Panama Part 2: The Azuero Peninsula

After the Los Quetzales hike, we set off on leg #2 of our Panama journey- cycling the Azuero Peninsula. We decided shortly after entering Panama that we wouldn't ride to Panama City because the only route there would require hundreds of kilometers of riding on the highway. So, we'd do sections of riding and sections of backpacking/ bus riding to get to the city. We set off from Paso Ancho all loaded up, waving goodbye to Craig and Dana, headed for David (the second biggest city in Panama) where we caught a bus with our bikes to the Azuero Peninsula. The ride to David was about 65 km and down, down, downhill. We pedaled for maybe 3 km max. Although the ride wasn't physically challenging, we didn't survive it without any pain. 

Just 4 km or so from David, Leah ate it hard. We had just started riding on the shoulder (vs riding in the far right lane) because traffic was increasing going into David, but the shoulder wasn't all paved...as it appeared. I was coasting down a little hill at a good clip when all of a sudden, the pavement ended and turned to relatively deep sand (the same color as the pavement, making it hard to see the pavement ended). I was able to control my bike from skidding out, but as soon as I got through it, I turned around to warn Leah, as I knew she'd have trouble. It was too late. As I whipped my head around, I caught the last glimpse of her losing control and then splat...a mishmash of bike, panniers, and Leah (thankfully whole) was on the ground. She survived with a bit of road-rash and bruising to her right thigh and some cuts on her right elbow. She suffered the usual post traumatic shakes and slight nausea but was able to get up and get moving soon. And once again, we were graced with typical Panamanian generosity as two separate cars pulled over to make sure Leah was okay and offer assistance in the short time we waited on the side of the road for Leah to gain her bearings. We pulled over in David for Leah to wash clean and dress her wounds. I tried to help her but being the nurse she is she insisted on doing most of the work while I helped as much as allowed and documented the action on camera.

We rolled into the bus station, found a bus headed in the direction we were going, loaded up our stuff and arrived in Divisa (the town at the junction to the road into the Azuero peninsula) a few hours later. It was nearing dark by the time we started riding, so at the first 

house that looked promising we tried our luck in asking for a place to stay. The owner of the house was a man named Lambert Baxter who's father was Jamaican and mother was English and they had come to work on the canal. 

Through our time in Panama it became apparent that this sort of mixed and unusual background is quite common among the Panamanian people. 

For such a small country it really has a varied population due to the canal. The next day we topped our previous distance record with a 115 km ride to Pedasi. The road was a little narrow, but the traffic wasn't too bad and we made it in decent time even with our stops to gorge on some tasty watermelon and scrumptious fried fish. Near the end of the day though, I definitely lost my appetite when we passed a slaughterhouse and the aromas of burning and rotting cow flesh filled my nose. I tried holding my breath as we passed but that's a bit difficult to do while trying to bike.

One of the main attractions around Pedasi (at the tip of the peninsula) is Iguana Island, about 30 minutes by small boat from the mainland. Luckily, two other couples at our hotel had found a fisherman to take them out the next day and we were able to tag along and split the cost. As we approached the island, we noticed the air above was dotted with specks. Finally the specks took shape and they turned out to be hundreds of frigate birds soaring above the island. We had a relaxing day watching the birds, snorkeling, wandering the short trails, playing with hermit crabs and looking at iguanas.

The next day after we had packed up and were about to head out, a Panamanian couple, Alex & Marta Pinzon, stopped to talk to us. They were vacationing in Pedasi as well and lived in Penonome, a few hours drive away.  They introduced us to their two sons, Chicho (biological son) and Peter, an exchange student from Maryland. Peter is a biker himself and told us that he had actually seen us a couple days before riding through another town on our way to Pedasi.  His account of seeing us went something like this, "We were at the town square when I saw this crazy looking guy with all this hair and sunglasses riding down the street. I wanted to talk to you both and tried to yell to you but you didn't hear me." 

After chatting for a short while, Marta and Alex gave us their contact information and told us to get a hold of them if we ever were coming through Penonome (which we did later in the trip).

Shortly after leaving Pedasi, we got caught in a torrential downpour. It started with some sprinkles, but as it got heavier, instinctively, our shoulders started to hunch up and our heads tilt down as if it would keep us dry. Finally, it was coming down with such force that not a square inch on our bodies was dry. Almost simultaneously, Leah and I both came to the revelation that, hey, hunching up and cringing isn't doing us any good, we're already soaked to the bone, we aren't cold, and actually, this is really fun. We both threw our faces skyward, relaxed our shoulders and started laughing, whooping and hollering. All the people we passed who were of course taking cover under a roof must have though we were two loco gringos.

That night we stopped in Guera (a very little town north of Tonosi) to camp for the night. We introduced ourselves to a farmer to ask if we could camp in his yard and all got a laugh when Leah introduced herself and he then he introduced himself.  His name was Elia :). He thought we'd have more space to camp at his brother's house across the street so he took us over and 

introduced us to Rigo who was happy to let us stay. We met Rigo's wife and two daughters spent the rest of the evening chatting away, testing each other's Spanish and English skills, and learning about the surrounding area.

Rigo and Elia were dairy farmers (like pretty much all of the people in the area) and every morning, the two of them, Elia's son, and another man milk 60 cows by hand (this explained their killer handshakes when we introduced ourselves). The next morning, the girls took us down to the corral where they were hard at work and already almost done by 7:30. Their method - simple yet ingenious. They would tie up the cow's calf so the cow would move, tie the cows feet up so it couldn't kick, sit down on their one legged, hands free stool that hung from their belt and milk the cow, about 10-12 minutes for each cow.

 They would then pour the frothy milk through a strainer into stainless steel milk jugs (like the ones from way back in the day). When all the cows had been milked they would let them out to graze (that's right, grass fed beef in these parts), load the milk jugs onto their horses and take them out to the road (after taking a little for themselves). There are two dairy companies that come around and take the milk back to be processed. 

Consequently as you ride down the road in these parts there are always stainless steel milk jugs in front of almost every house, it is almost like stepping back in time. Rigo and his wife shared some tortillas and orange juice before we departed. It was our first time tasting Panamanian tortillas and boy were they delicious.  They are unlike any other country's tortillas thus far- thick, small, made with fresh corn and flour and deep fried.  Like a little fried corn cake...mmmmmm. 

The day's ride consisted of some rolling hills and eventually a gradual descent into Chitre where we spent the next couple nights. Chitre is a small city but the downtown is bustling with activity. Leah and I stopped at the Herrera museum (Chitre is the capital of the Herrera province). As we wandered around, Victor, the museum guide tagged along and explained the exhibits, asked us about life in the US and talked to us about life in Panama. 

Later, he excused himself for a moment and came back with a Panama flag as a gift for Leah and I. We expressed some interest in buying some local art and he told us the best place for that was La Arena, a town only 5 minutes away on bus. He insisted on taking us to the bus stop, waiting for the bus with us and then asking the driver to tell us wehre to get off. The amiability of the people we have met while traveling down here never ceases to amaze us. 

Probably my favorite thing that we did during our two nights in Chitre was going to the corner 

where there was a bakery and batido (milkshake) shop next to each other. We went after almost every meal. The bakery had amazing cakes but specialized in these buttery, braided biscuit ringlets about three inches in diameter. They baked them fresh all day long. This caused the street in front of the bakery to be filled with an alluring aroma which I had actually smelled when we passed by on our bikes while looking for a hotel. The batido shop had every kind of fruit available and therefore every kind of batido imaginable. There were so many options I never could bear to have the same one twice. 

It came time to leave Chitre and head back to David. We made plans to participate in a paseo, a 100 mile bike ride from David to Las Lajas and back along the Pan-American highway, with Craig, our Paso Ancho host and his cycling team, The Mountain Kings. It was easy to find a bus to take us to Divisa no problem, but getting from Divisa to David on a Saturday proved to be a little more difficult (and even MORE difficult with bikes). Every bus going in that direction was full and didn't even stop at the bus stop. I decided to take matters into my own hands and solve the problem creatively. There was a police check point about 100 yards away from the bus stop so I walked over to ask drivers (with room in the beds of their trucks) if they were headed in our direction. I of course asked the cops if it was okay, they said 

no problem, but we would have more luck if Leah came over there and did the asking (not to mention they would benefit from her presence as well). The checkpoint seemed like it was just a way to kill time for the cops as all they would do is take the license of the driver, sometimes look at it, maybe crack a joke to the driver, and send them off. The cop also told me that he was trying to sell his father's car which happened to be parked conveniently next to the check point where everyone could take a look at it. I eventually found a truck that took us to the main bus stop in Santiago where it would be much easier to find a bus going to David. We loaded up our bikes, said thanks to the cops and took off with the wind in our hair in the back of the truck. After asking every truck and bus that pulled into the bus station in Santiago (for three hours nonetheless) we finally found a bus that had room for our bikes, bags and us and we made it to David in the early evening, the day before the paseo.  An early morning and LONG day of riding awaited us.

Following the Talamanca Mountains from Costa Rica to Panama

After one week off our bikes on the Osa Peninsula, we were excited to get riding again. Once we arrived back in Palmar Norte, we walked all over town looking for a thank you/ Christmas gift for Alcides and asking people what would be an appropriate gift. To our surprise, multiple people suggested an lamp (like a bedside lamp) or knick-knacky house decoration. We couldn't picture Alcides, a tall, husky, tough man, appreciating such a gift, so we settled on a pocketknife with a cool leather holder.

When we arrived at Alcides´s shop, he wasn´t there so one of the policemen in front called him for us. He arrived with his son, both on bicycles, all smiles, and both donning the standard working man´s look of tall rubber boots, leather skin, and dirt and grime all over. He opened his shop for us and of course everything was there untouched. We chatted about our Christmas celebrations and our time on the Osa Peninsula while we packed up, and shortly after we gave him his gift, expressed our thanks, and said our goodbyes followed by a stiff handshake.

After packing our bikes back up, we headed through town to the highway to hitch a ride 40km 

up the road. (You´d think we would ride them after packing them up :) ). Earlier, we decided to 

take an alternate route toward Panama which would enable us to avoid a significant amount of riding on a particularly dangerous section of the Pan American highway (due to road conditions and traffic). However, the alternate route still entailed about 40km of highway 

riding which I was not comfortable doing. So, we spent about 45 minutes on the side of the highway flagging down pickup trucks with empty beds asking if they could give us a ride up the road to Paso Real. Eventually, a father and son heading back to San Jose after a Christmas celebration at the beach picked us and our bikes up. The father explained that his son was a champion motocross rider in Costa Rica (which is why they had the pickup, to haul his bike) and that he would be competing in the US this year. We wished him good luck, offered some money for the ride (which was declined), and parted ways not 30 minutes later in Paso Real.

It was already late afternoon when we got to Paso Real, but we knew we had some climbing 

ahead of us and wanted to get a head start on the next day, so we rode just a little further to a little town called Las Vueltas. In Las Vueltas, we camped at the house of Juan Carlos, the local schoolteacher. We had already begun climbing into the Talamanca mountains, and from 

his porch we could see down into a valley below and up the other side. In the daytime, we couldn´t see any houses or towns around, just some cleared land and a radio tower here and there, but at night the view was much different. There were clumps of lights all through 

the valley denoting little towns that were previously invisible. Juan Carlos named each of the little towns for us while we ate dinner on his porch. Now we know why the roads are so bad in Costa Rica, it seems all the tax money goes to providing electricity and clean water to the small towns (not that I´m at all complaining).

From Las Vueltas, we rode half a day to San Vito, a town founded in the 1950s by some Italian immigrants. The ride included some steep hills, but the countryside was green, sky was blue, and people were friendly, so it was another great day to be riding in Costa Rica. We were seriously in need of a laundromat and grocery store, so we spent the day stocking up on food and getting some laundry done while enjoying the mountain scenery. You´d think there would still be a strong Italian influence in such a town, but it really didn´t feel much different from other Costa Rican mountain towns. The only place where we noticed the town's Italian heritage was in the cemetary where more than half of the tombstones had very Italian last names on them. We celebrated our last day in Costa Rica with some coffee and delicious treats from Panaderia Flor down the street.

It took us only an hour and a half to ride from San Vito to the Panama border at Rio Sereno. 

It is a little used border crossing which made for a very relaxed crossing. It´s apparent that illegal immigration of Panameños or Costariccense to either side is not a concern for either government, as we easily could have gone across without anyone noticing (and it seemed many peoplewere). We actually crossed into Panama and then had to go back down the street to Costa Rica to get exit stamps in our passports. Although the vibe was very mellow, it was not without a bit of typical Central American hassle. On the Panama side, we had to go past the immigration station into town to pay our entry fee at the bank (which took an hour waiting in line), then go to the supermarket to make a copy of our recipt (but we had to search for the right supermarket, which ended up being back on the Costa Rica side), and then finally go back to the immigration station to present our documents and get stamps. In fact, David didn´t even have to go in to show his documents, I went in with both of our passports and got them stamped for us both. Made getting that kilo of cocaine across the border pretty easy...just joking :).

The steep rolling hills continued in Panama, but the grassy hillsides soon turned to coffee land to as far as the eye could see (sort of). We passed two apparent huge coffee producers, Cafe Duran and Cafe Balboa, with big processing sheds and plantation housing for the workers. By late afternoon, I was spent and so we pulled over at the entrance to "Finca Selva Negra" where there was a wooden shack with some nice shade. After relaxing for awhile in our new travel hammock which Stephanie and Olivier gifted to us (the French couple we spent Christmas with), the coffee pickers started to show up at the shack to get ready to weigh the day's pickings. We got to talking to one of them named Roberto. He was of indigenous heritage, the Ngobe Bugle tribe, as were all of the other workers there. He said they come to the area for 4-5 months every year from their homes in the Comarca Ngobe Bugle (an autonomous province of Panama) and then go back when the coffee picking is done. To get to his town he said he has to go two hours by bus and then walk another 5 hours. Soon after, the boss pulled up in the truck with all of the day's coffee and they began to measure it in a seemingly inefficient way (only to us though). Each worker would pour his coffee into large cans and they 

would count how many cans they picked. When they were done measuring, we got to talking to the boss, Roberto (a different person, same name). He said that each worker picks about 5-7 cans per day and each can weighs about 30 lbs. For each can they get $2 (the US dollar is the official currency of Panama). So, they make about $10-14 per day and get roughly 7 cents per pound picked. Wow. Roberto (the boss) says that that is a bit more than other coffee growers pay and Roberto (the picker) spoke very highly of his boss saying that he treated them very well. Instinctively, it´s easy to pass judgment on the boss for paying essentially slave wages, but his farm is small by Panamanian standards (about 60 acres) and he doesn´t have the equipment to process his coffee, so he sells it to Cafe Duran (mentioned above). We didn´t have the gall to ask how much Cafe Duran pays him... Sunset had already come by the time we stopped chatting and Roberto gladly let us camp on his property for the night.

After tackling only a few hills the next day, we stopped at a scenic point to admire Volcan Baru right in front of us (the tallest mountain in Panama, about 12,000 ft). We had been there only a few minutes and Roberto, the boss, pulled over in his truck. He offered us a ride to Volcan, 15 km away, and we accepted (and in so doing changed the entire course of the rest of our trip, through lucky coincidences). He was a great tour guide and stopped at a waterfall, 

showed us the flood damage that had come through just a few weeks prior, and also named all of the rivers and sites within view for us. When we got to Volcan, Roberto wished us well and invited us to his house if we ever returned to the area.

Since we got to Volcan much earlier than expected, we spontaneously decided to take a side trip to Cerro Punta- a little town up higher on Volcan Baru that Roberto recommended. The most remarkable part of the first half of the ride was the wind whipping in our faces, slowing our pace down quite a bit. Really the first significant headwind we´ve encountered. Along the way, we came upon another cyclist, Craig, who is from North Dakota but now lives in the area. He gave us some good pointers on the route, some guidance as to a good place to camp in Cerro Punta for the night, and also an invitation to a New Years eve party the following evening. Maybe we wouldn´t be spending New Years eve dirty and cramped in our tent?... On the climb up to Cerro Punta, we passed numerous stands selling strawberries and cream and also duros. We stopped to ask what a duro was and a customer bought one for us to try, and man was it delicious. A frozen treat like a popsicle with strawberries in it and 

cream on the bottom. While we ate our lunch at a bus stop in Cerro Punta, a few of the workers from the nearby farm pulled up on a tractor to get a closer look at us. And when we moved to another spot which wasn´t so sunny, they moved too. Not so sure if they thought they were being sly, but if they did, they definitely missed the class on stealthiness. Finally, two of them came up and talked to us, Javier and Edwin. They explained that they were both cyclists and race in mountain and road races. I found it interesting that they were passionate about cycling yet live in such a small, relatively remote town. Really cool.

After setting up our tent, we took in the cool mountain air (we were at about 6600 ft.) 

and surrounding mountain and farmland vistas while we explored the outskirts of town close to La Amistad International Park (stretches into Costa Rica and Panama). As soon as the sun went down, the temperature seriously dropped and we put on our beanies and jackets to cook our macaroni and cheese on the porch of the hotel we were camped at. While we were cooking, Javier pulled up on his road bike to chat- he had just come back from a ride after work. He told us that Craig (the American cyclist we met earlier in the day) helps them out and that he and Craig are part of a team of riders all from the close surrounding towns. Javier said that he would also be doing in a group ride on the 11th of January from the city of David to Las Lajas and back and that we were invited to join. We of course jumped at the opportunity to ride with local Panameños and adjusted the rest of our cycling plans in Panama in order to do so.

The next day was New Years eve and we were feeling festive so we called Craig to confirm our invitation to the party. He was on a bike ride nearby so he met us at our camp spot and took us to his house in Paso Ancho (down the mountain a bit and closer to Volcan). Earlier in the day, David went to take a short morning ride and before he could even get started, he rolled his bike backward to get it out of its spot and completely bent and broke his rear derailer. Our first big mechanical failure. Thus, David rode to Paso Ancho on a single speed and we bought a used rear derailer from Javier the following day that he happened to have lying around. Craig and his wife, Dana, kindly invited us to stay at their house for the night and we basked in the comfort of a home, bed, kitchen, and friendly company. The New Years eve party was at Fernando and Claudette´s house, Craig and Dana´s friends that live down the street. We arrived at 8 and spent the next 5 hours chatting with some very interesting and kind folks from all over the place who now live in the area. The assortment included a Columbian businessman, jolly Dutchman, American canal-zoners, birders galore, Obama fans, and retirees exploring their life's passions. Also included were Angel and Carla Rodriguez, two ex-Seattleites who used to own R&E Cycles over in the U-District. Angel is actually the "R" in R&E Cycles and is the founder of Rodriguez Cycles (custom cycles sold at R&E). Small world. Our olfactory glands and taste buds were reinvigorated as we dined on an elaborate meal accompanied by delicious wine and midnight champagne. No PB and J tonight :). The night ended with a bit of dancing and lots of gratitude for a great time. Just the morning prior, I was mourning the fact that we were going to have an uneventful New Years eve and probably be sleeping by 8. So glad I was mistaken.

We set off two days later for our next adventure on Volcan Baru, an overnight hiking trip on the Los Quetzales trail from Cerro Punta to Boquete on the other side of the mountain. We skirted around the mountain (rather than go over it) hoping to see a Quetzal (very beautiful and elusive bird) along the way. The trail was closed secondary to mudslides from the floods a few weeks prior, but we turned a blind eye to the sign and kept on as there were no rangers to shoo us away. About half way to Boquete, there was a little wooden lookout a few hundred meters from the trail that provided an amazing view of the canopy below and surrounding mountains. It became our camp spot for the night and from there were were able to experience a spectacular sunrise over the mountains in the morning. The trail wasn´t washed out too bad, but we did have to contort ourselves a bit to get through some root and rock messes and also get creative to cross a couple of rivers. Unfortunately, no Quetzales decided to grace us with their presence, but we did see quite a few other colorful and chirpy birds. When we exited the trail, there was a ranger at the other side who told us that the Quetzales are up higher on the mountain at this time of year and don´t come down until March, oh well. He was very nice and thankfully didn´t chastise us for hiking the trail illegally. We then hopped on a bus all stinky and muddy and made it back to Paso Ancho where our bikes and stuff were (at Craig and Dana´s house). That night we shared stories with Craig and Dana over a delicious meal and slept well, prepared for another leg of our bike tour to commence the following day.