On the Caribbean
This was one of the swimming holes that Andrea showed us. Mountains, palm trees, and mangroves meet the Caribbean. Jon Hull
Last night, I drove our little Kia Picanto north from Panama City to Cacique, a small village near Portobelo, Panama. We had a couple of novel experiences, so I took a moment to record them in my notebook.
This is our first excursion North. For the first few months, our weekends were precious recovery periods. All we wanted to do was get our work done and relax at home. Now, we’ve both grown comfortable, work is manageable, and we’re eager to venture out.
Cacique
Andrea points out the islands. He pulled up his shorts and walked right out into the water without hesitation.
We arrived in Cacique around sunset to Silvia and Andrea’s place. Silvia, an elegant woman in her late 50s, greeted us and walked us through the basics. She showed us their resident sloth, howler monkeys, and mango trees. She wore a simple bathing suit underneath a light dress. She fit the scenery perfectly and so did the house.
We stayed in their house in a studio apartment in the back built by Silvia’s husband, Andrea. The apartment is a character: plaster walls, wooden furniture, bamboo closet doors, burlap curtains held in place by rope and a bamboo peg. It feels well lived in and taken care of.
The space feels like it’s built perfectly for the climate, so we haven’t touched the AC unit in the window. Air flows perfectly through the room aided by a ceiling fan. It is clear Andrea put a lot of thought into the space.
The bed was like concrete. I was in a camping mentality, though, so I slept fine last night despite the mattress and an argument among the Howler monkeys.
Walking with Andrea
Andrea showed us the lay of the land in the morning. He speaks less English than we do Spanish, so we were forced to piece together our conversations and gesture to communicate. I loved it.
She followed us the whole way sniffing after our trail.
He showed us a secret swimming spot through the mangroves. His blind, deaf dog trailed us the whole way. To get the best view of the islands — Mamey and Grande — he hiked up his shorts and marched 50 feet into the Caribbean. Jessica and I looked followed smiling. The dog paddled after us.
We walked to the village next: simple as can be and a few feet from the ocean. It was early, so things were quiet, but he assured us, “Mucho gente will come.” I am often pleasantly surprised at how much Jessica and I can glean from a conversation in Spanish. Patience, repetition, and gestures.
Past the village, we walked through some shallows, past more mangroves to Playa Boca Chica. The beach itself is small and there is an active construction site 100 feet from the water, but the view of the islands and crystal-clear water hooked us immediately. This was where we’d spend the day. It was time to get our swimsuits on and grab our books.
Andrea walked us back to the house, and a few more cars passed us on the dirt road. As we walked, he told us about the future of tourism here. The area won’t remain barebones much longer; a large resort is going in at Boca Chica, and the village is taking a hit as a result. Fewer people are coming to the area because the construction on the beach is unpleasant. Anyone with money who comes is staying at the resort.
It’s a sad story, but predictable. Jessica and I kept remarking about how shocked we were that the land is not more developed along the Carribean. Andrea seemed to share a similar sentiment.
A Simple Day
We packed fruit and PB&Js and headed to the beach. More people arrived, and it grew pleasantly busy as the day wore on. We read and read, took dips in the blue water, and watched big women do sexy photo shoots lying down in the surf. It was a great day.
To cap it off, we took turns reading in the hammock back at the house. When it got dark, we turned on the porch and read some more. Now, I’m in bed writing in the light of my headlamp as Jessica sleeps.
After we hit the second checkpoint, the road was within 200 feet of the water for the rest of the trip.
Driving Up
Driving in Panama is always an adventure. The first hour of our drive up to Cacique was uneventful aside from the first military checkpoint after we exited the highway. We wound our way through some small villages for the next little while until we hit a second checkpoint. They waved us through. Now, we were really out there.
The two-lane road is pocked with 6 x 2’ potholes. Our compact car is small enough to fit inside them. To increase the challenge, speed bumps seemingly rise from nowhere. There are no signs: PRECAUCIÓN: GOLPE. There is no paint to warn a driver and his passengers of the temporary flight they are about to experience. There is no pattern by which to anticipate their placement in your path. They are effective in their intended purpose. I slowed to a crawl and tried to enjoy the passing scenery.
Jessica became my speed bump spotter — thank goodness — because I was simultaneously driving and taking in the beauty of the mountains and farms to our left and the Caribbean to our right. It all blended together seamlessly.
Our little car handled the drive nicely until I hit one pothole so hard — it was so invisible that even Jessica’s eagle eyes didn’t spot it until it was too late — that I thought the fender might’ve fallen off. The next car flashed its lights. I prepared to pull over.
We rounded the bend and searched for a place to pull off the road. Instead, we came to understand why we’d been flashed. Another military checkpoint. This one felt different.
The uniformed military man stopped us. He spoke in curt Spanish and gestured to our car. I smiled, “Lo siento, mi Español es muy malo.”
“Licensia.”
I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out my new Panamanian driver’s license that I received the day before. He scrutinized it, looked at me, and thought about ruining my night or asking for a bribe. I looked at him, nodded, and smiled again.
He let us carry on.
