Well. Here we go again.

I wasn’t intending to write any “blog” for this trip but after receiving so many requests…well 4…well not requests, more like polite enquiries, which I took to be requests but could have been statements of incredulity along the lines of…”Are you blogging again?”… as if to say, ” If you are, could you give me fair warning so that I can arrange to be doing something else rather than reading your drivel”.

Anyway they were requests in my mind, so, pin back your lugholes.

We’d hardly been home from the good old US of A when Pat presented me with the plans for our next trip. To be fair we had always intended to do Central America alongside the trip to the Western USA. Back in 2020 they were meant to be one long 6 month trip but now were to be split into 3 month ‘bits’.

Panama and Costa Rica had been experienced back in 2017, albeit for short periods, but Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala would be new adventures. To us its the opportunity to see Spanish colonial towns and Mayan ruins but for others it is a one way ticket to kidnap and ransom. Being in a dingy room with no water, a bucket for a toilet and a lack of air-conditioning with an outside temperature hovering well above 30C. Come to think of it that sounds just like a few of the places we stayed on previous trips!

Travelling light as usual, we make our way to Knaresborough Station and take one of the last trains to run in UK until 2023. York, London and Heathrow are our intermediate stops before Panama City.

We are comfortable here, in Panama City, having visited before. Some say that this is our first stop only for me to get to the bank and withdraw the savings for the trip. Not so, Jersey remains my offshore Tax Haven of choice!

We spent only a few days, pottering about, washing the jet lag from our eyes and watching the preliminary games of the World Cup before moving on to Boquete in the north. We opted for a bus/coach to David and then need to change to a local bus for the short ride to our destination. “Ask the driver to let you off at the Gas Station before the terminal. we are just 150 yards behind there. The red house. You can’t miss us.”

Well. There are several gas stations on the approach to town. Easy to identify the right one on Google Maps, but the actuality is quite different, when you have no juice left on the phone to look at the map and its pitch black outside. Even red houses don’t look red in the dark.

We found it though and were welcomed by a committee of American expats who reside in the red house. A recently arrived lady staying temporarily until she buys her retirement home, a Chicagoan roamer who just fell in love with the highlands of Panama and whose apartment was fully stocked to the extent that we could borrow everything from, and including, a cup of sugar and then there was the other one!

Tim is a functioning alcoholic, ex missionary, who spent many years living and missioning in Honduras. “Oh. We were thinking of going there”. “Don’t f…ing bother. Its a sh*thole” says Tim. I’m not sure if its just the drink talking but take on board the sound advice.

Tim will only consider going home to USA “…if that clown retires from politics”.

“Don’t fret”, I say, “We had one of those, (or was it two?) and I can assure you they go away eventually”.

“Good. I hope he takes that other f…ing clown, Carmella Harris, with him” snorts Tim.

Clearly we are on different wavelengths me and Tim!!

After a few wet days in the mountains, taking in Panama National Day, we make our way to the coast at Bocas del Toro. Again we have been here before and it is our happy experience that has drawn us back. They say you should never go back and unfortunately they were proved right in this instance. Covid obviously hit the town and it has yet to recover. It is attracting a different clientele, now more local/ national than international. This is not of itself a bad thing but it does change the vibe. Oh and the poor weather didn’t help.

This poor weather followed us across the border into Costa Rica, albeit that it was confined to late afternoon/early evening rather than all day! Playa Cocles, close to Puerto Viejo, was to be our home while we watched England depart the World Cup. I won’t say how lucky the Froggies were but clearly Lady Luck continued to look down on them against Morocco and see them into the final. Its not always the best playing teams that progress.

We were living in a bungalow in the jungle, aptly called The Jungalow. Although only about 300 yards from the main road we really got the feeling of living in the jungle. Lots of agoutis running around. Plenty of hummingbirds aggressively fighting over nothing at all, as they tend to do and lots of Howler Monkeys… well howling. They are very loud and sound like roaring lions. they can apparently be heard from up to 4 kilometres away.

I wish the ones in the trees above us had been 4 kilometres away!

The weather was definitely starting to change. Even the locals were mentioning the move from wet to dry(ish). We ventured all of 5 minutes walk along the road to visit the local Jaguar Rescue Centre. It turns out that it doesn’t have and never has had a jaguar to save. Back in the day a European couple had set up home here and tended to local animals in need of medical attention and re-wilding where necessary. One day the locals found an injured ocelot and brought it to them because they thought a) it was a baby jaguar and b) this couple had helped jaguars in the past! The couple found it funny and thereafter referred to their place as the Jaguar Rescue Centre.

Immediately opposite the entrance to the jaguar Centre was a reminder of just where we are.

We’ve been to one and maybe one day will make it to the other.

Left it is then.