Panama! Misadventures The Third (Fun) Part

[I just noticed that this is my 100th post since I started this blog back in August.  I don't know what that means... maybe I like to blog?]

Lest you think it was all a disaster, G and I managed to have a blast despite our initial misadventures. Once we got our passports and some emergency cash wired to us, courtesy of our very awesome significant others and parents (admittedly I felt like a bit of an asshole/spoiled brat going to various money sending establishments and trying to explain in Spanish that I needed for my father to send me money from the United States), we were off to Bocas del Toro, a popular archipelago in western Panama.

Bocas del Toro is located on the western Caribbean coast, which for Panama is also the northern part of the country.  There are beaches with turquoise waters and white sands, but also plenty of dark water and mangroves in the areas that are protected from the open sea.

We stayed for four nights on Isla Colón, where Bocas Town is located, and two nights on Bastimentos, a more sparsely-inhabited island about five mintes away by boat.  While Bocas Town offers many places to stay, eat, party, etc., Bastimentos offers a more mellow scene.  There are only a handful of restaurants, no cars, and not much of a tourist scene.  The downside is that the shoreline in the ‘town’ area is littered with all kinds of trash.  Parts of the island are pristine, but you need to take a boat from your hostel or hotel to the more scenic spots.

One day we rented kayaks and paddled from Bocas Town to Bastimentos, which turned out to be rather punishing. We had forgotten how difficult kayaking is, especially when the sun is strong and your sunglasses pinch your head. (Please keep in mind that all photos in this post are from a crappy disposable camera):

This is me with the worst headache of my life, wondering if I can make it all the way back to the rental shop or if I need to be rescued.

Much of our time in Bocas Town was spent photographing local dogs:


As well as my interactions with them:


One of my favorite days involved an epic bike ride (20 miles round trip over a sometimes-paved road) through tropical farmland/jungle to Boca del Drago, the other ‘town’ on Isla Colón.




Once we arrived in Boca del Drago, we were exhausted and had to think about getting back, so we had lunch (the usual amazing and cheap fish, patacones, coconut beans/rice, and the ubiquitous Coca-Cola Light):

Then it was time to head back. Our butts did not appreciate getting back onto those hard plastic bike seats, but we had no choice.

We had a few great days at various beaches, of course:

And had an excellent time going on a boat tour that involved looking for bottle nose dolphins (we saw a few) and snorkeling (gorgeous) in the rain:

All in all, it was a great time, even when I take into account the mugging.  The thing with getting your shit stolen is that even though you’re more of an easy target when you’re in a foreign country, it can happen pretty much anywhere, and it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep seeking out adventure.  I know I will think twice about going out at night in a foreign city the next time I travel, but my experience will not prevent me from traveling to countries like Panama.  I give the country five stars!

Panama! Misadventures Part Dos

When I last left off, my friend G and I were flagging down a cab in the Santa Ana neighborhood of Panama City after having our passports, credit cards, camera, and money stolen by some teenage punks. Yes, it was stupid to be wandering around the hood in PC at night (especially when you are a group of two or more women, which attracts unwanted attention no matter where you are). However we’d been sketched out by our previous cab ride, and we were staying in an area that was not our first choice, due to every other cheap hostel and hotel being booked that night. I consider myself a savvy traveler and an unusually cautious person, so the fact that we fell prey to this hurts my pride a bit. I get over that feeling quickly when I realize that this kind of thing happens to everyone, and I’m just glad we made it out of there alive.

After telling off our creepy cab driver and stumbling out back into the night but into familiar territory, we wandered back to Mamallena, the first hostel we’d stayed at, aka home sweet home. The Australian dude who runs the place, Stuart, has got a dry sense of humor and has undoubtedly seen his fair share of American and European backpacker douches, even during his short tenure as a hostel owner. However he couldn’t have been nicer to us in our hour of need. We had no cash, no ID, and no means of making a phone call. G was scraped up from her scuffle with the three punks whom it took to steal her bag. We would have been royally screwed if we’d have had to have gone back to our hotel in Santa Ana.

Stuart let us make a long series of phone calls to banks to cancel bank cards, and to family to have some money sent to us. He insisted we have a drink. He let us sleep on the couches, and even offered to lend us money. The kindness we experienced that night seemed miraculous to me, and makes me rethink my preference for staying in locally-owned, off-the-beaten-path establishments. Sometimes being plugged in and having the resources of a trendy hostel is a godsend. In short, if you’re a budget traveler going to Panama City, do yourself a favor and stay at Mamallena. In addition to being awesome, they can also hook you up with an amazing trip to the San Blas Islands, which is nearly impossible to do yourself.

After a short night of sleep on the couch cushions of Mamallena’s patio, G and I embarked for the police station once more, to finish filing our report. As stupid as filing a police report seems, it was totally necessary in our case, especially since we were to get emergency passports that lacked an entrance stamp. Our police report answered the quizzical looks of more than one airport security professional.

We had a fairly good experience with the interpreter at the police station, and were soon on our way to the US Embassy. We had a flight booked to Bocas del Toro (western Panamanian archipelago) the next day, but neither of us had high hopes for getting documents immediately. We didn’t have any sort of ID on us. We took a number, sat in the waiting area, and hoped for the best.

It turns out that losing your passport in Panama City as an American ain’t that big of a deal. Two hours and $100 later, I had a brand-new emergency passport, complete with the worst-ever passport photo (taken in a passport photo truck outside the embassy the morning after being mugged, on about 3 hours’ sleep). Our trip to Bocas would actually happen!

From here on out, it was remarkably smooth sailing. With passports we could get money wired to us, and instead of stressing about the money we had lost, we just tried to keep a strict budget. We’d already bought our tickets to Bocas, and we had another week to enjoy being in the tropics.

Up next: actual photos of our trip, taken by us.

Panama! Misadventures Part I

Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. If you’re still with me, I’d like to tell you about my two wild weeks on the great isthmus of Panama.   It’s hard not to start with the worst part, as it explains why I have only a handful of not-so-great photos.

My friend G and I decided back in November, over a bottle of wine, to take a trip somewhere outside the country.  It’s my policy to grab any free time in between jobs and school sessions in order to travel.  I haven’t been making a lot of money lately, but I kind of needed to go somewhere.  It had been too long since I’d been anywhere for fun, and I was about to being a 2-year-plus graduate program.  A recession may seem like a bad time to go on a vacation, but let me first assure you that a) I needed this vacation as much as anyone can truly “need” a vacation and b) it was a pretty cheap-ass trip, as far as going to another country goes.  Think eggs and toast for dinner and sharing a double bed.

We chose Panama because it was relatively cheap, close, warm, and not Mexico.  I have nothing against Mexico, only that it’s a large country with a lot of lame parts to it, and it just seems easier to find cool stuff when you’re in either a smaller country or in a country with fewer tourist traps.

We arrived in Panama City on January 3rd, checked in to our hostel, the wonderful Mamallena, and set about exploring the city.  As far as Central America goes, Panama City is a metro area worth checking out.  There are fun markets in Santa Ana, beautiful old churches in Casco Viejo, and possibly the biggest mall I’ve ever been to in Albrook.  There’s also the canal, which we visited, and a handful of other fun places, such as the Causeway (a strip connecting three islands where you can rent bikes, which we did).

Our first mini-adventure was to the San Blas Islands.  In a way, I’m not that sad that we don’t have photos from this part of the trip, as anything you find online is a pretty accurate portrayal.  Let us pause for some eye candy:

After a bumpy and muddy 2.5 hour trek north in a 4-wheel drive, we were left at a swampy launch point, where we were picked up in a long motorized canoe. We were taken an hour out to sea until we reached an island that looked a lot like the first photo – absolutely pristine white sand, perhaps a quarter mile at the longest point, and surrounded by a bunch of other islands that weren’t permanently inhabited.

The San Blas islands are part of a Comarca (reservation) for the indigenous Kuna people. Though there are around 400 islands, the Kuna inhabit only a few dozen. After two days and one night on white sand paradise, eating fish and rice and drinking Coca Cola Light that was ferried out to us, we were taken back to an island that resembles the second photo. It was wall-to-wall thatched roof huts, with narrow paths leading in between. Outhouses were merely platforms built over the water, and trash was unfortunately dumped all over the shoreline. We spent one night in a hut, had a great time letting some young kids compose photos with my camera of us and the other kids wearing sunglasses and holding their toys, and then made our way back to Panama City, sunburnt but in great spirits after getting in some quality island time.

This is where the trouble began. Mamallena was booked, and so was pretty much every other place I called. Finally, I found a place called Hotel Colón, in Santa Ana. They had rooms for $22/night, and the neighborhood was right next to Casco Viejo, the old part of town with all the pretty colonial architecture. We had fun walking around the neighborhood, enjoying all the restaurants, shops, and life going on around us. We congratulated ourselves on finding a locally-owned hotel in a great neighborhood. However, that night we got mugged.

We were walking back from Casco Viejo after eating dinner. It was about 9pm. We weren’t too into the idea of catching a cab back, as our previous driver had been sketchy as hell. I had a map with me, and it was only ten blocks. What we didn’t know was that those ten blocks went straight through the worst part of Santa Ana – what is known as the ‘red zone’ – i.e. where gang violence and the like goes down.

I never felt in any great danger, even after a young dude came up to me and starting verbally bothering me in Spanish. There were at least a few dozen people within earshot, and the street was clearly lit. Before I knew it, he was reaching for my messenger bag, the strap of which was diagonal across my chest. My first reaction was to struggle with him and fight him for it, which included pulling on my bag and kicking at him. I looked around and G was on the ground, surrounded by three teenagers. She was screaming, but thankfully all they wanted was her bag.

As soon as we were free of our bags and the gang of kids ran off, we uselessly tried getting help from the passers-by. No one seemed to care, or was willing to offer assisstance. I later learned that a lot of people in this neighborhood are afraid of the teenage gang members. After a few tries, we found a cab that would stop for us.

Thanks to G, who remained calm and reasonable and also had $3 stashed in the pocket of her shorts, we decided to go back to Mamallena in the Perejil/Calidonia neighborhood and ditch our Santa Ana hotel. Our creepy driver took our $3, but not before asking us for our phone number. We got out, shaken and jumpy, and made our way to the hostel. Among the items stolen were our passports, all other forms of ID, $300 cash, our cameras, guide books, prescriptions, G’s ipod and phone, and lots of monetarily insignificant but important items. Our clothes were back at the other hotel, but we had no money or documentation there.

Up next… the thrilling conclusion