PANAMA

By Devaki MacDonald

The town’s friendly, relaxed atmosphere seemed to rub off on everybody.  Bocas Del Toro had a reputation for cancelling people’s plans - it was easy to get stuck there.  That’s exactly what had happened to me, I had gotten stuck.  I intended on spending just a few days on the island and I was already on my third week.

Having just arrived from Costa Rica, I crossed over to panama on the Caribbean side.  I found myself on Isla Colon, an island off the eastern coast.  Isla Colon is the largest of all the islands that compile the archipelago of Bocas Del Toro.

After travelling fast and hard for six months through Central America, I needed a break, a pause.  This was a good spot to do it.   Isla Colon was a pleasant mix of beautiful beaches, coral reefs, jungle, and a mellow Caribbean vibe.  Reggae boomed from every corner and nobody worried about doing anything until tomorrow - ‘manana, manana.’  I fit in just fine here. 

“Where are you off to today?” asked Rebecca.  She was packing her beach bag.

“Are you going to sell jewellery this early?  There won’t be people on the beach yet.”

“I think I’ll tour over to Isla Bastimentos today to check out Wizard Beach.  I hear it’s pretty spectacular.  A few of the local artisans told me I may be able to sell there as well.  It is a surfer’s beach so if the waves are good today it should be busy.” 

“When I was there the other day the beach was full of people” she told me.  The wooden floor boards of our thatch-roofed cabaña creaked as she briskly walked back and forth looking for her shades.  The boards sounded weak, like we would fall through the floor at any second and plunge into the water below.

“Were there many people selling jewellery there?” I asked her.

“No man, there was barely anybody selling stuff there, so you should do well.  There are lots of surfers on the beach from the time the sun comes up until it goes down,”

“How is the trip over there?’

“Oh, it’s a breeze.  You can get dropped off in the town, or you can take the boat right around the other side of the island which will leave you beside the beach.  If you get off in the town, it’s a twenty minute walk from there.”

I hung the jewellery display I had constructed off my shoulder.  It was made with a frame of thin, plastic, p.v.c tubing and a piece of velvet cloth I had sewn around it.  Fine thread was woven through the velvet to create an equal pattern of rows where the earrings safely secured themselves.  They jingled and jangled as I walked. 

Rebecca admired some earrings as she finished smearing sun screen on her freckly face and slipped on her flip flops.  She was already wearing one of my necklaces and matching earrings.

  I had met her only a few days before when he arrived from the mainland with a pack of travelling fire jugglers.  Her crew consisted of fire jugglers, throwers, breathers, spinners and a hula hoop girl.  Rebecca spun a large staff with Kevlar balls on each end that lit on fire.  The whole clan were South American except for her, she was from Colorado.  We would all go out at night and put on huge fire shows in the town.  I spun two chains with fire balls on each end, and we were working on a performance together.  In the five short days we had known each other, we had already become surprisingly close.  These quick friendships weren’t entirely uncommon in the world of back packing, particularly when travelling alone.  one develops close bonds with certain people quite fast, just as we had.

We were sharing a small cabaña to save on money.  The small cost of three dollars a day each seemed very reasonable for our tiny hut that floated over the ocean on four stilts.  Covered in a palm thatched roof with a thin ramp that led up to the door, the cabin was a small dose of paradise. 

“Careful of the waves on the beach because they are really strong.  There is a powerful undercurrent,” she warned me.                                                                            
“Well, I’m going to try and make it back tonight, but if not, don’t wait up for me,” I told her.

She smirked and replied, “I know better.  I’m off to the beach down the road to go get a sun burn,” she joked.  “I’ll walk out with you.”

We left the cabaña together and parted ways.  As I turned to head for the water taxi dock Rebecca called after me.

“Hey if you come across any of those red, poison dart frogs don’t be licking their backs for kicks!”

I giggled and adjusted my day pack.  The bottle of water and lunch I had packed weighed it down and its straps dug into my shoulders.  A piece of jewellery wire stuck out of the side and gouged me in the back.  My trusty, portable display dangled from my one shoulder and a tube of hand woven bracelets hung from the other.  The water taxi driver looked at me strangely as I approached the dock.

“Bastimentos!!” he shouted loudly for everyone to hear, even though I was standing right in front of him.

“Bastimentos!”  he repeated in a thick Caribbean accent.  He had some competition as three other boat drivers tried to out scream him. 

“Bastimentos!  Bastimentos!  Bastimentos!” they all cried. 

“A quanto?” I asked the first driver.

“Two Dolla,” he answered me in English even though I had addressed him in Spanish.  I always found that a bit infuriating.

“One fifty,” I offered in Spanish.  The other drivers would give me bartering power.

“I’ll take you for one fifty,” another driver offered.

 The first driver gave him a nasty look and motioned for me to come on board.  I had learned in my travels to always offer less as locals would automatically charge me more for being blond and foreign. 

Although only a mere ten minute boat ride away, Bastimentos was a different world.  The northern coast was surrounded with thick, vine strewn jungle and palm fringed beaches, the canopy led all the way to the edge of the beach.  Dramatic landscapes with large rock faces, covets and inlets, spring fed creeks and offshore rock outcroppings made this special spot even more remarkable.  A nesting ground for sea turtles, home to the poison dart red frog, and a sanctuary for the scarlet macaw and white faced monkey’s,  Bastimentos was the first national park in the country and its preservation had paid off.  The beauty was undeniable. 

As we pulled into the dock, I realized I was on the wrong side of the island; Wizard Beach was on the other side. 

“Are you going around to the other side?” I asked.

“A dolla fifty only get you dis far,” he smirked at me.

“Okay I get it,” I thought to myself.  I wasn’t in the mood to play this game today so I grabbed my board and jumped off.  We had arrived at the tiny islands only town, the town of Bastimentos.  The small village consisted of one street that wound around and up into the hills.  It was lined with colourful shack like houses, painted with vibrant Caribbean colors of bright blue, orange and pink.  The streets were full of people; it seemed the entire village was outside.  They were everywhere, sitting on their porches, hanging out on the street, and playing craps on the road.

 I ducked into the only ‘tienda’ around to buy myself a yogurt.  The clerk behind the counter was a young girl who was braiding her sister’s hair.  Her fingers moved quickly and it was obvious she had much practise in the art of braiding.  They were watching television as I entered.  They both completely ignored me as I stood at the counter and continued watching ‘novelas’- their national soap opera.  I cleared my throat and still… nothing. 

“Um… excuse me?” I interrupted.

The girl lazily turned her head towards me.  She looked annoyed that I had the nerve to want to buy something during soap opera hour; I wasn’t new to this either kind of treatment either.  Customer service in Latin America is, shall we say, a little below our standards.  Her eye caught my jewellery and she nudged her sister.

“Whatcha got der girl?” she asked.  Now I had their attention.  “How much you want for dem der earrins?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I offered.  “I’ll trade you a pair for a yogurt and a granola bar, plus directions to Wizard Beach.”

The girl nodded in agreement and I handed her the earrings.  Trading and bartering are a common way of life here.  I never knew when my jewellery could come in handy, hence why I carried it everywhere.   She gave me directions and I packed the yogurt in my bag and left. 

Wizard Beach – otherwise known as Playa Primera- was rumoured to be the prettiest beach on the island. It was said to be filled with powder yellow sand and backed by thick jungle.  The beach was accessed by a wilderness trail that stemmed off the back of the cemetery, winding and twisting through the tropical forest. 

No real roads or cars were on the island, just a beaten down path that was easy to stray from. Without realizing it I had cut into someone’s back yard by accident as I tried to reach the cemetery.  A large, voluptuous Caribbean woman was washing her clothes on a wash board, her baby was screaming beside her.  She paid no mind to the hysterical child but eyed me wearily as her other son wandered over to where I was.  He had been beating an old tire with a stick, maybe six years of age.

“Hola!” he flashed me a big smile.  “Que haces?” he asked me.

“What am I doing?” I replied.  “I’m lost, how do I get to the cemetery?” I asked him in Spanish.

“Por alla,” he pointed up and over the hill with his stick.

His mother had stopped washing now and was watching us with a concerned look on her face, obviously wondering what my business was there.  I waved to her and began up the hill.

The cemetery was scattered with large stone graves, a common sight in a Latin American graveyard; as they buried their dead in above ground coffins.   Only a dozen or so coffins filled the tiny yard.  Each one was covered in dead, dry leaves fallen from the canopy above, and no fresh flowers graced the top, only old, withered ones.  Their presence added to the dark essence that consumed the area.  The atmosphere was highly charged.  I felt drawn to take some photos of this moment; it felt gothic, slightly morbid.  A pang of guilt swept over me as I snapped a few shots of the dead, sleeping in their resting place.  The memory of that particular spot is still quite vivid.

On the far side I could distinguish two paths.  The path to the right looked far more travelled, but I was sure I had been advised to stick to the left.  As I stared down each path, contemplating which route to take, a pair of macaw parrots swooped down from the canopy and disappeared into the forest.  That was sign enough for me.  I followed them down the path to my left.  A friend once had told me that parrots find a mate and stay with them for life.  If their partner dies they never search for another.  I thought of how romantic that was and wondered if I would ever be lucky enough to find the same loyalty.

Sauntering down the path, it veered immediately inward.   Within seconds I was surrounded by thick bush.  The familiar sensation of adventure came over me.  This feeling is my vice, my addiction, what entices me to walk the world; the only thing that makes sense to me.

As I strolled along, I admired the different plants and trees.  The forest was mixed with hardwoods and palms, vines and ferns, orchids and bromeliad; it seemed to breathe all on its own, one giant organism.  It made me feel inferior, small yet connected to something bigger and more important than just me.  The brush became thicker and thicker as I trudged on.  My senses seemed heightened.  I could hear the birds and the crickets so clearly.  The sound of the ocean far, far off in the distance, almost harmonized with the sounds of the jungle.  It was like a concert.  Slowly the path became thinner, and then thinner.  A wave of doubt came over me as the path diminished. 

Was I on the right track?  Didn’t she tell me to stay to my left?  Or was it right? I couldn’t remember now. 

“I’ve come this far. The path must lead somewhere,” I reassured myself.

The trail continued to shrink.  At one point I did turn back, but only a few feet before I changed my mind.  I shook off my doubt and noticed that my shoes were beginning to stick as the ground turned to mud, but I didn’t pay much mind.  Plants and vines grabbed out at me, snagging pieces of my jewellery and scratching my bare legs.  I was forced to flip my board around in order to protect my work as it faced inwards.  Other than that things were going fairly smoothly.
My sandal slipped off as it stuck in the mud.  I reached down to yank it out and as I stood up I came face to face with a giant spider!  She was almost the same size as my face and had spun her web reaching from one side of the path to the other.  It was strategically placed in flyways between the trees, measuring at least one meter in diameter.  I was so close that it shook from my breath and glistened in the sun.  One more step and I would have been wearing her on my face.  Her intricate web was a sign that this path had not been travelled on today, it looked as though she had been working on it for a while.

Careful not to disturb her delicate masterpiece I attempted to crawl under it.  Unfortunately, a piece she had spun to the ground caught my hair and as I stood up on the other side her whole web - with her on it - followed me.  I could see her begin to scatter, fleeing right towards my dreadlocks.  Startled I leaped and jolted to the side using my tube of bracelets to severe the strand that was leading her to me.  My heart was pounding and I was so grateful not to be wearing the giant spider as a hat that I didn’t notice where I was standing.

I had stepped in quick sand.  Well, more like quick mud.  Not realizing the gravity of the situation, I tried to pull my foot out, there was no use; it was stuck.  I tried to balance myself but as the other foot came down, it too went under.  Both my feet began to descend fast.   In an attempt not to panic I balanced my jewellery board on a sturdy rock to support myself.  Leaning my weight on the board I strained with all my might to free my foot.  The board bent and catapulted, flying ten feet in the air and landing face down in the muck.  I cursed and grabbed the closest tree trunk.

“Ouch!”

Screeching in pain I withdrew my hand and cradled as it oozed blood.  Thorns filled the inside of my palms, painfully I plucked them out.

The sludge almost reached my knees now.  I was tugging my legs with all my force to no avail, finally my one foot came loose.  Carefully examining the next tree before grabbing a hold, I seized it for some assistance.  I pulled and pulled until my one foot shot out and I sprung forward.  I came toppling out and landed face down in the mud, both my hands sunk fast.  I was instantly up to my elbows and sinking.  My knees began to sink again.

“I feel like I’m playing twister in the mud!” I muttered, trying to make light of the situation.  My body was contorted and bent.  I thought of how no one would ever hear my cries out here and pictured the quick sand engulfing me completely.  Where would it lead?   Was it a bottomless pit?  Would I just sink until I fell out of the other end of the earth?  Hmmm, maybe I would reach Australia if I could hold my breath long enough.  I’d always wanted to go to Australia.

 As I strained to free one hand the other sank in deeper from the pressure.  I knew I had to get my hand out quickly before both legs were submerged yet again.  Hooking my ankle around the tree, I pulled with everything I had and finally managed to get the other hand out. 

 All four limbs were officially out, I was free!!  No wait….I was filthy.

There I was, muddy and relieved.  My board was almost as dirty as I was as I peeled it out of the mud.  I didn’t even care.  I was just happy to be out.  Mud covered my legs up past my knees and caked my arms up to my elbows.  It was smeared all over my face.  My shoes were gone and there was no way I was about to try getting them back.  I knew now I was lost, but there was no turning back.  Dirty, barefoot and lost I stumbled down the path.

“This path must lead to somewhere,” I said aloud.  The sound of my own voice made me feel better.

 Balancing on a tiny rock I watched in awe as a giant, Morpho butterfly emerged from the woods.  Her iridescent, blue wings fluttered in front of me, closing them as she landed the vibrant color disappeared and she transformed into a moth.  The outside of her wings were dull and brown with a giant eye in the middle.  It looked like she was staring right at me.  I thought about her ability to camouflage herself so effortlessly and transform into something completely different at her whim.  I felt a twang of envy.  

Then I was distracted by another bright color from the corner of my eye.  There it was, the famous red frog.  It was strange to think that such a small thing could be so potent; he was no bigger than my thumbnail.   This particular part of the rainforest was famous for these tiny creatures.  “La rana roja” (as they are known) have been used for thousands of years by the indigenous.  Actually, the Indians of Western Colombia used the alkaloid poison that excretes from their glands to taint their blow-gun darts.  They would prick the red frogs’ backs with arrows and blow them out of a small hollow tube at their victims.  The dart would send them into a highly induced hallucinogenic state, making them easy to capture or kill.  Enough of this poison would prove lethal.  The trip from these frogs is rumoured to be very intense. 

I reminded myself what Rebecca had said.

“No toad licking in the jungle.” Her words echoed through my mind.
Although I can’t deny the notion of touching this seemingly harmless creature to my tongue wasn’t slightly tempting, I thought of my family, my friends, and how they would feel if I overdosed on a poison dart frog in the jungle.   Maybe he would turn into a jungle prince and we could frolic around the rainforest for the remainder of days.

The truth was that the smallest amount would do the trick.  Its poison is one of the most powerful known and can cause paralysis or death – or just one hell of a trip.  He’s so potent in fact that one millionth of an ounce is enough to kill a dog and an amount smaller than a grain of salt can kill a human. One tiny frog contains enough venom to kill a hundred people. 

I decided against it, perhaps next time.

Barefoot, grubby, and teetering on a stone, I hopped from rock to rock until I was sure that I had cleared the evil sinking mud pit.  I had faith I could make my way out, even though the path was now overrun with plants, trees and vines.

“Where’s a machete when you need one?” I thought to myself.

Yanking leaves out of the way, pulling back branches and ducking under the thick jungles arms and legs, I came to a dead stop.  In front of me was a massive fallen tree, it was blanketed in thick moss and foliage.  Lying right in the middle of the passageway - well, what was left of it - its giant roots protruded from the bottom to my right, spreading across the jungle floor and increasingly large branches stretched and reached so far to my left that they disappeared into the woods.  The old child’s rhyme chimed through my head and I sang out loud.

“Can’t go over it?  Gotta go under it.  Can’t go under it?  Gotta go around it.”

Since I couldn’t go around it, and there was no going under it, I was left with only one option.  As I began to scale the side I continued humming the catchy tune.  Standing on top of the tree it offered a completely different view of the forest.  I was no longer on the forest floor,  now looking at the understory of the canopy; I had moved up a level and wondered what it must be like for the monkeys and toucans looking down from the very top.  They had the pent house view.  I could hear the white faced monkey screeching above and the trees rustled about but I couldn’t make one out clearly.  

 I took a deep breath, enjoying the view, I felt like the only person alive.  No….wait…I felt….a pang in my neck….then on my ear…then down my back!!  I leapt down the other side like my feet were on fire.  However, the only thing on fire was the ants.  Fire ants!!

I dropped everything as I hit the ground, my board, my bag, my clothes.  I slipped out of my dress and used it to swat away the ants.  They filled my hair and were climbing through my bathing suit, in between my toes and under my armpits. 

“How did they cover me so quickly?” I cried.

Looking up I realized the trees branches were covered.  They must have been marching militantly off the trees arm right onto my head.  Every time I thought the last one was gone, another tore an exc

ruciating chunk out of me.  They had spread from my head to toe in seconds.  Tropical fire ants are huge; they bite hard and have enough venom in them to give your head a tingle.  Swollen bumps began to surface all over my neck.  These red devils can injure and even kill live stock, and small birds are fair game for an expanding colony.  Farm machinery has even been known to be damaged by running over a mound and they can quickly strip fruit trees of their fruit.  Although they are believed to be essential to the tropical forests ecosystem by turning soil, redistributing nutrients and removing small dead or dying creatures I had trouble appreciating their contribution to the environment at that moment.

   I decided to get out of there and stumbled in my bare feet, continually wiping them from my body.  Long after they were gone, I could still feel them crawling over me.  The evidence they left behind was more than apparent from all the lumps I boar.

I should have been overwhelmed by fear, but for some reason I didn’t feel in any danger.   I felt empowered by my dirty bare feet and my lack of direction.  I wondered if I would ever be able to fully relive the events of this day to tell the story as raw and vivid as the experience itself. 

My step began to lighten as my confidence grew back and I thought of the beach and how I was bound to reach it.  It would be worth this crazy trek once I could slip into the salty water.  My positive thinking paid off, and the trail began to widen and the trees grew farther apart as if they had been cleared.  The dirt path turned to green grass and rolled up a hill.  I emerged into an open field.
As I crossed the open meadow I saw smoke billowing out from over the other side of the hill.  A small wooded shack with a palm thatched roof appeared.  Corn and bananas grew in the yard, and scattered down the side of the hill, reaching the house that sat at the bottom.  I peered over the edge.

“Hola?” I called out wearily. 

“Is anybody home?” Suddenly I felt a bit self conscious about being in someone’s yard in the woods.  I hesitated before calling out again and when no one answered I turned to leave.

Just then, as I was giving up, I heard a rustle coming through the corn field.  It sounded as if it something was climbing towards me through the plants. The rustle got closer and louder until I could see the crops begin to shake.  Strangely there was no visible person hovering over the leaves, which maybe sat only four and a half feet high.  The leaves began to part, dividing on front of someone…….or something.

Taking a few steps back, I became a bit nervous.  I thought of the circumstances and weighed my options.  Should I split?  Or wait to see what comes out?  I opted to wait and see what came out.  I pictured some large animal prowling slowly through the bushes on all fours, perhaps a tiger, or a jaguar, or a vicious wild pig – which weren’t entirely uncommon in these parts.  I just hoped it wasn’t hungry….oh my god. 

The last few giant leaves parted and a little man emerged.  He was cross-eyed and hunchbacked and stood maybe four and a half feet tall, I could almost say he looked a little deformed.  It was a dwarf!  A jungle-dwelling, cross-eyed dwarf!
I was startled by his appearance and my eyes moved downwards and rested on the large machete dangling from his hand.  The huge knife unnerved m, but I reassured myself that he was working the fields and it was a common tool in these parts.  I stood there staring at him, and he at me.  I was so preoccupied with his appearance that I had totally forgotten about my own.

There I stood in a ripped, blue slip and no shoes.  I had mud caked and dried up to my knees and elbows, smeared across my face.  My dreadlocks were protruding out of my head and sticking out in every direction, full of twigs, grass and fire ants.  My face was burn red to a crisp (as usual) with a peeling nose.  My trusty jewellery board still dangled from my side – equally grimy – it was covered with seeded jewellery, feather earrings and necklaces made of bones and teeth.

I questioned which one of us was really out of place.  Which of us didn’t belong, him or I?  Was it the midget jungle man or the dirty lost hippy?

He broke the silence with a toothless grin

“You lost?” he asked knowingly.

I relaxed and tried to focus on his good eye.

 “I was on my way to Wizard and got lost.  There was quick sand and fire ants and…” I stammered.

“Sucio,” (dirty) he said, pointing at my feet.  He plucked a banana from a nearby tree and handed it to me.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee and clean up a bit?” he asked.

I declined thankfully, I wasn’t comfortable going into his house, plus I just wanted to get to the beach.

The small man seemed unconscious of his strange appearance, which made me feel more comfortable. 

“It’s not very often we have people passing through here,” he told me.  “I’m surprised you stumbled on us.  Which way did you come from?”

“I came from that way,” I pointed over the hill.

“From that way?!” he exclaimed.  “Why that’s barely even a trail.  Nobody uses that path anymore.  No wonder you look so dishevelled.”

  I half expected six other little dwarfs to come marching out from the bush carrying axes and picks and whisk me off to their cabin full of creatures to hide me from the evil queen.  As much as I would like to think of my life as a fairytale (and I would make a great snow white) the fact remained that I was lost in the jungle. 

“Can you tell me how to get out of here?” I asked.

“Well, that path leads to the shore,” he pointed with his machete, waving it in the air.  “Do you want me to accompany you?” he eyed me eagerly. 

“Thanks but I think I should be fine.  I just follow that path?”

He looked a little disappointed, but nodded none-the-less.  It’s probably not every day that a gringa passes by this place.  I thanked him again and sauntered down the trail.  Relieved to know where I was going, I also felt a little disappointed that the adventure was over. 

I thought of all the days’ bizarre events.  The thought of the beach forced my feet to move faster, eager to arrive.  It would all be worth it once I got there.  Winding around though giant trees and dangling vines, I began to hear the crashing of the waves in the distance.  I must have been gone for hours and hours, maybe six or eight.  I wasn’t sure.   Time had been completely distorted.  The waves became closer and closer until an opening appeared and the shore became visible.  The beach transpired in front of me, and I rushed to take in the sight.

Finally my feet touched the sand and I got a good glimpse of where I was.  I gasped, unable to believe what I was seeing.  I sat down defeated.

“All that walking, how is this possible?” I said out loud.

There was a familiar shack beside me with a familiar boy beating an old tire with a stick. 

I had come out exactly where I had started.