Like Peregrine Roam

Imagine my luck, heading to one of the top hiking trails in Panama without a camera. Luckily, the Spanish girl pities my crest-fallen state and offered all the photos from her camera for the duration of the day (she also made for a great translator). Having seen photos of the quetsales bird, we were willing to take any risk to get a chance at seeing one. The danger is part of the adventure I suppose.

The trail is in total about 23 km long, we opted to go the long way from Boquete to Cerra Punta, total elevation gain 1000 meters, over course of 13 km. The remainder of the distance is just the road leading to and from the trail from the respective towns. We woke at 5am and got to the trail head by 6:30am before paying the $3 requisite fee to enter the park (part of the Volcan Baru national park). Lush indeed is the dense tropical rainforest with orchids and resplendent birds singing the entire way. However, it’s sad to report that the trail itself has fallen into disrepair as neglect compile with a freakish storm this pass November has cause massive amounts of landslide to the point that the trail is altogether destroyed at two places. It was quite dangerous at those junctions as one can’t even find the trail, and unless some serious repair work is done, some on is bound to be seriously injured soon.

We never did see the quetzales, but heard the through the thick canopy. It took us about 7.5 hours of strenuous hiking to finish the trail. The pain was well worth it. This has to be among the top five trails I’ve ever trekked! At the end, we hitched a ride from a friendly local to Volcan, then took a 2 hours bus back to David, then another hour bus back to Poquete. Exhausted.

In your life, what memories will you keep for all innumerable moments forgotten? On night of April 8th, after a long wait at the bus terminal, I bought a ticket for the express midnight bus bound for David along the Panamanian highway. As it happened, the moon hung full in transit and illuminated the forest canopies in a mystical silver glow through the entire night. Unable to sleep much I stared out the window only to see my subfusc reflection superimposed on the forested hills. It was a most surreal existential and ecstatic experience of which only another having traversed the share route can appreciate. How can one describe in words a beauty that is only experiential?

Having arrived in David at 6am, I boarded another local bus to the hill-nested town of Boquete, population 5,000. The town is replete with heavily forested hills, coffee plantations, gardens, low-drifting clouds kissing the hillsides, and the river Caldera meandering all the above. Having settled to the hostel, I wandered the circuitous road that winds around the vicinity; pass lush jungles, tropical gardens, small farms, and coffee-scented plantations as the road wended up the hills and back down – in a word, picturesque. It was much needed escape from the urban capital.

Ecstasy seeks like company. Upon returning after the 4 hour hike, I met some other travels – a Spanish and a Dutch, both of whom were staying at the same hostel. On a lark, I joined them on an afternoon excursion to a natural hotspring (heated by the Baru Volcano nearby). The 25 km drive and trail there was just spectacular, idyllic scenery. The springs themselves where next to the Caldera river downstream and seethed at a soothing 40 degrees C (102 F). Unfortunately, in my haste and excitement I sat in the hot pool with my camera still in the pocket! Oh the agony. Anyway, I was in such high spirits and the incident did not dampen my mood at all. We all swam in the cool river after the hot springs dip before heading after sunset. As we did not arrange a ride back to town from the remote location, we walked out of the trail as darkness descended. To everyone’s surprise, fireflies started lighting up on all sides… just amazing experience. However, getting back to town was a story in it’s own.

All in a long day’s adventure. Tomorrow I shall hike the famed 23 km Quetzales trail to try to see the quetzals.

So, it’s only fair that I learn some Spanish along the way – actually, in retrospect, Spanish would have been most useful. Irregardless, some things culturally specific to Panama just gets lost in translation altogether: e.g., the “Chicken Buses”, which are basically yellow U.S. school buses sold and repurposed to the third world. What’s unique is that they’re graffitied all over in spray paint a la urban “art”. Yesterday I saw one bus named the “Ghetto Life”, on the front of the bus was spray painted in big words “Pussy Hound” (I can’t make that up). I find them grotesque but some how it just blends so harmoniously to scene.

Other cultural oddities strike me as well; for example, having wander a long way on foot down Avenida Central today, I noticed that the street vendors sold Chinese incense along with their candles for Roman Catholic worship. Now, this is decidedly odd… it’s not being sold to Chinese but to the local Panamanians in general. I have no clue what they do with it.

Back to Spanish, I’m heading off to the main bus terminal to try to buy a night ticket to David City with my limited Spanish. The plan is then to Boquette; perhaps I’ll ascend the volcano, or else head to Costa Rica after a couple days.

In the late afternoon I decided to take one last round down the corridors of the old colonial part of the city. Through the crumbling facades of many of the buildings, one can imagine the faded glory of things past. The halcyon of Casco Viejo was long gone until recent urban planning started a revival project. As it is now, most of the buildings are still in ruins and occupied by poor residents, but gentrification is coming and quick. Many have been bought and renovated to the old Spanish colonial architecture.

Such urban decay is juxtapose with spectacular views of modern Panama City, which is by far the most cosmopolitan of all of Central America.

Where ever we go, it seems we tend to absorb a bit of the local flavor, but also leave a trace of ourselves behind. Where we are is where we are, the question is how to make do with what is presented. What use pining for things lost when there is yet life to live and a thousand paths untried? Besides, what is pleasant now can be a pain come the morrow. Every step one ventures leads to it’s own beauty.

Such like today, having taxied all the way down the Causeway, I discovered the boat to Isla Tobagos was sold out. Plans never work out much anyway, so I ended up on a local bus for 2 hours to some Coranado Beach with a couple travelers I met along the way. Unfortunately, as it turns out, the beach is private. We snuck in from an adjacent beach and walked back. As it were, wondera lead to wondera and I’m now sitting at a resort pool near some nice hotel, under a cabana and enjoying the nice breeze and the expensive facilities for free. Let the world be as the world is.

What’s a visit to Panama without seeing the canals? 13,000+ ships pass through these gates transiting from the Caribbean to the Pacific and back. Perhaps they’re a metaphor for life (are you reading this?). One gate necessarily has to close before another gate opens for these canal locks to work. Or, rather, you have to choose to close one gate before choosing to open another; for nothing would move otherwise. Every moment there are doors closing and opening, the question is how long does one want to stay locked in one room.

Arrived in the historic district of Casco Viejo in Panama City. By chance, the gentlemen from NY next to me on the flight also checked into the same hostel; and being that he has frequented Panama often, I questioned him at length. But as things are by the previous observation, he will part tomorrow. So for one evening, we wandered the cobblestone alleys and colonial architecture suffused under yellow light. In the late night, the soft noises of the domiciles faintly echo down the alleys syncopated to each measured step. The calm is only punctuated by the presence of the Policias holding semi-automatic riffles posted on each corner.

After wandering a few short blocks, we turned into a dive-dive-dive “bar”; replete with corrugated tin roof and severely crumbled brick walls. Inside, the throb and rhythm of local life pulsated under the balmy April skies as the people moved to renditions of Guns & Roses (among other tunes). Can’t ask for a better beginning.

It’s now struck one o’clock local time. After 2 hours sitting on a balcony caressed by see breezes with a waxing gibbous over head, it’s time to rest up before exploring tomorrow.

April 5, 2009 Miami International Airport –
Seems life is ever caught midstep between here and there. The world moves in such random chaos with such strange synchronicity. Pausing here awaiting for a connecting flight to Panama, am struck by the sheer mass of humanity shuffling their feet hither and thither. But for a moment, total strangers are concoursed to this strange propinquity, so close and yet so distanced with our brethren. We each walk our paths, and for a time we meet, only to part.

Is it not a wonder that despite the vastness of the world and the almost insignificant measure of each step, we manage to span the globe? Long is the path – and here I go again.

There is cold, and then there is COLD. Some how I managed to the edge of Namtso Lake in Tibet, China. At roughly 5000 m. (about 16,000 ft) high, the temperature on this day was -25 Celsius. Nothing seemed more remote than this region; though the scenery is spectacular, I doubt anyone will willingly linger long.

Strange how memory fades so quickly with time. While combing over some old travel photos, I thought it prudent to update some here before fond memories are fogged over by relentless time. Only those wonderous memories that last stand out saliently like the Taj in the pre-dawn fog.  Note: all postings dated 2008 and before are post-dated.