Postings from Panama Spring 2008 By Joseph A. Haviland
We’re both pooped (I’m a little more worn-out than my wife/esposa, I think.) and a little bit poorer after making a visa run to Panama and back again in four days/three nights. Whoever said that Panama was inexpensive, didn’t make the trip we made! With hotel, food, transportation, and associated fees and tips, we spent almost $500 in the span of an extended weekend (four days). And that was just for fundamental needs. Alicia and I didn’t do any fancy tours or dine out at 4-star restaurants or buy lots of souvenirs. We’d have been better off financially staying home in Heredia and making day trips during our week off from school, but we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Either we made a border run or risk being deported from Costa Rica due to an expired visa. Obviously we chose the former and it cost us two weeks of pay at Golden Valley School, where I make $50 a day for 8-12 hours of teaching duties per day. I certainly do sound like the Grouchy Gringo, don’t I? I sure felt like one on the seemingly never-ending bus ride back from Panama (7 hours in duration) to San Jose, Costa Rica yesterday. I had reason to be crabby. Alicia too! Actually, we had started our trip back to our Heredia home base in Costa Rica just before 6 am (It was still dark on the Island of Bastimentos in Panama when we boarded the water taxi.) and didn’t turn the key in the lock of our house until after dark, at about 6:30 pm. Twelve hours of traveling. I was fit to be tied like a pig (cerdo) on a stake with an apple in my mouth! You know that feeling when you want to already be somewhere, but you’re just starting a long trip? That’s where I was at mentally when we boarded one water ferry sleepy-eyed and then had to get out and board another one with an engine that kept sputtering out at the beginning of our return trip from Bocas del Toro in Panama. But I’m already way ahead of myself. In fact, the trip back to Costa Rica will end up being in part 2 of this Posting from Panama edition. So, let’s start at the beginning first, shall we? Or do you prefer those kinds of stories (movies) that start in the middle or end and make their way back to the beginning? To say that Alicia and I were riding by the seat of our pants in our outbound trip to Panama would be a fairly accurate statement. Though she had planned our itinerary, including booking us at the Caribbean View, a hotel on the water a short water taxi ride away from Bocas del Toro, there were moments one couldn’t plan for and we just had to go with the flow as our new friend, Mr. Mike, a Vietnam vet, who carried himself like an old-fashioned movie star (think Clark Gable with white hair), told us over drinks at the Caribbean View where he’s a regular tenant, preferring Panama to Flagstaff, Arizonza most of the year. Our neighbors in Heredia, Joel and Lisa, both from the United States, who have made the trip to Panama and back at least once before, gave us only one piece of advice: "Buy a one-way ticket back to Limon, Costa Rica before you leave Costa Rica." Needless to say, we forgot to buy our one-way ticket back to Limon before crossing the border into Panama and would have to deal with that detail later. For the most part we were on our own in terms of navigating between Costa Rica and Panama. Now for some of you, that might make for a more adventurous trip. But for me (I can’t speak for Alicia on this account.), it just |
the not knowing part when you have to fill in the blanks and of course I had plenty of thoughts of being bamboozled, hoodwinked or ripped off left and right filling my head. In the end, I’m happy to report that we had a safe trip and we were treated fairly, even at the border town of Sixaola/ Paso Canoa where a few shady sorts might have thrived once upon a time. The first part of our trip from San Francisco de San Isidro de Heredia (It’s the full town name of where we live; takes a whole breath to say it!) to San Jose and then boarding a bus at the Caribe Bus Station to Limon was a breeze. It’s when our bus pulled into Limon that we questioned the next part of our journey. "You’re not going to make it to Sixaola in time for the border crossing if you take a bus," exhorted Vincent Levy McKenzie, a taxi driver, whose bubbly personality made you think he’d lucky charms dancing all around him. He’s in the Limon bus station trying to drum up business for his taxi and we’re both a bit skeptical and short on cash. He emphatically stated in English, "By the time you get there on the bus, the border will be closed." Nothing in the online literature Alicia had researched the night before said anything about specific times for border closings, so we had to take Vincent at his word. (One blog had said something only about different opening times for the borders of Panama and Costa Rica.) "I have a nice car waiting and I can get you there by 3:30 if we leave now." said Vincent Levy McKenzie, the Jewish, Irish, Jamaican man, who detected our hesitation and most likely believed it worth his while to continue speaking with us. He had also successfully planted a seed of worry in our brains, which made us wonder if we were going to miss the border crossing and have to stay in Sixaola overnight, which might not have any vacancies. The thought of staying up all night, without accommodations, possibly wandering unknown streets, hadn’t appealed to either of us. "We’re teachers, not tourists, and just can’t afford the cost of a taxi," Alicia finally said, exhaling a puff from her Derby menthol cigarette. (In CR and Panama they’re only $1.25 a pack.) "Today, just for you, I give you a special price," responded Vincent with a big, friendly smile. "50,000 colones." "No, I’m sorry," Alicia responded, looking a bit concerned. "Okay, just for you two teachers, I take you for 25,000 colones." Even though $50 was still not something we wanted to spend on a taxi ride, we agreed to go with Vincent and he escorted us to his meticulously clean red Toyota Corolla taxi. Over the next hour Vincent drove fast (rapido), between 80-100 mph (I’m not sure what that is in kilometers?), at one point beating an oncoming bus to the bridge. (Vincent entered the one-way bridge first, but the bus kept coming and finally stopped and backed up to let us through.) "He knew I was first," said Vincent proudly, waving at the sunglassed bus driver as we drove past. During our trip Vincent was communicative and regaled us with stories about his slave ancestry and Jamaican roots. He told us how cheap we could live in Limon ($140 per month for a house on the beach) and about the private school teacher pay ($1,400 a month), the wildlife, and Chiquita, the big banana in these parts where lush banana trees, with blue plastic bags to cover and protect the ripening frut, lined the roads we sped down. He was very knowledgeable and happy to share information with us. He was an amiable driver who has 10 siblings, one of whom died of cancer. I told him I had 10 siblings too and that my brother Francis had passed away years ago. To Be continued... next issue |
