Panamá

It broke my heart to check out of our gorgeous Ocean Loft hotel. The Fehler tribe was spending one additional night in Bocas del Toro, and we decided that it would be fun for my family to experience staying in a notorious party hostel chain down here, Selina.

We parted ways with Sam, Alyssa, and the kids as they went towards the main water taxi station and we continued on toward Selina’s. After dropping our belongings, we immediately headed to a water taxi booth that would take us to another famed beach in the Bocas province, Red Frog Beach. It was located on another island entirely, and after a 25-minute boat ride and a 15-minute walk through the jungle, we arrived on a pristine, secluded beach.

Knowing we would love to lounge here for the remainder of the day, we invested in some chairs with umbrella shade, bought our first pitcher of rum punch from the bar, and exhaled. This is what vacationing is all about.

The ocean current here was strong, the waves rough and tumultuous. We tumbled like loose objects in the dishwasher, clawing our way up to the surface and laughing in between the next saltwater onslaught.

We had excellent fish tacos on the beach for lunch and afterward decided to set off in search of the famous red frogs local to the area that gave the beach its name. Now, I thought this would be an along-the-beach adventure, so I did not wear shoes. I wanted to enjoy the sensation of walking on sand as much as I could so forget the shoes, right?

Wrong.

We ended up at the very end of the beach, forced to take our walk onto a gravel road. Landyn was the only one who had his sandals with him, as my mom and sister followed my shoe protest. As we walked along, thinking it would just be a short jaunt up the street, Landyn gave his shoes to my mom, the person least down for toughing it out barefoot.

IT WAS HORRIBLE. We tried our best to dodge stones and keep an eye out for bits of glass, carefully selecting the flattest looking sections to place our feet on, tip-toeing in the street like a bunch of idiot tourists. A golf cart passed us twice before finally stopping and offering us a ride to where the best frog-sighting spot was. Anita hurried along behind us, as there wasn’t room for four and she was wearing Landyn’s sandals. When we reached the road which connected to the frog path, we realized there was a shortcut we could have taken just 20 yards from our beach chairs. We could have spared our poor feet a lot of pain.

I’d like to take a moment to point out my own innately stubborn self, for there were multiple times my mom suggested we head back to our chairs to grab our shoes and regroup, but I refused. “I’ve come this far, I’m not going back now.”

Pride is a funny thing. Essential, yet sure to screw you over from time to time. You need just the right dosage. That afternoon, I had too much. Even as I stared down the shortcut path, so close to our belongings, I turned around and headed up the gravel hill, still barefoot. What I didn’t realize was that our journey didn’t stop at the jungle’s edge. Oh no, we needed to trek inside of it to find these frogs.

So, we forged ahead, again without shoes, into a jungle walk that was uphill and somehow even more painful than the road. It was up to this point that we truly had kept our wits about us, but here we became unhinged. Slowly unraveling, then all at once it culminated with all of us yelling at each other in the middle of the jungle.

And then, I saw it. A tiny red being perfectly poised on the end of a leaf.

“Alright, I found it,” I barked at my family.

Nobody could properly take in the beauty and coolness of the tiny crimson creature because we were all way too uncomfortable standing on the rock shards.

Finally, Landyn was over it. “Okay that’s enough, I’m gonna go grab all of our shoes from the beach chairs.” And with that, he took back his sandals and headed out. The rest of us stewed in annoyed silence.

When he returned, we were finally able to enjoy our frog-hunting experience.

We headed back to our hotel around sunset and a wave of sun exhaustion washed over us. What we had thought would be a night of fun at our party hostel turned out to be rather anticlimactic. After dinner, we were all too tired to do any drinking so we hit the hay early.

The next day was our last day in Bocas. We were catching an overnight bus to Panama City so we had until 4:30pm before we needed to be at the water taxi station to take us back to the mainland. So, Landyn, Carly, and I were supposed to all go scuba diving together while my mom hung out reading her book in the sunshine.

However, Landyn had gotten a bad case of traveler’s bug that developed late the previous night and intensified into the morning. We have attributed this fact back to someone using the tap water to make Crystal Light and coffee each day at Ocean Loft when the tap water was not safe for drinking. This may or may not have been the actual cause, but it sure was fun to give my mom shit about it (pun intended).

So Carly and I went by ourselves. Since Carly had no diving experience she did what’s called a Discover Scuba, where they’re supposed to put you in a pool, or other confined water area (like off the end of their dock), and teach you the very bare basics of diving. Then they take you out, plop you in the ocean, and essentially hold your hand as you swim around and explore.

Well, that is not exactly how things went down for us. Carly watched a 20-minute video, and to my shock, we were fitted for gear and taken out on the boat. For some reason, our dive master felt it was a good idea to teach Carly how to breathe using the regulator, how to clear her mask (a super uncomfortable skill that took me quite a few tries to master during our confined dives back when I got certified), and generally how to scuba in the ocean.

I went in first and descended onto a patch of seagrass, and the dive master instructed me to wait there until he came back with my sister. Well it took a while for her to get comfortable with all of the aforementioned skills at the surface, so I was chilling by myself for a solid ten minutes. This was fine with me as I twittered around a little bit and checked out some nearby shells on the ocean floor, but as time ticked on I started to freak myself out a little bit. The visibility in this water was drastically different from the crystal clear Carribean waters I dived in Honduras.

The more I considered this fact, the murkier the water seemed to become. I talked myself off the ledge, took some extra deep breaths, and told my brain to relax. Still, I felt immense relief when I finally saw two humans swimming over to me. After Carly repeated the skills on the ocean floor, we were good to start our dive. At this point, there was no real hand-holding done for poor Carlybear. If anything I think I gave her more support and hand-gestured advice than our diving instructor.

Despite the less-than-supportive leadership, we did have a great dive site and saw tons of beautiful fish, coral and rock formations, and even a stingray burrowing in the sand.

When we surfaced, I asked Carly if she liked it and she couldn’t quite decide. Which, if you’ll remember from my own first time diving in open water, is exactly how I felt. I assured her that after our next one she would feel a lot more confident about it.

The second dive site was really close to our first. As we were about to get in, our dive master informed us that this would be a shipwreck site. Immediately, I felt a little nervous. I had never dived a wreck before, and it wasn’t something I was particularly eager to do because I imagined it would look very creepy.

I’m happy to report that my gut instincts are still spot on.

As we progressed through the dive, I honestly forgot that we were ultimately moving towards a wreck. Suddenly, I noticed a huge, dark object behind Carly and realized what it was. The murky water had obstructed our view of the sunken vessel until we were nearly on top of it.

I pointed behind Carly and watched her gasp through her regulator as I had.

It. Was. So. Spooky.

For whatever reason, all I could think of is the stormy scene in Tarzan where his parents’ ship sinks and they’re washed ashore. I imagined this is what it would have looked like. I found Tarzan’s parents’ old boat.

I didn’t want to go any closer to it. In fact, my first impulse was to shoot right up to the surface and get the hell out of there.

But our dive master swam closer and closer, and like stupid little guppies, we followed. It was a big catamaran that had a net across the bow, like what you see on the romantic Bachelor dates in Bora Bora. I almost threw up in my regulator when he swam underneath it, into the literal darkness and shadows. He motioned for us to follow and I immediately shook my head no. I was panicking. What the hell was lurking in the corners under there? I’m all for experiencing the aquatic marine life but I like to see it coming.

A few deep breaths later I decided that I would be mad at myself if I didn’t do the thing that scared me. Moreover, I knew that Landyn would be so disappointed that he missed a wreck dive, since he had been dying to do one since before we even got certified, and he would kill me if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity to fully experience it.

So I swam under the damn bow and investigated the barnacle-covered walls and clusters of fish. He then pointed up to the net and motioned for me to swim up through the torn corner. This was double creepy. Something about rising up from the depths of a sunken ship just didn’t sit right with me. But there I was doing the damn thing.

He then had us swim over the top of it, and ultimately through the busted out window into the cockpit. Carly joined us for this portion as she was not about to get left behind all by her lonesome. It was, again, really spooky to be standing in the wreckage with pieces of boat strewn about and the floor caved through. We made our way back out of the cockpit, up and over the top, and became encircled by a school of fish. It was the perfect light-hearted ending to a semi-traumatic dive.

Carly, naturally, needed to take a picture of her touching the butt.

As we closed out our diving experience, Carly said that was a one-and-done for her. Looking back now, I can see why.

We reunited with my mom and Landyn and relayed our harrowing tale, grabbed some lunch, and hung out at our hotel until we needed to head to the water taxi station.

One bumpy boat ride later, and we were back on mainland Panama in Almirante.

We had paid for a service that included our water taxi ride, a shuttle from the Almirante water taxi terminal to the Almirante bus station, and the bus ride from Almirante to Panama City.

However, we were hustled by some guys stating that our “van sometimes had trouble” and they “had no idea when it would be coming.” But, of course, we could pay their friend to take us to the bus station so that we wouldn’t miss our bus. That nonsense really pissed me off, particularly because I have never experienced a glorified shake-down like that at any point in our travels down here, and it was super disappointing to come across it with my family in tow and a bus we needed to catch.

15 minutes of indignation, indecision, and potentially misplaced pride later, we caved and hopped in a taxi and paid the additional cost. After nearly leaving my purse on a chair in the bus station, and what can only be described as a maybe-too-eventful day, we finally got on the bus and were able to relax.

That is until we got onto the mountain roads.

It was the fastest I had ever felt a bus fly through the mountains. We sloshed around side-to-side as the driver barely slowed for the sharp turns. There were numerous times where I truly believed we were going to tip over and roll right down the mountainside.

The silver bullet arrived in Panama City around 4am. We had not booked a hotel for that night since we weren’t supposed to get into the city until 6am, and we had planned to kill time before our hotel check-in for the next night by grabbing some breakfast. This plan was contingent upon a couple of things which ultimately did not happen: the first, that we would get some actual sleep on the bus. The second, that we would arrive in the city when businesses and restaurants were open so we could occupy our time. The third and final wrench to the plan was that the owner of our next hotel (whom I had been messaging the previous day to confirm our arrival) would allow us to check in early.

Again, none of these things happened. The hotel owner gave me the run-around and then stopped responding altogether, we were beyond exhausted at the bus terminal as the wild ride had not been very conducive to quality sleep, and we had nowhere to go since it was still the middle of the night.

This led to an epic debate in the Panama City bus terminal: should we or should we not try to book a hotel room to crash in immediately? Landyn was the only one that had somewhat slept on the silver bullet and therefore couldn’t understand how desperate the rest of us were for a mattress under our bodies. I could exercise zero patience in explaining this to him and reiterating how this was absolutely the best decision for everyone involved. And so we went at it. Fueled by exhaustion and frustration at our strandedness, no sound logic or reason could enter our sphere.

Eventually, we found a deal for a room at a nearby DoubleTree and we jumped on it. We needed comfort and one of those ridiculously delicious cookies ASAP. And when we were finally settled in our room and all of our heads hit the pillows, all was forgiven. For someone who “didn’t see why we needed to find a hotel room to crash in,” Landyn was the first one to pass out cold. Snoring and all. Funny how that goes.

When we rejoined the land of the living around 11am, we all laughed (and apologized) over the early morning’s events.

After we left the homey comfort of our DoubleTree room and checked into our hotel in Casco Viejo, the old, historic district of Panama City, our exploratory journey began.

We spent the next two days wandering around street markets, drinking incredible coffee, and embarking on self-guided walking tours.

One afternoon we took a taxi to the nearby Metropolitan National Park where we hiked up trails to reach some of the most gorgeous views of the canal and the city.

We kept busy but also made time to relax and enjoy the culture and everything Panama City had to offer.

Our third day was arguably our biggest one of the entire trip. Ever since I was young, I had heard my mom talk about how she’d love to see the Panama Canal. When we first began planning this trip and decided we definitely wanted to hop the border over to Bocas del Toro, I quickly advocated for trekking down across the country to Panama City in order for her to see her canal.

Once she researched the different ways to experience it, she decided she really wanted to go on it, go through it, so she graciously bought us all tickets for a boat cruise. She was like a kid on Christmas morning when it came time to meet the shuttle that Tuesday morning. And although she was by far the most passionate about it, we all were enthusiastic and excited to check it out.

After this year I know how incredible and gratifying it feels to check items off your bucket list, so I was most excited for my mom to experience that herself.

And honestly, the tour turned out to be so much cooler and fascinating than we anticipated it would be. There’s something that leaves me filled with awe in knowing I’m looking at (or cruising down) a piece of history. Not to mention crossing over the Continental Divide, hearing how much time and effort went into the canal, the insanely smart ways in which they operate and mandate it, and how it completely transformed Panama as a nation. It was nothing short of extraordinary.

The crew must have noticed the blondie snapping a thousand pictures because they pulled me aside and let us climb up into the captain’s cockpit and take in the views from his balcony.

The tour lasted the entire day, and when it was over we were riding a unique high. A bucket list, we just did a once-in-a-lifetime thing sort of high. It was one of my favorite days from the whole trip.

The next day was a bit of a shitshow. We were all exhausted and hanging by a thread. A jam-packed two-week vacation is no joke. Our activities included visiting Punta Culebra, a nature center associated with the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, and going to the famous Miraflores Lock in order to track down a t-shirt Anita desperately wanted.

We were tired, snippy, a little bit at each others throats, but ultimately ended the day with a walk through another beautiful part of Casco Viejo.

The key to having successful family vacations is being able to roll with the punches and rebound after things get tense. I must say, my family does this impeccably well.

Our final hurdle: getting to the airport at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning. Carly and my mom were headed back to the Midwest, and Landyn and I were headed to our next adventure: Belize. Landyn and I left first with a departure time of 6am, so we needed to be at the airport early.

Our alarms went off at 2-2:30, and we began the Uber-calling process at 3am. The app wouldn’t allow us to select an SUV option, probably as it was the middle of the night and there were limited drivers, and the first Uber that showed up was a particularly small sedan with crap already in the trunk. We kindly sent him away, explaining it simply would not work. We tried to call another Uber, who drove right past us and didn’t turn around as I chased him down the street, arms flailing. The police were very helpful and hailed us a cab, but the driver was going to charge more than double what Uber was, and we were feeling defiant. Finally, Uber sent us a Toyota Camry and we made it work. There were suitcases and backpacks stuffed everywhere, and the audible scratching of the backend over bumps in the road was unmistakable. But we made it.

Carly and Anita’s flight left an hour and a half after ours, so we went through check-in and security together and then they waited with us at our gate. They stayed with us for as long as possible, until we were literally getting in line to board. I found this so sweet and endearing and it reminded me of how lucky I am to have people to miss so dearly who miss me in return. It seems like this past year has been a blur of equally tearful goodbyes and hellos. Our emotions laid bare in one airport after another.

And it’s hard for me to say goodbye to them, it really is. As we buckled ourselves in on our flight to El Salvador, our layover before reaching Belize, I thought about how much I was going to miss them and how wonderful our trips together truly are––imperfections and all.

Transitioning from having them around to having them leave again is never easy. But this time was eased by the knowledge that we were about to visit a place we had been dying to see.

I closed my eyes as the plane gained traction down the runway and as the wheels lifted up, I let go of my sadness and remembered that this is the cost of living this kind of lifestyle. There are hard goodbyes and sad truths. But it is definitely, always, one hundred percent worth it.

Until next time, friends.