Dirty Laundry, Bocas del Toro

Ahhh Sunday...the prophesied day of rest. There is definitely something lingering adrift the air on mornings such as these, as if a whole town has been waiting for that vivid excuse to falter. Outside it's raining - even better; please don't wake the dead. I need to sit. In the heat of another momentous evening with the entire world seemingly at my feet, common sense has once again miraculously managed to prevail. I'm still drenched, have shallow cuts across my right hand from sharp barnacles which clung off the jetties we'd been jumping from; what's more I just pulled a chunk of glass out from the underside of my toe - but hey, at least I held some manner of restraint and didn't wake up with "When in Bocas..." tattooed across my forearm. That was the plan after all. Now I'm contemplating busting up Captain K. Rool. Why is there a coconut in my bed?? And whose things are these?? Oh well, this is sure no time to be un-resourceful. Goodbye shredded fish blanket, hello pink flower man-sarong!

I do believe in miracles. I've taught myself to cook. A systematically simple task for the hoards who populate this earth, I on the other hand thought it reasonable enough to boil onions in my rice water. Finding myself strung out on the expenses of Costa Rica, this charade had to stop. It was time this boy became a man. And so it was in the kitchen of Rocking J's hostel, where I taught myself the secrets of creating 'glorified bolognese', a dish better known to the kinder few merely as Chile con Carne, yet one that holds true in my mind as a celebrated new speciality, which will triumphantly come to surpass my former go-to masterpiece of microwaved eggs on toast. This was how to survive out here in the wilds - my detox had been fortified. With that one meal I fed myself for three days, until the cleaners got curious and threw the dregs to the dogs.

Beach near Puerto Viejo

If I found Puerto Viejo fun loving & sprightly, like a Black Sam Bellamy "Prince of the Pirates" sort, Bocas del Toro has left a mark on me like Henry Morgan must have all those years ago with the Spaniards. Ruthless. Notorious. Bad-fucking-ass. Like a washed up whale, I arrived into Panamaswept up in a titanic tailwind of excitement. I had been a destitute, then once again found myself in the mix of a brooding cocktail of comical flair, an infectious collective of extraordinary personalities. Sometimes it just works out that way; the right time, the right place, the right people. Hostel Heike. A bitchin' balcony filled with scumbags & dirty laundry. Magic. The Flying Dutchman had stolen a push bike off some local drug dealer, and here it was hibernating in my newly appointed bunkhouse. I got sucked into a foolhardy state happiness, and like the ameture I am, the one we've all come to hate and/or love, I soon found myself filtering through the frat, & passed out in the comfort of my distressfully uncomfortable bed. When I woke I had no recollection of my recent previous undertakings, and to be honest had no idea where I was. Great, only then to wind up locked outside my room without a key...I fumbled onto the balcony - and here is where I found our Dutchman, oblivious, alone, staring out into the pre-dawn darkness. "Best we get to bed hey?" Saved.

The next day was never going to be much fun. Free pancakes did little to resolve my persperating problems, nor did a trip across the island to Starfish Beach. That bus ride was like purgatory, one of the worst I am yet to suffer. Once there I ordered a platter of fried fish & made a right mess of the devouring situation. Later that night we hit up the Mondo Taitu Bar for happy hour schapps, but I was in such a state I was even turning down free shots. I necked two beers before stepping outside to chuck and grab myself a strawberry lollie-pop.

Beach near Bocas

Back at the hostel for more pres, our balcony became a breeding ground. I'd never witnessed such a motley crew of kick-ass travellers. I seriously had my doubts about Panamanian engineering, and could see the statistical "how not to's" racking up in the world press. I don't know how, but I got sucked into the party once again. We lumbered on down to the Iguana Bar and spent a good part of the night jumping out into the Caribbean Sea directly from the dance floor. In the midst of my attempted break-dancing, I met this German girl who just happened to be an old mate of backflippin' BelLo!! This wondrous world is a crazily small place sometimes!! We swam above sting rays, got all gymnastic under the jetty & watched the stars flicker far off in a perfectly clear nights sky. Ole was a jolly mess, and asked me to provide some pivol means of cover as he undressed out of his wet clothes down to his bare white ass. It was more a case of David covers Goliath. I'm tiny, & Ole is the biggest Scandinavian man alive. The entire club could see everything out on display. Even better, he then just let his underpants float out into the ocean.

More pancakes...at this point I had already eaten sooo many pancakes. I got quite good at cooking them too I guess. Also, I must say I've got really good at making chopped-up ventilated clothing out of expensive unwanted garments. It's become quite common for people to realise halfway through their travels that they're moving about with too much shit. For me it's quite the opposite - I hardly have a thing, and what I do have has tended to disintegrate. Actually, my clothes are wretchedly disgusting. Ole decided to give me a large shirt meant as a gift for his father. Gratefully of course I accepted this kind gesture & continued in my own way to cut the sleeves off. Little did I know that this brand of shirt can cost up to $150 back over there in Norway!! Whoops.

Viking man & my new shirt

Alas, this one fine day was spent at the beach, body surfing in the half decent shore break, and playing a mixed nation mash-up game of volleyball. Now...I've only just realised while writing this, that all you actually do in Bocas is hang out all day at the beach, and bust-up bustling parties. That is pretty much it. So, what to do after the beach on a Saturday?? Party at Aqua Lounge I guess!! This place is swell. Although the trampolines were broken for this time being, there were still these open portal like holes straight through the deck where you could leap down into the refreshingly cool water directly out from their guzzle bar. Across the landing and there are a bunch of swings where you can spin the night away doing the same thing - as it is, back-flipping will always impress the best!! Drinks were downed, a second wallet was almost lost (before a smokin' Norwegian chicka saved the day) & birthday cake seemed to be laying around the club everywhere when ever I needed it the most. So, so..."When in Bocas..."

Tata, with love from Panama. 
Captain K. Rool xx