The weather is changing, fallen leaves carpet the paths, a brisk wind swirls around the island. Storms are forecast, heralding in the wet season. As I collected my usual bike from 'rasa’ he sagely informed me the current fine spell will leave with me tomorrow. How he knew I’m going is a mystery but I have learnt there are no secrets in central America.
After yesterday's sun overdose I appreciated the breeze as I revisited my favourite spots. The shady restaurant at Paki Point yet again dished up a delicious fruit smoothie plus an absorbing view of surfers making the most of the high swell. The rain held off as I cycled the coastal track: birds sang, bright butterflies drifted past, the waves crashed onto the golden sands.
Booking Easter in Bocas was a gamble but its paid dividends. This curious, chaotic town has suited me. I have relaxed here, as much as is ever possible when backpacking. Normally it is an adventure, an experience, but no way a holiday. Yet somehow this week has been something similar.
My mugging marks are replaced with bike bruises, a legacy of happy days replacing those from one violent moment (ok, so writing I’d mastered the 'no brakes' was foolishly optimistic) and, more importantly, I have let go of the fear which haunted me after the robbery. I have got my mojo back, thank you Bocas
I even contemplated a beer today until common sense prevailed. Best to be teetotal travelling solo. A shame, as beer is cheaper than water. Seriously. Even the artesian brewery offerings would cost me less than a coke. Ah well.
I walked the streets tonight saying a sad goodbye to my new ‘amigos'. I will miss these familiar faces, the smiles and waves from locals, the laughing children who race along beside my bike, the surfers who pass daily enroute to the days best waves. Tomorrow I will sit on my balcony at daybreak eating breakfast for the final time before packing up and moving on, heading to Panama City, the last leg of my journey.
After yesterday's sun overdose I appreciated the breeze as I revisited my favourite spots. The shady restaurant at Paki Point yet again dished up a delicious fruit smoothie plus an absorbing view of surfers making the most of the high swell. The rain held off as I cycled the coastal track: birds sang, bright butterflies drifted past, the waves crashed onto the golden sands.
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| My favourite 'watering'spot. Paki point. |
Booking Easter in Bocas was a gamble but its paid dividends. This curious, chaotic town has suited me. I have relaxed here, as much as is ever possible when backpacking. Normally it is an adventure, an experience, but no way a holiday. Yet somehow this week has been something similar.
My mugging marks are replaced with bike bruises, a legacy of happy days replacing those from one violent moment (ok, so writing I’d mastered the 'no brakes' was foolishly optimistic) and, more importantly, I have let go of the fear which haunted me after the robbery. I have got my mojo back, thank you Bocas
I even contemplated a beer today until common sense prevailed. Best to be teetotal travelling solo. A shame, as beer is cheaper than water. Seriously. Even the artesian brewery offerings would cost me less than a coke. Ah well.
I walked the streets tonight saying a sad goodbye to my new ‘amigos'. I will miss these familiar faces, the smiles and waves from locals, the laughing children who race along beside my bike, the surfers who pass daily enroute to the days best waves. Tomorrow I will sit on my balcony at daybreak eating breakfast for the final time before packing up and moving on, heading to Panama City, the last leg of my journey.
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| Isla Colon |
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