Boquete - Panama

It was inevitable that, after a highlight like the San Blas islands, Peter and I were setting ourselves up for a let down. That let down would be Boquete. Once a small coffee farming community set in the deep canyons of Volcan Bazu in Northern Panama, it has now become a hot spot for retired Americans who can afford to buy land there and live off there pensions. Not quite at that point in our lives yet, we wanted to go there because was a good base for climbing the volcano and a good place for trout fishing. You can guess who wanted to do what, but it doesn´t really matter, as both of us would be let down.

The town itself was nice enough, though their didn´t seem to be any real sense of a community or even a pulse of nightlife. However, we were quickly turned off to the place when we found that everyone in town was trying to sell us something. When I inquired in a couple tourist offices about fishing in the area, they all tried to sell me on deep sea charters, when Peter asked about hiking the volcano, they listed a bunch of all-inclusive tour operators.

The best was yet to come however, and it did in the shapely form of a young, attractive Canadian girl who approached us when we were having lunch and struck up a conversation. She told us how she had been in Boquete for a few weeks and, loving it, was planning on staying for a few months. Always relying more on fellow travelers for tips then guidebooks or tourist information centers, I listened intently and asked a lot of questions about the area. She told me she was studying at a nearby Spanish school and that they organized great trips in the area and for a good price. I suggested that we go by the school and see what they had to say, Peter seemed a bit more hesitant but came along in the end.

When we got there, one of the teachers, seeming to be expecting us, jumped on us with tour opportunities. He tried to sell us maps, books, tours, the whole bit. Still not really getting what was happening here, I asked him about fishing, and he told me he had a friend who could, for a price, drive us up to a couple good spots along the river. He said it would be $7 there and $7 back, and I though it would be worth it for the fishing info.

In the car, Peter confessed that he thought the whole thing was a ploy and that the girl was working for the school and they were just trying to suck as much money out of us as they could. Finally, I caught on and when the taxi driver, having not told us anything about fishing, dropped us off in the middle of the road and pointed down someone´s driveway saying, ¨fish, that way,¨ we kindly told him we´d find our own way back and that he didn´t need to pick us up.

A little pissed by this treatment after paying extra for the service, you can imagine how mad I was when it turned out that there were no fucking fish to be found anywhere. I dragged Peter up and down the rivers muddy banks, jumping barbwire fences and scaling rock faces seaching out promising holding pools but, to no avail. To top it all off, I broke my camera scrambling over a rock and was a little less then pleased to say the least.

After my blood pressure dropped back below 300, we headed back down the driveway and caught a cab back to town, which cost us a wopping $1 each. This confirmed our conspiracy theory and permanently soured us to the town. Cutting our losses, we decided to brake camp and make a run for the boarder, and crossed back into Costa Rica looking to get a few more rays of sunshine before Peter had to go home.