Panama City

(DAY085 : Almirante - Panama City : 370 miles)
(DAY086-91 : Panama City)


The road out of Almirante was spectacular all the way up the mountains .






With only a few stops for food and gas, I made it to Panama City in about 7.5 hours, and checked into Hotel Centroamericano for $33 a night. Certainly over priced, but they had a garage.


Katirga posing over the canal.


Puente de las Americas (Bridge of the Americas)


15 minutes at the Miraflores locks.


Avenida Central


I hadn't been on a fifth floor in a long time!


The new city is one big construction site.


Casco Viejo (the old city) is much easier on the eyes.

Below: Casco Viejo






Had I not been out of road and out of tyre, I would have left this city in one day. Drivers try to kill me all the time, and knowing that it's not personal doesn't help. The man holes don't have covers, and you can never trust a green light. If you take a cab, they charge whatever they feel like at the time, and may at any time pick up other passengers resulting in long detours and delays. Although colorful, the nightlife costs an arm and a leg.

The bad news is, we've been stuck here for a week, and could not find a suitable tyre anywhere in the city (130/80-17). The good news is, if all goes well, we'll be sailing to Cartagena on a 50 foot sailboat on Tuesday.

Cross your fingers.

Bocas del Toro

(DAY078 : Almirante - Isla Colon, Bocas del Toro : 1.5 hour ferry ride)
(DAY079-83 : Isla Colon, Bocas del Toro)


The trucks line up for the ferry as early as 5 am, but with only a motorcycle, getting to the dock one hour early was overkill. You buy your ticket ($10) on the ferry, and they let you board last anyway. One and a half hours later, you're in the Bocas del Toro town of Isla Colon, which is one of the Bocas del Toro islands. Confusing enough?


If you leave your bike in Almirante, there's a quicker way to reach Bocas.


Bocas, main street.

After the inevitable chore of room hunting and checking out quite a few places ranging from very expensive to very depressing, I found a bright and cute room for $30 at Hotel Casa Max which also provided secure off-street parking and wireless internet. You get off the ferry, go to the end of the main street and follow it to the left, and you'll find Shirley & Arie's brightly colored Casa Max on your left. It's in walking distance to everything, but away from the crowd of main street. Tell 'em I said hi.


Hotel Casa Max has quite a few regulars from around the world so it may be a good idea to reserve ahead. Phone: (+507) 757 9120

My first night was a Saturday, so my blood in blood ratio went down rapidly. It had been a long time since I last had to take a boat to get to a club, and visiting Aqua Lounge was nice if only for that. At one point it started pouring, but here in the tropics, what's the difference? The Barco had a roof, merengue, and that old man selling chorizos outside at its door, so it was all good.

Next day I went exploring in hopes of finding that elusive St. Martin beach, and at the very end of Bocas del Drago I got really, really close. The half hour ride all the way across the island was good fun through the jungle, especially because Katirga was unloaded and even enjoyed the bad surface. But getting carried away can be costly as I remembered when a collectivo van almost took us out apexing on our side of the road. As for the beach, a 15 minute walk from where the road ends gets you to where the water is clearest and most tranquil, with sand stars and fish all around you. Unfortunately it comes at a price if you're not prepared: sand fly bites. Chitras are almost invisible, but attack fiercely and hurt when they bite, not to mention the itch and bleeding that follows.





When I returned with a camera the following day, I made sure I sprayed myself with DEET first ("Off" is available everywhere you need it). BUT, I didn't take the can with me! What do you guess happens when you go in the water? As I was playing with my camera, they covered my entire body with their nasty bites. Later, I counted over 100, and once they started bleeding I looked like infected with a terrible skin disease.

I've been on the road for quite a while now, and believe me when I say I don't have any expectations of fast service when I go to a restaurant. But here in Bocas, slow is defined at a different level. Or such has been my luck. I learned to go to eat an hour or two before I expect to get hungry.

So it was on my way back from the pizza in an hour and a half place that I was escorted to the police station. The guys in the police truck looked truly serious. Two blocks later, at the station, I was ordered off the bike and told to sit down on a bench as they talked with the other cops, apparently about the gravity of the situation. Had they not taken it over the top I would have started to get worried. Turns out the funny cop games I remember from since when I was thirteen are not only played in Istanbul. OK, let's play along and look remorseful and scared then. Oh crap, I'm smiling.

Well, it's alright, within 5 minutes we were all laughing and it was nice to meet the chief of police.



So, why? Officially because I didn't have my helmet on. Actually, they were bored and curious, and curiosity is part of their job. (On that tiny island getting bored too I bet)

Third day, I took a snorkeling tour from the lancha dock with Mikkel and his girlfriend who also are traveling on two wheels. We did visit many beautiful locations, but unless other tours are significantly better, I'd say stay away and save your day. Our tour cost $20 a person, dragged us around meaninglessly, then dumped us on Frog beach, taking up 7 hours of our day, for 15 minutes of snorkeling under current without fins. Who starts a snorkeling tour with an empty gas tank and no snorkels? Ultimately, the day served our captain and his girlfriend, while we paid for their pleasure. You're much better off renting a boat for $80 a day and calling the shots. Choose a newer boat, and make sure it has a 4-stroke engine (The exhaust from a 2-stroke is quite dense and dirty). It helps if the boat has a decent ladder as well. Alternatively consider a 2-tank dive for $50, or just go to the beach and enjoy yourself rather than paying to be taken hostage. Can you tell I wasn't crazy about the snorkel tour?









At noon of the fourth day, I packed up my stuff and dragged everything down in order to load and get ready to depart aboard the 4 pm ferry. Then, I could check my email and contact the boat to Cartagena that Arie found for me.

One of the pannier padlocks wouldn't open, so I had to go and buy some machine oil and lubricate the lock. Then I realized that my auxiliary gas tank holder had gotten chewed up by the chain guard, and had to be dealt with. As I was getting ready to put that back on I saw the loose rack main bolt. Why does that keep loosening up despite all that Locktite anyway? I took the Givi case base plate off, and sure enough the top bolts attaching the rear rack to the frame were sticking out. Once I tightened them back up, I could start putting it all back together. Now only if the darn bolts would bolt back on.

They won't, because they're broken. Apparently they've loosened, then snapped, and that's why the main bolt has been coming loose so frequently.

With my luggage, parts, and tools now littering the entire patio floor, and broken tips of the bolts still threaded in the frame, I'm drawing blanks as to what I'll do now. Then, Arie drops whatever he was doing and runs to my rescue with his set of power tools. We try to unscrew the broken bits, but that proves impossible without an extractor, so we drill them out. We brain storm but there's no easy solution, and every time we need something Arie gets on the quad and takes a trip to his off-site work shop. We can't tap to size up the threads, we can't drill through to lock from below, and we can't weld new nuts, because each solution poses another problem. Err, Shirley, is my room still vacant? Too late, all taken.



In the end, Arie disappears to his bodega for one last time to return with a one piece steel insert sporting 2 oem size threads to replace the welded nuts that we had drilled out. Not only perfect, but with 15 minutes left to catch the ferry. Now, how can I possibly thank this guy?

Maybe, if I could put it all together and load fast enough, I could have caught the ferry. But I felt like staying to celebrate, even though I had no place to stay. Or then so I thought, because they helped me with that as well, not in a way you'd help a guest, but in a way you'd help family.

Next day I did leave, and hated every bit of it.

I stayed in Almirante again for an early start the next morning.

Almirante

(DAY077 : Puerto Viejo - Almirante : 60 miles)


The ride to Sixaola was nice and cheerful among Chiquita's banana trees.

Then, we arrived at the border, and The Bridge from Hell.


The Bridge from Hell

Exiting Costa Rica was easy and quick. But crossing that bridge...

Here at Guabito, Costa Rica and Panama are separated (rather than connected) by an old, narrow railroad bridge now used by pedestrians and motor vehicles. That is made somewhat possible by laying wooden planks of irregular dimensions on either side of the railroad tracks.

The problem with crossing it on a motorcycle is, well, everything. Not only does the uneven surface upset your balance, the wide gaps between the planks grab your wheels and take away any control you may have left. Some of the planks are missing altogether, and putting a foot down only sometimes means putting it on something. You can not get off the bike and walk beside the thing either because there's no space. The crossbeams between the train tracks are not only lower than the planks, but also irregularly spaced and frequently with gaps wide enough for a person to pass through and expire in the river far below. As for the sides of the bridge, the only barrier in place to prevent a similar fate is a rusty broken wire fence, placed at an outward lean so it's guaranteed to fail from holding anything but your hat.

After having to wait quite a while for a long line of banana trucks to cross from the other side at the speed of a turtle, the bridge seemed to be clear except for pedestrians. I said "thanks man, but no" one more time to the english speaking helper guy (H.G.), and hurried to the bridge before another truck showed up.

Going slow, we can't hold a straight line even on a good road when Katirga is loaded. The right way to cross something like this is at once and with speed. But you can't help visualizing the consequences of a fast fall here, and you know there is no "trying it again". Then, you look at all the pedestrians on your way, and decide fast is not doable. By "you", I of course mean "me".

Lacking the courage to step on the gas and the horn, I found myself trying to cross this thing "carefully", and making sure I at least didn't fall on my right as it seemed to risk a much longer fall. How do you make sure you don't fall on one side? By putting it down on the other? Before I could even make it halfway through, Katirga was laying on the tracks. A rush of adrenaline got me up quickly, but Katirga needed help from a few people. Back on, but back on the same crap, and in the middle of it! H.G. who ran to our help was saying "go really slow man, walk it!". Walk it? Stepping on what? Not to mention I'll need the clutch afterwards.

Let's try it again. Another 30 meters and BAM! This time we have impact.

Are you kidding me!?. I grew up on these things and I can't cross a bridge??? (exactly.)

It was a very lucky fall. I didn't crush bones or end up in the river, and Katirga's recently fixed crash bars bent themselves to save her from an expensive plastic surgery. It was super hot and I didn't have my jacket on, so my elbow lost some skin. But my ego... I doubt it'll ever recover from this.

With luck, and diminished motivation to worry about the clutch, I somehow walked it to the other side, in sheer embarrassment and defeat. Regardless, you can imagine how glad I was to be done with that bridge until H.G. blurted: "There's another bridge ahead y'now, just like this one but much longer...". Silence was all I needed. But he also had to tell me about the german rider who got hospitalized here last week. Did I understand correctly? He lost his balls !?. I think I lost mine as well just by hearing this.


Helper Guy (H.G.)

Crossing the bridge doesn't mean you're cleared for Panama of course. It's just a symbolic representation of what kind of pain is awaiting you. I hand my passport to the immigration officer, keeping it open at the page that has my famous Panama visa. She grabs and closes it, then starts looking for the visa, eventually gives up and tells me I can't enter because I need a visa. So I find it again and she gets to see what her country's visa looks like. Done, piece of cake. On to customs...

The three guys in the customs office aren't at all interested in the fact that I'm waiting at the window. It must be 40°C in the shade while I stand there under the sun, but their side of the window is air-conditioned so all's good. Better if I listen to H.G. and follow him to the copy place. He says they'll ask for photocopies, so I might as well get that taken care of. The copy place feels like 10 miles away under that sun. Of course, the copier woman says "sorry it's broke". Is there another place? Yes, across the bridge!

I ignore H.G. and first go back to the customs office. If they really need copies, perhaps they'll suggest a sensible way to obtain them as well, no? No. Too bad if that one's broke, there may be one in Costa Rica, and no they don't have a fax machine to make the copies either. In the mean time, I'm looking at their fax machine and H.G. keeps saying "I told you so".

So I take a hike with H.G. across The Bridge from Hell which now has a truck stuck in the middle of it. When I get back to the window with my copies, I find that they still aren't interested in moving a finger. H.G. goes in, gets kicked out, and tells me I should pay them something. Eventually one of the officers tells me there's a lot of people ahead of me and it will take at least an hour. I look at all the frustrated truckers trying to squeeze in the tiny shade on the sidewalk, then ask if there's anything I can do to speed up the process, and we exchange nods.

While they're doing whatever they're doing, H.G. is busy annoying me, asking for $10 bucks "to give them". Dude, I'm old enough to do my own bribing, and I'm not paying them $10. (And the only reason I put up with you is because you helped Katirga on that bridge.)

Too late to make the long story short, I ended up bribing the customs office $5, giving H.G. another $5, and tipping the kid who kept watch on the bike $1. Perhaps it was thanks to H.G. that they asked for the bribe. There weren't any customs fees, so overall it was cheaper than other crossings, but it must have taken me about 2 hours to finally enter Panama. I doubt it could've taken longer.

While waiting around for customs stuff, I'd met a very friendly V-Star rider. On the way out of the border, I saw him again, and he took the time to escort me all the way through Changuinola, after which it's just a straight ride all the way to Almirante. Had it not been for his help, I might still be lost in a maze of unmarked turns. Gracias maestro!

Shortly after Changuinola is Ieft behind, the road leads straight up a steep hill, then reveals an unforgettable view...

There it is: The Bridge from Hell 2, the longer sequel.

This is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so there are no pedestrians. Good. This is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so if I fall, I'm either on my own or in oblivion.

I pull over before reaching the line of cars waiting for the green. One more point for controlled passage.

Then, it's green. I won't go much closer to see how terrible this one might be. I don't want to know. I patiently wait as the long line of cars slowly moves along the bridge. When the last car looks far enough, I make sure no else is coming in, and head for the sequel.

We take it on as it was meant to be, with speed. That's what I'm talking about!

And with speed we approach the cars which I thought would be on the other side by now! Please, not again!!!

As I slow down, Katirga starts wavering all over the place again, and I know what's coming almost with certainty. But we manage to stop quickly before it comes, and I'm delighted to have found something under my feet. As I wait for the cars ahead, another one catches up from behind and stops as close as possible, as is customary around here. Once the bridge clears, I give him the wrong finger so he thinks I mean "one moment please", then drop the hammer as hard as I can without pulling a wheelie.

We're out of there. Too much adrenaline for one day.



The town of Almirante is as ugly as ugly gets, and if it's half as dodgy as it looks I should be glad to have survived it after walking around to find beer at night. If you're headed to the Bocas with a vehicle however, this is where you'll end up to catch the morning ferry at 8. Good news is, there's a brand new and very decent hotel on the way and very close to the ferry dock. A room with AC, hot water, and TV cost me $25, and they let me park Katirga in a closed off section of the buiding which is still under construction. I doubt you'd need a reservation, but I don't know where else I could've gone in Almirante had they been full, so better be safe than sorry.

(Hotel Alhambra, Calle del Banco Nacional, Almirante - Phone: 758-9819 - ask for Almirante location)

I also heard about a nice Eco Lodge within 15kms of Almirante, but accessing it wouldn't have been half as convenient, and all I needed was a night's sleep anyway.


Picnic in my room at Almirante

Puerto Viejo

(DAY076 : Fortuna - Puerto Viejo : 210 miles)


The ride out of Fortuna was pleasant and again among greens, but once we merged into the main road to Puerto Limon there were too many trucks. Promptly after merging I was stopped again for the toll, I mean for speeding. If you set the speed limit at 80kph (50mph), you can stop anyone you like right? I can't even shift to 5th gear at that kind of speed. Anyway, this time I paid only $5, but it cost me a bit more time.

Puerto Limon is plain ugly, so I quickly continued on towards Puerto Viejo. When I stopped to take a few photos with the painted palm trees on the road side, I was sure that I'd be there by 3 pm. How come I'm always wrong?


The Painted Palms by Ron

The moment I saw the palms, I knew it had to be someone from the States. Vietnam veteran Ron and his wife have moved here about 8 years ago and now run this very cute restaurant and store. We chatted away until I noticed the sun was getting low, so my disappointment with Purto Viejo was significantly delayed.

Heading to the Caribbean, I admittedly had very high expectations, hoping to find a St. Martin, or Barbados like beach. Well, they're not here, and the shabby town with terrible live reggae doesn't do it for me either. To me, the place looks like they'd pay me to stay. Instead, I had to pay $20 for a hole.


Couldn't find much inspiration in Puerto Viejo

The next day I rode further along the coast to explore nearby beaches, and everything looked a lot better. Punta Uva is a very nice beach for swimming, and has attractive accommodation options if you seek tranquility. For surfing, you'd need to go a bit further, to Manzanillo. In any case however, they weren't enough to make me stay another night. Perhaps St. Martin has a branch in Bocas del Toro.


Punta Uva


Surfing at Manzanillo


Punta Mona

Am I really going to Panama? I hope they don't tell me to "come back tomorrow" at the border.

Fortuna

(DAY075 : Monteverde - Fortuna : 65 miles)


Once back to my original route and the real road at Tilaran junction, the ride turned scenic and fun. A nicely paved narrow road took us around Lake Arenal, turning and twisting with beautiful views of the lake juxtaposed against the active volcan. Neatly manicured greens, clean signs, and pretty homes, quite frequently reminded me of the States. It's been a long time.


Laguna de Arenal from Arenal.

I passed Arenal, and stopped for a bite in Fortuna. I had covered very little distance but it was already 3 pm and Fortuna looked alright, so I didn't want to continue. Perhaps I could go lava watching at night! With freshly gathered coordinates, I headed back to the Volcan Arenal National Park 10 miles away, then got on a pot hole covered dirt road (again!) for another 5 miles or so to reach a creek with a good view of the active crater. Very nice, but there's no way I'd be riding back here at night to see some far away orange glow. Not on this road. So I scouted further on the terrible road, following hotel signs in hopes of finding one with a good view or easy access. All for nothing, of course.

When I got into my really nice, $30 hotel room in Fortuna, I was saturated with road dirt. Shower. Pilsen. Sorry folks, you'll have to view the lava elsewhere on the internet. (me too)


Volcan Arenal from Fortuna.


It makes fresh fluffy clouds.

Monteverde

(DAY074 : Samara - Santa Elena, Monteverde : 125 miles)


Thankfully getting out of Samara wasn't like getting in. There actually is a road to Carmona, and after that you can even go fast. But apparently there is such a thing as "too fast" in Costa Rica, as they have radar guns. Before I could reach the Pan-American highway, I was pulled over by a motorcycle cop who clocked me at 117 kph (73 mph). I of course told him he must be wrong (Katirga was saying 130), but the guy kept going on and on about suspending my license and impounding the vehicle and dadada. Ten dollars ten minutes later, Katirga was already making up for the lost time.

I mentioned that we were headed to Arenal right? Maybe it's better if I didn't because at the junction to Arenal we went the other way anyway. The road to our destination of the moment, Monteverde, generously provided our daily dust intake and off-road practice.


The road can loosen your kit apart, but the views are nice.

Monteverde is described as an ecological paradise and dense cloud forest, but it was completely clear all the way up to Santa Elena. While ordering my pizza at the Tree House, I was wondering whether if I could still make it to Arenal. Probably not, and why did I come here anyway? The british gals next table would tell me: zipline tours.

Ok. So what's another another day? I checked into El Sueno Hotel for $25 including breakfast. The tiny town of Santa Elena sleeps at 10 pm, so waking up at 6 wasn't a problem. At 7:30 Aventura's shuttle van picked me up to relieve me of another $40.

How do you pick a zipline tour when there are at least 3 companies that offer them? I was recommended Aventura for having more and longer lines, but when the novelty dies after third, having to do 13 more can turn into labor, so keep that in mind.


How many more of these do I need to take to get back to town?


We crossed bridges too. Yawn.

I think after the first 3 lines, I arrived at another tree top platform and was told "ok, now we'll do a rappel, you don't need to do anything". Before I could ask "what the heck is a rappel?" they just threw me down the tree! So I guess rappel is the part where they slow you down right before you splatter on the ground. You know how they say it's not the fall, but the impact that kills you? That may not be completely true.


Some rappel in style. Some scream their lungs out. (what's a rapPEEEEEEEEeeeeellll???)

When I got back to the hotel by noon, I was really bored of monkeying around. I tightened Katirga's bits and bolts, then got on the same crappy road to loosen them all over again.

Samara

(DAY072 : Tamarindo - Samara : 65 miles)
(DAY073 : Samara)


I left Tamarindo after the surf lesson, at around noon. I had decided to give up on the Pacific and head east to Arenal. Five miles later, I was making a south bound turn for the coastal route to Samara. I really don't know who's guiding this expedition, it sure's not me. I only try to rationalize these unexpected turns. Samara is so close, and it would be great to see the coast along the way. What's another day?

Within two miles into the turn, the road gets terrible again. It's not off-road terrain. It even looks like a road. Except it feels like riding a pneumatic paving breaker, and you're constantly covered in thick white dust. Someone tells me it'll get better 4 miles ahead. It does. Only to get worse a few miles later.

Long story short, I discovered that the route along the coast is an unmarked labyrinth, and a study on types of terrible road surface. Crossing muddy creeks is always a gamble as you have no idea what's on the path of your wheels. Just add expensive electronics to your cargo to up the ante. And the only smooth section was the hardest to get through: impossibly deep gravel. The punch line? The coastal route barely provides any glimpse of the coast!


The fourth creek had a motorcycle bridge. (Didn't feel like they had Katirga in mind)


Transformers caught terrorizing innocent locals.

As I had hoped, Samara was a much better fit for me. A long beach, and a small town without complexes. This place too is full of tourists, and many of the hotels were quoting me $70 a night, but it's laid back and serves a different crowd. My $20 room a few steps from the beach was on par with the one in Tamarindo, and the beach bar next door was a good place to hang out at.



There are a few bars and restaurants on the main street, and I never saw them busy. At Karamba I was served real (not from a bag) nachos for the first time since leaving Mexico. They also have one of those giant sub-zero beer refrigerators, so it was a good place to visit as well.