We leave the Panamericana for a few hundred kilometres towards the Caribbean. The route takes us a good 200 kilometres over the mist-shrouded rainforest mountains of the Reserva forestal de fortuna, which are up to 2,200 metres high, down to the Bocas del toro. The boat takes us a few kilometres further to the island of Colon. Every backpacker between Alaska and Tierra del Fuego stops here.
We reach the Rastafarian smurf house at sunset. It smells of money, grass and hibiscus. The wooden houses are endlessly colourful, some in ruins, some in need of renovation and form a wonderfully uniform whole. Bukowski would have loved our hotel room: dark, musty-sweet, but unbeatably cheap and in the centre of dozens of bars. (more…)
Panamericana, km 532: Boquete
The Panamericana is the monster truck of the world’s roads. The thinness of the thread stretching from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego makes it the time-honoured grande dame of the road trip basics. Ewan McGregor rode it south on his motorbike. We headed north with our kites.
On the first morning of the trip, my first destination was the exciting Puente de las Americas across the Panama Canal. Today it’s Boquete at the foot of the 3,500 metre high Barú volcano in the north of Panama. Km 532. Ten hours, four buses and a nice Panameño north-west of Punta Chame, I’m quite overwhelmed by the endless expanses. The Panamericana has bitten me for the first time. (more…)
Punta Chame
John Wayne once had an island around the corner. It is now Disneyworld. Punta Chame is different. Situated at the end of a long peninsula 100 km north of Panama City, the lonely empty holiday homes of rich Panamenos withstand the strong winds. The stoner Belgian cook from our French fazienda drags us along to a kiteboarding party at the end of the road.
The glossy apartment block with Jaccuzi is empty during the week. The reggae is reminiscent of the rooftop bar on Cape Verde, but the grass smells much better. I quickly consider Jack Nicholson as a possible neighbour. I successfully combat the feeling with rum, which is the Spanish word for “grandad”. Until an Ansbach perma-traveller with a butcher’s knife pulsing in lemons tells me I’ve just eaten shark. (more…)
Oh how beautiful Panama City is!
Ghandi was not so wrong. Life is suffering. But he forgot to add that this is what makes the beauty in between shine. He would certainly have liked Panama City. Here, the latest glossy skyscrapers stand next to a completely dilapidated old town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. At seven in the morning, the sun shines pale on empty building shells supported by steel girders.
After the tour through the Casco Antiguo, I walk a few kilometres further up to the Punete de las Americas. This is where the Panamericana motorway crosses the Panama Canal. At some point, the narrow left-hand pedestrian lane, which is never used, comes to an end. I cross to the other side and obey the many “no trespassing” signs. The canal belongs to the Americans, the bridge probably does too, and only Asterix should mess with Romans. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.