La Rana Rojo and other Spanish; December 2016 Panama Travel Blog #3; To Aunt Gerry

Our mornings start out with a late roll out of bed and a stagger down our casita stairs, a few steps through the garden path and then a turn into the main ranch house.  I can smell Raine’s coffee brewing before the screen door bangs shut behind us.  This morning Carlos and Bryant were heavy on debate about religion, politics, anything.  The two are well matched in verbal sparring and they get a kick out of the intellectual wrestling.  That leaves Raine and I to roll our eyes at one another and beat an exit into a far corner to huddle quietly sipping our coffee or to exit into the garden where Raine rails at the leaf cutter ants for chewing apart her beautiful crotons.

Water Taxi

Around 11A, the weather looked as if it would hold to partly cloudy and we set out for Red Frog beach on another island, Bastiamento.  We promised to return by 4P as the new owners were due in and Raine has set about fixing another Thanksgiving dinner to welcome them.  Our taxi driver deposited us in front of a water taxi pier in town.  A quick negotiation yielded a round trip for 2 for $20 payable in advance.  This was almost double from the year before.  I was about to ask for the $10 change from the $20 bill to ensure we would be picked up for the return as agreed.  I would pay then.  Bryant didn’t have a problem, left the $20 in the palm of the captain and we got in the fiberglass long boat.  Captain Chango, a large mole on his nose difficult to not stare at, untied the boat, hopped in and with a clang and whirr we were off.   

Red Frog Entrance

The long boat skipped across the waves chopped up by a pretty good headwind.  It took about 20 minutes to reach Red Frog and we recognized the pier that we had visited last year.  Raine has instructed us to turn right on the beach once we got through the jungle to see what the island offered.  Last year we had turned left at the beach and saw… more lovely beach.    This year we saw no Red Frogs, famous on this island because the liquid from their head glands was utilized by the Ngobe tribe as spear poison to help bring down their game during a hunt.

As the jungle path came to the windward side beach, we dutifully turned right.  More lovely beach.  Then a surf bar and more beach.  Eventually we came to a building, Punta Lava,  that offered a lookout to see….more beach.  A map suggested several roads on which to walk toward a private marina, a clubhouse with restaurant (which we soon learned had closed up) and a development of condos and villas for sale. 

The stroll along the stone roads was pleasant enough although when we were protected from the wind, the air was stifling hot and humid.  Well, we were on a jungle island!   When we arrived at the private marina we struck up a conversation with the concierge, a young woman whose family lives in Napa.  In 15 minutes, we learned how she came to be in Bocas del Toro on Red Frog, how her grandpa was worried about her and that her parents kept thinking she would leave and return home at any moment.  We sat sipping cool drinks and listening.  Reminded us of ourselves in our early years.  Both Bryant and myself adventurous and somewhat naïve.   We instructed her to email her grandpa, tell him she had met a nice couple from California and we think she is doing fine.

After that refreshment, we hopped one of the development’s maintenance carts back to the beach area where Punta Lava restaurant beckoned, a beach shack with a sports bar and flat screen TV.    Surprisingly, we had fabulous healthy kale salads with garlic shrimp and mustard sauce.  We munched enjoying front row seats of the ocean and a constant cooling breeze in our faces.

After a bathwater temperature swim in the waves, we dried off in search of the next attraction.  What else… a surfer’s beach bar that contained many interesting people.  We ordered, sat down on one of the beach chairs when the first question came at us.  “Where are you from?”  I smiled, gave the surfer’s sign of ‘party on’ (thumb and little finger extended, others folded to the palm, hand rocking back and forth) and got big smiles from the crowd.   They were from San Diego enjoying a surf holiday and knew the bar owner.    Party on…

Beach Jungle Path

It was time, much too soon, to see if Captain Chango was going to come get us or leave us on Red Frog for the night.  That would not have been so bad except we had turkey waiting for us and Bryant had purchased it as our contribution to the dinner.  In our ‘party on’ frame of mind we began practicing our bad Spanish on the trek back through the jungle to the water taxi dock.  We were trying to remember Captain Chango’s name.  Was it Changa or Chunga or Chinga… All of a sudden Bryant starts cackling and yells out ‘Tu madre de chinga!’  Which was said backwards from the Spanish slang “Chinga tu madre”.  He was overhead by the locals saying ‘Your mother fucks’ vs ‘ fuck your mother’.    Either way, Captain Chango knew we were playing with his name.  Bad… very bad….

We made it back to the casa without further embarrassment and proceeded to get ready for the second turkey dinner since leaving the U.S.

Around 6P, Joel, Vicki and Oliver, the chihuahua, made their appearance having had quite the adventure getting from Panama City to Bocas and arriving about 2 hours later than expected. Joel is a tall string- bean kind of guy that grew up in rural Mississippi on a farm.  His career was in oil and he had worked the rigs all over the world.  He reminds me of an aged rock band guitarist but sports that charming southern drawl.  Vicki is his child hood sweetheart from high school although both had married and divorced 4 times before finally getting together about 3 years ago.  She is a petite frame and one can see that she was a cute dish in her younger years.  Still attractive, she was a bit older than Joel and proud that they would not marry, just cohabitate when it suited both.  Joel will be living in Bocas full time taking over the property and Vicki will spend part of the time here with him.  What part or how part time was never clear. 

How Carlos and Joel met was quite by accident and from the first conversation over July 4^th in the street outside the casa to actual closing of the property transfer later this month is lightning speed in Panamanian terms.    For Joel, the place was love at first sight.  For Carlos, Joel’s Harley motorcycle stateside sweetened the deal and is now garaged in Carlos and Raine’s Tampa area new home awaiting their arrival.

After a wonderfully tasty gluten free turkey dinner, we moved from the dining table to the lounging area in the ranch house and Oliver was fed choice turkey parts for his dinner.  It was easy to see why he was torpedo shaped with no waistline.  12 years old, he was in good health overall despite a newly discovered heart murmur. He seemed to adapt quite quickly to the strange surroundings and smells including the newly adopted Kitty Girl and the resident bullfrog, Horatio.  Oliver kept looking at everyone inquisitively, his tail moving in rapid circles causing very funny butt wiggles.

Oliver

We excused ourselves after dinner as the conversation turned to managing the casa.  We are back in our casita and Bryant is snoring next to me on the bed while I type out this blog.  Tomorrow we go out to Paki Point, a surfer’s place a stretch up the beach from our location, to do some kind of funky thing for our vow renewal.  Raine and Carlos will be there as likely will Joel, Vicki and Oliver. The entourage from the turkey dinner last Thursday may also be there.  The hippy from Venice, Robert, his wife, the stoner Jane and her husband Frank.  Their 3 dogs are welcome but the 3 parrots and monkey are not invited.   We will probably attract the tatted and the stoned that will already be lounging about the Paki Point weathered and faded sundeck and that should make for the next interesting chapter.  The ocean god will officiate.