Mouth of the bull

The duck and the goose both broke loose, and the cow came tumbling after. None sense in Bocas

Leaving Bouqete, feeling ready for some socialisation, new places, new people, the basics.

 On the bus, over a beautiful mountain pass, listening to Ladysmith black mombosa, with a four year old Kuhna kid.

Stepped off the bus and was shown a short cut by a Kuhn man who walked me through his seaside village to get to the water taxi. Saved five dollars on taxi fare.

The shoreline of the massive bay is covered with mangroves and inlets and people live amoung the mangroves in stilt houses and travel by dugout canoe to visit neighbours and do their errands.

Boarding a water taxi, with apprehension, arriving in another new place, a bustling one.

But then, unloading, and seeing newness, as always, inspired me. I found my hostel, Gran Kahuna, with ease and went looking for a beer to welcome myself to Bocas Del Torro.  

The streets are flowing with people, of all sorts and flavours, on bicycle and on foot. Some form of Rastafarianism makes itself felt in colours and dreadlocks, and peddlers on the street. And young people and old people toting bags and backpacks are a common sight. As are hangovers. The buildings crowd  one another, one brand new, the next one made of timber, the old way. Bright colours and signs illuminate the shops, but somehow the mainstreet feels dusty. The roads outside of town are beautiful though.

Drink beer on boats, walking and shouting buena vida off of balconies, swimming off the bar, sushi deliciousness, meeting people. Interesting ones. and some annoying ones too, we won't mention them though.

Katie, a roommate, an interesting one, works at EARTH. I plan to visit her later, and do.

Meeting Alejandro the water taxi captain, and chatting in Spanish, and getting a ride back to Bocas on his boat with three Israeli girls and my bicycle. Free boat tour.

And Joanju and Alexandra and Ventolire were three strangers who met and connected, and I met them and we connected too. All travellers, one from Catalan, one from rural Germany and one from Guatamala and Switzerland. All three characters of the top degree, beautiful people.

We spent the night at Bocas Del Drago, a decent drive out of town, away from the crazyness. We camped there, some in hammocks, some in the car. And for breakfast we ate fresh pineapple and coconuts. And the morning was beautiful. And the whole day was beautiful, in that very spot. We did a whole lot of not very much, enjoying company, music and silence, swimming, sleeping, being, living well.

And in the following evening, things being as they are, during the rythm of the night, somehow, for some unknown reasons,  we split apart, and I walked the long walk back to the hostel, not seeing the three again. 


And the next morning I left Bocas, overwhelmed by hustle, bustle, and dehydration, my head spinning from being thrown around the Mouth of the Bull for a few days.

memorable, beautiful, somehow sad