In which Roz and Layla swim in a waterfall and meet Embera Indians

by Layla

We ventured out of Casco Viejo on our last night, having got a taste for Lebanese food, but the restaurant annoyed us by serving us microwaved pizza and claiming it to be a Lebanese pastry, so we didn't linger, and instead returned in a huff to Casco Viejo. We settled down with mohitos in Casablanca, and reflected on how this had been a really quite excellent holiday... before being eventually driven home by too many overexuberant buskers. The risks of sitting outside in Panama's nicest square...

We had decided to guard against that hanging-around-feeling-sorry-for-ourselves feeling that always characterises our return to normality by impetuously booking a tour for our last day in Panama. We packed up our stuff too quickly to think about the implications of it, dashed out for a last fruit and granola breakfast, and by 9am we were standing to attention at our front door. Mario turned up promptly, popped our luggage in the boot of his car, and proceeded to drive us to a fruit market where he bought us all kinds of fruit we'd never tried before. A fruit that was very long and thin that you cracked open on your knee to reveal little pods of white furry fruit... little green spheres containing pink gummy stuff... it was quite fun. And then we drove to Chagres National Park.

When we arrived, two men from a local Embera Indian village awaited us in vibrant loincloths, and directed us to a dugout canoe, complete with motor, in which they conveyed us down the Chagres River. We passed Embera villages, hills, massive vegetation, and hummingbirds, before alighting in a clearing for our hike to a waterfall. This was a fun 20 minute hike that involved following a river along muddy banks, and at times walking through the river which came up to our knees. This was more fun for me with my flipflops than poor Roz with her socks and hiking boots... but we got to the waterfal eventually, and jumped into the pool. We had an enjoyable 15 minutes cavorting in the currents and climbing on the waterfall, before shaking ourselves off and hiking back to the canoe.

Next up was a visit to an Embera village. The Embera are a native culture in Panama and mostly live as hunter gatherers in the rainforest in the east. When US people came to Panama to look after the canal, they asked three Embera families to come and teach them how to survive in the rainforest. After the job was done, the US people suggested that rather than returning home, they might want to make a new home in a nearby part of rainforest that had the advantage of being nearer to schools and hospitals. They thought this was a good plan, and duly  moved in. Fifty years later, the government decided to designate the area a national park, since its river and lake not only provided Panama City's drinking water, but also helped work the Panama Canal during dry season, and was thus rather valuable. National Park rules meant people couldn't live there or hunt there any more. Which was of course the Embera Indians' whole way of life. They reached a compromise where they could live there, but would accept tourists and show them their way of life, thus earning money for buying groceries rather than hunting in the Park. This seemed a bit of a shame...

The Embera Indians were very welcoming, bedecked in colourful cloths (apparently for our benefit - when there were no tourists, they are naked), and playing various musical instruments. Everyone shook our hands, and then they performed various dances. I was alarmed/amused when Roz and I were made to join in! After a lunch of plantain fritters and the fruit from the fruit market, we heard about how they made crafts (which we duly purchased a small sample of) and walked around their village, with its thatched huts on stilts. My favourite image from the day was of two tiny girls wearing very clean, smart school uniforms, standing on the other side of the river in the middle of the jungle, waiting to be picked up and brought across to the village by canoe after school.

After that, it was off to the airport, and homeward. From my desk at work I have to wonder: was I really trekking through a river in the middle of the jungle on Monday?

In which Layla and Roz go through the Panama Canal, climb a hill, and aspire to trendiness

By Layla 

Despite the storm, our plane took off and deposited us promptly back in Panama city. Flagging a taxi, we embarked on an overly complicated rush hour quest to a random apartment in Amador to pick up our bags, before home to our old apartment building, though a little studio instead of our spacious apartment which had been booked for these dates already. We batted our eyelids and offered a couple of dollars to the taxi driver to carry our bags up the stairs. Ah, the memories of 10 years ago when I’d lug a massive backpack up a thousand stairs without complaint…

We dropped off our stuff and headed off to Divino which was much busier than last time we sampled it – we almost didn’t get a seat! But eventually squeezed in, we drank prosecco, ate delicious cheese-covered polenta and Spanish tortilla. Excellent.

The next day we grudgingly hauled ourselves out of bed at an early hour and fell into a taxi, bound for the Amador port – our destination: the Panama Canal. It’s all very well to watch it from the visitors’ centre, but very much cooler to go through it in a little boat! The boat in question was cool in itself – built in 1912, originally used by Al Capone to transport rum, in the intervening hundred years it has been enjoyed by Hollywood stars such as Cary Grant. Despite our bitterness at having been told to arrive over an hour earlier than necessary, we settled down, sipped their free drinks, and prepared for adventure.

And indeed, adventure was forthcoming. It is exceptionally cool to go through the Panama Canal. First the scenery – it starts with the skyscrapers of Panama City, and quickly gives way to jungle. And it’s not all a canal as you might imagine it – large portions are linked by pretty man-made lakes through which we sailed. And we enjoyed kissing for luck under the Bridge of the Americas which unites North and South America across the canal. But of course the coolest thing was going through the locks, and watching as we rose several meters up, while the canal workers made sure we went through straight. On one occasion, we got to share our lock with some bigger boats, which were guided through the locks by little trains called ‘mules’, and passed many massive container ships who were only just wide enough to squeeze through. Quite exciting to watch them – it’s hard to imagine the scale of these beasts.

After a busride back to Casco Viejo, we bought excellent ice cream and went home to get ready for the evening (and tried to make plans for our last two days in Panama… only moderately successfully!). And then headed out for our least decisive dining experience ever. We started off in a cool bar, drinking mohitos and trying to look trendy, then tried one restaurant which felt too empty, walked to another which we felt ashamed of as we’d already eaten there more than once, another whose menu didn’t sound good, another who was non-specific with their vegetarian plate offerings, hunted unsuccessfully for some time for another… and eventually, rather inexplicably, ended up in a cool art gallery/café where we had guacamole and salad, while Roz watched the testimony of a victim of war crimes as an arty video in her line of vision, while I watched some annoying children cavorting, the only other signs of life in this otherwise deserted destination…

After dinner, we returned to the cool bar and went onto the roof terrace which had a really excellent view of the Panama City skyline, all lit up for the night. Alas we didn’t manage to get seats – we tried to sit down but a waitress ejected us from the seating area – Roz is of the view that it was because we had to buy a bottle of wine to get a table; as hot young things took up our perches, my conclusion was insufficient coolness… We drank our mohitos at the bar, and resisted a chance to be seated once more when Roz caught the amorous eye of a seated gentlemen…

The next day we slept in, savouring our last chance to do so for some time. And then we went out for crepes in a nearby café and puzzled over what to do with the day. After much humming and hawing, we did quite well – we walked up Amacor Hill, which was very pretty and had a fantastic 360 degree view of Panama City, from the shiny skyscrapers to Casco Viejo’s crumbling grandeur, to the canal’s locks. Also we saw a very brightly coloured toucan, which we both found quite cool. Alas there was no water up there, but just as we thought we might die from dehydration, a sweet man who was selling warm hats of all things gave us some of his water and told us about his tribe (Kuna Yala).

Having walked down the hill, and then sunk gloriously into the back seat of an air conditioned taxi, we decided to venture outside of Casco Viejo for a late lunch. Destination: Beirut. Or at least, the restaurant! We had very tasty Lebanese food, read our books a little and then returned to Casco Viejo for more of that excellent ice cream and a lovely walk to Plaza Francia, a pretty square by the water, with a great walkway sporting views across the city. We sat down on a bench in the middle of the bustle and spent a cheery time with our books, before heading home to get ready for our last Panama evening…

In which Layla and Roz brave the rapids atop a blue rubber dinghy

And so we set off for dinner at a little Italian restaurant and found ourselves their sole clients… we settled down on their very cute outdoor patio next to the river, though had some doubts when indoor customers appeared… and the rain started. Fortunately the food was tasty – I’d definitely been in pizza withdrawal… we returned home by taxi to watch an electric storm even more impressive than the previous night’s – the whole sky lit up every couple of seconds. Bizarre and exciting to watch.

Less exciting to try to fall asleep to, but luckily we were tired, and next thing we knew, we were hauling ourselves out of bed to an insistent alarm clock. We scurried around packing, shrieking at the insects who’d found their way from the rainforest to our shower, and gulping down our last French toast breakfast. And then it was time for a hurried goodbye to our home in the mountains and off to an adventure we feared too adventurous for us: white water rafting!

“Oh, it’s only grade 2 or 3 rapids” the other six rafters told us serenely, before launching into stories of narrowly averted disaster from past rafting trips. We quadruple-belted our lifejackets, fastened helmets to our heads, and joined the others heading down from the van to the roaring river below. Oh okay, it probably wasn’t roaring. But there was white water. That’s all I’m saying.

White water rafting turns out to be fantastic fun – though I’m not sure whether our two raft-mates would agree, if my shrieking, and Roz’s ‘Oh God No!’ exclamations were anything to go by… Perched on the sides of a rubber dinghy with paddle in hand and a competent guide steering the contraption from the back, we alternated smashing into waves, spinning, and flying through the air with moments of still water and serenity, and plenty of time to admire the beautiful views of the local volcano and Panama’s countryside. We stopped halfway through for ‘lunch’ (our lack of watches failed to advise us it was but 10:30am, so we may have overindulged in sandwiches and pineapple…) on a little beach, and then it was back in the boats for more white water excitement… and at one point we even jumped out of the boat into the water to bob downstream. Despite our shrieks persisting til the very last rapid, we both loved it.

And then it was onto an extremely slow bus to David and taxi to the airport where we await our plane back to Panama amid one of these storms I mentioned… Wish us luck!

In which Roz and Layla survive a horseride (and the trip to get there), and sample the ex-pat Panamanian music scene

We left you in the gazebo, and this latest episode is written from there.

Yesterday, having departed the gazebo we were driven into town for lunch, which turned out to be an unexpectedly delicious falafel sandwich washed down with a beer (and an ice-cream) to steady our nerves.

And our nerves certainly needed to be steadied when we were picked up by Franklin, the guy who was to take us horseriding.  He arrived at the appointed spot in a pick-up truck.  We looked bemused and asked whether we should go in the back of the truck (albeit there was no seating).  He looked horrified, pointed to the nearby police who he said would object to this, and told us that we should both hop in the front.  Layla and I have not got slenderer over the years of our adventuring, but I rather think it would have been a struggle at any point to fit the two of us into one seat.  Nevertheless, without any other immediately obvious option, in we both squashed.  As we drove along, Franklin asked a series of questions which brought terror to our hearts.  "Which of us", he enquired, "was the more experienced with horses?"  "What kind of style of riding did we prefer?" (The answer to this question did not seem to be "one that doesn't entail me falling off".)  The drive turned out to be quite long, all the while Layla was mushed up against the car door (which I feared would fall open) whilst I gained a closer acquaintance with a gear stick than I had ever anticipated / hoped.  Confidence had not been instilled in me.

After some time, we arrived at a ramshackle shed in a woebegone paddock, where a few horses (admittedly not particularly dangerous looking!) ambled around.  I took the opportunity to phone Randy, who owns the plantation that we are staying on and who had organised the trip, to check he'd sent beginners there before.  "Don't worry", he said, "I've sent a 75 year old beginner there before: you'll have a brilliant time".  And so, notwithstanding hesitations, we approached the horses and got ready to trek.  To be fair, the horses turned out to be very nice-natured, even if no-one was in any doubt as to who was in charge.  And they both endeared themselves to us as we went along by their constant enthusiasm for eating: we were reminded of ourselves.  The route, also, was lovely, going up through the hills to a peak, from which you could just about see the sea.  The landscape was an odd combination of almost rolling English hills, palm trees and gently running streams.  We both felt beautifully (if entirely unjustifiably) intrepid as we crossed streams.  I can't say that Franklin particularly endeared himself to me, though his valiant efforts to persuade Layla not to sit like a sack of potatoes was only to be admired.  And he didn't laugh when Layla shrieked when her horse went off at a mild gallop, which was clearly very restrained of him.

Back in the paddock, Layla and I gazed without enthusiasm at the pick-up truck - our only means of getting home.  But we managed to arrange ourselves slightly better this time around - Layla got friendly with the gear stick whilst I held the car door shut - and approved of Franklin's taste in music.  He'd not immediately seemed like a Nina Simone kind of guy.  Deposited back in town, although still far from our plantation, we felt a little forlorn (it was raining and I'd banged my knee hard on a post that my horse had passed with a little too much enthusiasm).  But the ever-obliging Randy came to get us and our mood lifted appreciably after a quick shower.

We were off to what's thought of as the best restaurant in the area - the Rock.  It turned out to be a very pretty place, just by a river. The food was pretty fabulous - especially our starters (I had pumpkin and coffee soup, which was just remarkable, whilst Layla loved her three onion soup).  But that won't be the only reason why we remember the night.  It turned out that a new musical family had moved to town, and that a concert had been put on (by them) - organised by a friend who seems to be something of a big name in the Boquete music pool.  Think Family von Trappe.  Only with a mother who isn't actually that good (and who had authored some horrific songs - "We're blessed" being a particular highlight) and a very over-enthusiastic father.  In fairness, the daughter was in fact very good (so far as we are able to judge these things) and the whole evening very pleasant, if it did feel as though we'd gate-crashed a private party.  Though I suspect that the Panamanian family who were the only other attendees not in some way linked to the ex-pat community which was otherwise out in full force, felt that even more than us.

We got back home just in time to sit on the steps of our flat and watch an amazing thunder-storm over the other side of the valley.  The sky was just amazing and we had a great time trying (and failing) to take pictures of it.

Having had another delicious breakfast this morning (delivered to our room, as always!), we went out for a hike through a nearby rainforest - 2000 feet up from where we are now.  It's always lovely to do this kind of thing, and I think we both enjoyed it all the more for being without a guide.  Well, that is, until I saw a snake at which point I remembered the excellence of having a guide / boy around who you can look to for defence....  The hike took us past rivers and up to a waterfall.  We'd brought bottled water with us, and only realised as we sipped it that in fact the water came from the very river we were walking past.  Strangely pleasing.

Back at the start of the hike, we read our books whilst waiting for a bus.  When it appeared, it drove us with considerable enthusiasm down to Boquete.  Indeed the bus's speed (going down several thousand feet) was such that Layla's ears popped.  On getting off the bus she looked as if she'd just experienced an emergency landing from a plane and staggered around.  I tried hard not to laugh...

Fortunately I was distracted from laughing by the need for what was an overdue lunch.  We considered a few options, and then headed back to the falafel place of yesterday - it was just so good.  And now we have spent a pleasant afternoon on hammocks, with books.  In fact, in exactly the same place we were when we left you last time.  But tomorrow, we're off back to Panama City...

In which Layla and Roz find civilisation in the mountains

by Layla

And so we headed out for our last night on the town for a while - destination Divino Enoteca in Casco Viejo. Sadly at 8 o'clock on a Monday night it was pretty much deserted. A couple of glasses of tasty Chardonnay, a bruschetta, and a delicious polenta thing later, we went on a further hunt for signs of life, and found ourselves back at Ego, this time sitting outside in the square, where it was cheery and jolly and we ate a lot of food.

Back to the house, we dashed excitedly to our laptop, having downloaded the Christmas special of Downton Abbey and settled down with beer and delight to watch it... or at least half of it. At which point we felt so sleepy that we headed off to bed, bursting to know what happened next.

The next day I went out to buy breakfast, we finished our packing, ate breakfast on the balcony, and headed to the airport - this one the domestic airport, that was previously a US army airport, given to the Panamanians when the US gave up control of the canal. We flew a mere 45 minutes to David and found ourselves somewhere quite different - the mountains of Panama. We took a taxi to the bus station, an hour-long bus that crawled uphill, and finally found ourselves at our destination, Boquete, just in time for a late lunch. We walked up the hill in the scorching sunshine to Art y Crepas, a crepe cafe, and indulged in some tasty crepes and questionable wine, before calling the owner of the coffee planation where we'd arranged to spend three nights.

The coffee plantation really is up in the hills - a very steep drive from Boquete (itself at high altitude) found us coming up through the clouds to a very different weather system, and a very isolated world of fabulous views, brilliantly bright flowers, freshly picked and roasted coffee, and a friendly dog. There are just two little cottages up here and they are beautiful - classy, comfy, and a little white board on which we were instructed to write our breakfast desires. We picked up the hammocks provided and walked out of our back door down a little garden path to a really beautiful little gazebo amid the flowers. And thus whiled away the rest of the afternoon swinging lazily above the valley, watching the hummingbirds, and drinking fresh coffee.

Afterwards, we changed and went out for dinner to a pleasant enough restaurant to which our gracious host drove us (and picked us up), then skipped home to watch the final bit of Downton Abbey before bed. No, not obsessed at all...

We were woken this morning by light streaming in and glorious views, and our host delivering our french toast, fruit and orange juice. I'm writing this from the gazebo, before we go horse riding this afternoon. It's not a bad life...

In which Roz and Layla journey find a forest in a city

by Roz

Dinner last night – at a small place on a pretty square with outside seating - was lovely. We confirmed that mohitos and pasta go well together and discussed the vital issue of potential next developments in Downton Abbey, which Layla and I have become obsessed with. Yawning a little too early to respectably go to bed, we continued our cheery evening back at Casablanca (the first place we’d visited in Panama) and drank a goodnight mohito.

Alas, we were awake spectacularly early this morning: odd, given the time difference with DC is only one hour. Having tried to persuade ourselves to go back to sleep unsuccessfully, I took Layla out on her first run in foreign parts. It’s something I do quite often – it’s a nice way to see a strange place – but of course Layla has only just got in to running. Well, “got in to” might be putting it a little strongly. Let’s say she’s only just begun running. Our flat is very close to the ocean and there’s a fantastic walkway along the sea. Going one way we gazed at the fabulous Panama City skyline, and on our return we saw the forests. Most strange to see the very different vistas, all complemented by the Pacific Ocean and a line of giant boats awaiting their turn to cross through the canal. It’s probably best to gloss over Layla’s first run in high humidity. Suffice to say, every now and then I enquired whether she might be actually going to die. Fortunately she didn’t. I enjoyed myself anyway…

We popped into a lovely café to pick up a coffee for me and then it was back to the flat for a shower before heading to breakfast at Super Delicatessen (where I had unexpectedly had granola, yoghurt and pineapple – a fruit I’ve never cared for before – whilst Layla had something a little less virtuous). We stocked up on lunch and water supplies before grabbing a taxi to Park Metropolitan. It’s a small-ish rainforest in the city. A leftover, I suppose, from the time when Panama City was all forest. Having stopped off at the visitors’ centre for more water (I am rather paranoid about running out, something I am punished for by having to carry it afterwards), we headed into the forest. It was most odd, if rather lovely experience. Thick forest – and yet we could hear cars close by. Not long in, we came across a pond with many turtles in – plus a fantastic lizard which runs (literally, on its hind legs) along the water. We lingered a while in hopes of seeing more lizards and became entirely addicted (to the extent that, when we looped back, I could barely drag Layla away: she kept asking to stay to see “just one more”). The first half was uphill and not entirely easygoing, but we were rewarded when we got to the top by a fantastic view (the amorous couple, pretty much the only people we saw today, were less of a good addition). There was the wonderful Panama skyline of course, but also Casco Viejo (where we’re staying), the causeway and – in the distance – boats. Lunch was another, welcome, reward. And made the bag lighter.

Heading off, thankfully downhill, we marvelled at how we had the forest to ourselves (other than the amorous locals). It was something of a reminder about how few tourists do come to Panama. Walking through Monkey Forest, we hoped for monkeys but alas only saw beehives (I guess it was too hot for anyone other than mad dogs and English ladies to be out and about). Back at the visitors’ centre, we contemplated exploring another part of the forest. We started off, and paused just long enough to see that, curiously, Hugo Boss had decided to plant more trees there (why?!), before we gave in to nervous anticipation of rain and headed back to our flat.

Having showered, I said to Layla that I wanted to lie down and read my book for “just five minutes” and had a delightful afternoon nap whilst Layla indulged in the finale of Make It or Break It, the teen gymnastics drama which she is obsessed with. Having woken up, I sent Layla out for a later afternoon snack, which we ate on the balcony whilst drinking local beer. I selfishly read my book and Layla very virtuously contemplated what else we should be planning in the city (alas that she is virtuous, but indecisive).

And now, having just packed up our stuff – for tomorrow we head to Boquete – Layla is again contemplating what we should be planning to do next. I hope.

In which Roz and Layla return to 1913 and enjoy a palindrome.

Apparently the longest known palindrome is "A man a plan a canal Panama". Which is what everyone said quizzically as Roz and I planned our next adventure. Panama has featured in various travel articles this year as one of the lesser known see-it-before-others-catch-on destinations. And with a 4 1/2 hour direct flight from Washington DC, a mere one hour time difference, and that famous canal, how could we hesitate!

And so it was that we landed yesterday afternoon with anticipation and slight concern in our eyes as the clouds gathered and reminded us that we had chosen the rainy season for our trip. Luckily, they controlled themselves while we got to our cool little apartment in the old quarter of Panama, Casco Viejo. Panama is an odd city - Roz likens it to LA. Quite spread out, with no obvious walking center; just everyone driving around from skyscraper apartment to mall. Which makes sense as Panama is hot, wet, and humid for much of the year. But aside from some pretty paths by the water, there's not much strolling to be done in most of the city's districts.

Casco Viejo is the exception to that rule. One of the first settlements in the Americas, it is old, crumbling, fading Spanish grandeur. The city's skyscrapers here are replaced by cute, multicoloured buildings, cafes sprawling onto streets and squares, and views of the Ocean on either side. It's an area that was once very grand, then fell on bad times, was abandoned by the posh, squatted by the less posh, and recently welcomed the creep of artists, which can be seen in artists' studios aplenty and the lovely graffiti (which redefines the word - street art would be more appropriate), particularly on the ubiquitous metal cylindrical rubbish bins which are uniquely and beautifully painted. Since Casco Viejo got World Heritage status a few years ago, it seems the area is getting ready to be grand again. Which unfortunately for us, means a bit of a building site.

We spent the afternoon yesterday wandering around the area, squeezing past scaffolding, and drinking mohitos in Casablanca, one of the outdoor cafes on a square that had escaped the building deluge. Then back to our absolutely beautiful apartment - two floors, fabulous decor - for wine and cheese, before heading out to Manolo's, one of Panama City's best restaurants. In the time between calling to make a reservation (and a long explanation of our vegetarianism) and heading out, the heavens opened. We arrived drenched, but were soon appeased by about 10 courses of very pleasant food, and some surreal conversations with our table neighbours regarding England's football success, of which we knew nothing and they knew every moment of. They also invited us out salsa dancing with them, but we feared the proposition might turn amorous, and went home instead.

Today our landlord had arranged a city tour and due to the aforementioned sprawling nature of this city, Roz and I decided to take up the offer, and so after I got up early and dashed to a cafe to pick up some takeaway granola, yoghurt, and excellent tropical fruit (which we ate on our delightful balcony), we hopping in a minivan with two other couples and headed to the place for which I have harboured all the romantic connotations in the world: the Panama Canal. We went to a little film about the building of it and imminent widening of it (this and next year are your last chance to see it in its 1913 state!) but alas there were no boats going through at that time. Reluctantly we left with hopes to return later, and we were driven through various areas of Panama City ranging from slum to swank to a pretty causeway to Panama Viejo, the very first Spanish settlement in America. It was mainly crumbled beyond recognition, but we visited an old convent, and had a pleasant time pottering around, before it was back in the car and off to Casco Viejo. At which point we realised that the plan was to go to Casablance bar (which we'd already done), walk round the area (which we'd already done), and drive people to the airport. And so we abandoned the tour.

After a superlative sandwich and some cheese at Super Delicatessen (a moniker which lived up to its promise), and dropping stuff off at our apartment, we caught a taxi back to the Amador Causeway. It's a 5km walk along a thin road passing through three or four tiny islands, with ocean on each side. We acquired ice cream and pottered along in the sun, admiring the view of the ships lining up to enter the canal on one side, and the city skyline on the other. The ships lining up made me wish we'd been able to see them in the canal... and before long we were in another taxi, speeding back to the observation point just in time to see two massive container ships go through the Miraflores Locks. Its hard to describe the delightfulness of this. It could have been 1913. The romance was just as I'd hoped. The thought of these huge boats sneaking through the centre of the continent, bound for foreign parts, was oddly thrilling. When the crew of a Malaysian container ship waved at their audience, I felt genuinely excited at seeing them. Which is entirely bizarre - I see Malaysian people all the time and have been to Malaysia with less thrill than was in my heart as the Panama Canal pulled my back to 1913, and a time of magic, adventure, and a golden age of trade.

And now, 99 years later, we sip wine and plan a night on the town. Roz tells me only one restaurant is open on Sundays, so that won't take much planning. We're feeling rather excited to be here.