Hey everyone, Mindy is coming to visit us! Hot-damn!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Over and Out
At last, after two long and wonderful months travelling through Panama, we are done. Our notebooks are full and our cameras exhausted - truly, it has been a wild ride. We find ourselves now in La Fortuna, Costa Rica, a small town that sits at the base of a massive (and active) volcano. We will be here for the next few weeks, editing and getting our Panama content ready for the web. If we like it, and the work continues to come in, we will find an apartment and stay. If not, perhaps work on an organic farm. We shall see. In any case, we are happy, healthy, and very excited to be in a new country.
Right before leaving Panama, we celebrated with a little hotel party. It went a little something like this:
Right before leaving Panama, we celebrated with a little hotel party. It went a little something like this:
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Volcan Baru
It was 10 at night when I grasped just how burly tomorrow’s hike would be. The well-informed Dutch couple, who was sharing the room with us, brought to my attention that at 6 a.m. the next morning we would be beginning a 18-mile hike. I hadn’t yet converted the mysterious 30 kilometers into more manageable mileage, and when our roommates illuminated the extent of the next day’s undertaking, I blanched. But when Adam’s desire to complete the hike increased, my interest (equality) won a hand and we set towards the 24-hour super-mercado for tuna, American cheese, and a Snickers bar.
Spreading across the middle of Chiriquà province, Volcan Baru is Panama’s tallest peak and only volcano. According to specialiast the mountain is a tectonic hot zone, and although the volcano has only erupted 4 times in the last 1,600 years, researchers believe it is due for another eruption sometime in the near future. Yeesh.
I slept soundly through the 5:30 alarm and was awoken at 6, with a full pot of coffee already made. Indeed, the benefits of being Two are often many. The sun was slowly beginning its grand entry while we tripped out of the hostel. Fifteen minutes later we were dropped at the entrance of the park by Eduardo the Cabby, who waved amusement as we smiled fresh-start-of-the-day smiles and took off towards the ranger station. We were again appraised with timid amusement by the teenage park ranger who recorded our passport numbers and collected our entrance fee. Ah, the start of the hike, full of coffee and can-do attitudes; we were ready! We were gung-ho! Our limbs stretched easily over the rough terrain and we felt vibrant, young, alive, ‘it doesn’t look that far to the top!’, beautiful, brave, bravado, 3 km in.
Starting off, the trail was wide and well marked. Every 2 km was a well intentioned sign pointing out our elevation and how many more meters were above us. The scenery was more Anne of Green Gables then tropical rainforest. We strode past flower orchards and flocks of fleecy sheep, steep vistas and hillside vegetable gardens. After two hours of walking we were level with the clouds. Pink, sleepy mist lolled languorously around the voluptuous hills. Oh, what over-the-top beauty nature indulges! An endless green landscape stretched forever underneath a brazenly blue sky. The only rustling in the bushes came from tropical hummingbirds and mango shaded finches. The landscape was lush without being overbearing and I was positively elated and at ease in the forest. For me it felt like a communion with nature that had been a long time coming.
It was after lunch that I began to crave water. We had a camel-back and a klean-kanteen, but I wanted a fresh-water spring; an abundant, ice-cold, source of the stuff. Also, those helpful signs were beginning to annoy me. Who cares about the summit anyways? Well, I guess I did care after all - it was even more agitating to consider coming this far without seeing the top, the grand finale, what all the freaking fuss was about. Meanwhile, Mr. Stoic Stalwart Stater was neither a whiner nor a quitter and remained a steady twenty paces ahead of me for the last third of the ascent. His stoicism irritated but also fueled my concession to continuation. I focused on his even steps. If he was going to the top so was I. But the terrain was steep; dig your toes in, lean against the mountain, steep. After 11.5 km of straight up, the summit became visible; a maze of red and white cell-towers scraping the sky.
The last 3 km was the toughest - straight up the mountain with slate sliding underfoot. Momentum became the modus vivendi. To the top. To the fucking, piece of shit top. If there is some sort of masochistic redemption in sweat and grueling manual labor, I think we found it. As we crested the top, a rodent of highly unusual size stood sentry to our sweaty arrival. Ah, to strive so hard for that seat in the shade and that view and that lunch we had carried on our backs, only to have Adam start petting a dog sized rat. Still, it was the presence of that over-sized rodent that got me back on my feet, staggering up the cliff face, the last 300-meters, to the autographed summit, crowned like all Panamanian peaks with a big white cross.
Our heads were in the clouds. It was like sucking a helium balloon. There was the Pacific, grand and iconic. The bohemian Caribe was well-hidden, but we didn’t care. It all looked so unbelievably beautiful. As we sat there, 3,480 meters above sea-level, a rumble from deep below stirred the rocks we were perched on and caused our eyes to meet. We laughed; Death by Lava would be an epic way to go.
The descent was mellow. We were high on hiking, voluntarily releasing control of our tendons and muscles and letting our bones shake a leg down the mountain. We chatted into the voice recorder, communed with the tree tops, watched as the filet-of-the-day took hold of the land below. The farmland turned gold and sun dogs sat in the sky. We passed hikers heading up the mountain, and smiled knowingly at their sweat stains and looks of desperation. Me to Adam: “Yeah, I mean how much would it suck to still be going up?” “Big balls.” “Word.”
When it was all said and done, we had hiked 12 hours in one day and covered 19 miles. Back in Boquete, we slayed a huge pizza and a few beers. Despite the fact that it was a cheap, greasy Hawaiian, Adam maintains that it was the best meal he has ever had. The next morning we woke up sore, stiff and with a great sense of accomplishment. It is now a month later, and we are wrapping up our time in Panama. Getting to the top of that hellish volcano is one of my favorite memories from this trip.
Spreading across the middle of Chiriquà province, Volcan Baru is Panama’s tallest peak and only volcano. According to specialiast the mountain is a tectonic hot zone, and although the volcano has only erupted 4 times in the last 1,600 years, researchers believe it is due for another eruption sometime in the near future. Yeesh.
I slept soundly through the 5:30 alarm and was awoken at 6, with a full pot of coffee already made. Indeed, the benefits of being Two are often many. The sun was slowly beginning its grand entry while we tripped out of the hostel. Fifteen minutes later we were dropped at the entrance of the park by Eduardo the Cabby, who waved amusement as we smiled fresh-start-of-the-day smiles and took off towards the ranger station. We were again appraised with timid amusement by the teenage park ranger who recorded our passport numbers and collected our entrance fee. Ah, the start of the hike, full of coffee and can-do attitudes; we were ready! We were gung-ho! Our limbs stretched easily over the rough terrain and we felt vibrant, young, alive, ‘it doesn’t look that far to the top!’, beautiful, brave, bravado, 3 km in.
Starting off, the trail was wide and well marked. Every 2 km was a well intentioned sign pointing out our elevation and how many more meters were above us. The scenery was more Anne of Green Gables then tropical rainforest. We strode past flower orchards and flocks of fleecy sheep, steep vistas and hillside vegetable gardens. After two hours of walking we were level with the clouds. Pink, sleepy mist lolled languorously around the voluptuous hills. Oh, what over-the-top beauty nature indulges! An endless green landscape stretched forever underneath a brazenly blue sky. The only rustling in the bushes came from tropical hummingbirds and mango shaded finches. The landscape was lush without being overbearing and I was positively elated and at ease in the forest. For me it felt like a communion with nature that had been a long time coming.
It was after lunch that I began to crave water. We had a camel-back and a klean-kanteen, but I wanted a fresh-water spring; an abundant, ice-cold, source of the stuff. Also, those helpful signs were beginning to annoy me. Who cares about the summit anyways? Well, I guess I did care after all - it was even more agitating to consider coming this far without seeing the top, the grand finale, what all the freaking fuss was about. Meanwhile, Mr. Stoic Stalwart Stater was neither a whiner nor a quitter and remained a steady twenty paces ahead of me for the last third of the ascent. His stoicism irritated but also fueled my concession to continuation. I focused on his even steps. If he was going to the top so was I. But the terrain was steep; dig your toes in, lean against the mountain, steep. After 11.5 km of straight up, the summit became visible; a maze of red and white cell-towers scraping the sky.
The last 3 km was the toughest - straight up the mountain with slate sliding underfoot. Momentum became the modus vivendi. To the top. To the fucking, piece of shit top. If there is some sort of masochistic redemption in sweat and grueling manual labor, I think we found it. As we crested the top, a rodent of highly unusual size stood sentry to our sweaty arrival. Ah, to strive so hard for that seat in the shade and that view and that lunch we had carried on our backs, only to have Adam start petting a dog sized rat. Still, it was the presence of that over-sized rodent that got me back on my feet, staggering up the cliff face, the last 300-meters, to the autographed summit, crowned like all Panamanian peaks with a big white cross.
Our heads were in the clouds. It was like sucking a helium balloon. There was the Pacific, grand and iconic. The bohemian Caribe was well-hidden, but we didn’t care. It all looked so unbelievably beautiful. As we sat there, 3,480 meters above sea-level, a rumble from deep below stirred the rocks we were perched on and caused our eyes to meet. We laughed; Death by Lava would be an epic way to go.
The descent was mellow. We were high on hiking, voluntarily releasing control of our tendons and muscles and letting our bones shake a leg down the mountain. We chatted into the voice recorder, communed with the tree tops, watched as the filet-of-the-day took hold of the land below. The farmland turned gold and sun dogs sat in the sky. We passed hikers heading up the mountain, and smiled knowingly at their sweat stains and looks of desperation. Me to Adam: “Yeah, I mean how much would it suck to still be going up?” “Big balls.” “Word.”
When it was all said and done, we had hiked 12 hours in one day and covered 19 miles. Back in Boquete, we slayed a huge pizza and a few beers. Despite the fact that it was a cheap, greasy Hawaiian, Adam maintains that it was the best meal he has ever had. The next morning we woke up sore, stiff and with a great sense of accomplishment. It is now a month later, and we are wrapping up our time in Panama. Getting to the top of that hellish volcano is one of my favorite memories from this trip.
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