Why is the rum always gone?

Blasted back through Costa Rica in a day. First day back wanted to pick up some momentum "let's have it" so headed straight to Boquete, Panama. It was one of the highlights first time round, and with South America beckoning with a wink and a smile we were champing at the bit to get going again. So we walked and walked. Through the mountains, we passed a few sleepy villages and one or two Ngobe Bugle indians picking coffee at the roadside. Feeling the tropical sun on our skin once more we cooled our feet in an ice cold river (Boquete is elevated, so it's warm but the water is freezing) and had a plate of strawberries with lemonade for lunch. It was a good day - a great day, but travelling can do strange things to your brainbox. Boquete was familiar - we had already seen the beautiful surroundings, the native people and had enjoyed it fully. I'm not too sure how to express this without sounding like it's taken for granted, because I'll always look back on Boquete with great memories of an incredible Panamanian experience, but essentially we didn't want to be there. We wanted to be on the way to Colombia. Make no mistake - we've not forgotten how special this trip is, and how lucky we are to be here: we're blessed, blood...

Background: We had planned to sail to Cartagena from Panama - a five day voyage passing through the San Blas islands, something we were both really excited about. We had entrusted the booking and organisation of this journey to a hostel owner who had guaranteed us passage to Colombia at the start of January. The long and short of it is that we had to chase this person constantly for information. We were restless - after all time is a-tickin', and we were only being breadcrumbed little bits of information at a time. Turns out that passage is not something that can ever be guaranteed. It's not an exact science; sailboat captains can be impulsive and unwilling to give fixed dates for departure (information we were not privy to back in November when this person had said he'd sort it). It's like trying ot guarantee the weather. So this person was really a bullshitter of the lowest (or is that highest) order. The buck was passed so we blew through to Panama City to find more concrete answers. Me and Woody conducted Columbo style investigations - me with a beige trenchcoat and Rachel with the glass eye. Both with confused expressions - "just one more thing...". After a frustrating day of few answers we decided to opt out and fly. Not before a couple of days of desert island paradise on San Blas, which had played a big part in our initial boat-based excitement...

San Blas is a collection of over 300 desert islands in the Caribbean off Panama. The indigenous people - the Kuna Yala - own San Blas and allow tourists to stay on their own islands, enjoying their own slice of paradise for a modest price. We travelled in a convoy of pickup trucks over the steep and muddy rainforest trails, to a strange ska-punk soundtrack which fitted perfectly. I'm not sure why, but I think there's something most excellent about travelling in convoy - maybe it's the kind of military style movement or some sort of gang mentality. I don't really know, but I just think it's a bit special - or maybe 'tis me who is a bit special.....needs. Anyway after getting an absolute soaking on the dugout boat over to the island (seriously we would not have been more drenched if we swam) we were immediately taken aback by how beautiful Isla Senidup was. All the usual clichés - white sand, aquamarine sea, blue sky. If you draw a desert island from your secret mind, you usually get a mound of sand, a few palm trees and maybe a hut or two (for the more imaginative). That's Senidup. A classic desert island paradise. The island can only be about 200 metres sqaured in size. We had our own little straw hut with a little bamboo table and bed, and a floor of sand. Snorkelling in the clear water, relaxing on the beach and generally just getting a bit harmonic were how we filled our two days there. Also managed to get a bit of football with some Kuna boys. The Kuna are a fascinating people - they endured violent suppression by Panamanians (including the Panamanian police force) until the early 1900s when they stormed a police outpost and began a revolution. They were given their own 'comarca' formed by two provinces in Panama and their own flag (strangely, it's similar to the Spanish flag but with a dirty great swastika in the middle). The women wear huge amounts of bracelets on their arms and legs - one lady told Rachel it takes her over an hour to put them on in the morning - they have their own language and an independent currency based on bartering and swapping. Woody and I also got the pirate vibe we'd been looking for - added to by the abundance of rum on the island. We paid the price on the way back over the choppy seas with our fuzzy rum-heads from the night previous!

So on that high note we bid farewell to Panama, and indeed to Central America. For tonight we fly to the romantic city of Cartagena, Colombia, for the next leg of our globetrotting expedition....bring us that horizon!