Nicaragua > Costa Rica > Panama

August - October 2008

After crossing the border from Honduras on a rickshaw, I jumped on ‘chicken bus’ (colourfully painted old American school bus) and experienced a day in the life of a Nicaraguan as I passed by village after village. The early morning passengers were mostly blue-collar workers on their way to work, while those in the afternoon were women commuting in between villages doing their grocery shopping and catching up on the latest gossips. There were also different vendors hopping on and off selling Nicaraguan snacks and drinks like yoltamal and vigoron. It was a lively commute along the way, until night fall, when the men made their way back home after an exhausting day at work.
I reluctantly went into Tegucigalpa as I had missed my first intended stop, Leon. I spent the night in a prison like hostel before setting off early to Granada the next morning.
A well-kept colonial town, Granada seems almost artificially decorated to attract tourists. Granada provides a refuse for travellers who were disappointed with Costa Rica. Not unlike anywhere else, Nicaragua will soon be deserted by the same minded people who left Costa Rica in the first place, as fancy restaurants, international car rental companies and real estate agencies dominate the town.
While the town centre is slowly decaying into a tourist hellhole, the markets still provide a glimpse of a Nicaraguan’s life. Along the way to the markets, one is accompanied by the enticing sounds of slot machines. It look as if it was a different place as the rain caused the blackout and the only sight and sounds left were from hot dog vendors.
After a week of Spanish lessons here, I was ready to move on. My next destination would be Ometepe, an island formed by two volcanic islands in the middle of a lake. I jumped on the first ferry that arrived and ended up in Chaco Verde, a less visited place on the south side of the island. As I wandered through the swamp and forest, I did not run into anyone else but white-faced Capuchin monkeys, double-crested Cormorant and owl-eye butterflies as big as one’s palms.
After days of seclusion, I was longing for some human company. San Juan del Sur is exactly what one would expect from a beach town—tanned, toned topless guys with surfboards and bars blasting loud music. Two days living the life a surfer was enough for me.
I was really looking forward to Costa Rica, until the sight of MacDonalds and Burger Kings. After a 12-hour bus ride from Nicaragua, I decided to go on another 12-hour journey as close to the border to Panama as I can, to a town called Puerto Jimenez.
The rain started to get heavy as night approaches. We finally arrived at around 10pm. There were barely any street lights and everyone seemed to be disoriented after that bus ride. An old man came up to us and asked us to follow him to a nearby hostel. It was what I imagine prison would be like, but there seemed to be no better option at that moment. (The old man was originally from the US, and has been waiting by the bus and pier for the last 25 years shepherding travellers to the hostel.)
After what seemed like a week’s commute, I was satisfied with relaxing in this small and quiet town (except when the macaws squawk). There were pleasantly few other tourists, and most tour operators are closed. There was surprisingly a Chinese restaurant apparently run by a family from Hong Kong.

If one were to run away from the law, the Costa Rica / Panama border would be the ideal place to slip through undetected. A huge outdoor market covering 5 blocks of so, I easily crossed into Panama without being stamped.
One could almost mistaken David as being a mid-size American city, with its enormous supermarkets stocked with American brand name products. I left David the next day and headed to Boqete, where I spent a few days going to the hot springs, hiking through one of the most beautiful trails I’ve been on, the Quetzel trail, and talking innocent and young boys into going on a 20-hour hike. A wise decision that I didn’t go, as they retold the tale of hiking up gravel for 10 hours in the dark. One of them carried a machete in case they got attacked by panthers. As they were close to the top and the rain got heavier, he had to leave his machete so he won’t get strike by lightning.

I had not planned to come to Panama, let alone sailing to Colombia. But the opportunity presented itself as I got talking to a fellow traveller, Scott, and realized we both met Patrick, who got stung by a stingray in Costa Rica, thus couldn’t go on this trip. We decided then that we would go to Colombia.

We stayed in Casco Viejo, a poor neighbourhood on the other side of the river. Our taxi meandered through lanes and alleys lined with houses on the verge of collapsing. Passing through desperation and poverty, we then saw the glittering high raises across the river. As we checked in, we were given a map of the area, where several streets were marked as ‘red zones’. We were told not to go down those streets. Even as we wandered along busy streets in broad daylight, others would warn us not to go any further down a certain street. Casco Viejo represented Panama's diversity and contrast in wealth. This is where the poorest reside, next to the Presidential Palace. Armed guards patrolled around the palace, but one can be robbed outside that radius without any commotion. Major cities are no different to a small town in America, but poverty and crime still dominate other areas.
We met up with Patrick at the Coca-Cola café, a place reminding me of an old diner in a black and white western movie, with locals reminiscing and discussing politics. We met Jose Ponce, a Marxist old man who despised capitalism and the United States. He continued his contempt for warfare from the Vietnam war to the Iraq war. He shared with us his version of Panamanian politics as well as his conspiracy theories. (He’s a contributing editor at the Panama News.)
The next day we wandered around the city, and wandered off the beaten track. As we walk down a seemingly safe residential area, we were suggested by policemen not to go down that road. But we continued walking, thinking it would be all right as it was next to a busy road and 5 minutes from our accommodation. As we stopped at one of the many ‘caged’ convenient stores (many of which owned by Chinese), a young man crept behind Scott, took his wallet and ran off. I managed to grab his shirt for a split second before he pulled away and ran into ‘The Projects’. My adrenaline took over me and I ran after him, up 5 flights of stairs, until I caught up with him. He turned around and tried to ripped the pocket of my shorts. I resisted with all my will as he reached for my money. He punched me in the face and I bit his hand. But then his friend came behind me and covered my mouth as I screamed. I bit him as well.
As my adrenaline started to subside, I realized I could not take them on and that they only wanted money. I ran back downstairs and walked away with Scott, giving him my pocketknife. In hindsight it was one of the most stupid thing I have done, but got some free sympathy beers out of it.
We left Panama City the next day, travelling north to Portabelo where the sailboat was docked. We boarded on a Beneteau 43, with 6 other people, including the captain, his girlfriend, three Irishmen, a Scotsman, an American and a Dutch girl. It was all a very romantic idea till you realize you have to live on a small boat with 8 people for a week and no where to go as you sail for 10 hours a day.
After 10 hours of staring blankly into the open sea and puking twice, I was all too glad to anchor. We summoned up all our energy to make dinner before we all slipped into a coma.
We didn’t realize we were in paradise till the sun rose the next morning. We were surround by fine white sand and crystal blue water. We were in San Blas Archipelago, a colony of 378 islands, only 49 of which are inhabited, governed by the Kuna Indians. Their autonomous governance allows them to maintain their culture, custom and language.
It was only a 5-hour sail that day and we docked before sunset. We swam from one uninhabited island to another with starfish and sardines. We gathered coconuts for our cocktail that night around a bon fire.
For the next few days, we did more of the same. Sighting dolphins and buying fresh lobsters and crabs from the fishermen. We stopped at the biggest Kuna village, and was greeted by every kid in town. The village was primitive but self-contained, with a school, a church, a couple of tiendas and a public phone booth in the centre of town.

After 6 days of sailing, we finally crossed into Colombia.