The Taganga Time Warp

At some point in Cartagena our friend Steve-O had the brilliant idea of renting bikes and riding along the coast to Taganga instead of taking the bus.  Meredith and I researched this idea, but ultimately it didn’t work out.  Probably saved our lives, I sincerely doubt we would have made it on our own.  It’s only four hours from Cartagena to Taganga, but it stands out as one of the more memorable bus rides I’ve had in South America.  The trip consisted of our driver playing chicken with oncoming traffic, deciding whether or not to pass cars on the two lane road, and regularly pushing motorbikes to the shoulder.  Add to this the Colombian child crying as his brother bounced an empty plastic Coca Cola bottle off his head in the seat in front of us.  At this point all we could really do was laugh and hope we made it to Taganga in one piece.

After a safe arrival we checked into the hostel, headed down to the beach for sunset, and met some of the Aussies from Portobelo.  The following day the remainder of the group made the journey to Taganga.  With the group reunited we spent the weekend in a blur of Nicaraguan rum, roasted chicken, dancing at Sensation, and after parties at the Jewish hostel.  We were officially trapped in the Taganga Time Warp.  

Sunday offered a much needed day of recovery and rest.  By this point I was feeling pretty beat and missed the comforts of the States.  I wanted nothing more than to be in my queen bed, eating Chipotle and watching Netflix.  Instead we were in a hostel with hot dorm rooms, unreliable water and electricity, and a constant blare of music from the neighbors.  Meredith wanted air conditioning and our friend Al wanted to call in a noise complaint on our obnoxiously loud neighbors.  Although Colombia with the Aussies was a great time, it had definitely taken its toll. 

That evening Meredith started her Open Water PADI course at the Octopus Dive Center, though watching poorly made diving videos was probably the last thing she wanted to be doing.  I felt the same way Monday as we walked down to the dive center at 8am.  I was essentially asleep until the moment I hit the water with my diving gear.  My instructor, Felipe, had a great sense of humor even 40 feet under water, which definitely helped shake me from of my stupor.  My first lesson was buoyancy, which involved numerous hovering exercises, swimming through a hula hoop, and head stands.  Second was navigation.  This involved using a compass to navigate a line, square and triangle underwater.  Since this didn’t take very long there was plenty of time to explore the reef afterward.  

Tuesday was my second and final day of diving.  The first dive of the day was deep water, which goes to 30 meters or roughly 100 feet.  At this depth nitrogen narcosis equivalent to 12 cocktails kicks in.  Everyone reacts differently, but essentially it’s like being drunk under water.  To measure the effects we did a series of timed tasks on the boat that we repeated at 30 meters.  Felipe also had me spell the president's name backwards, identify a piece of fruit (I had absolutely no idea what it was), do some math problems and identify colors.  At that depth red and orange appear brown or green.  Due to the high pressure we could only stay under for about 30 minutes.  When we surfaced Felipe told us the fruit was a tomato.  No wonder I couldn’t identify it, tomatoes are vegetables (I know technically they’re fruit, but I still default veggie).

The third dive was drift, which is diving with the current.  Finally was a night dive.  We boarded the boat as the sun set.  Diving at night is quite different than during the day.  You can only see as far your flashlight and different animals are awake.  Coral expands to take in nutrients.  By far my favorite part was turning off flashlights and waving our hands through the water to see the bioluminescent plankton.  Wherever the water is agitated they spark like hundreds of tiny green stars.  When it was finally time to surface I spent most of the time looking down to watch the trail of light behind us.  

The following day was Meredith last day of diving.  I spent the morning arranging our transportation to Tayrona National Park for that afternoon.  A truck was scheduled to pick us up around 3pm and drive us the hour to the park, which would hopefully give us enough time to hike in before sunset.  Meredith and I waited, but our driver never showed.  The manager at the hostel told us he had gotten in trouble dropping off the group before us because he wasn’t supposed to be working and had to pay someone off.  The next day he told us it was actually because the park was closing early, but I’m not sure I believe him.  Either way 8am the next morning we piled into a Bronco and made our way to Tayrona National Park. 

Cartagena

After our six day voyage Meredith and I set foot on solid ground in Cartagena, our first encounter with Colombia.  When we arrived customs was absolutely nonexistent.  Half an hour after docking a small boat arrived to collect our passports.  We would get them back later that evening from our captain at a bar across the street from our hostel.  Meredith and I crossed in Colombia without ever seeing a customs agent and no one questioning what we had brought with us. 

Despite its reputation the streets of Colombia are not paved with cocaine nor are there dangers hiding around every corner.  My first impression of Cartagena was actually very similar to Casco Viejo in Panama City; cobble stone streets, well maintained neighborhoods with buildings exuding that colonial charm.  Police are abundant, but that doesn’t set Colombia apart from other South American countries. 

Meredith and I spent the first day walking around the city, looking for the local market, and taking pictures.  Overall I very mellow introduction to Colombia.  We stayed at Media Luna, the unofficial meeting point of those traveling from Portobelo, so it was nice to see some familiar faces.  

Besides wandering the city and catching up on everyone’s sailing experiences all of our activities in Cartagena were consolidated into one day.  In the morning we visited El Tumo, a mud volcano an hour outside of town.  I’m still not sure how it qualifies as a volcano being filled with mud instead of lava, but it was an interesting experience.  The mud is incredibly buoyant, but difficult to maneuver in.  Tourists are pushed through the mud by men who work there offering massages. 

After El Tumo we arrived back at the hostel and immediately got on a bus to the Under 20 World Cup, which is taking place in Colombia.  Our Miller Lite sponsored party bus was fully stocked with MGD for the ride.  Classy, I know. 

When we arrived to the stadium the energy was high.  I had been to a couple of games in Argentina and was excited for Meredith to experience soccer in South America.  This however was not the case.  By the end of the game even the Brits agreed that England vs. Mexico was the most boring soccer match of all time.  Instead of staying for the second game the party bus regrouped and we headed back to the hostel.  After a few days in Cartagena we were ready to move to a less expensive city.  A friend had recommended diving in Taganga so we rallied the troops and headed east. 

Fantasy Voyage

When I first started thinking about this trip I planned on only visiting Colombia and Ecuador.  Panama wasn’t added to the roster until Meredith told me about a six day sailing trip her cousin had taken years earlier between Panama and Colombia.  Last summer I traveled with a teacher who did the same voyage.  While I have heard great things about the trip I was nervous since I get sea sick; very sea sick actually.  In the end the risk of spending a couple of days in a Dramamine-induced stupor was well worth the opportunity of sailing through the Caribbean.  

There are numerous ships that make the passage between Panama and Colombia.  Meredith and I signed on for the Fantasy, a 55 foot Ketch complete with pirate flag, sailing from Portobelo to Cartagena.   

We arrived in Portobelo, a small town five hours by bus from Panama City, the day before we were scheduled to set sail.  There’s not much to do in Portobelo other visit the black Jesus statue in the church, make a monkey friend, try to escape from said monkey friend, explore the ruins, pretend to be Captain Morgan, and try to remember you’re in Panama despite the fact that everyone else is from Australia. 

After a fun filled day in Portobelo, Meredith and I boarded the Fantasy seven hours behind schedule.  The journey wouldn’t have been complete without our fellow shipmates.  The lineup includes:

Debbie and Wayne: Our captain and her husband/our mechanic

Lorena: Our cook

Tomas, Romain, Fabien (aka Muscles): The Frenchies

Mel and Carl: The British couple

Frances and Marco: The German couple

When we finally boarded the ship most of us were tired after an afternoon of waiting, while the Frenchies were extra intoxicated after the extra rally time at the bar.  By this point I was good and drugged with every motion sickness medicine I could get my hands on.  I hoped with a steady stream of Dramamine and transdermal motion sickness patch I could outmatch the ocean.  

Turns out the ocean always wins.  Within an hour we had hit a storm.  Within two hours I was keeled over in the bathroom.  I spent the night outside despite the rain, but felt great when I woke up in the morning.  It probably helps that by the next morning we had docked in San Blas, a chain of 365 Caribbean islands complete with crystal clear water, ship wrecks, and white sand beaches. 

We spent the first day swimming and lounging on the six-man inflatable raft the Frenchies brought, dubbed “The Joy Machine” (they also brought Super Soakers that they proceeded to fill with rum and shoot into each others’ mouths).  That night the Kuna (local islanders) prepared us a lobster dinner on a small island and the water guns were replaced with rum-filled coconuts, better known as Coco Loco.  

 The next two days passed in a similar fashion.  The second night the Judy Mae docked next to the Fantasy and we joined forces with another group of backpackers (Australian of course) from Portobelo.  We made our way to a deserted island for a bonfire and cookout.  It was fairly ridiculous, but a very enjoyable evening.  

 

The following morning Marco, Mel, Carl, Lorena and I went snorkeling at a ship wreck.  Highlights include a manta ray, sting ray, and nurse shark sightings.  Unfortunately that afternoon marked the end of the Caribbean Paradise portion of the journey.  The next leg: 40+ hours of straight sailing to Cartagena. 

It was a somewhat surreal experience being in the middle of the Caribbean with no land, let alone another soul in sight.  I spent the majority of our 40 hour passage reading and praying that the great weather would hold (and it did).  Surprisingly the weather was the least of our worries.  The morning after we set sail for Cartagena we woke to the news that we were out of drinking water.  Debbie was confident that we could survive the remaining 30 hours on beer and soda, but I was less than excited by this prospect.    

By the time we hit land around 11am the next morning we were more than ready to be off the boat.  Marco had been particularly sick the entire time, and hadn’t moved let alone eaten in two days.  Mel was still upset about the water.  I really wanted to brush my teeth and wash my hair.  It was time for the Fantasy Voyage to be done.  Overall it was a great adventure.  Not always easy, but the good ones never are.    

Santa Catalina: Sea, Surf and Scuba

Santa Catalina is a small town on the southwestern tip of Peninsula Azuero known for its surfing and diving.  The road from Soná to Santa Catalina is two hours of dirt roads and pot holes although I’ve heard they’ve made significant improvements over the last year (On a side note: Meredith slept almost the entire drive even with the poor road conditions.  Today we had to sit in the aisle of a bus from Panama City to Portobelo and she still managed to pass out).  Despite the remote location, it is well worth the journey.

After settling into our room and watching a spectacular sunset we wandered across the street to the Dive Stop Bar.  We had heard the owner was from Colorado, which clearly meant we had to investigate.  It was only 9pm, but closing time is 10pm, so the bar was mostly empty when we arrived.  Caroline, a girl from Germany, was behind the bar, with Julie, Ben, and Tal as the only patrons.  Meredith and I ordered a couple of local beers and soon joined in on the conversation.  We had mentioned that we wanted to surf and Tal offered to give us lessons the following morning. 

The conversation then turned to diving.  Julie owned and Ben worked at the dive shop next door.  I told them how I had gotten my open water certification last summer, but hadn’t been diving since.  They responded with stories of amazing dives in Coiba, an UNESCO National Park an hour by boat from Santa Catalina.  By this point it was well past 10pm, we said our goodbyes and told Tal we’d see him at 11am for our surf lesson.  As we got back to the room I told Meredith I really wanted to dive.  In fact I’d be willing to skip going to Santa Fe in the highlands to stay in the small beach town for some quality surfing and diving.

The following morning we hiked up to the Blue Zone to meet Tal who had just come back from the morning surf.  We hiked down to Playa Estero to rent boards and try our luck on the smaller waves.  Tal promised both of us that we’d be able to stand by the end of the lesson and he followed through.  Offering pearls of wisdom such as "The ocean stops for no one" and "No paddle, no surf", and helping Meredith with swimsuit related difficulties Tal proved to be both an entertaining and informational surf instructor.  Within the first hour both of us had successfully surfed.  We stayed in the water for another hour before we were too tired and beat up from the waves.  

That night we headed back the Blue Zone where Tal cooked us and two other backpackers dinner.  It was delicious and Tal was hilarious.  He’s from Israel, offering the odd mix of a veteran surfer with three years of military training.  I was never quite sure what was going to come out of his mouth, but it was guaranteed to make us laugh.  For example, the topic of gun control came up.  This is always an interesting conversation since opinions usually run the whole spectrum.  I mentioned that my climbing partners brought hand guns with us when we went camping, which I through was ridiculous.  Tal's response: "Of course you have to bring a gun camping.  You never know when an Arab is going to pop up."  Probably not what my climbing partners had in mind, but interesting logic nonetheless.  Meredith and I had forgotten our head lamps so the boys walked us back to Rolo’s, where we called it an early night so we could get up and dive the next morning.

At 8am the following morning we met Ben and our dive instructor Luis across the street at Coiba Dive Center.  We piled into the boat with two stepsisters from Canada and set off for Coiba.  The other girls were doing a three tank dive, while we were only doing two.  During the first dive Meredith and I went snorkeling off of one of the smaller islands.  Even snorkeling the amount of sea life was amazing.  In addition to plenty of fish we saw a turtle and reef shark.  After about an hour we boarded the ship and left for the second dive spot.  

As this was Meredith’s first time diving she spent the second stop with Ben going over the basics.  I went with Luis and the two girls.  This was my first dive in exactly a year so it took me a while to acclimate to the new surroundings.  I spent most of the first dive trying to stay buoyant and avoid bumping into my diving partners.  By the second dive I was doing slightly better.  During the two dives we saw lots and lots of fish, turtles, reef sharks, eels, lobsters, sea horses, a ray, octopuses, and starfish.  There was even a crocodile named Tito where we stopped for lunch, although we didn't test our luck getting in the water with him.  Even though it was an expensive dive it was well worth the price.  That afternoon we returned to Santa Catalina only to find out that Tal had cut open his foot with his new machete and had been unsuccessfully trying to super glue it back together.  Like I said, Tal's a funny guy.   

After two days of sea, surf, and scuba Meredith and I boarded our bus back to Panama City.  We’re scheduled to set sail from Portobelo on the 28^th.  We’ll spend three days at the beautiful San Blas islands before the 40+ hour passage to Cartagena.  Seeing as I get sea sick it should be a very interesting adventure. 

Los Santos and Las Tablas

After three nights in Panama City Meredith and I parted ways with Bora and Vincezo and headed for Peninsula Azuero,  known for its copious amount of festivals.  We assumed rooms would be hard to come by in Las Tablas and booked two nights at the Hostal Voyager in Los Santos.  This small town is made up of a plaza surrounded by numerous small streets. As we walked into town Guadalupe, the owner of Hostal Voyager, called our name from the doorway.  Or at least as close to "Meredith" as you can get in Spanish.  We walked through the door and were surprised to find a living room full of computers and teenage boys playing video games.  Turns out Guadalupe's home serves as the local internet cafe, mini-movie theater, and hostel for travelers like ourselves.  Quite the operation she has going.  Nonetheless Lupe was incredibly accommodating, making us breakfast each morning, and letting us pick movies each evening.  Not too bad for $8 a night.

The following afternoon we left for Las Tablas to check out the festival.  When we arrived the town was still fairly quiet.  We explored the church, admired a colorful float, and watched as a few of the girls had their pictures taken in the traditional Panamanian dress or polleras.  To kill some time we made our way to a pool hall to grab a drink.  After the first round the bartender brought us two more beers. We didn’t think too much of it, however before we could finish she brought us another round.  And another.  And another.  Finally I noticed someone across the bar waving at us and realized he had been buying our drinks.  We politely told the bartender no more, paid our $1 tab, and left for the festival.  At this point pizza was highly necessary.  Slightly buzzed we walked along the street fair of blue tents selling random trinkets, making our way to the bull riding arena.   

After paying the $3 to enter the bull riding area we joined to mass of people watching the event.  I wanted to join the teenagers who were sitting on the fence, but decided against it since I was wearing a skirt.  Meredith was rooting for the bull to win.  Sadly it did not.  As we walked back to the festival we watched the street parade of young girls and boys dancing and playing music.  In the end we were tired and decided to head back to Los Santos.  

 

The sleepy towns Los Santos and Las Tablas provided a much needed change from Panama City, but we were anxious to move to the next location.  Unfortunately Meredith and I had not yet decided where this location would be. After a consultation of LP and input from Lupe we decided Santa Catalina sounded like a great choice.  The next morning we woke early, well rested after an early evening and screening of Titanic, and made the 6 hour and 4 bus journey to Santa Catalina. 

The Panama Canal: Round Three

According to the travel guide Lonely Planet (LP) your best chance of seeing a ship go through the Panama Canal is between 9 and 11am at the Miraflores Locks.  I had seen the engineering marvel last summer, but not in its full glory.  Even after our late night of karaoke and beverages I was determined to get up early to see a boat cross the canal.  In order to coheres the rest of the group out of bed I made a batch of banana pancakes before any wake up calls.  We managed to get everyone out of bed, fed, and ready to go by 10am.  

I was a little overzealous at making sure we got the correct cap fare, but even after a tiff with the cab driver we made it to the canal before 11am.  However this proved to be pointless.  We were immediately met with the news that there would be no ships until 2pm.  After contemplating if we wanted to kill more than three hours we decided we had nothing better to do with our day and could wait.  After a quick consultation of LP we learned there was a botanical garden/zoo only 10km down the road.  As we made our way down to the bus stop we met two sisters from the Dominican Republic who were staying at our hostel and invited them to join.

Although the bus stop was covered, it was hot and humid.  Nevertheless it was a great time.  In a weird backpacking phenomenon Americans made up the majority of our group.  Although Bora is originally from Cambodia and the sisters from the Dominican Republic, they all currently live in New York.  Thus Vincezo became an honorary member of Team America for the day.  After over an hour of waiting and consistently being honked at we were still stranded at the bus stop.  Many buses refused to stop and those that did said we needed a different bus.  Admitting defeat we made our way back to the air conditioned Miraflores for lunch.  Panamanian Public Transport System: 1, Americans: 0.

In the end it all worked out.  The ships started passing through the canal at 1pm and we managed to see two, long after the novelty had wore out.  It was somewhat anticlimactic but I was still excited I finally got to see the canal in action, even if it took three tries. 

Karaoke in Panama City

Meredith’s flight arrived at Tucuman International Airport two hours before mine.  Fortunately she was able to order a beer with her limited Spanish during the wait.  We decided to stay at La Casa de Carmen, the hostel I had stayed at with Jon and Nick last summer.  When we arrived it was surprisingly quiet with fewer people than last time.  Luckily we were able to get a room to ourselves and catch up on some much needed sleep.  The next morning we decided to relocate to Luna’s Castle, a popular hostel in Casco Viejo, in hopes of meeting some other travelers.

When we arrived Luna’s Castle was everything we were expecting.  Decorated with local art work and attached to a bar boasting $0.50 beers during happy hour, it’s clearly the backpacker hot spot of Panama City.  We spent the day walking around Casco Viejo, a barrio with an old colonial feel, cobblestone streets, plenty of street art, and a strong military presence.

Around 9pm we arrived at Relic Bar to fill our quota of $0.50 local beer.  In true traveling fashion we were immediately joined by an Ausie, Vincezo, another American, Baro, and a group of Israelis.  I’m always fascinated by Israeli culture, especially the mandatory military service for both men and women, and spent much of the evening speaking to Ethan about his home country.

Around midnight one of the hostel workers, Joy, came down and asked if we wanted to go to karaoke.  Meredith, Vincezo, Bora and I were definitely in (on a side note after Girl’s Trip I beginning to feel there’s a lot of karaoke in my life these days).  We finished our drinks, piled into taxis and made our way to Texas Lounge. As soon as we walked in it quickly became apparent that we were the only foreigners.  Joy on the other hand knew everyone in the bar.  The karaoke was set up in a small corner of the bar, complete with fog machine and spotlight.  It was a great atmosphere and mix of Spanish and English songs.  Our group joined in throughout the night adding favorites of You Spin My Head Right Round, Crazy Little Thing Called Love and I Want it That Way.  Vincezo is quite the performer and even made a dollar for his fierce dance moves.

Hours later when we had our fill of karaoke we relocated to a table outside.  Bora taught us Whiz, Bang, Bounce, a drinking game Meredith is not very good at.  We finished the evening sharing travel stories and piled into a cab to make it home before the sun rose.