This is the front windshield of our bus
June 4, 2012
Our family has found itself in Boca del Toro, Panama. It has been quite a journey to get here. It is Monday afternoon, but to do justice to
the journey itself, we must back our story up to Saturday night.
On Saturday, we eagerly awaited the return of Ryan and Dylan
from church camp. I, however, was unable
to await their arrival, since it was to be after midnight. On Sunday morning I was participating in the
27th annual Pineapple man triathlon in Melbourne Beach, FL. As a result, I needed a full and
uninterrupted night’s sleep, which was surely not going to occur at my
home. Saturday, I slept at my inlaw’s,
Nancy and Tom’s, house. The boys did
arrive from camp, and were picked up after midnight on Saturday, most
importantly noting that they had been on a 12 hour bus ride. That would not be their last of the weekend.
On Sunday, I was up at 5 am to drive to the triathlon, set
up my transition area, and with 749 of my closest, and newest friends swam .35
miles in the Banana River, biked 15.4
miles South then back on A1A on the beach road, and ran 3.5 miles through the
lovely shaded neighborhoods of Mel Beach.
Although the tri started 30 minutes late, I was back at my home in Cocoa
Beach by 10 am, having run my best Pineapple man, and taking 1:40 off of last
years time.
At home, I was joyfully reunited by my boys, the church
campers, and we finalized our packed bags,
andloaded the car with luggage and surfboards. As a family, we set out for the Orlando
airport with grand plans for an exciting week in Panama’s Caribbean coast.
In Orlando, we met up with the first of the 3 other families
we would travel with, the Martin family.
Dylan and Michael Martin have been friends since infancy, and with their
other friend Zac, have taken the nickname The Three Amigos for their little
posse. The Martin’s are another airline
family, and we all checked in early, awaiting our boarding passes as we are
were all standby travelers.
As the kids filled up with snacks, and airport food, our
names were called and boarding passes issued, always a “Phew” moment when
travelling with a family and kids. Our
family happily occupied row 8 in its entirety.
The plane departed Orlando at 3 pm, and during the 3 hour
Copa Airlines flight, we read, semi-dozed, watched movies, and listened to
tunes.
On our approach to Panama, over the Caribbean coast, I could
not help myself from checking the coast line for any traces of swell in the
ocean. It appeared that there was, so I
was optimistic that the surf forecasts that I had been poring over for the last
week, Magic Seaweed to come to fruition .
Local time it was an hour earlier for our touchdown in
Tocumen airport in Panama City, Panama.
The plane touched down with the usual tradition of Panamanian airline
arrivals with a racous round of applause and shouts of “Panama” A strong sense of proud nationalism on
display.
As an airline standby travelling family, our next moments
are another anxious obstacle, as we ask ourselves, “did our boards make it, did
our bags make it?” After clearing
customs and immigration, we found our belongings had made it to Panama, and we
began our “bag drag” to the exit area.
Rebecca had previously arranged transportation for our
group, and we were met by 2 drivers and 2 vehicles to haul the 2 families and
all of our gear to the Albrook bus terminal.
Out in the Panamanian night, we were blasted by the tropical
heat of the Central American rainy season the moment we departed the
pleasantries of air conditioning.
Luckily, after off loading at the Albrook bus terminal, we
were able to find an air conditioned waiting room, while awaiting the arrival
of the other 2 families we were to travel with,
and the eventual departure of our 8:30 pm bus ride to Bocas del Toro.
Albrook bus terminal is adjacent to the Albrook mall, and
this whole area is located on what used to be a U.S. Air Force base during the
U.S. era of the Canal Zone. While we
were travelling from the airport to the mall, our road led through Panama City,
Panama, then to the base of Ancon Hill on a road called Corredor Sur. At the foot of the Hill, we pass through an
imaginary border of what used to be the old Canal Zone. Jeff was born here in Gorgas Hospital, and
this is his first return in over 40 years.
It was cool to point out the hospital to him that we zipped right by
followed by many other U.S. built structures of the CZ including the
administration building.
Whenever I am giving this tour, I always point out the berth
that I tied up at in 1984 as a USMMA cadet, while onboard the U.S. Lines
container ship, the American Legion. On
that night in port, I went across the street to the then U.S. operated bowling
alley of the Canal Zone to restock some supplies, and unbeknownst to me, I
would be only several blocks from where my future wife, Rebecca, resided in the
sleepy little CZ burg of La Boca, directly under the Bridge of Americas.
During our short waiting period at Albrook, the other two
travelling families arrived, and described their wondrous day on the island of
Toboga. Most of the kids were out and
about in the mall, getting a taste of the local flavor of Panama, and buying
dinner and snacks for our upcoming bus ride.
At 8 pm, the driver called out our bus, and began herding
passengers and luggage towards the bus.
We began to disassemble our none too small mountain of luggage, backpacks, roller
bags, and surfboard bags to the side of the bus where the driver loaded our
gear under the belly, in the cargo compartment.
We contributed to a full cargo complement. The bus was a charter type bus one would
expect on a U.S excursion, proudly marked on the windshield’s upper edge “Bocas
del Toro” We were given assigned seats,
and after another bag drag into the Panamanian night of a shroud of heat, we
began to chill, literally in the bus’s interior and full on AC air.
This was no chiva bus, this was no chicken bus. However, it was a bus, and the next 10 hours
consisted of 1 stop for snacks and los banos, about 3 hours into the ride. Also, the windows had the blinds drawn, (fortunately
or not so fortunately) so we never got a visual of our speed, only passing
glances of other vehicles only inches from us, and the constant feeling and
sounds of bus acceleration. Very few
sounds of deceleration. It seemed like
we were going very fast, especially for the passengers who joined me in the
rear of the bus, on the tail of the whip, where every lurch, bump, turn and
sound was accentuated for our travelling pleasure. Also, the AC relentlessly drafted us with
cool air throughout the night, and sleep only came fitfully and sporadically to
a fortunate few of our excursion party.
Humorously comparing the 10 ride to the Bataan death march, it brought
to mind every long bus ride I had taken as a youth, especially a 12 hour ride
to Vermont one winter to ski, and another one where we travelled to Boy Scout
camp in New Mexico. I am sure my boys
were recalling this on Monday morning, when they had been (a)bussed for 22 of
the last 48 hours.
As dawn appeared through the edges of the blinds, the bus
came to a stop at the end of the line.
This bus terminal was located a short drive from the next mode of
travel, but we needed to take cabs there. After licking our wounds, we loaded
into 3 pick up truck cabs, gear, boards, and some people in back of the yellow
cab trucks for our 10 minute, $1 per person cab ride to the boat terminal.
The boat terminal had several “Super Pangas”. A panga is the boat used by all 3rd
world countries for all boating uses.
This “super” version, was equipped with a steering cockpit, bench seats,
and sun awning.
Looking left and right along the water line, were many homes
of the locals, not much more that shacks on stilts, and some actual dugout
Cayucos were transiting up and down the waterway. Feeling pretty fortunate as a Florida Yawlie
about this time.
Miraculously, we loaded the 4 families, and all the gear
onto one Panga for the last leg of our journey.
A 30 minute boat ride taking us from the boat terminal, out the waterway
past islands bordered with mangroves. We
all breathed in the fresh briny smell of the Caribbean, and were awed by the
luscious green islas, as our boat plyed its way to Isla Caranera just as the
sun was making its way higher on the horizon.
Our Panga captain brought us to the edge of a dock on Isla
Caranera. This island was named for an
incident which occurred on Christoper Colombus’ 4th and final
journey. Having lost one of his masts,
at this location did the repairs necessary to get back underway, due to the
list of the ship during the repair, the island was called “Careening Cay” Or, so the legend goes……………….
In recollection of our panga drop, and bag drag at Isla
Grande, we got our Sherpa state of mind on, and got the gear to our hotel, the
Tierra Verde.
We found our rooms, segregated by family, and did a quick
change, and surfboard fin attachment.
Another panga picked us up within a very short time, and we were
literally in the water, surfing at Caranera Point by 7 am.
I won’t describe the wave, and reef bottom, to spare my non
surfing readers those passages of boredom.
However, we got the boys on their first boat trip, $4 round trip to the
point where chest high peeling lefts awaited us in the warm crystalline
Caribbean waters. Our prize was
received, after 21 hours of travel in 1 mini van, 1 Copa 737-800, one privately
chartered Panamanian maxi van, 1 charter bus to Bocas del Toro, 1 pick up truck
cab, 1 super Panga, and one regular Panga.
Using the simple fall back phrase, “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”
does not completely do justice for the varied, bizarre, and lengthy travel
modes just experienced.
After a 2 hour surf session, the boat driver picked us up
again, and we went back to the hotel, ate at breakfast at Bibi’s, and most of
us passed out for the rest of the afternoon.
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