Marnix drove me to Santiago with Seneth. On the way we stopped by Carlos’ house but his wife reported that he had already left for Santiago. After a quick breakfast I walked over to the bus terminal . While attempting to check my bags I was informed by the driver that I needed a ticket. “Donde comprar?” I inquired. He pointed me to an office. The woman behind the counter shuffled papers, counted money and generally ignored me. Finally I demanded attention, “Yo necissito comprar billete pora bus hasta David.” Her reply was incomprehensible but in conjunction with her gesticulations conveyed to me the need to buy the ticket elsewhere. WTF? This is the ticket office. I met the bus driver “No possible comprar billete aqa, donda este otro?” He told me I could just pay him on the bus. Two and half hours later we pulled into Terminale David.
Arriving in David I walked to the Changinola bay and ran into a couple who run a resort on Isla Carenero in Bocas. I asked if it was not too late to arrive in Almirante in time to catch the water taxi to Bocas. He assured me that we would arrive in time. He’s a local, so I threw my hat in. Inquiring as to who wanted water I went off in pursuit of a couple of liters of agua pura. Shortly thereafter we boarded a brand new mini bus. The seats were oversized, meaning almost big enough to comfortable hold a representative North American physique excepting the foam wrap around head cushions which served as shoulder pads. We stopped to eat and picked up and dropped off passengers at many points along the way and finally arrived at Almirante where we were assaulted by the taxi drivers through the windows and at the door of the bus. I generally choose the least aggressive driver but ended up sharing a ride with the couple with one of the more obnoxious operators. A few minutes later he was attempting to take us to Janpan and operator of dubious merit as described in an earlier post and I insisted that we be dropped off at BMT. It turned out that our choice of non service was irrelevant, the many stops had delayed us past the last boat of the day. These guys don’t like to operate in the dark and with good reason. Indians frequent the water at all hours, in little dugout canoes called cayucas with but a few inches of freeboard and no lights. The are impossible to see except at low speed on a full moon and cloudless skies.
An independent, non sanctioned entrepreneur offered to take us for $10, the usual fare being $4. This annoyed Bram so much that he wanted to stay at a hotel in Almirante for $40 and leave his dog stuck in side his house in Bocas overnight. “What the fuck? There are but six of us the regular boats hold 30, he’ll be coming back empty, after paying for his fuel he isn’t clearing much.” I indicated that I was going to avail myself of his services, his pregnant wife pled with him and he uncivilly acquiesced. “I hope you fuckers don’t ever need my help!”. Six passengers were deposited at the water taxi terminal 35 minutes later. I walked to Casa Verde wearing two packs and trailing a large rolling suitcase which held some possessions I had reclaimed in Santa Fe. I recognized not a soul. Three months gone and I knew no one. There was not a room to be had and I walked down the street to Hotel Ola where accommodations were available on the third floor. I had a spacious room with private bath, television and air conditioning. That having been taken care of I walked back to Casa Verde, got my packs, walked back and up the stairs, depositing said portion of my luggage. Another trip later I returned with my suitcase.
Locking up my goods I returned to Casa Verde to find my old friend Walter and his running mate, Stephen. Beautiful young women in bikinis were everywhere, the band started to play. I was home again.
Jonathan Allen LaFleur