Gamboa, Panama

Post date: Jul 17, 2010 12:56:48 AM

Much of my time in Panama was spent hanging out with my hosts in the quiet little nerd community of Gamboa. It has the most amazing multi-storied resort complete with waterfalls and gaping windows revealing a mossy, forest-lined lagoon below. Other than that, there’s an orchid and butterfly garden, and a local mini-grocery affectionately named by most hosts, “Chino’s.” To reach the town one must cross a treacherous bridge. How to describe it? About ¼ mile long and sturdy in construction, the danger lies in the fact that it is one “lane,” at the end of which you cannot see the other side, so you never know if someone on the other end ran the red light and is coming to meet you halfway, forcing one of you to back up to the main road, which would be a nightmare because to drive on this bridge you must align your wheels perfectly on uneven wooden plank one foot tall risers. These risers are three foot in diameter, and there are only two risers- one for each wheel. For a motorcycle, maintaining balance is difficult due to the gaps and height variances between the boards covering the single riser you take from end to end. Overcompensate for a nudge from one of these wheel redirectors and you’ll end up off the riser, potentially toppling the bike, busting a clutch or brake lever, and having no way of getting the bike off the bridge without lifting the bike back onto the riser. I traversed this bridge with white knuckles, but I had no mishaps. You feel a “woohoo” as you hit the ramp at the end of the bridge, back to the main road. Nighttime on the roads around there were compounded with danger due to the steamy fog that rises from the jungle, limiting visibility to 100 feet or so. That just means fun to me. In spite of these conditions, I persuaded my one host to go for her first motorcycle ride. She whimpered like a kitten but was starry eyed after completing a night tour through the foggy jungle roads. How can one not like riding a motorcycle?

Speaking of kittens, they had a couple cats. One, an old, retarded cat that hung out outside all day, staring blankly at this and that. The other, a playful kitten they’d taken in as a stray, followed me around much of the time, wanting to play. Keiko has some sharp claws, I must say. And she’s cunning.

The cat claws at its food bag every time someone walks into the room. One must appreciate those “Thank you, Me” moments, moments like when you remember that you fed the cat on time earlier. And then there’s those “HaHa!” moments when you see the cat eating from the bag, which it had been guile-y opening all the time you heard it scratching the bag.

Outdoors in the yard was this weird rodent like, tailess, possum-sized creature the name of which presently escapes me. It is common as squirrels and is often seem rummaging through the vegetation in search of plants to eat. It is an ugly creature, but all creatures are nice in their own way. Just would take time, I suppose, to truly appreciate it. It was fun to see one munching on the celery leaves and butts I’d tossed outside.

I saw barges passing up and down the river and being pushed into place by tugboats. To fill the locks, which are designed to move million ton ships from higher to lower elevations, they draw water from the surrounding lagoons and lakes dotting the land. I stopped at one such bridge to a lagoon where I saw some fisherman, and of course I was immediately at home. Met a Panamanian currently living in Columbus, Ohio, and we chatted about fishing tactics for the species living in these waters. It’s a brackish water, so sea dwelling fish like snapper, snook, and tarpon come through the locks to feed on the abundant life thriving in the vegetation-lined lagoons. Fish behavior is much the same everywhere, so I was not surprised to learn that the fish actively feed during the filling and emptying of the lagoons, where the water pushes through the ducts, carrying nutrients like microbes and insects and baby fish and shrimp, on which the snook and snapper and tarpon feed. My Panamanian fisherman friend said that free spooling live shrimp in the current is the best way to hook a fish. Reminds me of river catfishing. Ah, I thought, why did the Mexican police have to confiscate my rods? It just made me all the more excited to get on the Amazon to hunt the piraiba and red tails.

My second night I went with a couple of my hosts and another scientist-grad student to Luna’s Castle, the most luxurious hostel I’ve seen yet, located in the heart of Panama City, right on the bay. The view of the city skyline and the anchored yachts, with all the lights sparkling, was a fabulous sight. The next day we lounged beneath a thatched gazebo at a practically deserted beach. The water was warm. Took a nice long nap in the hammock and sand.

The next day I received word from Mom that my travel insurance decided to throw $500 at me to compensate me for the items the Mexican police stole from me. Made my day. Off I went to the mall, which is probably the nicest mall I’ve ever seen, and there I found a slightly less fancy version of my Lumix, which had twice escaped me. They would have not consider negotiating the price, but I walked out with a good camera! Woo! Also bought some protein shakes to supplement my diet. Meat is expensive here, and stores here aren’t so excited to offer sale prices, so my diet has been lacking some protein fuel.

That same day and the next I went over the bike. The dash’s fiberglass glue had busted, leaving the dash hanging by one hinge, so I pasted that up with some of my glues and got creative with rewiring a cut wire to my temperature gauge. Inspecting the front end, I found the source of the slight clacking I detected when I’d hit bumps- I have a worn bearing or loose bearing nut. I’ll look into how to fix this and monitor it to see if the clacking worsens. I also loosened the chain and tightened the rear wheel to prevent further slippage. Never found a motorcycle shop, so I’ll change the oil in Colombia. The bike still receives my approval.

Dropped in on a small party down the street that night and spoke to a passionate and drunk Panamanian whose patriotism bordered on elitism, and I had moments where I was questioning whether or not he was accusing me of being a racist due to his disgust at the way he was treated in Miami and New York City. I politely explained that not all parts of the country are racist, but I think he was too drunk to care. He liked me nonetheless. Funny thing is that he said he worked in the department of health. The mad look in his eyes had me wondering what role exactly he played in that department’s functioning.

Saying goodbye is never a kind feeling, but I think it helps to show one just how good of a connection you made with that which or whom you shared life. Gamboa was a pleasant experience.

I left early the next day, Monday the 12th, for my launch to the Stahlratte, the boat I’d selected to treat me with a voyage to Colombia. That experience is detailed in the following journal.