Boquete
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It wasn’t easy to get to Boquete, but things that come easy are not worth fighting for, right? So after I traveled from Santa Catalina to Soná to Santiago to David to Boquete, while an alcoholic female bugged me with stories about black nazi-grandma’s, the whole it-better-be-worth-it-feeling took a hold of me. Luckily, Boquete wasn’t going to disappoint me. After I woke up from a creepy night in which a too-German chap with high sports socks, fannypack and a side parting declared his affection for me (panting & whispering in the dark) I finally got rewarded:
The gentle rays of sunlight lit up the fresh green mountains, friendly smiling people walked out of their Tiroler-style houses and wished me a buen día and an old toothless indigenous farmer gave me a banana he just picked...
Instantly I made a decision: I am not going to leave any time soon.
The gentle rays of sunlight lit up the fresh green mountains, friendly smiling people walked out of their Tiroler-style houses and wished me a buen día and an old toothless indigenous farmer gave me a banana he just picked...
Instantly I made a decision: I am not going to leave any time soon.
Beaches are nice, but after five of them I’m quite beached-out and craving for some cool(er) mountain air and getting all outdoorsy. So let’s make it happen: Instead of putting on some hiking shoes I first put on a cute hire-me dress and strolled along some hostels I found on WorkAway. Hostal Nomba appeared to be the jackpot: As soon as I arrived in this colourful cozy place in the hills the American owner Ryan took me apart and said “Listen... You couldn’t have come at a better time, I need you... now.” And just like that he hugged me and made me a part of the Nomba-family.
[Something I regretted later on... he turned out to be a raging alcoholic taking advantage of everyone in his direct environment. His wife, the girls he cheated with, his guests and especially his volunteers and employees. This (excuse for a) man thinks it's okay to let his entire hostel be run by free-working backpackers and locals he pays $300 a month, and then steal their money or refuse to pay them out. Confrontation is met with violence, insults and threats. It's normal for him to let clients pay (and wait) for tours and services that he never delivers. Be warned, Ryan Brandt from Hostal Nomba is an unreliable human-being, don't get involved.]
I committed to work the whole month of April in exchange for accommodation, food from Ryan’s restaurant Paco’s Tacos and all tours he offered via his tour agency Mirador Adventures. As I don’t have a work visa and Panamá is expensive, especially with the disastrous euro-dollar exchange rate, this seemed a good deal. For example, in Bolivia you pay $2-4 for accommodation and $1 for a local three-course meal, so no way I am going to work for that... but in Panamá $10-15 is normal for a night in a bunk bed and you can expect to pay $7-15 for a meal. Plus I only had to work 3,5 days a week.
As before I left on this trip I quit my job as a floor manager in a 119-bed 4* hotel, I could easily handle a hostel with only three private rooms and one 10-bed dorm. Instead of about 90 check-ins a day I now only had a tiny handful... or nothing at all: I witnessed that reception shifts consisted mainly of listening to Spotify, watching documentaries or Netflix, studying everything that attracts your attention in life and finishing one book after the other. However, this doesn’t mean I was going to screw around. On my first day I completely reorganized the entire office, which gave me the nickname ‘OCD’. Every closet and every shelf got strictly ordered by logical systems, accompanied by inventory lists: rental equipment folded and separated by material, books in one straight line on the shelf from big to small, flyers per subject in neat piles with exactly one centimeter in between, equal distances between furniture, synoptic positions for office supplies and needless to say no skewed hanging paintings on the wall. As my mind is all over the place, my working- and living environment needs to be clear and organized.
[Something I regretted later on... he turned out to be a raging alcoholic taking advantage of everyone in his direct environment. His wife, the girls he cheated with, his guests and especially his volunteers and employees. This (excuse for a) man thinks it's okay to let his entire hostel be run by free-working backpackers and locals he pays $300 a month, and then steal their money or refuse to pay them out. Confrontation is met with violence, insults and threats. It's normal for him to let clients pay (and wait) for tours and services that he never delivers. Be warned, Ryan Brandt from Hostal Nomba is an unreliable human-being, don't get involved.]
I committed to work the whole month of April in exchange for accommodation, food from Ryan’s restaurant Paco’s Tacos and all tours he offered via his tour agency Mirador Adventures. As I don’t have a work visa and Panamá is expensive, especially with the disastrous euro-dollar exchange rate, this seemed a good deal. For example, in Bolivia you pay $2-4 for accommodation and $1 for a local three-course meal, so no way I am going to work for that... but in Panamá $10-15 is normal for a night in a bunk bed and you can expect to pay $7-15 for a meal. Plus I only had to work 3,5 days a week.
As before I left on this trip I quit my job as a floor manager in a 119-bed 4* hotel, I could easily handle a hostel with only three private rooms and one 10-bed dorm. Instead of about 90 check-ins a day I now only had a tiny handful... or nothing at all: I witnessed that reception shifts consisted mainly of listening to Spotify, watching documentaries or Netflix, studying everything that attracts your attention in life and finishing one book after the other. However, this doesn’t mean I was going to screw around. On my first day I completely reorganized the entire office, which gave me the nickname ‘OCD’. Every closet and every shelf got strictly ordered by logical systems, accompanied by inventory lists: rental equipment folded and separated by material, books in one straight line on the shelf from big to small, flyers per subject in neat piles with exactly one centimeter in between, equal distances between furniture, synoptic positions for office supplies and needless to say no skewed hanging paintings on the wall. As my mind is all over the place, my working- and living environment needs to be clear and organized.
This attitude contrasted sharply with the way the hostel is run: Schedules are just for show, fun is obliged and hanging out is an art... as long as the hostel doesn’t burn down and things are running, everyone’s happy. ‘Everyone’ being the child in a grown-up body Ryan; his extravert gorgeous wife Rosy (milf-alert); indigenous cleaning lady Maribel who perceives making 30-minutes-long phone calls and merely walking around with a broom for show as part of the work description; and the barely-dressed Colombian sexbomb Andrea who didn’t have the highest work ethic but slept with the (married) boss, so that counts.
These are the kind of people that cover alcoholic treats under the reception desk, toss coins about who’s going to work the shift tortured by an agonizing hangover, walk barefoot 24/7 and who receive the news of my nipple piercing with loud applause. In short, in the beginning I had one hell of a time here. It wouldn’t surprise you that after only two weeks I already committed for another month.
These are the kind of people that cover alcoholic treats under the reception desk, toss coins about who’s going to work the shift tortured by an agonizing hangover, walk barefoot 24/7 and who receive the news of my nipple piercing with loud applause. In short, in the beginning I had one hell of a time here. It wouldn’t surprise you that after only two weeks I already committed for another month.
Ryan insisted that I first explored the environment as much as I could and basically forced me up the glorious mountains to uncover all natural presents Boquete had to offer. Consider it done!
First I hiked up the Sendero Piedra de Lino, a steep but relatively short hike up to a gigantic rock overlooking the Chiriquí highlands, passing banana trees, coffee plants, lavender, cilantro and tropical bird species. On clear days you can not only see ‘our’ city’s stunning surroundings, but enjoy views all the way to Davíd.
First I hiked up the Sendero Piedra de Lino, a steep but relatively short hike up to a gigantic rock overlooking the Chiriquí highlands, passing banana trees, coffee plants, lavender, cilantro and tropical bird species. On clear days you can not only see ‘our’ city’s stunning surroundings, but enjoy views all the way to Davíd.
The #1 hike in Boquete however is the midnight climb to Volcán Barú, Panama's only volcano and highest point.
So there I sat, 11PM, ready to exchange my night rest for an extremely difficult and tough hike to the summit to witness the sunrise from the top of the crater. A 4WD jeep drove me and two hilarious American chicks to the national park until the road simply stopped and only a bunch of rocks were left. Nervous I put on my headlight and started hysterically laughing as soon as I looked up... just because that´s better than hysterically crying: ‘Steep’ doesn’t even describe the not-really-a-path I had to follow.
So there I sat, 11PM, ready to exchange my night rest for an extremely difficult and tough hike to the summit to witness the sunrise from the top of the crater. A 4WD jeep drove me and two hilarious American chicks to the national park until the road simply stopped and only a bunch of rocks were left. Nervous I put on my headlight and started hysterically laughing as soon as I looked up... just because that´s better than hysterically crying: ‘Steep’ doesn’t even describe the not-really-a-path I had to follow.
Recently I kind of forgot about that thing called ‘physical exercise’, so how the hell am I going to walk up an almost 180-degrees slope for 6-7 hours? I have no fucking clue, but I did it. And fast too: For some reason I found myself running up that hill (hm, someone should write a song about that) and even the 22-year young German angels told me I made them feel old. Still got it, mirror-high-five.
It was difficult, it was intense and every single muscle almost burnt out of my body, but I enjoyed the shit out of it. As the fast dropping temperature forced us to keep on moving we reached the top in about five hours, ruined and exhausted. I heard there was some ‘maintenance-guy’ with two bunk-beds up there so I figured this was the exact moment to look pay him a visit... when he let us in to crash down for 45 minutes I almost married him on the spot. After some horizontally spent minutes it was time for the sunrise-show. So we put on our layers: two on the legs, five (!) on the upper body, gloves, a scarf and a head. “ Steph, it’s Panamá, aren’t you slightly exaggerating?” Absolutely not, it’s not quite the beach party at 3,5KM above sea level, freezing point was reached that night.
It was difficult, it was intense and every single muscle almost burnt out of my body, but I enjoyed the shit out of it. As the fast dropping temperature forced us to keep on moving we reached the top in about five hours, ruined and exhausted. I heard there was some ‘maintenance-guy’ with two bunk-beds up there so I figured this was the exact moment to look pay him a visit... when he let us in to crash down for 45 minutes I almost married him on the spot. After some horizontally spent minutes it was time for the sunrise-show. So we put on our layers: two on the legs, five (!) on the upper body, gloves, a scarf and a head. “ Steph, it’s Panamá, aren’t you slightly exaggerating?” Absolutely not, it’s not quite the beach party at 3,5KM above sea level, freezing point was reached that night.
However, the moment I sat down surrounded by the magic of dawn and watched the clouds fill up the crater like a waterfall, I knew it was all worth it. Lukas took out the Jägermeister and lit up by the colourful morning lights we drank to our Panamanian dream, which appeared to be better than sleep. I looked left and saw the Pacific Ocean from a distance, I looked right and witnessed something that seemed to be the Caribbean Sea and felt proud that I made it up here.
But well, as (unfortunately) there was no helicopter waiting on us to pick us up I had to walk the same way down. Uhuh, that same way with all its loose sand, rolling rocks and steep descents. The American muppets described it quite accurate: “This is going to be a shit-show”. The first three times you fall while making some athletic breakdance-move in order to save your ass is hilarious, the next 300 times not so much. Going up is simply brutal force, going down requires vigilance and attention to place your feet smartly: Impossible if you’re physically trashed and 100% brain-dead. I swore, regretted the day I was born and cursed my entire existence until at 2PM my bed finally came into sight and I could dream about this great achievement... a true once-in-a-lifetime-experience (which means: never again).
Soon enough I also took my chances at the Lost Waterfalls Hike, which appeared to be one muddy fiesta. There are three waterfalls out there, but to get there you have to climb, crawl and slide around on a slippery path zigzagging over rocks, under trees and balancing on some steep edges. However, once you passed the stage of caring about your stuff getting seriously dirty you’ll have as much fun as a kid can have in a sandpit.
Did I never get enough of hiking? Sure, but then you simply go to Los Pozos de Caldera hot springs. And if you’re travelling with Mr. Ryan you know booze will be taken care off. Together with two fabulous gayboys and their hetero girlfriend I immediately buddied up to form Team Vino and we took our task seriously. With a bit of help from Andrea who couldn’t stop bending over en hopping out of the water in her teeny-weeny-string-bikini, the hot baths quickly filled up with all other male visitors that made their way down here. Toasting half-naked under a canopy of stars is not an activity I usually describe as ‘working’... but in Boquete it is. Yes, my life is going as planned.
I learned Caldera is not only great for some half-naked pastime in a sulfur-smelling sweat pit, but as well a relaxing spot for some deep forest camping. So I decided to grab a tent and take my chances. As I have more time than money I took a public bus to some godforsaken deserted bus stop at the edge of a highway, and then hitch-hiked 9KM to Caldera ‘downtown’ in the shopping car of a friendly US trophy wife whose face skin was so tightly fixed that at all times it seemed like a mechanical fan blew directly into her face with wind force 12. From there I started walking to la playita, my designated camping site, at the exact moment that (of course) heaven cracked open and poured down a modest tsunami.
My thumbs went up again and within seconds I caught a ride on the back of an empty milk truck driven by a pleasant peasant. Once I set up my tent, drenched and cheerless, and finished cleaning up the piles of trash humanity left at this once pristine piece of nature I was ready for the ultimate outdoors experience.
My thumbs went up again and within seconds I caught a ride on the back of an empty milk truck driven by a pleasant peasant. Once I set up my tent, drenched and cheerless, and finished cleaning up the piles of trash humanity left at this once pristine piece of nature I was ready for the ultimate outdoors experience.
And that I got. I had to run out of the tent every half hour to simultaneously vomit and shit water on the top of a rock (because: snakes / venomous spiders inhabit the grass), while mosquitoes and ticks were feeding on my exposed bare bottom. I forgot to bring some music, but at least my body provided an orchestral cacophony of sounds. Sleep was out of the question and when at 9AM six overweight hammered Panamanians enriched the environment with their presence I realized it was time to go ‘home’. Another success story in the life of a traveller.
What else to do? Aha, the Bajo Mono Loop on a mountain bike! I saw my co-workers exchanging glances with amusement. Their eyes telling me that if even THEY are struggling with this intensely steep and demanding mountainous ride, why would a weak little damsel like me be able to pull it off without prior training. My objection that I’m from the Netherlands and was basically born on a bicycle was wiped off the table with a disdainful “Dutchies can only bike flat surfaces”.
Good, this wasn’t a bike ride anymore... this was going to be a ‘middle finger on wheels’.
It wasn’t a question about whether or not to do it, but about how to do it faster, better and without walking the hard parts. Well, I did, and along the way I followed rivers, passed waterfalls, circled through forests and raced through clouds so I got to enjoy it too. Boquete is so hair-rising, awe-inspiring beautiful that it sometimes almost pisses me off. Like: “Are you kidding me, another fucking magnificent look-out, keep it real man.” At the end of the ride I self-conceitedly celebrated my little victory with a cup of well-deserved ice coffee at Finca Lerida (gourmet coffee farm), smelling like a sweat-stick.
Good, this wasn’t a bike ride anymore... this was going to be a ‘middle finger on wheels’.
It wasn’t a question about whether or not to do it, but about how to do it faster, better and without walking the hard parts. Well, I did, and along the way I followed rivers, passed waterfalls, circled through forests and raced through clouds so I got to enjoy it too. Boquete is so hair-rising, awe-inspiring beautiful that it sometimes almost pisses me off. Like: “Are you kidding me, another fucking magnificent look-out, keep it real man.” At the end of the ride I self-conceitedly celebrated my little victory with a cup of well-deserved ice coffee at Finca Lerida (gourmet coffee farm), smelling like a sweat-stick.
“Okay Steph, you seemed to have intensely checked off the entire Boquete-to-do-list, so what else you’ve got? Get it over with, this blog is getting too long.” Ah right. Well, I went to Boquete Bees (yeah, not vegan at all), a scenic little bee farm on the edge of Los Naranjos and learned bees are the only living creatures that can give a virgin birth to merely male sons.
I witnessed how humans try to discipline nature in a free botanic garden called Mi Jardín Es Tu Jardín and remained fairly unimpressed.
I witnessed how humans try to discipline nature in a free botanic garden called Mi Jardín Es Tu Jardín and remained fairly unimpressed.
I checked off the Lonely Planet favourite Sendero Los Quetzales. The first attempt failed beautifully, as the American Kate and I decided to take public transport to Cerro Punta and hike back to Boquete. Stupid Steph, everyone knows reliable public transport is an illusion in this continent. Instead of 2,5 it took 4,5 hours and I had about four hours left for a six-hour hike before it would get dark... considering some Dutch history in Boquete I decided to take all the warnings of the locals seriously and accept a hitchhike back.
The second attempt I left from Boquete and hiked the long way up to Cerro Punta. Rainy season didn't really show itself up to then, but of course the exact moment I went out hiking seemed the perfect timing. You know the sensation of being so soaked that it feels like the rainwater infiltrated your bones and freezes down your body from the soul?
The quetzals (birds) being smarter than me wisely sought shelter and were therefore nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, this stroll through unspoilt greener than green nature was worth the suffering.
It was so good that as soon as my boots dried I immediately put them on again to explore the Cascada Escondida. Yup, another waterfall to add to the list. Another hike in the pouring rain. Although the trail was stunning, I had a hard time keeping my spirits up while being completely flushed away by this tropical flood. In these situations I just try to imagine myself working in an office on a kill-me-now-project while some lame co-workers making jokes that aren’t funny... and yes, I’m good to go again!
The hostel itself also seemed to be an onward entertainment show.
Quite soon I discovered Andrea is an online pornstar, using the hostel reception at night as her stage. Without curtains.
I wouldn’t consider myself a conservative gal, but seeing Miss ‘Sex on Legs’ giving away a vibrator live-show on the way to the toilet... well... even I need some time to process that information. Most shows were given to the owner Ryan, as his genitals aren't part of his marriage contract (at least, according to him).
The second attempt I left from Boquete and hiked the long way up to Cerro Punta. Rainy season didn't really show itself up to then, but of course the exact moment I went out hiking seemed the perfect timing. You know the sensation of being so soaked that it feels like the rainwater infiltrated your bones and freezes down your body from the soul?
The quetzals (birds) being smarter than me wisely sought shelter and were therefore nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, this stroll through unspoilt greener than green nature was worth the suffering.
It was so good that as soon as my boots dried I immediately put them on again to explore the Cascada Escondida. Yup, another waterfall to add to the list. Another hike in the pouring rain. Although the trail was stunning, I had a hard time keeping my spirits up while being completely flushed away by this tropical flood. In these situations I just try to imagine myself working in an office on a kill-me-now-project while some lame co-workers making jokes that aren’t funny... and yes, I’m good to go again!
The hostel itself also seemed to be an onward entertainment show.
Quite soon I discovered Andrea is an online pornstar, using the hostel reception at night as her stage. Without curtains.
I wouldn’t consider myself a conservative gal, but seeing Miss ‘Sex on Legs’ giving away a vibrator live-show on the way to the toilet... well... even I need some time to process that information. Most shows were given to the owner Ryan, as his genitals aren't part of his marriage contract (at least, according to him).
More peculiar people inhabited Boquete. Via via I came in touch with a colleague of the classy guy that crammed a needle through my nipple and before I knew it I was invited to star in a short independent horror movie. Yeah... weird stuff always finds me. It’s okay, it’s a guarantee my life will never get boring. I can imagine how proud my mom would be knowing that I agreed to meet up for coffee with a guy covered in Satanic tattoos and arms full of scars (when I asked him what happened he randomly answered: “Oh you know, I cut myself during vampire rituals.” Right.) As a former gothic-lunatic and a devoted death metal enthusiast it takes a bit more to terrify me though, so I instantly made friends with this horror author and director.
While strolling over the local cemetery (of course) Michael informed me about all the sick stuff that once happened in Boquete: an old homosexual raping kids, a heartbroken guy grabbing the electricity cables to kill himself after being dumped and of course the tragedy of the two Dutch girls getting ‘lost’ on the El Pianista trail (Michael was convinced they got eaten by local tribes, which is a completely logical explanation once you realize what stuff is going on in his head). All this misery inspired him to make some Blair-witch-project-kind-of-freakshow... and as the one thing I miss the most from home is acting I agreed to play the scream-bitch while getting slaughtered on-screen. Good, the only thing he needed then was a piece of my hair, as the voodoo dolls needed to look realistic. Understandable.
While strolling over the local cemetery (of course) Michael informed me about all the sick stuff that once happened in Boquete: an old homosexual raping kids, a heartbroken guy grabbing the electricity cables to kill himself after being dumped and of course the tragedy of the two Dutch girls getting ‘lost’ on the El Pianista trail (Michael was convinced they got eaten by local tribes, which is a completely logical explanation once you realize what stuff is going on in his head). All this misery inspired him to make some Blair-witch-project-kind-of-freakshow... and as the one thing I miss the most from home is acting I agreed to play the scream-bitch while getting slaughtered on-screen. Good, the only thing he needed then was a piece of my hair, as the voodoo dolls needed to look realistic. Understandable.
I have no idea what will come out of this, but I had a lot of fun in the forest with endless supplies of fake blood and black magic signs Michael carved on the trees.
More freakshows happened in the office. I got to witness a kind-of-divorce from up close (again) when Ryan’s wife traced him and Andrea down in their family bed and scissors got involved. I had to endure continuous racist speeches over the time span of four days from a guy who must have been a prominent figure of his local section of the Ku Klux Klan. I got an instruction about the three-days-lasting hallucinating effects of some DMT-containing plants growing on every street corner in Boquete, explained by a tripping Rasta nutcase. I saw volunteers coming and going... Like 22-year-old Canadian Hector who literally had no money but managed to travel down from Canada to Panamá on a bike, camping in public parks and street-performing with his juggling act (Budget Bucket List 2.0). I befriended creative film director Brandon writing a film script about a triangle relationship with a mother and daughter, based on his own life events.
However, I strongly felt that I needed to go, which says more about me than about Boquete. I reminded a passage of Pessoa: “One of my life’s greatest tragedies is to have already read the Pickwick Papers. I can’t go back and read it for the first time.”
One of my life’s greatest tragedies is to have already explored Boquete. I can’t go back and experience it for the first time.
More freakshows happened in the office. I got to witness a kind-of-divorce from up close (again) when Ryan’s wife traced him and Andrea down in their family bed and scissors got involved. I had to endure continuous racist speeches over the time span of four days from a guy who must have been a prominent figure of his local section of the Ku Klux Klan. I got an instruction about the three-days-lasting hallucinating effects of some DMT-containing plants growing on every street corner in Boquete, explained by a tripping Rasta nutcase. I saw volunteers coming and going... Like 22-year-old Canadian Hector who literally had no money but managed to travel down from Canada to Panamá on a bike, camping in public parks and street-performing with his juggling act (Budget Bucket List 2.0). I befriended creative film director Brandon writing a film script about a triangle relationship with a mother and daughter, based on his own life events.
However, I strongly felt that I needed to go, which says more about me than about Boquete. I reminded a passage of Pessoa: “One of my life’s greatest tragedies is to have already read the Pickwick Papers. I can’t go back and read it for the first time.”
One of my life’s greatest tragedies is to have already explored Boquete. I can’t go back and experience it for the first time.
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