http://rumbum.com/1138-the-kindness-of-strangers

http://rumbum.com/994-into-the-darien

What a lucky turn of fate that I got introduced to Adolfo, and that he happened to be shipping his bike the same week

I’d been corresponding with a couple other moto-travelers, and for a few weeks we’d all been trying to research– independently, and then sharing information–how to get across the Darien Gap both economically and efficiently. It was frustrating trying to juggle that with the daily travels, and quite stress-producing actually. many folks on ADVrider.com and HorizonsUnlimited.com advised that all would become clear in Panama…that basically you arrive in Panama City, do a little sightseeing, check your options, then wait for your selection to leave/embark/whatever you choose.  Now I am sure that seems easy enough reading it here in my blog, but I assure you when you are traveling, and are faced with a big logistical problem, it haunts you all the time until it is impossible to relax about arriving somewhere and working it out (which, ironically, is one of the HUGE lessons that long-term travel teaches you–that you will work everything out in due time)

Anyway, I was terribly grateful to Adolfo to have solved my logistical problem so easily and efficiently. especially in light of reading my friend Ben’s blog and his “adventure” crossing from Panama to Colombia. Here’s a link to his journey if you are interested:  http://afewmoremiles.com/2010/01/28/mutiny-on-the-bounty-crossing-the-darien-gap/ . Igor also finally made it across, and you can read about HIS adventure here: http://afewmoremiles.com/2010/01/28/mutiny-on-the-bounty-crossing-the-darien-gap/ (he also mentions our time together in the Darien, with HIS pics)

Anyway, on with MY Story.

Adolfo and his wife Marta picked me up at my hostal and we all rode together to the airport.

In order to save $150 I booked a cheaper flight on a different airline than Mario, so he dropped me off at the curb and we agreed to meet at migracion.

Well, I cleared security really quickly, and waited…and waited…and while I was sitting there waiting I took a look at my passport…I did not have the “exit” stamp for my bike in my passport ike I was supposed to….uh oh…so I asked the Aduana agent there if he could stamp my passport..um, calls, consultations with other officials, and some 20 minutes later he said the only way to get it was to go down to the Aduana office and get it from the main Aduana dude. “But what if he’s not available?” I asked. He asssured me that the man was available.

At this point I had 20 minutes until boarding time for my flight…do I wait to meet Adolfo ike I am supposed to and “wing it” when I get to Colombia potentially not having the right paperwork? Perhaps never being able to enter Panama again without a big  fine? Or do I take a chance, walk a 1/4 mile in full motorcycle gear is the 956 degree head, and get my stamp?

I decided to set off as a brisk pace and allow myself PRECISELY 20 minutes…if I did not have my stamp in exactly 20 minutes, I would leave. My flight was $250 and I did not want to miss it–not did I want to miss Adolfo and my motorcycle on the other side.

Well, I should have known, especially after traveling in Central America already for 3 months,  should have been smarter than to think that I could rush ANYTHING in Latin America. but I am American, yes a gringa, and a perpetually optimistic one at that. I find the office, of course the furthest one away, and of course the official was busy! I explained my plight, in a rather agitated way, to one person after another, until I had the entire office consulting on my dilemma: here was my paperwork that the bike had shipped to  Colombia, yet I did not have it stamped out of my passport. Ack! My 20 minutes was up, but they had my passport…I was soooooo close…I was pacing…hurry up…hurry up…weird looks from office stamp whose usual order of business is ‘tranquila‘ (translate: relax!–It’s widely overused here and widely overrated!)  they said he was stamping…25 minutes…pace pace…try not to pace…30 minutes, …………………….. ……………………………………..

done!

With the admonition that next time I should alllow more time. YES M’AM! no problem. Yes, next time, I will allow more time!

And off I ran …  in the now 976 degree heat.

Only to arrive at the gate and see the nice surprise of JP (who I met at the Nicaragua / Costa Rica border) waiting for the same flight…

He informs me that the flight is running 30 minutes  late…great!

JP heads for the tarmac.

I know it’s prohibited, but I am a picture-taking m-a-c-h-i-n-e by now…

Sacked out on the plane…

Landing.

Ah, Colombia. Land of coffee. Girls at the airport sit around with a thermos and will sell you a tinto.

After much confusion after landing (Adolfo is not waiting for me–wait, we did not see each other again in the Panama airport, so he does not know what flight I am on, does not know when I am arriving, does he even know my last name to ask for me?) — an hour later we run into each other and I rush up and surprise him with a hig. Sheesh. For a while there (an hour to be exact) I was a little worried…

Well, we’ve missed a valuable hour and cannot complete the bike paperwork tonight, so the airline agents (for the bikes) bring us to a local hotel. we order a chicken in a box–quite a curious thing–delivered,  no less– and have a good sleep.

The  next morning at the cargo office

I am greatly relieved to see my Suzi arrived safely and in one piece. wow, just two days apart and I realize I really missed my bike!

Sorry the pics aren’t that good…you are not supposed to take pic int he hangars…but how cool is this?!?!?

We repack the bikes, gather our paperwork

get directions to the local chuleco shop (these horrid orange vests that Colombian motorcyclists have to wear with their number plate on them–supposedly to eradicate drive-by moto-violence)

We get our chulecos made

And get directions out of Bogota.

January 28, 2010

Well today is an exciting day…my bike flies to Colombia!

But first, many errands, which I HATE!

1. Go by Suzuki (ugh!) and pay them (ugh!)
Turns out that Adolfo insisted to them when we got there that they change the gas in my moto. While Adolfo went out and bought me gas, the mechanic did an unbelievably thorough job of draining every last ounce of gas from my tank and carburetor. Yeah, it was painful to think of having to pay them for the (mis) service…and as it turned out, they gave me a bill for $26.50. Did I ask if that was just for draining the tank or for the labor of the previous day? Nope! I gaave them my credit card, signed, and got the heck out of there!

2. Pick up food for dinner.
Hostal de Clayton has a kitchen, and since I will be transportation-less in the middle of nowhere, I stop and buy eggs and cheese and milk–lazy bachelorette’s easy meal!

3. Get more chain lube.
I’ve taken to using “White Lithium Grease” in spray form because it sticks like mad to the chain, and because I can usually find it in a hardware store. Carlos Cucalon turned me onto it when in San Salvador as a good substitute for the normally crappy chain lube most motorcycle stores sell.

4. Chase down a “lonely Planet South America” book.
Most important since my hopes of finding a northbound traveler who wanted to exchange Central for South America fell through.

5. Repack
In such a way that all is secure on my bike, and my valuables are with me, and I have the “essentials” for a day or two without my bike.

I accomplish all this in my astonishingly small time allotted, and voila’! I am ready and waiting when Adolfo comes to collect me.

I finally get to meet Mrs. Sanchez

See? 981 degrees in Panama.
At least my hair is still pink

After moving the bikes a few times, a friendly but useless visit to the Aduana, with  me not having any official “exit” to Panama, we arrive at the cargo bay.

How come Marta is not wilting? She looks g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. It’s just really unfair.

Adolfo chastises me that I am not supposed to take pics in here, but hey, no one is stopping me…

Finally after MUCH sitting around, about two hours worth (and Marta is still not wilting!) comes the moment of truth.

No, we do not want buckles rubbing on the  painted tank.
No, we do not want the tie downs attached to our clutch cables.
No, we do not want the bikes touching each other.
No, we do not want the tie downs strapped to anything but the frame…

Voila’!

Awww, shoot. I am sad to leave my bike.

…but happy to have taken the easy route to crossing the Darien Gap.

I follow Adolfo out of the Miraflores Locks (good-bye Panama Canal!) As we are leaving he tells me that before he retired he built one of the huge smokestacks for the powerful generators there at the Canal.

He rides that heavy Goldwing like a moped! i can hardly keep up!

First he brings me to the UPS shop where I collect my tires. Sadly, my Corbin seat has not arrived, so I will have to continue to suffer on the rock hard stock seat that comes with my model Suzuki.

I look like a gnarly adventuress, eh?

ha! I just realized that you can see the old tread of 8000+ miles on my used MEFO tires, and see how crisp the new tread is on the new MEFOs.

Well, I have to tell you my afternoon was a nightmare. I cannot possibly begin to tell you all the things that went wrong, but through a series of events I completely lost confidence in the mechanics at the Suzuki shop, nice as they were, and I refused to leave the bike and stop vigiance over the whole operation.

The sprockets they sold me had a different # of teeth than the ones I had (stock!) on the bike…
The chain they sold me had too many links and they did not know how to deal with it…
They did not have a tool to remove the pin in the chain links…
They did not have a tool to remove the chain and were talking about removing the swing arm to get the chain off…
They did not have a tool to open the chain that comes from Suzuki all in one piece…
They spent two hours looking all over town for a master link for when the DID ultimately figure out how to cut my chain…
I was freaking out!

Adolfo had left, and when I asked if I could call them to get a translation (and have him kick some Suzuki ass) they told me they could not call a cellular phone. We tried his house, but he was at work. it seemed in this country overrun with cell phone users, suddenly NO ONE in the entire dealership had a cellular I could call another cellular with. AND they did not have internet for me to call Edward again via Skype. ARGH!

I was freaking out!

And my blood sugar was extremely low. With all the fuss in the morning, I had had two cups of coffee (yeah, I UN quit!) and no food.

I finally just walked out, my bike expectantly waiting, while I walked to the local supermarket and got some food. I also bought a phone calling card so I could call Adolfo.

Back at the dealership. I tried to call Adolfo, but NO. I could not use the calling card from THEIR phone, I had to find a pay phone.

I walked back down the block in search of a pay phone in 976 degree heat in my motorcycle suit and gore tex boots, and when I finally found a phone, I could not read the numbers on the card nor the instructions. ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH.

OK, time to put on the Big Girl Panties and handle the situation myself.

I was conscious of the advancing time, and so I walked back to the dealership, and instructed them to change the oil on my bike while I thought things through…

They did not have oil, I had to go upstairs to buy it…
They did not know how much oil to put into my engine (I knew)…
The Suzuki dealer did not have motorcycle oil, they had car oil…
The Suzuki dealer did not have three quarts of oil…only two…I need 2.3 litres…
ARGH!!!

Yes, I was carrying some spare oil since Oaxaca, so I said 2 L of their oil, and .3 L of the MOTO oil I was carrying…I also fished out a filter I’d been carrying…

Oil change seemed to go OKAY, but I’d been obsessing about the chain and sprockets since OAXACA, and I felt compulsed to get them changed. I cannot explain it.  In hindsight I shoulda done my research (I have the Suzuki manual on my computer), left with the parts, and just found another shop along the way to do the work.

But I was not that smart. Instead I said go ahead.

At several points all work just stopped on my bike…I could not really understand it…

I was bored, agitated, and needed something to do.

I saw the rear tire off my bike and had an idea…since putting the tire back on myself is the hardest part of changing the tires, and since they were being paid to put it back on because of the sprocket change, I figured no work was bring done n my bike at the moment so I will did in and do it myself. the tires did not need changing yet; I’d ridden more than 8,000 miles and probably had another 3-4,000 miles left in them, but what the heck: new continent, new tires. AND I had to burn off some frustration.

This pic is for my sweetie, Edward, who taught me how to change tires…

Well, let me tell you this caused QUITE some consternation in the shop. What should they do? I mean, women do not do these sorts of things…so everyone, EVERYONE turned out to help. it was most frustrating. After much non-needed help and a lot of almost-harm (like a giant crowbar tat somehow materialized when I was not looking and almost bent my rims!!!) , I told them to stop and leave me alone, that it was actually easier to do it myself. That if you did it right, no force was needed…

Well then I had an audience of about 8 people. Swell. I finally put  one of them to work and had him take a pic.

Miraculously, work began again on my bike, after much consultation, managers, people in suits, conversation around the corner, I don;t know what all.

Cutting my chain (ouch! Itw as new in San Salvador and EXPENSIVE, and I wanted it intact as a space, but now it is missing a link= NO TOOL = GRRR) (note, I am not THAT silly: I have the other 8 links of that chain in my Trax box, but now I can ONLY use it is the shop has the OU&@Y&I^U&EWTYJWSGD!!!  tool, which this one did not have…)

Um…does it REALLY take 5 people for this?!?

Um…

Alas, I spare you the 200 other pics, which I took out of boredom, of between 5 and 8 people attending my bike at various points.

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I was at the shop until almost 8:00.
That would be 9, NINE, hours for a MAX two hour job.
Even the cashier had gone home. When I asked how I was to pay, they shrugged.

Oofa.

<>

I will say, however, that the folks were SUPER nice, and the manager that stayed late and helped the mechanic (they’d forgotten to adjust my chain with ME and MY LUGGAGE on teh bike, so I made them do it over!!!)

The manager led me to my hotel because I had NO idea how to find it. I offered to put gas in his moped, but he said it was full. Oh well.

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated with the Panama Canal. It is one of the modern world’s true feats of engineering, and I just could not bear to leave Panama without seeing it. So I pushed back my appointment at the Suzuki dealer and decided to squeeze in an hour and a half visit of the Panama Canal.

Better than nothing I figured.

8:50
So I packed up the bike, said my good-byes at the hostal, and left. Well, almost left. Cough, sputter, no spark, nothing. Bike would not start. Not even with the “choke” trick from yesterday (even though it was 912 degrees). Must be the bad gas we got in the Darien. GRRR!

9:00
Ok, I got off the bike, took my motorcycle clothes off, gave the bike (and myself) a rest, and tried again. Still it would not start. ARGH! I was supposed to be meeting JP (we met at the Costa Rica border) at the Miraflores Locks (the best place to view the Canal AND where the tours happen to be). DRAT!

9:10
So in a huff I whip out the laptop, clump inside the hostal in my motorcycle clothes, and sit down. I knew Edward was online, and since he’s my mechanic when he’s my travel partner, I asked his advice. Dump the bad gas he says.

9:20
Great. But I do not have time for this. Time is ticking away, eating away the only hour and a half I had to see the Panama Canal. I do not know how to clean carburetors, much less have time to schlep to the gas station to get a container into which to pour the bad gas, nor a lace to get rid of the bad gas, so I can go BACk to the gas station to get fresh gas. ARGH! Frustration s HIGH.

Added to all this is the fact that I MUST get the bike fixed. I’d been looking in every city, calling every shop, between Oaxaca and Panama trying to find a chain and sprockets for my bike. I’d also had lots of local motorcyclists helping m look as well…Eduardo in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, had one of his shop guys look all day around Honduras for parts for my bike…they even went so far as to take the sprockets off and compare them to sprockets of other bikes all over town…

Now to you non-motorcyclists, understand that these are vital pieces, because they are part of the drive chain. If the sprockets fail, no more GO. I HAD to get this repair.

And my escort to the Suzuki dealership, Adolfo, was meeting me at the Miraflores Locks at 10:30. Adolfo is a fellow motorcyclist and a friend of a friend in the BMW motorcycle network in Central America, and in general a nice guy. We’d been corresponding a couple of weeks, and as it turned out he was going to make my life unimaginably easy by helping me with the flight from Panama to Colombia. He was also salvation in the form of a friendly face in frantic panama city, AND he’s been the one to figure out that the Suzuki shop has the arts I’d been looking for for over 3000 miles. So I NEEDED to meet him at 10:30. The pressure was immense.

oh yeah, and did I mention that our flight to Colombia was the next day? I HAD to meet Adolfo and 10:30 and I HAD to get to the Suzuki dealer. I also HAD to pick up my tires at UPS that Twisted Throttle had sent me. I did not need the new rubber yet thanks to the incredibly durable MEFO tires I’d been sporting all through Central America, but I needed to collect them nonetheless because shipping from the states is SO expensive.

OK, back to the bike…

9:30
I hung up on Edward, frustrated, and went back outside. Tried again to start, SHOOT! nothing. About this time another motorcyclist (German) came out of the hostal hearing my false attempts to start, and nicely offered advice as I did what Edward said would be the simplest thing to start with: drain the carburetor. OK, that I could do quickly and easily, so I got out the tools, performed the operation, and VROOM! Sputter.

9:40
Mr. Nice German told me to try again and this time Wank on the throttle. Ok, no more Ms Nice motorcyclist, the engine caught again and I revved the dickens out of the engine. Oofa, not a happy engine, but at least it was running.

9:50
Ok, a sweaty drippy mess by now, frantic beyond belief, I only had 40 minutes before meeting Adolfo

Vroom, off I coughed and sputtered to Miraflores

9:55

9:58
Stop at the guard gate at Miraflores and the guard wants to know what I want.
I WANT TO SEE THE FREAKING PANAMA CANAL. WHY THE HECK DO YOU THINK I AM HERE///??!?!?!?!?

10:00
I circle around the parking lot, trying to figure out where to go. Wait, another parking lot closer to the giant steps,

maybe there…

10:02
Cool! A slew of bikes–six, count ‘em, SIX KLRs. I’m the odd girl out.

10:04
Lock everything onto the bike, RACE up the stairs

to stand in line to buy a ticket.

10:10
Security asks if I am carrying any weapons. No. Knives, tools, any armas?

Sheisa. I have my multitool in one pocket and my pocket knife in the other

10:12
Race back down the stairs,

run to bike, open Trax box, insert “weapons”,

10:17
race BACK to the building, climb stairs,

wait in line at security, tell them I have no armas (different people this time)

Did I mention it was 957 degrees out and I am wearing a full motorcycle suit and leather / gore-tex boots?

10:20
wait at elevator

10:23
elevator door opens, JP pops out going to the “presentation” that I’d really like to go but cannot, dammit, because by golly I am going to get a photo of the freaking Panama Canal or end this trip right here, so I hop into overcrowded elevator

10:24
and arrive at the observation deck.

The overcrowded observation deck.

I look for a spot along the railing so I can see the excitement, and

10:25
See Igor crammed in between a bunch of other tourists.

I reach an arm in, $500 camera exposed over the railing, trying to get my gosh darned pictures.

Nice guy that he is, Igor relinquishes his spot at the railing to me, and I snap some pics. pretty incredible.

And.

And..

And…

10:30
I have to go.

AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I say goodbye to Igor, and thanks, and reluctantly go out to the bikes, back down the stairs

and as I am doing so I see Adolfo pulling in.

Better than nothing I figured. Enjoy my pics.

In the parking lot i (very briefly!) met two of the KLR riders. i said hello and left with Adolfo.

[A huge THANK YOU to my friend Igor who was a great travel companion into the Darien AND shared his photos with me.]

Finally, some pics of ME! (one of the hazards of traveling alone: precious few pics of yourself!)

Photo Credits: Igor

Oops…caught me!

Igor has a travel blog of his own on ADVrider.com. He is a great photographer.

http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=526389

Thanks Igor!!!

Last night Igor Skyped me to see where I was at (we’d met in Honduras New Year’s Day and rode together with Mario). Turned out he was already in Panama City, and was wondering if I was close by. He wanted to ride into the Darien and thought it might be better if two of us went toegther.

I had a very long and boring day in the saddle crossing Panama in one day, but I finally arrived in Panama City after crossing the Bridge of the Americas (over  … the … PANAMA CANAL!!!)

THE DARIEN

I am going to quote from Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dari%C3%A9n_Gap

“  The Darién Gap is a large swath of undeveloped swampland and forest separating Panama (Central America) and Colombia (South America). It measures just over 160 km (99 mi) long and about 50 km (31 mi) wide. It is not possible to cross between South America and Central America by land without passing through the Darién Gap. Roadbuilding through this area is expensive, and the environmental toll is steep. Political consensus in favor of road construction has not emerged. There is no road connection through the Darién Gap connecting North/Central America with South America. It is therefore the missing link of the Pan-American Highway. ”

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Well the next day we rode out pretty early (it’s dang hot in Panama!)

I’m not too good with cities, so I followed Igor.

Once we got on the right road (the last tidbit hig of the Pan American highway), I was in the lead.

Pretty cool to have another bike in my mirrors after all this time alone.

We finally broke out of Panama City and it’s suburbs and it got quite rural.  Flat. Hot. Agricultural. Exciting.

We were riding to the very end of the highway in North America…

Our first of SIX, count ‘em, SIX military stops on the way  to Yavisa (the end) . Igor was getting a little irritated, and I’d run out of copies of my documents so they had to painstakingly notate all my credentials (Passport #, Plate #, Vin #, etc.)

I asked why they needed the information several times, and I was continually told that it was for our security…that they logged everyone going into the Darien so that if we did not make it to the next checkpoint, they would know. One militaria even went so far as to tell me that they called ahead to the next checkpoint. Sounded good to me! [This information served to assuage my irritability in the 928 degree heat, having to stop in the hot sun and produce paperwork that I had just produced 15-300 minutes ago.] [Note: Not one single militaria checked us OUT of the Darien. Not one single militaria cross referenced our paperwork  or our numbers or bothered to make sure that we had not been lost in the Darien, or checked us back "in".   I presume they are still looking for us.]

Well enough of that we needed to eat. Chicken for breakfast! (Poor Igor, he does not have my same tolerance for every-meal-is-chicken).

Happy Bikes.

Road conditions varied. You had to pay attention–sometimes the road would just give out, sometimes there would be a huge pothole in the middle of nowhere, sometimes so many potholes you could not avoid them, just stand up on the pegs and hope you did not get a flat if you were going too fast…

It was fun to be riding with someone else for a change.

We got a little silly every once in a while, passing each other, taking pics, etc. Igor is also traveling alone, and so he understood what a treat it was to have someone to take photos of you–I hardly have any of myself!

Like my $2.50 haircut? I’ve been sporting that since Nicaragua. (Hey, if you are gonna get a bad haircut, you might as well pay $2.50 for it! One time I paid $50 for a crappy cut! ) At least my hair was out of my eyes.

The indigenous tribes traditionally build their houses above the ground. We were told it keeps the snakes out.

I blew past this crazy critter tryingto make his way across the road…OMG! A Three toed sloth! And man, was he slow!
At first I though he was hit–he was leaving a wet trail behind him. Igor and I stood in the road and waved people around him…and a little car stopped as well.

The fellow got a stick and helped the sloth along…and explained to me that the sloth went for a dunk in the stream–he wasn’t hit at all he just could not move quickly across the pavement. Se he sort of shoved him along while we motioned traffic around (and took pics).

Once Mr. Sloth made it to the tree, alll of a sudden he was really fast 9in a sloth kind of way)

I was so relieved that the sloth was not hurt–the trail behind him was just water from the stream.

The family then asked about us, and wanted a picture taken with me, so we had an impromtu roadside  photo shoot.

Back on the road (thank goodness–it was 951 degrees in the sun!)

A sign for the end of the road.  Yavisa is the town at the end of the Pan American Highway.

Igor and I keep riding around town and asking people–surely there must be an “end of the road” sign?!?

Finally Igor said he’s seen pictures of bikes at the bridge on ADVrider, and we should take some pics there.

But I still wanted to photograph the ‘end of the road” sign, so we did another lap…

Ultimately we settled for the “Bienvenidos a Yavisa” sign.

Rolling out of town. It was a little sketchy, and I was happy to be with a travel partner.

Well Igorr thought I was nuts when I wante to do a U turn to see something hanging from a tree…turned out they are birds’ nests…I have to figure out what kind of birds, but they fly full tilt boogie into the nest, susp

ended and swinging into the breeze…

Well it was waaaaaaaaaaaaay past lunchtime and we needed to eat. Igor spotted this roadside place…

the food was tasty, although burned and the meat a bit fatty.

Too late to ride all the way back to Panama City, we shared a hotel room in Meteti.   Igor climbed into his bug net and we talked for a couple of hours. He fell asleep practically mid sentence. It had been a long and hot day.

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The next day we continued riding back towards Panama City…

Igor’s Breakfast (that’s yucca on the side–a root vegetable)

My Breakfast (a stew of sorts, also served with Yucca).

Mine was yummier

After breakfast we continued our search for a place where we were told indigenous indians had a village we could visit.  We kept getting similar directions, and so headed down the road to Puerto Lara where all directions coincided. It was unpaved, and a little “rough”. Two times I got off the bike to look at what lie over the crest of a hill. I have too much weight on the bike and it’s darned awkward.

we are very happy to have finally found the village

A curious crowd surrounds us (still a little unsettling for me, I was glad I was with Igor). We are hot and thirsty, and, get this, we are able to buy a Coke iin this remote village. Go figure.

I’m talking to a couple of native women at the bikes, and Igor gets invited to the main “hut” on stilts. Turns out they have a “hotel” there for tourists. We both regret we did not know this the previous night–it was have been a great experience to stay overnight in the village.

The Wooran tribe are an indigenous people who are known for their handicrafts (carved seeds and incredibly fine basketry) and for the fact that the people paint themselves ceremonially (and many women happen to go around painted and topless). They also happen to paint tourists (for a $2 fee)

“Why not?” we say.

So here are some seeds in the pricess of being carved…Note the “tool”.

The tribe takes a lot of interest in us (while we are there we do not know that they acttually encourage tourism–we think we are “special” finding this long-lost tribe, but it turns out the hostel we stay in back in Panama city has a BROCHURE on them…ha!)

Over the course of the next hour more and more people come by and bring their carvings and baskets…I cannot decide, as I want to buy something but I do not want to carry anything. I finally end up buying the hummingbird pictured here–it was the first one we saw and the most “precise”. Unbelievable detail. These are seeds that they soak in water to facilitate carving. Very cool.

here is one of the baskets…She has been working on this for 8 months…

Well, I finally buy my carving, and and both of us simultaneously feel it is time to leave. We take a couple more pics and scurry back up the one-way road. We talk about this around the bend, and both of us agree it was like all of a sudden we were no longer welcome, and it was definitely time to leave. Strange.

Well, fancy tthat. Here we were asking every local we saw where to go, and wow! these indigenous people even have a BILLBOARD (which we missed!) Telling folks where to find them…guess we weren’t really Indiana Jones-ing after all!!!

Back out and on to the pavement…and I was leading because I was on EMPTY! We were hoping to make it to the gas station we filled up at on the way down to Yavisa…I finally came across a gas station, but it was not the same one as before. I did not think too much of it at the time…

But now I was following Igor and every once in a while I would see puffs of black some coming out of his KLR…hm…

Lunch!

But hey, after lunch my bike did not want to start… very poopy. Crank. Crank. Crank.

Finally I gave it some choke and voila’! It started. Ok, so I assume my bike was puffing black smoke now too…

Igor asks if we are to watch out for turtles or whether we are to go slow like turtles…

Back into the mayhem that is Panama City. Can you see the American influence?

We were there for roughly 85 years; built the canal then “managed” it until December 31, 1999, when we abruptly pulled out and left it to the Panamanians (Panama Canal Authority)

We decided to take the tollwayback into Panama City–we were crunched for time and wanted to see several things. besides, it was 957 degrees out and why muck around in traffic with all your gear on on that temp?

igor wanted to go to the Mirador and see the city from this bump of land…we wound our way around and around…through the roughest of neighborhoods in Panama City. Here he stops to get directions from the only two people we thought we could trust…

After a frustrating half hour, we arrive at the park and were told it just closed. But we can walk up if we like…(yeah, right, in full motorcycle gear in 982 degree heat…right!)  Grrr.

So off we go to see the Panama Canal…”Lonely Planet” says 9-11 and 3-5 are the best times to go. Great! It’s 4:30–perfect timing! We finally figure out the right road, past the containers waiting in the port.

we can see big ships to out left, a miitary-looking compound to our right…we must be close…

YES!

But we are told at the gate that they have closed. We ask, and the guard tells us they close at 5:00. “But it’s 4:55 I whine…”

NOPE!

Shoot, this was my ONLY chance to see the Panama Canal…tomorrow I have to get a big service done on my bike. Then the next day I fly the bike to Colombia. I think I am going to cry…but I am so mad and upset and HOT it is difficult to cry.

Igor leads us to the Hostal de Clayton, blessedly located in a residential neighborhood outside Panama City. He invites me to go back into town and see the sunset from the causeway, but I am demoralized and HOT, a bad combination, so I decided to stay put and sulk. Poor me.

I got an early start, but not too early since I’d been advised the border offices did not open until 8:30 am.

The Costa Rican side was a breeze…here is my bike at the Panamanian side…

It was a little confusing…like usual. When I finally finished my paperwork and went back to the bike, I could not find my keys…drat! I went through every pocket 5 times…and the worst part is that I REMEMBERED telling myself I was going  to lose my keys if I did not put them in my pocket…and I remember utting them into my pocket. Was I pickpocketed? No, I still had my SPOT, camera and wallet. HARuMPH!

Well luckily I brught an extra set of keys along with me…and luckily I had the foresight to put a spare key to my panniers in the seam of my jacket…so I retraced all me steps, asked for my missing keys at alll the windows I’d visited, and finally fetched the spare keys from deep within my panniers, and got rolling.

I stopped at the first ga station I found, and inn rolled two other gringo-types like me on bikes…but I as confused…were they backpackers of bikers? Turns out BOTH! Traveling on little 225 cc bikes they bought in Panama and riding around wearing backpacks. A couple of Canadians.

We looked at maps together, and then I rolled South. At the Aduana (customs) station another 5 miles down the road I found out that I had NOT gotten the correct papers for riding n Panama, and so I had to go back to the border. Grrr.

I saw the Canadians again, told them what was going on, and got the right papers.  Then I saw this beauty on the other side.

Well one of the people I’d chatted with the FIRST time I rolled through pulled me aside and told me that if I wanted to go to the mountains I could take a left there in town and there was a road that would take me north to Volcan.

Oh.

My.

God.

Was this road great. It was a fun, really tight, curvy and incredibly lush, hilly, b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l road through paradise. This was the best day of my trip I think. I was feeling so lucky, so alive, I was in pure bliss. (Plus I’d riisen in altitude and it was blessedly cool!)

I’ve posted a zillion pictures here because I could not decide which ones to cull.

Enjoy!

The cow caravan.   There was a stupid car behind me honking for me to move, but I was NOT going to ride into the middle of 200 cows moseying down the road. I turned off the engine and waited — and hoped that none of they would get frightened and knowck into me and knock me over. At one point I had to fluff my arms to get them to give me a wider berth..

I passed by beautiful fincas. The land seemed so RICH. So fertile. So cared for. It was a gift to me after the hot hot hot dry days I’d spent in Costa Rica.

I passed this really nice looking B&B, and decided to stop and ask the rates…In the reception area there was a humminngbird trapped in the window…most gorgeous bird I have ever seen…

($99 per night to stay there–um, gorgeous but no thank you)

I finally stopped in ________ . I was hungry and was overdue to eat. I stopped at this weird little place–a nursery / zoo / eatery / public garden. I had a delicious tamale.  Then another. Then another. And coffee.  And a piece of carrot cake.

Here’s a pic of the tamale before opening.

Now I was having a good time talking to the fellow serving up the tamales (his mother owned the place) and he was quite cultured and worldly. Hippie-ish. Groovy. I jokes with him that he should rename his place “Peace, Love and Tamales” for all the good vibe and zen music and altar relics he had around there.

I joked with him, too, that I needed a picture of his opening my tamale with the garden nippers–that would never fly in the USA. We had a good laugh.

Then I was handed a banana and offered a personal tour of the place…

Ah. Now I understood the banana.

I got a tour of tamale central…

The outdoor kitchen

The maiz (corn meal) that goes into the tamales

The gardens

Then back to the monkeys on my own. I offered them some entertainment…

and Dominga came and joined me at the monkey cage. She is a native girl, who lives with her Dad who works there. I thought she was just beautiful in her traditional clothing. I asked he Dad, then her, if we could take a picture together.

Well, everyone there was selling strawberries, and I’d parked across the street at the strawberry place, so I walked back over to get some dessert.

Then I brought one back to Dominga–I figure she might not ever have had the opportunity to have eaten one–and OMG they were good.

What a strange little town–like little Switzerland. I had to snap a pic to prove it.

I took off for Parque Nacional la Amistad (friendship, because the park is shared with Panama and Costa Rica) amd I was told that I could sleep in the park. Cool. Kinda like sleeping n a big garden I supposed and that had a lot of appeal. So I rode through some more beautiful farmland…

But when  got to the park at 4:30 the gate was closed. Dang.

Back down the mountain again, and now was in a hurry to find a place to stay since it was getting dark

I found a place that was really clean, but none too cheap ($30) I bargained them down to $20 but it was hard work.

Costa Rica is so Americanized they’ll accept US Dollars or Colones.
$1 = ~550 colones
It was some strange math to wrap my brain around.

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The room at Playas del Coco was clean, inexpensive ($20/night) and beachfront, and since i was still thinking I had plenty fo time to get to Panama, I decided t stay another day. I was also trying to get in touch with Dr. Monica in Liberia, as well as a couple I met in line at the Costa Rica border–an American couple that operate a tropical fish farm in Costa Rica who’d given me their phone # and invited me for a visit. It sounded like a great thing to do, and I knew they were somewhere close.

While sitting on the porch waking up, JP and I visited with some other folks at the hotel a latvian/american woman, her child, her Costa Rican husband and her Latvian mother. Cute kid! But soooooo serious. The Costa Rican fellow looked over maps with JP and I, and gave us advice for things to see in Costa Rica.

The beach in front of the hotel in the daytime (It was Sunday morning and a tour bus pulled up in front of our hotel and unloaded about 50 beachgoers at 6:30 am!!

People sit in the back of *any* moving vehicle to get around

I was not able too make contact with the fish farm people, but I connected with Dr. Monica, so on Monday I headed to Liberia.

First stop, a German Bakery where Andreas told me I had to stop–he’d befriended the baker on his rride through Central America. Joe, the baker, was not there, so I snapped a pic for Andreas and left.

Remember how I called it Gringo Rica?

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New Country, new terminology: I learned that a ‘gasolinera‘ (gas station) was called a ‘bomba‘ in CR.

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Dr. Monica runs the Santa Monica radiological center across from the hospital in liberia, Costa Rica. Her “specialty” is radiology, but her personal passion is breast cancer screening. The funny thing is, when we were introduced by email, we did not know we had that common thread. She read on my web page that my ride to South America was an awareness / fund raiser for breast and ovarian cancer cures, and so we decided we HAD to meet and see what we could create.

I met Dr. Monica at 2:00, and the TV crew came to interview us about my ride/ her services at 2:30.

They interviewed me first (I was so nervous! and worried about my Spanish) I got to relax and take pictures of her while they interviewed her.

The lovely Dr. Monica

After the interviews and Dr. Monica saw a few patients, she invited me to dinner.

A quick tour of downtown Liberia on the way:

The old church–I was disappointed it was not open so I could see inside.

Liberia is in Guanacaste province, and she drove me by this tree to show me an example of a Guanacaste tree–and also told me there was a community project to save the tree–as the city grew–and the tree grew– the tree turned out to be in the center of this street. The townspeople fought to save it, and now wveyone just drives around it. The tree is hundreds of years old.

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I got up early the next morning and walked to a small cafe across from the emergency room of the hospital, and had breakfast. Um, I am not sure what everything was, but it was good, and thankfully not too expensive (I think about $5). By the way, Costa Rica is EXPENSIVE! I was in wallet shock. Yeah, it seems liek the $20 beachfront hotel was an anomaly…in Playas del Coco JP and I went out for dinner together…a medium pizza, 2 beers and a soda was $26!!! (I’d been paying $3.00 for big plates of food in Nicaragua!)

Next day I was off and riding through some of the most spectacular countryside

Rich farmland

Rolling hills

Remember I said people ride in all manner of strange places on the roads? Can you see this guy in the middle of the garbage heap?

Horsies!!!

I’d been told that Monte Verde was great, so I decided to head there.

This sign cracks me up: the road is not well marked in this town, so instead, they made a sign to tell all the people who missed the missing sign where to go: Yes, I had to do a U turn myself. Thank goodness for the sign, telling you what you missed when the othe sign was missing!

By this point I had goose bumps. I was also at pretty good elevation, so rather than riding in 9000 degrees, it was only about 80.

Oh and about the missing sign place the road changed to gravel

And even more spectacular

Past some coffee cooperatives

Check out this restaurant built around a tree…cool idea…and too bad I was not hungry…

Just incredible

I’d asked for directions to the southern roads, and the fellow I asked turned out to be a local tour bus operator…he told me not to miss the crocodilios.

Crocoilios?

Crocodilios!

Yeah, quad tours in the Pan American Highway

A few miles later I pulled over to take a look at the map.

I smelled gas. Stinky. That rots because I’d been having problems with the gas cap, and the last guy that filled my tank filled it to the extreme…but wait, the bike won’t start. I bend over to look at the fuel petcock and YIKES! Fuel is gushing out thee side of the bike and all over my left pantleg. I throw the kickstand down and get off the bike…sheeshsa…it though it was supposed to be a vacuum seal like my DR35o and not pour out?!?!?! Guess not, since thi bike actually turns out to have a “OFF” switch…so I get the gusher stopped.

And I find the culprit

About this time a local fellow comes by and asks if I need help…I explain, and he sets off to the store for a piece of gas tubing. I am smart enough to send him with the piece of ruptured tubing so he knows what size…

So I entertain myself by taking pictures

So the fellow comes back, brings me a piece of tubing, it fits, and voila’! Roadside emergency solved in 15 minutes. Brilliant!

No, he will not let me pay for the part. Where am I staying that night? Because he works at a hotel in Manual Antonio. I ask how much, $40. Ouch, too expensive I tell him. He says he knows another hotel close by for $20. I decide to follow my good fortune fairy and get all set up. well, I wonder if he will want anything–I am tired, hot, hungry, and while he was nice I do not want to feel obligated. We chat for a bit, he asks me if I want a beer, I say yes (I hate beer but I want to buy him one) SO we walk down to the little tienda, I buy him a can of fake beer as he tells me he does not drink (so why did he want a beer?!?) and I get a Smirnoff ice in a can. I am so hot and tired and hungry I can feel myself starting to get really drunk off just one can, and thankfully he says goodbye and rolls on out leaving me to my shower. I am wasted from the 1 can of drink, and walk next door for dinner, forgetting to take pics of my yummy food. I still felt drunk even after eating so I went to sleep and slept the sleep of the dead from 8 pm to 6 am.

The next morning I ride out to Manuel Antonio and see total and utter Gringolandia. SO built up for tourists. Ecotourism? Ha.

But a nice beach

Then I ride by this, um, airplane?

Wait, it’s been turned into a restaurant

The place is not open yet so I walk all around and take pics

The road is under construction

A decide to make a little tour and ride the peninsula to Puerto Jiminez since it looks cool on the map (in fact it was hotter than blazes!) yet pretty spectacular…

And then pretty stressful when I had to cross this bridge

then this one

Maybe I should have gone through thi instead?

Wait, one more to cross

and yes, one more

I did stop for a coffee at a beautiful little mirador

And then rolled on down the road (literally)

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Well I tried to get a hotel room down there in Puerto Jiminez but the uppity brits’ attitude thoroughly turned me off, so what do I do?

I looked at the map, and while there were roads around the peninsula, some of them appeared mere tracks on the map. I could not seem to get a definitive answer from locals, so I decided because of the 9000 degree heat to play it safe a backtrack, unfortunately back over all those bridges under construction…

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The Costa Rican fellow I’d met a few days ago in Playas del Coco had suggested a stop in Piedras Blancas and spend the night there before crossing into Panama .

Well, perfectly BAD advice. It was a horrid little town, none of the hotels had a room for whatever reason, and I ended up with the LAST room in town, UN airconditioned, and it was 950 degrees. The did not have safe parking for my bike, so I chained it to the front entrance of the hotel (which was across from the bus station–always yucky places!) AND no internet to entertain myself. Bummer.

Oh yeah, and it was $18 no less. I was really unhappy and really hot. Honestly, I was happy to be leaving Costa Rica.