Mind the Darien Gap

Considering all the effort and money and power struggles that went into the construction of a huge canal cutting through Panama, it amazes me that it is still impossible to drive from Panama to Colombia. We met several bikers who were riding from Alaska to the tip of Patagonia, and this is the only spot on their trip where they were forced to fly or take a boat. The border, aka the Darien Gap, is covered in impenetrable forest filled with drug lords and dangerous animals. Supposedly anyone who tries to cross it never makes it out. And on top of that, there’s no ferry and no cheap flights. We had our heart set on meeting some friends in Colombia, so we begrudgingly forked over the cash for a 5 day sailing trip from El Porvenir to Cartagena.

We piled onto the boat with thirteen others, about half of them doing the bike trip I mentioned. It started out lovely, and TK and I perched ourselves at the bouncing bow, enjoying the wind and the scenery. Within an hour we were both in the back, puking over the side and curling up in misery. Those not prone to sea sickness ate spaghetti up front while five or six of us moaned in the back. We tried looking at the horizon, tried closing our eyes, tried facing the breeze, tried munching ginger, tried to sleep through it, but nothing helped. Down in our cabin I sweated and squirmed through the whole night, using all my self-control to not puke on the bunk below me.

At 5 am the thrashing stopped and they dropped anchor. We got up later to see that we were parked alongside tiny picture-perfect islands. We spent the day jumping of the boat and swimming between the islands. The next day we moved a bit further, to where the indigenous Kuna people live. Women canoed to our boat to sell crafts, and men sold lobsters, crabs, and beer, all of which we bought.  Our captain took us to a larger island where they live, crowded into simple straw huts with hammocks as their only furniture.

After these two days of lounging around islands, the boat set sail for 40 hours to Cartagena. This time I had the foresight to take a lot of Dramamine, so I felt great and slept through most of it. 

Back-flip gone awry

Killing time on the long journey

Cartagena, Colombia

Farewell, Panama

My preschool class (plus two older boys who wandered into the photo)

Back to blogging!  We left Panama in early June, and here are some photos from our last week there.

Pumpkin seeds grew!

By this point we were fed up with the humidity, frustrated with our jobs, and itching to get out of the jungle. TK finished the last of 18 chicken coops, relieved to be done with kayaking from homestead to homestead in blazing heat to labor on them. I threw together a few projects at the school that I had been meaning to do for months, like planting a school garden. 

TK and Margaret from the lodge made a surprise visit to the school,
 to bring cupcakes on my last day.

As much as I wanted to leave, I held back tears the entire last day of preschool. Back at the lodge we exchanged gifts and hugs with the staff members who were so wonderful for our entire stay there. We lingered with them at the dock, postponing our final good-byes and sincerely hoping we’ll see each other again. I love these volunteer gigs that allow us to grow intimately close with small communities around the world, but the transitions between them are so draining and sad. It’s one of the reasons we talk about settling down in a year or so.

Last boat commute home. Kind of impressive to not get a single person looking at the camera.

(This is how the older kids get to school)

Boquete

As much as we love living on a chocolate farm in the jungle on an island in the Caribbean, we needed a break from it. So we went to the mountains. Three days in Boquete was all it took for me to finally agree with TK that it would be nicer to live in the mountains than in the tropics. We savored the cooler temperatures, the tall pines, the brisk air, the quaint houses surrounded by flowers and crystal clear streams.

Squirrel monkey

The spider monkey stole our camera case and reluctantly gave it back.

Now I look through my camera and find a lot of photos of animals, as usual, and not much else. We stayed at the strangest hostel I’ve ever been to – owned by a Bostonian woman who rescues animals to rehabilitate. We were the only guests and twice in two days we found the place completely locked up, forcing us to hop the fence and basically break in, which was “totally cool” with the owner. Monkeys, parrots, and one koati lived in large cages, goats and horses roamed out back, a large restaurant remained closed and unused, and then on the side, like an afterthought, sat the one-room hostel. We slept with boa constrictors slithering in cages outside our door and had to choose between a scalding hot shower with a shower head, or a freezing cold one without. Fortunately we both love monkeys. Monkeys are so humanlike, not just in their facial expressions and their use of their hands, but also in their moods and behavior. The spider monkey had some emotional issues resulting from past abuse, and she liked to wrap her tail around my arm with an affectionate death grip, and make furious clicking noises at TK if he touched me.

We rented a motorbike on our last morning in Boquete and drove up and down the rolling hills, stopping to check out waterfalls and farms and one exquisite restaurant. Then a bumpy bus ride back to Bocas to get back to work…  

Help us build bathrooms?

One of the biggest problems in this community on the bay is that the indigenous people have no bathrooms. Latrines don't work because the water table is too high, and no one can afford a flushing toilet system. Some families have little outhouses on stilts, that empty right onto the bay, while most just go in a river or on the mangroves. This pollutes the bay and raises health concerns for both residents and wildlife.

A couple weeks ago I held a meeting for anyone interested in discussing a bathroom project. About 40 people showed up, all in aggreement that we need to do something. We decided to build one bathroom for each homestead. The community is divided into homesteads, with about 20 people living in each one.

One family has been particulary proactive about comparing prices for toilets, tanks, etc. They brought me a penciled blueprint of the bathroom they want to build, and assured me that they can do all the construction themselves. They just can't afford the toilet and the tanks.

We decided to focus on this homestead first, as a model for the others to follow.

Appropriate Projects aggreed to help us raise $550. If you could donate a little bit towards the project, we would really apreciate it!

Here's the link:
 http://appropriateprojects.com/node/1138

Thank you!

Panama

Zapatillas

This may be the best job I’ve ever had, even though it doesn’t pay. It’s similar to Peace Corps, but with gourmet meals and tropical beaches. The NGO I work with started a preschool for the indigenous Ngobe community here on Bastimentos Island. I teach at the preschool and an after-school program for older kids and an English class for seven wonderful adults. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I love teaching. I don’t know if it’s because I feel more confident with my Spanish now or because this NGO is so laid-back, but I’m excited to jump on the boat to school every day.

Planted pumpkin seeds

My morning commute

We pick up all the preschoolers at their
homes because they're too young to canoe

We’re living at an eco-lodge, which is where TK works. The lodge is run by a British/American/Peruvian couple, who carefully designed the place to make a minimal impact on the environment. The guests stay in four cabins tucked into the jungle, and everyone comes to the main lodge for communal meals. Perhaps the best perk of our position is that we can join them at the table for the daily cocktail and three-course dinner. TK spends his days working on their gardens, the cacao field (they make chocolate here), the chicken coop, the jungle trails, and other work around the lodge. They also put him in charge of a community chicken project they started a few years ago. They got a grant to help all the families in Bahia Honda build chicken coops and raise chickens, for eggs and/or income. It’s been somewhat successful, but not sustainable, so TK’s trying to improve that.

A bike ride along the beach on Bocas Island

On the weekends we usually go to Bocas Island, where masses of tourists bumble along a strip of restaurants, bars, and hostels. There’s a certain breed of ex-pat that takes up residence in a tropical tourist town like that, and we’re quickly tiring of running into the same coked up bartenders and seedy old drunks who can always be found hitting on new young tourists. We nonetheless look forward to our weekly hot showers and internet connection, but I’m always happy to return to our peaceful cabin in the jungle.

Last weekend we went out to the Zapatillas Islands, which has some of the most serene, secluded beaches I've ever seen.

One weekend we stayed in Bastimentos town, on our
own island. The walk to Wizard Beach ended up
taking three hours, through jungle and across rocks.
Flip flops was a bad idea.

Keep in Touch

We got a phone! (In Panama.) You can reach us at 68496294, and I think you dial this first: 0011-507.

Also, if you don't want to keep checking to see if I posted anything, you can subscribe to this blog by entering your email address over on the right of the screen. You'll get an email notification every time I post.

And since blog posts are no fun without pictures, here are some frogs I saw one night in Bolivia.

A Month in the Jungle

Simba

We just finished our month of volunteering at the Jacj Cuisi animal refuge in northern Bolivia. I arrived giddy to work with a puma, but unfortunately found it frustrating and scary. The park lies on the edge of the Amazon rainforest and is home to four pumas, all rescued from the black market or other abusive situations. Each puma lives in its own huge cage, reminiscent of Jurassic Park, and has its own set of trails surrounding it. Two volunteers work with each cat for at least a month, walking it for about 5 hours a day, 6 days a week. They use thick rope as a leash, attached to both the cat and the volunteer with carabineers.

I was assigned to Simba, who was sweet at first. When my partner and I approached his cage every morning, he would leap up purring, eager to lick our forearms in affection. Walking him was alternately exhausting and boring. We weren’t allowed to pull on the rope, but rather followed behind him, doing whatever he wanted to do. If he sat down to nap for two hours, we sat next to him for two hours. If he set off running down a steep trail, I ran shrieking behind him, dodging stumps and branches, terrified that I would trip and get dragged through the brush. If he refused to start his walk, we were supposed to tie him to a tree and wait until he finally gave up and reluctantly started down the trail. This could take over an hour, while I sat wondering why we couldn’t just leave him in his cage on days when he didn’t want to walk. I suppose the novelty of interacting with a puma wore off quickly for me and I felt like I was walking a spoiled, badly behaved dog.

Where we dined

Then there was the jumping. When the pumas attack you, playfully pouncing onto your leg or pushing you down to the ground, they call it a “jump.”  We were trained to stand our ground when this happens and calmly, firmly show the cat that we are not toys. Running or fighting would just excite them to chase us and bat us around like a mouse. Simba was usually fairly calm, but he gets agitated when he meets new people. After my first week with him, we introduced another new volunteer who would be my partner for the rest of the month. The moment I opened the cage Simba lurched out and wrapped his paws around my leg, latching onto my thigh with his giant teeth (I still have bruises from it). I did what I was supposed to – stayed calm, said “NO”, and stuck out my forearm for him to lick. It worked to get him off my leg but then he bit down on my wrist, pinching the skin between his teeth. Pulling my arm away just made him bite harder, and I felt powerless to stop him. My partner managed to distract him away from me, but after that I was a useless volunteer. When he jumped on my partner I screamed and leapt back instead of helping him, and I was constantly scared of being near Simba. I guess some volunteers build wonderful bonds with their cat, but I just felt like Simba was a wild animal who could easily kill me if he wanted to. I understand that he’s playing and not hunting when he jumps on us, but I’ve seen housecats “play” with mice and they usually end up in two pieces.

Where we bathed 

Tk's cat, Luna

That afternoon I asked to stop working with Simba, so I finished my month doing less exciting but more comfortable work at the camp. Tk wasn’t frightened by his puma, Luna, but found the job boring and got annoyed with the royal treatment lavished on the cats. He stuck with it longer than I did, but also switched to camp work after a couple weeks. We started a garden, planted fruit trees, built a compost, cleared trails, and cooked many meals. About fifteen volunteers live there at any given time, from all over the world, plus one Bolivian family who runs the park, and a veterinarian. We took turns cooking communal meals, and Tk and I cooked more than the others since we didn’t work with the pumas.

Building a compost

Super lindo three-stage compost

Garden plot we planted

It wasn’t what I had looked forward to, and we questioned the merit of this organization dedicating so much money ($10,000 a cage plus food and meds) and hours of volunteers’ time to ensuring the highest quality of life for four cats that can never reproduce or be reintroduced to the wild.  Especially considering that the streets of Bolivia are overrun with stray dogs that no one gives a thought to. But I was impressed to see a Bolivian-run organization with a sincere commitment to preserving wildlife.  We made the best of our time there, and I would even like to return in a few years when they have a monkey reintroduction facility. It was fun getting to know the other volunteers, from Canada, the U.S., Australia, France, Switzerland, Germany, Spain, Belgium, Lithuania, and Korea. (Everyone spoke English.) And of course, the jungle was beautiful.

Mad machete skills - clearing a second plot for tomatoes

Now we’re super excited to spend three months in Panama, working with preschoolers and permaculture. 

El Choro Trail

North of smoggy, dirty, chaotic La Paz, we hiked the Choro trail up and down seventy kilometers of pristine Andean mountains. We set off in sleet and finished three days later with sore knees in a sweaty jungle. I wanted to turn back after the first two hours. I dragged my feet up the black, rocky terrain, disappointed that all we could see was cold mist and an occasional group of llamas. I admittedly exaggerated my wheezing and panting when I told TK that I couldn’t manage this trek – I was too sick and out of shape. (I had seen a doctor in La Paz the day before, who gave me a slew of medications and a shot in the butt for a respiratory problem I’d been battling for a couple weeks.) TK asked me to give it another hour and see how I felt if we reached the summit.

We reached it within ten minutes and I agreed to continue down the trail, as it switchbacked through increasingly warmer and thicker air. The scenery turned greener, reminding me of Switzerland and TK of Scotland. The trail dates back to pre-Incan times and I began to appreciate the idea of walking the same path as ancient Incans. The area remains largely untouched – we hiked for hours without seeing another human and only occasionally sighted a humble house or two, with small patches of potato or corn crops.

Random house after hours with no civilization

At dusk we stopped at a campsite nestled in a valley, set up our tent, and collapsed to sleep without dinner. The last several hours had been steeply downhill on a path of slick stones. The concentration required to cautiously secure my footing for every step was as draining as the physical toll on my knees. I slipped three times and grumbled that this was not a beginner’s hike, as TK had assured me it was.

The second day’s hike led us through gorgeous, lush mountainsides and across rivers in between. It was so refreshing to be surrounded by nothing but green mountains and clean water in every direction, as far as we could see. I forget that places so beautiful and peaceful still exist, where you can easily imagine that humans don’t exist at all.

Rocks laid over 500 years ago. If only they
had chosen less slippery rocks..

In the middle of nowhere, TK finds someone to chat with about farming.
This lady was all alone, tending to her crops on the side of the mountain.

Somewhere around here I realized what day it was and that it was the
first day of class back in Bmore. SO glad I quit school.

Some of the extension bridges weren't in the best shape.

The third day was hot. The climate turned tropical, with more ferns, lizards, snakes, sweat, and sunburn. The trail ended in the small town of Chairo, where we devoured some sandwiches and beer before heading to our next destination.