15, End of the Road

A recovery truck? Oh no, we’ll come back to this later.

Our crossing into Panama was a complete mess. A shambles of misunderstanding and more pissing rain. At the first office, the system was down, so we made our way happily over the bridge into Panama to be turned around back to Costa Rica to another office we missed, and then on our way back trudging over the long bridge, the heavens opened and didn’t close again for about 6 hours. We eventually got everything in order, ish, and drove for hours until we got into the mountains where we set up our damp camp.

The precipitation had taken its toll on our home and mould had finally conquered the ceiling in the same way the Spanish conquered these lands many years ago. The capital city was clear, with many fortified towns spread across the whole continent of ceilingsville.  The first break in the rain for a week, we set about fighting for independence with a potent bleachy potion. We know mould is dangerous to inhale so we made sure to supplement it with frequent ingestion of bleachy bubbles, don’t worry.

Heading further upwards we make ourselves comfortable in a small town called Boquete up near Panama’s only volcano. On our way up we spotted the first Westfalia of our trip! Now we have another source of spares…

We camped at a ranger station at the start of a popular hike, for free, and set off in the morning sunshine for a nice hike through the jungle, again for free. Oh how we don’t miss Costa Rica. After a couple of hours hiking through the jungle we reached a deep river crossing which also served as a good turn back point, but before turning around Steve decided it would be fun to run around in the river in his underwear since we hadn’t seen a single soul on the whole hike, at which point two Spaniards turned up… Everyone laughed, Steve turned red.

The climate is misleading, it certainly doesn’t feel like late November so the presence of Christmas decorations is a source of confusion and entertainment.

Another magical spot that we almost missed, this time on the way towards hot springs. A glance to the side as we buzz over a bridge reveals a mystical river complete with waterfall and thick jungle, why wouldn’t we stop? After clambering down this place instantly becomes our favourite ever swimming spot with refreshingly cool flowing water, rocks to jump from and a waterfall pouring down perfect for the much, much needed shower. Eventually we realised we should be watching out for crocodiles, but there wasn’t any.

Reluctantly heading on we crossed the sketchiest bridge that ever did bridge. You know those little feeble bridges in the wilderness that you walk across and can feel the bridge bouncing up and down and it makes you a little scared? Well imagine one of those bridges but a tiny bit bigger but you’re meant to drive across it. Never before have we driven across a bridge that sags a metre of two when you reach the centre, and hopefully never again.

Another night, another river. And also another getting stuck in the morning. I know from the picture the getting stuck looks extra pathetic, but there was a giant washed out hole being the cause of cessation of motion, we’re not that bad at driving offroad. Fortunately 4 cars of fellow gringos heading for a walk in the forest arrived just as we got stuck but they ignored us completely, parked partly in our way 30 meters up the road and walked off. Oh, thanks, good to know another reason why gringos have a bad reputation in this part of the world.

The big day of driving, pushing on towards the big city on smooth roads. Everywhere south of the USA speed limits have been purely advice, sometimes not even posted and if they were posted, and you were speeding, the Police can’t catch you anyway since they don’t have speed guns. Until now. 101km/h in an 80, not bad for an old van. Ticket written, we are free to continue and “Reasuma La Velocidad”, well maybe not quite all of it since we pass another dozen cops with these pesky speed guns within two hours.

 

5 hours of driving complete, the van gets the first proper wash of the trip. Even the insides are cleaned as we sit back watching these poor children struggling to clean months of grime and disgustingness from Westy Rick. They do a good job, we forgot the van is blue. Then on to a camp spot at the highest point we can find, where we spend the whole sunset taking pictures rather than just enjoying it. Isn’t that the modern way? #ifthereisntapicturediditevenhappen

Finally we make it to the only thing everyone knows Panama has, a canal. It’s a big deal apparently, ships are built across the globe to the maximum dimensions possible to traverse these very locks. It doesn’t look that great though, just a big canal surrounded by dirty industry.

So in order to continue our trip, we must ship our van from Panama to Colombia, there is no road. Once there was a ferry but it exists no more. Our van will share a container with a fellow traveler to split the huge expense and go on a cargo ship with all the Christmas decorations. We will fly and meet our lil van there!

Tomorrow is a big day, we have to go into the depths of this city early in the morning to get the van inspected before we are allowed to export him. With our shipping partner Simon, we make camp at a popular overlander spot behind a hotel on a dead end street outside the city. Free WiFi, bushes to pee in, pure luxury. Another overlander is also here, Hans, in his big green bus. He’s been having a tough time lately so he heads off at 5:15 in the morning, we make our way in nearer 7:00. They only inspect 25 vehicles a day, so you better not be too late.

It’s a beautiful drive in, the sun rising over mountains

of shit thrown in the road, just stunning. 

We arrive a little late, but fortunately get number 21 of the 25, so we’re good to go but have to park outside the police compound. This really is shitsville, worse than I suspect you’ve seen before. Now you might be thinking I grew up in the North of the UK, or I travelled through East Hastings in Vancouver but this is another level completely. Trust us. Its 7:30 and people are staggering around off their face, everything is a mess, and we don’t feel comfortable. And then a terrifying story of Hans’s morning, poor guy.

So he arrived at 5:30 in the darkness and parks immediately behind the still closed police compound before getting out to chat to a couple of police about where to park. A large gang appears and right in front of his bus, just metres from where he is stood, they murder one of the group with a machine gun. Blood splatters on his front grille. The body is then dragged round to behind his bus, he and the police are told they didn’t see anything and he has to manoeuvre around the corpse to park somewhere else. To all those early risers who are up before the sun, it is dangerous don’t do it. 

So we await our turn for the inspection, nervous for many reasons, but managing to park in the compound as soon as someone else leaves. The inspection itself, it turns out, is to verify that the VIN and Engine Number match from your paperwork to the vehicle itself to try and stop the exporting of stolen motors. The engine number on our temporary import paperwork bears no resemblance to what may or may not be written on our engine, so perhaps we’re doomed. Busy delaying his PTSD Hans has the same problem, but had fortunately committed his Engine Number to memory and very kindly reads it out to the inspector because it is oh so tough to read up there in the darkness. Steve attempts to scribble our paperwork Engine Number onto his wrist whilst awaiting our inspection but the sweat prevents that Bic from laying down the ink, but the trying and trying is enough for it to stick in his mind, hopefully.

The van is backed against a wall, and a lot of stuff is piled in the back, it just would be too much work to get to the engine. It’s our turn, the inspector quickly ticks off the VIN and we’re halfway. He knows where the engine is, we walk towards the back wall where the smell of urine fills the air. Steve ducks down, and points up to the engine to show where that number most certainly is not, looking back the inspector is resting the paperwork on his knee, ready to hear that lovely number that is defiantly just here before signing off and we can leave this shitty part of town forever and ever. The pressure is on, Steve, with a huge smile on his face, starts reciting “Dee, Cee, Bee, Six….” Before realising that perhaps this is a little too obvious, so summoning up his best acting skills sticks his head back under the van to stare at the oil, mud and darkness before “Zero… Errrr…. Eight”  Ding ding ding, jackpot, signed off, good to go with another feather in the quiver, an arrow in the hat of Steve’s lying accomplishments.

This day is also the day of Jenjen’s Grammy's funeral service back on Vancouver Island, something we are of course saddened to miss so we have our very own memorial out on the causeway watching the waves lap against the shore, drinking her favourite drink, a gin and tonic in a Canadian cup with Canadian tonic.

Steve isn’t the smartest guy, and it took him far longer than he would ever admit to figure out if the tap water here is potable or not. But eventually, the drinking fountain right in front of his face gave it away.

One day to explore the nicer parts of this city now all our paperwork is in order so we head to “the old town” where we find a massive bell getting moved around, some homeless people and lots of stray cats.

Next stop, a small hike to a viewpoint where it is clear those that walk slowly (despacio) are those with the most toned posteriors.

Panama City is not where we ship from but instead we must travel to Colon, an aptly named port city where our vehicles will be discharged from onto a boat. Not wanting to camp in this renowned shit hole we stopped along the canal in the heart of the jungle with our container buddy and had a peaceful night’s sleep with just the sound of frogs, weird birds and monkeys before a hike in the morning.

Tomorrow becomes the day, and our last night with our vehicles in Central America is spent under a bridge, like trolls. You probably don’t believe us, but it was actually quite peaceful. Also, there’s a nice river just out of sight which made for some lovely swimming.

Loading day, nothing can go wrong now, we meet our agent and are taken to a big yard covered in rubbish and surrounded by what looks like mostly broken trucks. We assume the last few years of a trucks life, once it cannot be trusted anymore, are spent moving trailers just a few miles back and forth between ports and yards. Now, about that recovery truck, we tricked you. That’s our elevator.

Our home is now locked away, hopefully we have our passports and all the key paperwork needed to retrieve him in Colombia. Oh crap! We left the speeding ticket in the van, how will we ever pay that now? Oh man, how will we sleep tonight?

Now we are sans van, for the first time we’re away from our home for more than a few hours. It’s been two and half months since we’ve slept in a bed that is outside the van, that’s a long stretch of camping in anyone’s book. Another thing to consider is that we two humans haven’t been separated for more than half an hour at any point during this trip, and even that has been infrequently. We’re together virtually all the time, day and night and it’s fantastic. Believe it or not.

So now we’re holed up in a hotel back in Panama City, avoiding going anywhere too far away waiting for our flight. Another overlanding couple were robbed in broad daylight at knife point a couple of days ago, that’s the second time they’ve had their phones and camera taken since they started their trip. We splurged and got a hotel with a pool, so we really don’t need to go anywhere.

It’s taking some serious adjustments to not having our van, having to leave all tools behind Steve had to change a plug over using just a pair of nail clippers. And with no fridge, but free ice the rubbish bin was repurposed as a makeshift cooler. And no table but a desk against the wall? That’ll do for dinner.

So now we’re finished with North and Central America, it’s been almost four months making it halfway through the trip already. A terrifying realisation for us, that it isn’t going to feel like long before we have to try and fit back in with normal society, and take it seriously when the alarm goes or respect authority in any form. But we shan’t dwell on that, we have a whole continent to discover yet.

Bon voyage, Westy Rick.

Road to nowhere