, completely worn out, a “wife-bitter” shirt, a sort of old English club jacket and an orange condom like hat. Both of these “gentlemen” walked me back to the road to get a taxi. I was so careful that I even slipped into a puddle, after Carlos helped me up; I felt that I could trust this person. My trust grew even stronger when couple of taxi drivers just ignored us, while Carlos was using to hands to point at me, indicating that it was me who needed a lift. Finally, wile Carlos was showing me his scar after he got shot (right under his heart), a taxi stopped for a woman with a little girl who came out one these buildings. I went to the city with them…
Now, let me tell you a little about Panama City itself. It does not look like New York, a lot of people say it does but it doesn’t. It looks like a merge of Acapulco and San Diego. Though, it does feel like New York at times. I mean it feels a little like home. There is a little of everything here. I found a Russian bar (accidentally) called “Rasputin”. I have never seen a Russian bar since I left, not like I miss it a lot, but Potemkin battleship poster made me feel a little nostalgic. To my surprise there were no portraits of Putin, just old soviet slogans and photos of Russian hockey players. I was told there are about 500 Russians living in Panama City. There also was Bank Leumi – an Israeli bank, I have never seen this one outside of Israel. There is a lot to like about Panama City.
It is situated on a beautiful bay, where you can watch pelicans hunting for fish. There good theaters and museums here. Skyscrapers did not impress me much but the renovated historical part of Santa Ana and San Filipe, despite the “peligroso” part was amazing.
The city is pretty big but it’s missing one vital feature: subway. It took me 2 hours to get back to Panama City from Colon and the same time from terminal to my hostel (of course I got on a wrong bus at first). However, the most important feature of course is the canal. I went to the Mira Flores locks yesterday. I saw it in action. It was amazing, a true modern wonder. It was raining too (it rains everyday now, no sun at all), and the scenery was very dramatic.
Previously, I spend half a day in David. Again, it was raining and I had a bus to catch in 5 hours, so I went to… the movies. I got myself chips and 3 bottles of beer and watched The Marine. The movie was so bad. I loved it. I felt like being back in US. Even more so, after that cheese was done I went to see another one: Primeval. It was bad too but overall experience of David was pleasant.
To get to David I took a minibus from Bocas del Toro through Chiriqui Highlands. That was the best bus ride I have ever had. I never understood the term “cloud forests” until I saw that. There were clouds moving from one hill, completely covered by the vegetations, to another. Some clouds were raining, some were not, it looked absolutely unreal.
Bocas del Toro is a set of several islands, on the northern Caribbean side of Panama. It is just a kind of (one of a very few) touristy destination in Panama.
I did not really want to go but it was close to Puerto Viejo (Costa Rica) so I went. Nothing special, except for the fact the have special kind of poisonous red frogs (really small ones) and I actually took a picture of one.
Puerto Viejo was much better. That was a special place. Costa Rica is overdeveloped and it is almost impossible to find a place like that unless you go on jeep or hike through insane number of reserves (35% of Costa Rica’s land is protected). The alternatives are a number of beach towns like Tamarindo, expensive and overpopulated. I did not go. I went to Puerto Viejo, partially because I did not want to cross the border at a Pan American highway crossing, which is a major border-crossing, and the waiting time could easily exceed 4 hours. I met Carl, a Swedish guy; he had 10 year old white dreads, a 6″ reddish beard, a pierced lip and blind style black sunglasses. It was like traveling with 10 foot pink crocodile. But it was fun; we got all the attention on the bus.
So, the town was well worth it. It was a little pricy but it is Costa Rica and I am sure it is much more expensive in Tamarindo. The beaches, the sunsets, the trees and crabs, that was Puerto Viejo.
Central Americans generally suck in making seafood dishes (they usually fry the fish like it owes them money) but this town was good for fish. I tried to read my newly exchanged Oliver Twist book but I just gave up on it and drank beer all day long (eventually I exchanged it for some space opera, about a Hispanic refugee on Jupiter; an easier read). There is also another very apparent feature of this village. It is a weed paradise. When I was checking in my hotel the receptionist was rolling a joint, which was offered to me before the actual room. There is a police station there too; it is located on a beach in front of the dancing bar, and they burn huge fires every night with loud music, drinking, and obviously ganja smoking. I stick to cigars and Panama beer, although bad, it satisfied the thirst.
Several days before that I was in San Jose, I don’t know why people generally don’t like San Jose. I did but I like big cities especially the capitals. The costal was kind of fun. The best backpackers’ hostel I ever stayed at. It was called Costa Rica Backpackers. There was really nothing to do there but I did meet some interesting people. I met Chris, the Norwegian, who taught me 3 things. One Norway is one of the most expensive countries in the world. Two, only 3% of Norwegians were actually Vikings back in the days, other were farmers. And three, the most important one, how to be “Norwegian drunk”. Apparently, several Scandinavian nations dispute for the right to be called the most drinking nation. In any case, “Norwegian drunk” is when you “drink till you drop”. Well I did. San Jose is perfectly suited for that. I was so drunk I order French fries in a Jazz bar. They had to semi-carry me to the taxi. To be honest, he did not teach me how to be “Norwegian drunk”. I knew that skill before Costa Rica, I just did not know it was called that.
Despite all the obvious fun, I also visited a Golden Museum in San Jose. It was a wonderful experience. I had no idea that it was possible to make miniature golden sculptures using “indigos” technology.
Some of the figures were so detailed I could not believe that some called these people savages. Also, there was a theater. One of the most impressive architectural structures I have seen so far in Central America, not including the churches and cathedrals. I did not get in, because the performance was due the following week, and the charged $5 entrance fee just for looking.
I can’t really summarize my experience about Costa Rica. I did not do the most obvious things, like bird and turtle-egg-laying watching, jungle hiking, and surfing. However, Costa Rica is a very pleasant country. Very clean, extremely clean, comparing to the rest of Central America, but also much more expensive. I almost had a culture shock when I crossed the border from Nicaragua. Many Americans have their second homes here many study a semester, or two “abroad”. A very welcoming country and still cheaper than most US resorts. Nevertheless, I prefer something a little less touristy, developed and luxurious. Panama? Maybe. Some say Panama is like Costa Rica 20 years ago. Don’t know it is still more expensive than, say Honduras. However, there still options, in San Jose I ate a local dish from the market for $2 with natural juice. And in Panama City I went to McDonalds for $7 (just followed the stupid crowd from hostel, don’t know why), the same amount I spent going to Colon having 2 meals there, one taxi ride, and a bus back.
Well enough for now :)
BTW Thanx everyone for cheering me up with your comments.
PS If you were to send me an sms, please provide your name with the message, because my phonebook was lost with a previous phone
