This morning we left the archipelo of San Blas. It is an actual independent provence, within Panama. They fought a civil war in 1925 and with February coming up; their flags were hanging out. February was their month of the revolution and they won it. Now they don´t pay taxes to Panama and own their islands.
The native Kuna´s; who wear ornaments in bright colours over their legs and where the women are as colourful as flowers, because of all the colour, including bright red bandana´s and black 'make-up' lines with crosses over their face. The cross is a returning theme, that basically stands for protection and it is one of their three themes of art, or at least, that´s what I made up out of their different cloths and pictures. They create images showing either flowers and birds (flowers are the females and birds the men, thus resembling the picture of a family), their fruits and fish as their main food or creative patterns always with a cross against evil spirits. The guide tells us that they don¨t have any thieves or bad people on the islands,. The only bad are the spirits that sometimes make people sick. Tha´s why they were so many protictive symbols and clothing, to not get sick. Next to were I buy this bracelet of protection, where the guide tells us some more about their culture, there is a woman chanting in a hut next to a sick kid. The shaman chants will help the child get better. I can imagine that the guiding energy of a healer, a shaman can actually transmit a vibe of belief that helps the child feel stronger, proitected and therefor more relaxed which will have an overall effect on his immune systems. As 'Into the wild' states, sometimes it is not that important to BE strong, but to FEEL strong.
This morning we left the archipel by the same route we got there. The only difference was, this time we had not been drinking alcohol till 5 in the morning followed up by half a codeine-like sleeping pill. Frosty remembered the whoel trip, where Chad, Ricky and me just had vague images and just a few really. I remembered the bumby road and crossing the river with the jeep, the others had no clue, but then after this long bumpy gravellike, muddy road with sharp curves there was a police control. They told me I had been there before, I had gotten out of the car, they had asked our age and our passports and my name and passport number was in their papers. I have no recollection whatsoever of that happening. I had to laugh when I found out that entire parts of our trip were just gone into an infinite abyss of oblivion.
I remembered how the night had started out, a cycle tour to the different islands of Panama City, a nice dinner in a restaurant, an expresso, us showering and getting packed for living three days with natives of a remote archipelago of tropical islands and the first stop in the casino.
I couldn´t help giggling like a schoolboy. In the casino where acccording to Miguel (our couchsurfing host) on an average saturday about 600 hookers that try their moves on you. Witnessing a solemn 150 working their moves on the casino floor was quite the sight I tell you.
One of them is playing the blackjack table and I observe how she make beliefs to two other players simultaneously that she is genuinly interested in them. The subtle looks she throws, then not looking for a while, they must know the game of hitting and being hit on by heart, though I think that is the last organ that has anything to do with it.
Can you imagine the casino, fans blowing generating a cool air that touched walked off carpets and digital slot machines bleeping and blinging around you. You look around and everywhere there are girls dressed up hot looking to catch a fish, the bigger the better. And just so you know, you are a fish too. Some are sitting next to their pimps and one of them, dressed in a nice red top and black skirt looks at you with just this look that takes about two to three seconds longer than normal, smiles and looks away. She is not alone and they play their game tight. So many impulses of women coming at you at the same time. That was an overdose of buzzes to me. I try to block it out of the way a bit while we wait for our 5 beers at the bar. The barkeepers take such a long time that we decide to take it elsewhere. We walk out of there in a schoolboy high of having being observed 'lustfully' by aproximately 150 women.
Okay, let´s go to a bit more normal bar then. Miguel knows, we follow. One block, two blocks and then we arrive at a bar with a porch. It is loaded, absolutely loaded with columbian hotties. When we walk in the hottest of them all says in load voice as we pass by: hmmm hmm, que papito mas rico! Towards the tall Sweed, better known as Frosty. Chad gets his but squeezed as he walks by and then another rubs his belly. They fingertickle Frosty and I am fully aware of the definition of: absolutely flabbergasted. My ears must have had the colour of lobster and I feel highly desorientaded up until I work down the first half of my beer. We shoot some pool and the entire row of girls at the bar that were checking us out, realize, we are not here for 'culear chuca' and are more like on a safari through the area. One by one they leave on their roll of looking for work. By then it hit us how depressing the situation was. Imagine, a quiet night has 50 to 150 hookers, the weekends you have 600, 700 competing there. Prices must go down then and they fake their laughs when some old geezer makes a joke, knowing he will pay them to stick his wiener into their bush.
The first schoolboy exitement fades out with those thoughts. We want to go somewhere where the beer is more cheap (and not three dollars) and where wer can play pool too. Miguel knows, we follow and come to a nice bar were we hit the table for about an hour when, after having duels against two locals and recuperated the score up to 2-3, winning the last two games a girl comes in. This is my table now, you can play with something else, if you got a problem with that: talk to my hand and holds out her hand. Wow. Here comes a girl with an attitude. She actually challenged us and showd us the true meaning of: man, that girl can play ball. Indifferently-wise she points the cue at a ball and using only one hand just shoves it in. Quite the shot. Man, she IS good.
She is accompanied by a catalan young man who is so full of his micro-nationality of being Catalan that is overruled all the other importancies of ethics. So it seems. I disliked the guy and after two games of pool, the girl: Catarina explicited she felt just that too. We jump a cab and his a bar with her. Our hunch that she is a hooker gets confirmed little by little and we make a pact to just treat her like a regular beautiful woman we want to show a good time. Panama City and its working girls of the night have no need for knighly young man like that. You might even call it being full of ourselves and our morals. Because in realy, we were keeping her off work. And walking out on three nice young men with good intentions because you need to pay bills may suck just all the worse. So much for good intentions. Though I must say, we had fun for a while.
It´s almost time to get to the pick-up point. We make a run for the pharmacy, getting some cookies and sleeping pills for the ride, (not having slept at all until now and being in our third night of drinking) and already the hysterical laughter kicks in. (Later more)
The native Kuna´s; who wear ornaments in bright colours over their legs and where the women are as colourful as flowers, because of all the colour, including bright red bandana´s and black 'make-up' lines with crosses over their face. The cross is a returning theme, that basically stands for protection and it is one of their three themes of art, or at least, that´s what I made up out of their different cloths and pictures. They create images showing either flowers and birds (flowers are the females and birds the men, thus resembling the picture of a family), their fruits and fish as their main food or creative patterns always with a cross against evil spirits. The guide tells us that they don¨t have any thieves or bad people on the islands,. The only bad are the spirits that sometimes make people sick. Tha´s why they were so many protictive symbols and clothing, to not get sick. Next to were I buy this bracelet of protection, where the guide tells us some more about their culture, there is a woman chanting in a hut next to a sick kid. The shaman chants will help the child get better. I can imagine that the guiding energy of a healer, a shaman can actually transmit a vibe of belief that helps the child feel stronger, proitected and therefor more relaxed which will have an overall effect on his immune systems. As 'Into the wild' states, sometimes it is not that important to BE strong, but to FEEL strong.
This morning we left the archipel by the same route we got there. The only difference was, this time we had not been drinking alcohol till 5 in the morning followed up by half a codeine-like sleeping pill. Frosty remembered the whoel trip, where Chad, Ricky and me just had vague images and just a few really. I remembered the bumby road and crossing the river with the jeep, the others had no clue, but then after this long bumpy gravellike, muddy road with sharp curves there was a police control. They told me I had been there before, I had gotten out of the car, they had asked our age and our passports and my name and passport number was in their papers. I have no recollection whatsoever of that happening. I had to laugh when I found out that entire parts of our trip were just gone into an infinite abyss of oblivion.
I remembered how the night had started out, a cycle tour to the different islands of Panama City, a nice dinner in a restaurant, an expresso, us showering and getting packed for living three days with natives of a remote archipelago of tropical islands and the first stop in the casino.
I couldn´t help giggling like a schoolboy. In the casino where acccording to Miguel (our couchsurfing host) on an average saturday about 600 hookers that try their moves on you. Witnessing a solemn 150 working their moves on the casino floor was quite the sight I tell you.
One of them is playing the blackjack table and I observe how she make beliefs to two other players simultaneously that she is genuinly interested in them. The subtle looks she throws, then not looking for a while, they must know the game of hitting and being hit on by heart, though I think that is the last organ that has anything to do with it.
Can you imagine the casino, fans blowing generating a cool air that touched walked off carpets and digital slot machines bleeping and blinging around you. You look around and everywhere there are girls dressed up hot looking to catch a fish, the bigger the better. And just so you know, you are a fish too. Some are sitting next to their pimps and one of them, dressed in a nice red top and black skirt looks at you with just this look that takes about two to three seconds longer than normal, smiles and looks away. She is not alone and they play their game tight. So many impulses of women coming at you at the same time. That was an overdose of buzzes to me. I try to block it out of the way a bit while we wait for our 5 beers at the bar. The barkeepers take such a long time that we decide to take it elsewhere. We walk out of there in a schoolboy high of having being observed 'lustfully' by aproximately 150 women.
Okay, let´s go to a bit more normal bar then. Miguel knows, we follow. One block, two blocks and then we arrive at a bar with a porch. It is loaded, absolutely loaded with columbian hotties. When we walk in the hottest of them all says in load voice as we pass by: hmmm hmm, que papito mas rico! Towards the tall Sweed, better known as Frosty. Chad gets his but squeezed as he walks by and then another rubs his belly. They fingertickle Frosty and I am fully aware of the definition of: absolutely flabbergasted. My ears must have had the colour of lobster and I feel highly desorientaded up until I work down the first half of my beer. We shoot some pool and the entire row of girls at the bar that were checking us out, realize, we are not here for 'culear chuca' and are more like on a safari through the area. One by one they leave on their roll of looking for work. By then it hit us how depressing the situation was. Imagine, a quiet night has 50 to 150 hookers, the weekends you have 600, 700 competing there. Prices must go down then and they fake their laughs when some old geezer makes a joke, knowing he will pay them to stick his wiener into their bush.
The first schoolboy exitement fades out with those thoughts. We want to go somewhere where the beer is more cheap (and not three dollars) and where wer can play pool too. Miguel knows, we follow and come to a nice bar were we hit the table for about an hour when, after having duels against two locals and recuperated the score up to 2-3, winning the last two games a girl comes in. This is my table now, you can play with something else, if you got a problem with that: talk to my hand and holds out her hand. Wow. Here comes a girl with an attitude. She actually challenged us and showd us the true meaning of: man, that girl can play ball. Indifferently-wise she points the cue at a ball and using only one hand just shoves it in. Quite the shot. Man, she IS good.
She is accompanied by a catalan young man who is so full of his micro-nationality of being Catalan that is overruled all the other importancies of ethics. So it seems. I disliked the guy and after two games of pool, the girl: Catarina explicited she felt just that too. We jump a cab and his a bar with her. Our hunch that she is a hooker gets confirmed little by little and we make a pact to just treat her like a regular beautiful woman we want to show a good time. Panama City and its working girls of the night have no need for knighly young man like that. You might even call it being full of ourselves and our morals. Because in realy, we were keeping her off work. And walking out on three nice young men with good intentions because you need to pay bills may suck just all the worse. So much for good intentions. Though I must say, we had fun for a while.
It´s almost time to get to the pick-up point. We make a run for the pharmacy, getting some cookies and sleeping pills for the ride, (not having slept at all until now and being in our third night of drinking) and already the hysterical laughter kicks in. (Later more)
We are all rowdy during the first half hour to 45 minutes. Ricky tells us a joke that cracks us up so bad, it kept us going for two days. Reminding ourselves of those two jokes he told would get us back into this mood of boys staying up late having fun cracking up turn by turn and just shaking our underbellies into the night. That shit was hilarious. Ricky, mind you, in an American from around San Francisco, but with Phillipine roots. He told us two jokes his grandd father told him about wether or not Chinese Jews existed and a plane crash with a white male a black male and a Chinese taking care of the shelter, food and supplies. I don't think I ever found a joke funnier. We just laughed and lauhed and then all of a sudden: silence. Frosty turns around to see what happened. The tablets kicked in and we are sound asleep while rallying over the gravel muddy steep curving bumpy road not taking the slightest notice of the drive itself. I told you, as you can see I don't mention the police check here because it does simply not exist in my memory.
Other picures I put up here are the isles and our shower. onight is our last night before Chad wil try and organize a life here in Panama City, Frosty and Ricky will probably head up to Santa Catalina and I will fly down to Guayaquil.
Panama City / Guayaquil
I get up in the morning and before heading out Ricky gets up and we hug. Leaving the guys like that gets an egg in my throat. I feel tears pressing but I press them back. I made my decision. Miguel drives me to Panama's airport. After our goodbye I get in line to check in and later board. The employees are wearing all kinds of weird hats that day, one is wearing a carton box as proud as the tiara of miss universe. After a short meal in the restaurant and buying me my Panama beer Tshirt I get on board. Only when I'm sitting down alredy I relize I'm flying first class! Shit! Sitting in an ultracomfortable big leather chair I get served food and drinks. An American Bulgarian Bloke is sitting next to me and drinks 4 red wines against being nervous and doesn't seem to stop talking. I'm tired so I tell him politely that I haven't slept all that much and rather have some shut eye before landing.
VIP luggage handling, my bag is the first to come out of the hole. I step through security check and look for Gabriela who wrote she would pick me up. My eves glaze over the people while I pass by, I'm not seeing her, but then, there she is standing with a big smile and a safran coloured dress. She shines like gold and smiles stars and our first embrace was deeply felt.
She took me to eat fruit and pan de yuca in her station wagon. Then we picked up her twin sister and her boyfriend stopped at her house to pick up some stuff where I met both the mother and her father who seemed to not dislike me and we were off, picking up two more friends on the way and drive to Montañita.
That's surfer's paradise in Ecuador for ya, with probably the most handsome and pretty travelers on this planet in a small little town. It breathes European festival ambiance, just like Bocas del Toro did. We found a cabin after a long search at a place owned by a women from the Basque country, Spain. Only later I find out that that's the place where Reed had gotten his first Ayahuasca ceremony. Despite my tiredness (having partied and slept only 4 hours the last 4 nights) we hit the scene and drink some beers and rum. While the twin sister and her boyfriend go for xtc's, we hit the sack. At aprox. 7 in the morning there's knocking on our door. It's Reed who had been left alone by the others in some dancing place4 not knowing how to get back home. We give him the keys of the car so we ca all rest a little before going for breakfast. When we do we get a banana milkshake, toast and the best of Montañita: fresh Ceviche. (All sorts of seafruits in tigermilk with scorned corn, nuts and vegetables.)
We hit the beach, run through smashing waves and start our voyage back to Guayaquil. During the week I follow Gabriela while running errands for her dad´s metal workshop. I sit besides her in the station wagon and we cruise from one place to another while listening to Piero or Hector singing out of the speakers. I visit her university wih her where her gay proessor is eating me up with his eyes and starts to talk about the virtues of the valley of meat: carnaval, coming up next week.
We are out of there. Against her fathers wishes we take the bus to Baños. Reed is already there.
A 7 hour bustrip up the mountain. The amount of provisional stops where sellers get into the bus trying to sell you there corn, cd´s, chicken or bananas is insane! We finally arrive at 2 in the morning and find a hotel with a pretty ok room.
The next morning Reed manages to be our alarm and we wake up to Baños, a superb place with a house in a tree next to a roaring vulcano and a waterfall that makes you believe in God as huge and tremendous that thing is shaped. You feel like a small teenie tiny ant. We rented squads and took them for a spin over the highway and a road which seemed to be a cart rally track. That was so much fun going over stones and gravel next to a green valley with a river at its bottom and beautiful view everywhere you look. (What do you mean nice view, where? I only see these freakin´mountains!)
There´s a stop next to the bridal train waterfall and a small basket is running across the valley hanging on merely three thin cords. It runs pretty fast and we look down a great opportunity to kill oneself. We run around like crazy hyper tourists jumping rocks and take our pictures before heading back out to the squads. Next there´s a brige with swing jump. People jump off on a cord, make a salto and spin while swiniçging back and forth. After some tunnels and high speed driving we make it to the devil´s faces. We park the squads and start walking down the steps of the long climb don. The people coming form the other way look beat and are breathing heavily.
I am ashamed to say I acted like a genuine naive tourist on my way down: there was a snake and the opportunity to take a picture. Gaby and me got our picture but I couldn´t help feeling sorry for that snake, all dried up, being hung over the necks of so many persons a day, having to gobble down water its `owner` was forcing down its throat to alter vomit it up again. It was sad.
A fate I wished I could change by a single thought of sympathy.
Now, about the waterfall.. No descriptional line of words would do just to the experience. Some pictures I will put up might reveal some of its immense power.
We got back to Baños waaaay over time and we had to bargain ourselves out of the deal in order not to pay 45 dollars a squad. We managed a 32,50 under the condition we would take the night trip with them and not with any of the others offering the same service. That night we get into a schoolbuslike vehicle with latin songs and people obviously knowing the lyrics, singing them out loud. That´s how we drive through the dark up the mountain and get shots of cinnemon something before we are led to a circle with fire jugglers and mariachis, drunken dancers and the mountain spirits as our witnesses.
Panama City / Guayaquil
I get up in the morning and before heading out Ricky gets up and we hug. Leaving the guys like that gets an egg in my throat. I feel tears pressing but I press them back. I made my decision. Miguel drives me to Panama's airport. After our goodbye I get in line to check in and later board. The employees are wearing all kinds of weird hats that day, one is wearing a carton box as proud as the tiara of miss universe. After a short meal in the restaurant and buying me my Panama beer Tshirt I get on board. Only when I'm sitting down alredy I relize I'm flying first class! Shit! Sitting in an ultracomfortable big leather chair I get served food and drinks. An American Bulgarian Bloke is sitting next to me and drinks 4 red wines against being nervous and doesn't seem to stop talking. I'm tired so I tell him politely that I haven't slept all that much and rather have some shut eye before landing.
VIP luggage handling, my bag is the first to come out of the hole. I step through security check and look for Gabriela who wrote she would pick me up. My eves glaze over the people while I pass by, I'm not seeing her, but then, there she is standing with a big smile and a safran coloured dress. She shines like gold and smiles stars and our first embrace was deeply felt.
She took me to eat fruit and pan de yuca in her station wagon. Then we picked up her twin sister and her boyfriend stopped at her house to pick up some stuff where I met both the mother and her father who seemed to not dislike me and we were off, picking up two more friends on the way and drive to Montañita.
That's surfer's paradise in Ecuador for ya, with probably the most handsome and pretty travelers on this planet in a small little town. It breathes European festival ambiance, just like Bocas del Toro did. We found a cabin after a long search at a place owned by a women from the Basque country, Spain. Only later I find out that that's the place where Reed had gotten his first Ayahuasca ceremony. Despite my tiredness (having partied and slept only 4 hours the last 4 nights) we hit the scene and drink some beers and rum. While the twin sister and her boyfriend go for xtc's, we hit the sack. At aprox. 7 in the morning there's knocking on our door. It's Reed who had been left alone by the others in some dancing place4 not knowing how to get back home. We give him the keys of the car so we ca all rest a little before going for breakfast. When we do we get a banana milkshake, toast and the best of Montañita: fresh Ceviche. (All sorts of seafruits in tigermilk with scorned corn, nuts and vegetables.)
We hit the beach, run through smashing waves and start our voyage back to Guayaquil. During the week I follow Gabriela while running errands for her dad´s metal workshop. I sit besides her in the station wagon and we cruise from one place to another while listening to Piero or Hector singing out of the speakers. I visit her university wih her where her gay proessor is eating me up with his eyes and starts to talk about the virtues of the valley of meat: carnaval, coming up next week.
We are out of there. Against her fathers wishes we take the bus to Baños. Reed is already there.
A 7 hour bustrip up the mountain. The amount of provisional stops where sellers get into the bus trying to sell you there corn, cd´s, chicken or bananas is insane! We finally arrive at 2 in the morning and find a hotel with a pretty ok room.
The next morning Reed manages to be our alarm and we wake up to Baños, a superb place with a house in a tree next to a roaring vulcano and a waterfall that makes you believe in God as huge and tremendous that thing is shaped. You feel like a small teenie tiny ant. We rented squads and took them for a spin over the highway and a road which seemed to be a cart rally track. That was so much fun going over stones and gravel next to a green valley with a river at its bottom and beautiful view everywhere you look. (What do you mean nice view, where? I only see these freakin´mountains!)
There´s a stop next to the bridal train waterfall and a small basket is running across the valley hanging on merely three thin cords. It runs pretty fast and we look down a great opportunity to kill oneself. We run around like crazy hyper tourists jumping rocks and take our pictures before heading back out to the squads. Next there´s a brige with swing jump. People jump off on a cord, make a salto and spin while swiniçging back and forth. After some tunnels and high speed driving we make it to the devil´s faces. We park the squads and start walking down the steps of the long climb don. The people coming form the other way look beat and are breathing heavily.
I am ashamed to say I acted like a genuine naive tourist on my way down: there was a snake and the opportunity to take a picture. Gaby and me got our picture but I couldn´t help feeling sorry for that snake, all dried up, being hung over the necks of so many persons a day, having to gobble down water its `owner` was forcing down its throat to alter vomit it up again. It was sad.
A fate I wished I could change by a single thought of sympathy.
Now, about the waterfall.. No descriptional line of words would do just to the experience. Some pictures I will put up might reveal some of its immense power.
We got back to Baños waaaay over time and we had to bargain ourselves out of the deal in order not to pay 45 dollars a squad. We managed a 32,50 under the condition we would take the night trip with them and not with any of the others offering the same service. That night we get into a schoolbuslike vehicle with latin songs and people obviously knowing the lyrics, singing them out loud. That´s how we drive through the dark up the mountain and get shots of cinnemon something before we are led to a circle with fire jugglers and mariachis, drunken dancers and the mountain spirits as our witnesses.
Beautiful new pictures! ;-D
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