Acting on advice from longer-resident Canadians, we searched out an Italian restaurant in Grecia - Cuchina Italiano. A narrow frontage with paned glass to the street, a single door opened to a long narrow wood-panelled dining room with about 8 tables; at the end a counter with over-hanging cabinets, then a white-walled, neon-lit kitchen at back. In that kitchen, a short stout man with buzz cut white hair rubbed the shoulders of a woman. Only one other customer was there, an ex-police woman from California with a little Chihuahua poking his nose out of her shoulder bag on the chair beside.
Around the walls were black and white stills of famous movie scenes - Clint chomping a cigar from a Fist Full of Dollars, Yule Brinner in magnificent black ready to draw from The Magnificent Seven, Humphrey Bogart, Marylin Monroe, dozens more. Eventually, the woman came out with two menus and a broad Brooklyn "ha-wah-ya?"
We sat and ordered a pizza from the woman, after assurances that it was thin crust "Noo Yaw-wuk" style. When we asked where the house wine came from, she laughed and said "Grapes." This was shaping up to be a Seinfeld episode.
The wine (from Chile) arrived, and a glass later, the pizza - hot, aromatic - perched on a pizza stand with hot chile flakes and parmesean shakers beneath. We started in - it was indeed thin crust, but likely a thick crust mashed flat and not permitted to rise. It was an 1/8 inch of tough white dough, that took some determination to chew.
We learned on second passes from the woman that they were from "New Joisey" and had been there "fo-ah yay-ahs". We had heard that the man was named Ronnie Gambino. I started to connect the dots. After we finished, I went up to pay. Mr. Gambino was sitting at the last table, smoking and surveying his two customers. I said "I didn't like the pizza." He looked up with a steady gaze - to which I smiled and said "Actually, it tasted great". We fell to taw-king. He was on the outs with his jealous business neighbors cuz he doesn't put up with any crap. They expected him to fold long ago and he hasn't. He says - yoo know how many staff he hired in the first 5 months?? 32! "They come hee-ah thinkin' I'm fresh meat, but after they figure I know what's goin' on - they-ah gawn". With that he makes a slicing motion with his right palm over the upturned left palm. This has a fatal connotation.
He was born in Sicily and "used to live in New Yaw-wuk and New Joisey, then ran a bar in south Flah-rida". After talking to his son (who lives in Atlantic City!), he came hee-ah. It began to dawn on me that satisfactory returns from this restaurant business may not be the sole reason he has been here for years. At one point, he was called to the phone to take an order - after some back and forth discussion, we overheard "What? Are you stupid? You stupid!?" Phone slams down. Now that's customer relations - Noo Yaw-wuk style.
A fascinating character - we left thanking him for a very good meal, Mr. Gambino! It was a pizza we could not refuse...
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Birds of a different feather
Always interested to attract more interesting birds, we manufactured a homemade birdseed feeder by cutting small holes in the side of a plastic tub, filling with mixed seed feed, installing on a board nailed to a pine tree, and waiting. This is a tried and true method that works in Newfoundland (according to Janet's Dad, Mark Piercey), but not so here.
Days later, not a single bird had come to it, and not even the squirrels were much interested. We moved this feeder to different places - same result. Once a couple of Rufous-collared Sparrows nosed around, but didn't come back.
Our homemade feeder - a dismal failure.
What birds here like is FRUIT! Bananas are the favourite.
Blue-gray tanager at our banana bird feeder. Finishing nails in a plank with chunks of banana impaled on the nails. Birds eat them right down to the peel!
Days later, not a single bird had come to it, and not even the squirrels were much interested. We moved this feeder to different places - same result. Once a couple of Rufous-collared Sparrows nosed around, but didn't come back.
Our homemade feeder - a dismal failure.
What birds here like is FRUIT! Bananas are the favourite.
Blue-gray tanager at our banana bird feeder. Finishing nails in a plank with chunks of banana impaled on the nails. Birds eat them right down to the peel!
Monday, November 23, 2009
La Marina Wildlife Rescue Center Photos
Because of awkward editing on this blogger software, it was easier to post these photos separately.
Scarlet Macaw communing with Janet. These birds roam free and must like the free food and security here. They squawk all the time like crotchety curmudgeons anyway.
Peccary; about 80 cm long & up to 20 kg. These chappies move around in packs of up to 300 in the wild and can be noisy and aggressive. One guide says the best defense is to climb a tree.
Nothing like a good snooze in the sun in the mud with your fellow peccaries.
A lioness snoozing in midday with a black vulture creeping around looking for insects (even off the lion's back when it rolled over).
Snoozing crocodile. His eyes don't sleep though and his sharp white teeth speak of diligent dental hygiene.
Trail through the reserve.
Banana tree with full-sized fruit. We understand that after each bunch of bananas grows, the tree dies and falls over, and a new one springs up along side.
Banana spider. These hairy-legged fellows are over 2 inches long. Good to watch out for when plucking at bananas in the forest.
Baird's tapir. This one was about 1.5 m long and had a broad mouth, small teeth and big floppy lips. This is Central America's largest land mammal and is much-sought after by hunters.
The rescue facility has a breeding program for Tapirs.
The diminutive Agouti - a small rodent-like animal running free in the reserve. This guy was growling at us just after we entered, so we didn't hang around long.
Scarlet Macaw communing with Janet. These birds roam free and must like the free food and security here. They squawk all the time like crotchety curmudgeons anyway.
Peccary; about 80 cm long & up to 20 kg. These chappies move around in packs of up to 300 in the wild and can be noisy and aggressive. One guide says the best defense is to climb a tree.
Nothing like a good snooze in the sun in the mud with your fellow peccaries.
A lioness snoozing in midday with a black vulture creeping around looking for insects (even off the lion's back when it rolled over).
Snoozing crocodile. His eyes don't sleep though and his sharp white teeth speak of diligent dental hygiene.
Trail through the reserve.
Banana tree with full-sized fruit. We understand that after each bunch of bananas grows, the tree dies and falls over, and a new one springs up along side.
Banana spider. These hairy-legged fellows are over 2 inches long. Good to watch out for when plucking at bananas in the forest.
Baird's tapir. This one was about 1.5 m long and had a broad mouth, small teeth and big floppy lips. This is Central America's largest land mammal and is much-sought after by hunters.
The rescue facility has a breeding program for Tapirs.
The diminutive Agouti - a small rodent-like animal running free in the reserve. This guy was growling at us just after we entered, so we didn't hang around long.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
La Marina Wildlife Rescue Center
On November 10 we made a bus expedition to the La Marina Wildlife Rescue Center, located just northeast of Ciudad Quesada (also known as San Carlos) in central CR. We rose early and started our journey at 06:30. Four buses later, we got off right in front at 11:40.
We ate our packed lunch topped off with a Pepsi and a locally-made "Hamlet" chocolate bar - kind of cheap milk chocolate over rice crispies. At 26 cents, it was worth a try, but not in the same league as a Snickers bar... We also found a neat little travelling dominoes set, which we bought. In we went.
The rescue center is built on a former dairy farm, started in 1957 on 11 hectares (27 acres) of rolling pasture and forest, and narrowly subsisting on donations and volunteer effort (http://www.zoocostarica.com/). It has 300-400 animal species in enclosures and 100 more walking, crawling or flying around freely.
Being an overcast day in Nov, we appeared to be the only visitors on this huge reserve. A gravel, wood plank or cinder block trail winds through forests teeming with birds and ground animals. Scarlet macaws, free to fly off, perch ten feet away - complaining noisily about nothing in particular. A whole host of other birds abound, along with ground animals, chattering squirrels and silent deer roaming freely. Within clusters of cages interspersed here and there are many tropical exotic species recovering from injuries and, if possible, to be returned to protected wild areas.
Monkeys hang lazily on wire mesh, looking at you at eye level from 6 inches away, their brown wrinkled small child-like fingers draping through to stroke.
Two African lionesses were donated by the BBC for the good works of the center, which subsists on donations and volunteers. A range of CR cats (marguay, ocelot, leopard, puma) do not have it so good - they are caged in small concrete enclosures, waiting for donations for a larger enclosure. This area is one we will look into more closely in future. In a separate post are some images from our tour.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Our house in Grecia
Well, we finally settled for a month trial basis into a rented house in the hills above Grecia, central valley, Costa Rica. This is a two-storey wooden cabina with 3 BRs, 1 Bathroom and 1345 sq ft. It is situated among a stand of tall pines, originally planted for power poles, at an elevation of 4,200 ft along a ridge on the flank of Vulcan Poas. This setting gives temperate days and fresh nights ideal for sleeping under a blanket. The plot of land is 3.5 acres, streching from the ridge road down 1,000 feet to a small river, providing a watery soundtrack to the long vistas. It is normally quiet, but now and then interrupted by 2 cycle motorcycles or ATVs that rip by along the ridge road like motorized fingernails on a blackboard. Except for those brief moments of round-eyed anguish, this is a lovely and tranquil place.
We have met several neighbours and they are smiling, gentle people with a ready wave and buenos dias.
It is rainy season, so every day around noon onward it clouds over with heavy rain and perhaps thunder showers and lightning. As we are surrounded by 100 foot tall pine-scented lightning rods, we unplug critical electronics when lightning is about.
We are slowly winning the battle with inquisitive insects who seem to really want to come in and visit us.
Our cabina.
Kitchen and spiral staircase to second floor
Master bedroom upstairs.
View of Central Valley from 2nd floor veranda
View across(through the pines) to coffee fields on next ridge to west.
Our laundry room is outdoors, just steps from the clothesline.
A pair of blue-crowned mot-mots are regulars in the garden. They love banana and will sit still for minutes at a time while you look at them, and they look at you.
We have met several neighbours and they are smiling, gentle people with a ready wave and buenos dias.
It is rainy season, so every day around noon onward it clouds over with heavy rain and perhaps thunder showers and lightning. As we are surrounded by 100 foot tall pine-scented lightning rods, we unplug critical electronics when lightning is about.
We are slowly winning the battle with inquisitive insects who seem to really want to come in and visit us.
Our cabina.
Kitchen and spiral staircase to second floor
Master bedroom upstairs.
View of Central Valley from 2nd floor veranda
View across(through the pines) to coffee fields on next ridge to west.
Our laundry room is outdoors, just steps from the clothesline.
A pair of blue-crowned mot-mots are regulars in the garden. They love banana and will sit still for minutes at a time while you look at them, and they look at you.
Birthday Bus Ride back to Costa Rica
We travelled back to Costa Rica on Oct 24, Scotts birthday. Here is the tale.
We started at 6:30 am in the town of Boquete in western Panama; 45 min ride on an old school bus to David, Panama. Then switch over to a coach for one hour ride to the frontier. This is a chaotic jumble of administrative buildings, venders, sodas (small roadside cafeterias), stray dogs, huge idling transport trucks, buses, bicycles, cars, pedestrians and on-lookers.
We first got out of our coach, unloaded all our luggage, and stood in a circular (!) room to have our bags "checked for contraband". After 20 minutes, the driver barked something unintelligible and waved his hand to put our bags back on the bus. He must have talked to someone. Bags back on the bus, then he took off (!) and we were in a long line (75 people) to a glass window to Migracion to exit panama. The officials actions were mechanical: look at us, swipe passport in Interpol computer, stamp, next.
Then utter confusion. No bus, no signs, just throngs of milling people. We wandered to the end of the complex and looked into no mans land toward Costa Rica. We asked where the CR migracion was and a sitting guy pointed toward CR and said "dos cientos metros" - 200 m to go. Shouldering our day packs, off we walked, dodging huge lumbering trucks, buses, potholes, dogs, etc. About midway to somewhere we saw a recognizable small police building with a uniformed man, carrying an assault rifle. That must be the actual border and likely the last inch of Panama (where open weapons are common). On we wandered and asked a boy vender - "cien metros", pointing toward Costa Rica - 100 m to go; half way there.
100 m later we turn a corner of a nondescript concrete block building to see a rank of more glass windows, two saying "Entrada" - the entrance to Costa Rica. We wait in line again; another look, swipe, stamp, but this time a friendly "buen viaje" - actual friendly immigraion officers! Then we spy our big red coach - at least we will get our packs back.
We wait until another bus is clear, then we again unload our packs and move into a wire-fenced compound with concrete tables. Wait in line with all other passengers and their packs with no activity for 20 minutes. This may be a power thing, since the very same bystanders suddenly become officials and walk forward to beckon lines to the tables. The casually dressed women ask you to open packs and take a nominal 2 millisecond look, then zip up. For us, we just laid our packs on the table, and she waived us on. We put packs back on the bus. Bus driver checks that all are present (he has a manifest to check for missing persons), then off we go. Total time at the frontier: 1 hr 55 minutes.
On the partly full bus, we lumber through spectacular scenery of southern Pacific Costa Rica with gushing rivers and sweeping forested hillsides, snooze, stop for washroom and snack break. On and on and on - arriving in San Jose at 5:00 pm, just as night is falling. This is not the best scenario - as dangerous areas in San Jose magnify in the absence of light. We laboriously offload pack by pack, driver checking each tag against our claim ticket. We take a red taxi to the bus station for Grecia, in the heart of Barrio Los Angeles. We're not sure where this is, but it seems to be in the district of the infamous Coca Cola - a former bottling plant area, now the center of many bus stations and lots of criminals, called the Red Zone.
Fortunately, our taxi pulls up out of the heart of darkness right in front of the bus for Grecia as it is pulling out. We jump out, catch the bus driver's eye, and we jump on. It is a nice full sized coach with padded seats. It is full with a crying toddler right behind us - but we were happy to be on our last leg.
We arrived in Grecia in a steady rain, all bags accounted for and happy as clams. Umbrellas out, we walked 5 min to our B &B, our Calgarian innkeeper greeting us safe and sound. Later that night, freshly scrubbed, we walked to a very nice restaurant and had a bottle of Chilean wine and (surprisingly) a very good steak. A wonderful birthday meal to cap off all 350 miles of our trip...
We started at 6:30 am in the town of Boquete in western Panama; 45 min ride on an old school bus to David, Panama. Then switch over to a coach for one hour ride to the frontier. This is a chaotic jumble of administrative buildings, venders, sodas (small roadside cafeterias), stray dogs, huge idling transport trucks, buses, bicycles, cars, pedestrians and on-lookers.
We first got out of our coach, unloaded all our luggage, and stood in a circular (!) room to have our bags "checked for contraband". After 20 minutes, the driver barked something unintelligible and waved his hand to put our bags back on the bus. He must have talked to someone. Bags back on the bus, then he took off (!) and we were in a long line (75 people) to a glass window to Migracion to exit panama. The officials actions were mechanical: look at us, swipe passport in Interpol computer, stamp, next.
Then utter confusion. No bus, no signs, just throngs of milling people. We wandered to the end of the complex and looked into no mans land toward Costa Rica. We asked where the CR migracion was and a sitting guy pointed toward CR and said "dos cientos metros" - 200 m to go. Shouldering our day packs, off we walked, dodging huge lumbering trucks, buses, potholes, dogs, etc. About midway to somewhere we saw a recognizable small police building with a uniformed man, carrying an assault rifle. That must be the actual border and likely the last inch of Panama (where open weapons are common). On we wandered and asked a boy vender - "cien metros", pointing toward Costa Rica - 100 m to go; half way there.
100 m later we turn a corner of a nondescript concrete block building to see a rank of more glass windows, two saying "Entrada" - the entrance to Costa Rica. We wait in line again; another look, swipe, stamp, but this time a friendly "buen viaje" - actual friendly immigraion officers! Then we spy our big red coach - at least we will get our packs back.
We wait until another bus is clear, then we again unload our packs and move into a wire-fenced compound with concrete tables. Wait in line with all other passengers and their packs with no activity for 20 minutes. This may be a power thing, since the very same bystanders suddenly become officials and walk forward to beckon lines to the tables. The casually dressed women ask you to open packs and take a nominal 2 millisecond look, then zip up. For us, we just laid our packs on the table, and she waived us on. We put packs back on the bus. Bus driver checks that all are present (he has a manifest to check for missing persons), then off we go. Total time at the frontier: 1 hr 55 minutes.
On the partly full bus, we lumber through spectacular scenery of southern Pacific Costa Rica with gushing rivers and sweeping forested hillsides, snooze, stop for washroom and snack break. On and on and on - arriving in San Jose at 5:00 pm, just as night is falling. This is not the best scenario - as dangerous areas in San Jose magnify in the absence of light. We laboriously offload pack by pack, driver checking each tag against our claim ticket. We take a red taxi to the bus station for Grecia, in the heart of Barrio Los Angeles. We're not sure where this is, but it seems to be in the district of the infamous Coca Cola - a former bottling plant area, now the center of many bus stations and lots of criminals, called the Red Zone.
Fortunately, our taxi pulls up out of the heart of darkness right in front of the bus for Grecia as it is pulling out. We jump out, catch the bus driver's eye, and we jump on. It is a nice full sized coach with padded seats. It is full with a crying toddler right behind us - but we were happy to be on our last leg.
We arrived in Grecia in a steady rain, all bags accounted for and happy as clams. Umbrellas out, we walked 5 min to our B &B, our Calgarian innkeeper greeting us safe and sound. Later that night, freshly scrubbed, we walked to a very nice restaurant and had a bottle of Chilean wine and (surprisingly) a very good steak. A wonderful birthday meal to cap off all 350 miles of our trip...
Boquete, Panama
Our last week of Spanish school was in Boquete, Panama; in the central highlands, just over the border from Costa Rica. This was lovely high country, with cool (even cold) temperatures and the hardest rain we have seen yet. It rained a lot - days worth in a matter of hours. We had a load of clothes washed and it took 2 days to dry on the line.
This was a pleasant quiet place with fantastic colourful woodland tropical birds. One afternoon, we visited a wildlife rehabilitation park, run privately in Boquete. In a large landscaped grounds and a large house, many birds and mammals (including an elegant teenage marguay cat) are nursed and loved back to life after some major trauma. This started with one injured animal, then blossomed over the years to all sorts of creatures. Panama offers rules and permits, but no funding or in-kind help, so this operation runs on donations from visitors.
While there, we talked with a woman who manages the place. This blue macaw was sitting on her shoulder. Talk about a distraction! He is originally from Brazil, and came with her from the US before the current rules prohibiting their transport. They are very rare because they are poached and sold on the black market as exotic pets. A magnificent bird that can live 100 years. They are often included in wills, as they normally outlive their owners.
He either likes you or does not. Like means he will walk onto your shoulder or arm and not peck or bite if you immediately shuttle him to his owner. Like, as in Give me a lift or lose an ear. He is convincing. He walked down this cage and onto my shoulder, gazing at me with yellow-ringed bottomless eyes. I gave him a lift. I did not have a feeling he liked me, but I still have both ears so he must have.
This fellow is about 2 feet tall in the body with another 18 inches of tail. His beak can exert 20,000 lbs of compression (cracking the hardest nuts, and easily removing fingers if needed). When he sits on your shoulder, you do what he wants.
This was a pleasant quiet place with fantastic colourful woodland tropical birds. One afternoon, we visited a wildlife rehabilitation park, run privately in Boquete. In a large landscaped grounds and a large house, many birds and mammals (including an elegant teenage marguay cat) are nursed and loved back to life after some major trauma. This started with one injured animal, then blossomed over the years to all sorts of creatures. Panama offers rules and permits, but no funding or in-kind help, so this operation runs on donations from visitors.
While there, we talked with a woman who manages the place. This blue macaw was sitting on her shoulder. Talk about a distraction! He is originally from Brazil, and came with her from the US before the current rules prohibiting their transport. They are very rare because they are poached and sold on the black market as exotic pets. A magnificent bird that can live 100 years. They are often included in wills, as they normally outlive their owners.
He either likes you or does not. Like means he will walk onto your shoulder or arm and not peck or bite if you immediately shuttle him to his owner. Like, as in Give me a lift or lose an ear. He is convincing. He walked down this cage and onto my shoulder, gazing at me with yellow-ringed bottomless eyes. I gave him a lift. I did not have a feeling he liked me, but I still have both ears so he must have.
This fellow is about 2 feet tall in the body with another 18 inches of tail. His beak can exert 20,000 lbs of compression (cracking the hardest nuts, and easily removing fingers if needed). When he sits on your shoulder, you do what he wants.
Leaf cutter ants
Here is a video of some very industrious leaf cutter ants. We visited a research station of the Smithsonian Institute located on the outskirts of Bocas del Toro. While walking the grounds, our guide pointed out this ant highway that led from a nearly denuded large bush to the ant colony 75 METERS away! These guys send out scouts who report back the presence of suitable leaves by their pheromone-scented trail. Then armies of worker ants march to the target, chew off bits of leaf and carry their towering loads these immense ant distances. Once in the colony, the leaves form a base for a specialized fungus. The ants essentially farm the fungus underground using the leaves as feed stock. For more info on these amazing creatures, check out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leafcutter_ant
Starfish Beach, Bocas del Toro
One free afternoon, we rode a bus across the island to visit Starfish Beach. This is an area of clean sandy shoreline with calm, warm water where hundreds of large starfish congregate right by the shore. Janet, Eli and I hiked the shoreline for a couple of kilometers (wading aross a clear stream leaving a backwater lagoon) until we found the starfish. You come upon them suddenly, and realize you have walked by a number already. They don't make much noise.
A pleasant afternoon of wading kneedeep among the starfish, talking about life while sitting on driftwood, drinking all six of Eli's cervezas, listening to the call of a bellbird (a truly strange tropical bird with stringy wattles hanging off its face) from the dense mangrove and soaking in this mangrove coast that has not changed much in a long time. As we stood knee deep in water gazing at the starfish, along the shore and within several feet of us raced a school of slender silver baby barracudas about one foot long. Eli said keep an eye out for mama. We did.
The trail to Starfish Beach. Flipflops are handy to quickly take off during wading around fallen palms and streams entering the sea.
View up the beach from starfish beach. Coconut palms along the shore, mangrove swamp behind.
Starfish on clean sand in two feet of water; warm as a bath.
A balsa wood pirogue carved from one tree trunk. About 12 feet long.
The walk back.
A pleasant afternoon of wading kneedeep among the starfish, talking about life while sitting on driftwood, drinking all six of Eli's cervezas, listening to the call of a bellbird (a truly strange tropical bird with stringy wattles hanging off its face) from the dense mangrove and soaking in this mangrove coast that has not changed much in a long time. As we stood knee deep in water gazing at the starfish, along the shore and within several feet of us raced a school of slender silver baby barracudas about one foot long. Eli said keep an eye out for mama. We did.
The trail to Starfish Beach. Flipflops are handy to quickly take off during wading around fallen palms and streams entering the sea.
View up the beach from starfish beach. Coconut palms along the shore, mangrove swamp behind.
Starfish on clean sand in two feet of water; warm as a bath.
A balsa wood pirogue carved from one tree trunk. About 12 feet long.
The walk back.
Cooking Class in Spanish School
During our week in Bocas, we had a cooking class. The photos below show the highlights. Our menu included fishhead soup, Caribbean rice, roasted whole red snapper, and mixed green salad. We all helped chop things, cook things, eat things, clean up and drink everything in sight (our instructor passed the hat for an additional cerveza run). Needless to say it was a glorious meal.
Our menu
Our 14 pound red snapper, caught that day by local fisherman.
His head went in the soup.
Fish (less head, the soup is on...) being stuffed with garlic cloves and pineapple in exterior slits. Then squeeze lemon juice over, wrap in tin foil for roasting on barbeque.
Ready to eat and absolutely delicious.
Our menu
Our 14 pound red snapper, caught that day by local fisherman.
His head went in the soup.
Fish (less head, the soup is on...) being stuffed with garlic cloves and pineapple in exterior slits. Then squeeze lemon juice over, wrap in tin foil for roasting on barbeque.
Ready to eat and absolutely delicious.
Bocas del Toro
On our boat trip over to the islands that make up the community of Bocas del Toro (mouths of the bull) we loaded all our gear, people AND a kitchen sink into the wooden "launcha". Wood plank seats and backs across the boat served to seat 4 per row. Our boat was somewhat unusual as there were lifejackets at hand, but buckled on to the seats in front of us. No one wore them, but no problem - we just would quickly unbuckle them and untangle them from the seat in front of us, put them on over our heads, adjust the straps and clip the buckles while the boat foundered or capsized. Fortunately we did have need to try this.
Bocas del Toro is both a province of Panama and a town on Isla Colon (named after that famous explorer who first visited these shores around 1500; in Catalan: Cristòfor Colom; Spanish: Cristóbal Colón; Portuguese: Cristóvão Colombo; Latin: Christophorus Columbus. Morphed for pleasing N. American consumption to Christopher Columbus). The town developed based on fishing industry, and is now a slow-moving Caribbean commercial hub, with the many cultural layers of Spanish, indigenous tribes, black slaves, European entrepeneurs and lately Jamaican-style Rastafarians and mostly 20-something backpacking tourists. Locals ride leisurely up and down the main street on fat-tired bicycles with big saddle seats and high wide handle bars that look like horns on a Texas longhorn cow. The local pidgin dialect is a patois of spanish, english, slang, with a spice of voodoo.
Bocas was not for us - hot, muggy, trashy. There was burning garbage in the street outside our apartment next to the airport. Several times a day, turbo-prop passenger planes would land, disgorge passengers, refuel, take on new passengers - all while idling with droning engines about 200 yards from our front window. This had a damping effect which brought all conversation, reading, and sleeping to a halt. Much of the attitude and somewhat remoteness of the people were the same as in Cahuita, but with a different flavour.
Redeeming features in this group of islands were stunning beaches, good birds, fish and mangroves. Plunked in the middle of one island is one of the BEST Thai restaurants we have been to. 13 of us went over at night in a 25 foot open launch (standard issue - no lights, no lifejackets), hiked up the hill into the darkness of a jungle trail (our group lit with one flashlight, one penlight and several cell phone lights) - to emerge after about 1.5 kilometers at the restaurant - a private house of a Thai woman and son, who host, take orders, cook and clean up. Tables in open air teak verandas looking out through the inky palm fringe to the distant lights. Choruses of deep-throated frogs serenaded us as we dined in the soft night air.
This was a highpoint - but we were glad to move on to week three of language school in the central highlands of Boquete, Panama.
Boat trip to Bocas (including kitchen sink)
Red mangroves on the approach to Bocas. These marvelous plants are among the best natural shoreline protection from tidal waves and hurricanes.
A government building in Bocas as we walked down the main street to our school
We had a salsa dancing lesson at one bar on a small island. But dancing quickly gave way refreshments at the bar. I believe Janet is here explaining to our dancing instructor (in Spanish) the cultural importance of rum for Newfoundlanders.
Bocas del Toro is both a province of Panama and a town on Isla Colon (named after that famous explorer who first visited these shores around 1500; in Catalan: Cristòfor Colom; Spanish: Cristóbal Colón; Portuguese: Cristóvão Colombo; Latin: Christophorus Columbus. Morphed for pleasing N. American consumption to Christopher Columbus). The town developed based on fishing industry, and is now a slow-moving Caribbean commercial hub, with the many cultural layers of Spanish, indigenous tribes, black slaves, European entrepeneurs and lately Jamaican-style Rastafarians and mostly 20-something backpacking tourists. Locals ride leisurely up and down the main street on fat-tired bicycles with big saddle seats and high wide handle bars that look like horns on a Texas longhorn cow. The local pidgin dialect is a patois of spanish, english, slang, with a spice of voodoo.
Bocas was not for us - hot, muggy, trashy. There was burning garbage in the street outside our apartment next to the airport. Several times a day, turbo-prop passenger planes would land, disgorge passengers, refuel, take on new passengers - all while idling with droning engines about 200 yards from our front window. This had a damping effect which brought all conversation, reading, and sleeping to a halt. Much of the attitude and somewhat remoteness of the people were the same as in Cahuita, but with a different flavour.
Redeeming features in this group of islands were stunning beaches, good birds, fish and mangroves. Plunked in the middle of one island is one of the BEST Thai restaurants we have been to. 13 of us went over at night in a 25 foot open launch (standard issue - no lights, no lifejackets), hiked up the hill into the darkness of a jungle trail (our group lit with one flashlight, one penlight and several cell phone lights) - to emerge after about 1.5 kilometers at the restaurant - a private house of a Thai woman and son, who host, take orders, cook and clean up. Tables in open air teak verandas looking out through the inky palm fringe to the distant lights. Choruses of deep-throated frogs serenaded us as we dined in the soft night air.
This was a highpoint - but we were glad to move on to week three of language school in the central highlands of Boquete, Panama.
Boat trip to Bocas (including kitchen sink)
Red mangroves on the approach to Bocas. These marvelous plants are among the best natural shoreline protection from tidal waves and hurricanes.
Bocas del Toro from the water
A government building in Bocas as we walked down the main street to our school
We had a salsa dancing lesson at one bar on a small island. But dancing quickly gave way refreshments at the bar. I believe Janet is here explaining to our dancing instructor (in Spanish) the cultural importance of rum for Newfoundlanders.Sunday, November 8, 2009
Crossing into Panama
As part of the 3 week language school, we travelled by local public bus to the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, along that coast to the border town of Sixaola, then to the frontier with Panama. We had one bus from Turrialba to Siquirres in CR, then another bus to Limon and a third to Sixaola. We were a party of four - Janet, me, our teacher (Eli) and another student Vienna. At the border, the bus pulled into a gravel yard and we all trooped off, grabbed our baggage from under the bus, and walked up over an old weathered approach ramp to an abandoned railroad bridge which links the two countries.
On the CR side there was a small building with a glass window booth. All passengers with all their gear lined up single file to have our passports stamped to exit Costa Rica. Then we humped our bags and packs over a steel trestle bridge about 300 m long. Looking through gaps between the old rail ties we stared down 100 feet to a muddy crocodile-infested river. Thick rough-sawn planks of tropical hardwood were laid down on either side of the unused steel rails to serve as walkways. The boards were not all nailed down; some jumped and shifted as you walked on them adding to the excitement of the crossing. Midway across the bridge was a bored-looking Panamanian soldier in full camoflage fatigues and assault rifle. This marks the mid-point of the river and our first welcome to Panama. The whole trek reminded me of a tense prisoner exchange. At any moment, we expected barked orders over a loudspeaker to freeze, and the rattle of automatic weapons from nervous senties.
We made it to the other side with no shots fired, to a cluster of single storey unmarked buildings with peeling paint and rusty corrugated metal roofs - immigration offices to enter Panama. We lined up behind a cluster of British backpackers with mountainous expedition packs crammed to bursting. Soon we were in front of another glass window and low, half-moon opening (just like the old movie theater ticket booths). Slide through your passport, and bend down to mutter through into the dimly interior. Only to be told that we needed a $5 Tourist Card to enter Panama; just go down to the NEXT window, get it and return (to the line). We grab your packs, shuffle 50 feet along to another theatre ticket window. Slide passport through, bend and mutter. With a pad of cards and carbon paper, the woman leisurely writes out the card by hand, then back come the papers through the half moon. Shuffle back to the first window, slide passports AND tourist card through slot, bend, mutter, wait. Then we are done.
Meanwhile, taxi drivers (we think) are hovering in the hubbub to entice us to use them. Eli had engaged one of them, and when we turned around, our packs were gone! But only whisked away to the pickup truck that commonly serve as taxis. In we all crowded and off we went for an hour long taxi ride to the boat dock to take us and our pile of baggage for the 45 min to Bocas del Toro.
We were in Panama for sure.
Frontier sign on CR side of the bridge
Janet part way across. Soldier is up ahead on left.
On the CR side there was a small building with a glass window booth. All passengers with all their gear lined up single file to have our passports stamped to exit Costa Rica. Then we humped our bags and packs over a steel trestle bridge about 300 m long. Looking through gaps between the old rail ties we stared down 100 feet to a muddy crocodile-infested river. Thick rough-sawn planks of tropical hardwood were laid down on either side of the unused steel rails to serve as walkways. The boards were not all nailed down; some jumped and shifted as you walked on them adding to the excitement of the crossing. Midway across the bridge was a bored-looking Panamanian soldier in full camoflage fatigues and assault rifle. This marks the mid-point of the river and our first welcome to Panama. The whole trek reminded me of a tense prisoner exchange. At any moment, we expected barked orders over a loudspeaker to freeze, and the rattle of automatic weapons from nervous senties.
We made it to the other side with no shots fired, to a cluster of single storey unmarked buildings with peeling paint and rusty corrugated metal roofs - immigration offices to enter Panama. We lined up behind a cluster of British backpackers with mountainous expedition packs crammed to bursting. Soon we were in front of another glass window and low, half-moon opening (just like the old movie theater ticket booths). Slide through your passport, and bend down to mutter through into the dimly interior. Only to be told that we needed a $5 Tourist Card to enter Panama; just go down to the NEXT window, get it and return (to the line). We grab your packs, shuffle 50 feet along to another theatre ticket window. Slide passport through, bend and mutter. With a pad of cards and carbon paper, the woman leisurely writes out the card by hand, then back come the papers through the half moon. Shuffle back to the first window, slide passports AND tourist card through slot, bend, mutter, wait. Then we are done.
Meanwhile, taxi drivers (we think) are hovering in the hubbub to entice us to use them. Eli had engaged one of them, and when we turned around, our packs were gone! But only whisked away to the pickup truck that commonly serve as taxis. In we all crowded and off we went for an hour long taxi ride to the boat dock to take us and our pile of baggage for the 45 min to Bocas del Toro.
We were in Panama for sure.
Frontier sign on CR side of the bridge
Janet part way across. Soldier is up ahead on left.
Travelling language school - October
Hello one and all. We were out of touch and private internet connection for October since we enrolled in a three week travelling Spanish school "Spanish by the River", based in Turrialba, CR . We spent one week in Turrialba, then one week in Bocas del Toro on Panama Caribbean coast, then our last week in Boquete, in western highlands of Panama. Our main teacher, Eli Rodrigues, was our "chaperone" during the whole trip, travelling on local buses with us, and navigating the labyrinth of customs and immigration crossing into Panama. We had a home stay in Turrialba, a school apartment in Bocas and a partial home stay in Boquete. The home stays are good once to get a feel for local family living, but we preferred to be in our own space, to cook healthier food and have more time for focusing on Spanish.
Some separate posts to follow about the Panama and the frontier crossings.
We are now settled for a time in a rented house in Grecia, CR. It has (somewhat intermittent) internet, and we are gradually getting caught up on emails and blog posting.
Some separate posts to follow about the Panama and the frontier crossings.
We are now settled for a time in a rented house in Grecia, CR. It has (somewhat intermittent) internet, and we are gradually getting caught up on emails and blog posting.
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