Trepando en Boquete

Axel, the German Innkeeper, proved to be a visual leaner. He drew two hiking maps, full of legends without a key. I would have to pay close attention if I was to remember every little detail and scratch of his pen, identifying bridges, huts, trees, fences, paved and nonpaved paths.
With two days in Boquete and the weather sunny and cool enough for hiking, we left Dale to recover. His ex-rays revealed a torn heel ligament that Dale would need to stay off of for about three more days. Alec, the fellow from the Berkshires, had also rolled into town.
A taxi delivered us to the lowlands of Boquete, to the base of the Quetzal trail. The Quetzal is the Central Aamerican´s favourite green, longtailed bird that migrates here for a few months out of the year. We didn`t seen any... but the hike was grand. It followed old pipelines up to a dam and circular pond being filled by three waterfalls. A few frogs, butterflies, small birds, and a hummingbird entertained us. The typical insects were all over, such as red army ants and termites that create huge nests on trees.
In the evening, Alec drove us to Caldera. Steve had been to some natural thermal baths located in the fields of a remote farm. The sun had gone down by the time the Nissan Pathfinder brought us to the closest possible entry point for the path to the farm. Bumpitty, bump, bump all the way up, with rocks scraping the undercarriage.
We entered through a tall metal gate, Steve leading the way. He "kind of remembered" how to get there. As the impending obscurity made the trail invisible to us, Lorraine took out her mini flashlight. At some point it stopped working, the bulb blew. With Dale`s bad ankle, we were slow going, and Steve had completely disappeared and wasn`t responding to our calls. Roots of trees, stones, mud, small steams... every obstacle made this a painful walk for Dale and a guessing game as to which way to go for all of us. The barking several upset dogs and the honking of geese became our beacon. Steve must have woken up the farmer`s family. We were soon all reunited. Dale was not impressed by the walk and noone blamed him.
The farmer was surprised but happy to receive us and fetched a bamboo walking stick for Dale. We paid a dollar each to enjoy a couple thermal pools with stone walls around them. He provided a flashlight, asking us to leave it at the end of the trail so he could reclaim it later (we would leave a few more "thank you" dollars with the light). He quite seriously cautioned us to mind our steps for snakes and went back to bed.
HOT! But bearable. Soothing and fun. We soaked for an hour and told stories. Steve and Alec made their way down to the steam for a cooldown sesson. Dale rested up on the steps of a campesinos dorm.
The return through the woods was rapid, as we discovered the actual path!
Lorraine and I enjoyed a second day of hiking through a canyon with Axel`s other map. He wants us to come up with a name for this trail that starts at the Mozart Cafe and ends at his coffee plantation. We snuck a ride in the back of a pickup truck along the stone laden workers route along orchards of avocado and citrus trees. We couldn`t miss our entry point to the trail. Axel had said he had marked the tree with a circle and a snake design squiggled through it. Wack! I slapped the side fender of the truck bed with my hand to signal our man to stop when I spotted the paint. A dollar for his generosity and we made our way along a fence. The trail sharply dropped but the footing held as descended into the canyon.
The stream in the base of the canyon was gentle, and a nearby waterfall surrounded in budding flowers revealed a family of soft blue, orange and yellow butterflies. What a spot for a honeymoon hide-away. Close enough to town yet remote and stunning. Lushness and verdent splendor, rays of sunlight drenching the flowers and the banana trees. Someone must have planted these, as these flowers and trees were not evident anywhere else on the path.
Snap, click, a few photos and up the otherside of the canyon through a fence and "mira, una finca de cafe!" Twelve to fifteen foot high coffee bushes. A few step ladders alongside them for picking the beans. A very faint odor of coffee and lots of sunshine. How fortunate for Alex. Lorraine and I ran through the rows of coffee plants that were tightly woven with little room to pass. A few citrus trees were present and trees with orange flowers. We found poinsettia trees as large as a house! clearing the first field, a wide truck path revealed an indian hut and a cluster of four little children sitting atop a pic-nic blanket, drinking punch. Later we wouild see mother working in the field with a twelve year old son. The small children were Guaymi indians with BIG eyes, opened wide in the wonder of what these two pale folks were doing walking out of the leaves of the coffee plants. They wore brighly colored dresses, all handmade with embroidered fabric cut-outs. The workers we soon met all wore galoshes to keep the mud from ruining their feet.
We were happy, they were happy, everyone working and moving.
Following the truck path out, we passed greenhouses and buildings being erected... the signs of prosperity for these families and for Alex.
These children will probably live and die on this plantation, continuing the production and harvest, just as their parents and their grandparents. They were not going to school They were an example of third world life and the uncertainty of educational reform and enforcement in these areas where some inhabitants go uncounted and often unnoticed. This is neither good nor bad, unless you come from the mindset that the rules and expectations of first world lifestyle are for everyone. I catch myself feeling sorry for them, and then remind myself of their simplicity of life and honest work. I note the remarkable belleza y naturaleza that surrounds them, and how first world nations have raped and polluted their lands and the material minds of their inhabitants.
Spoiled or unspoiled, educated or uneducated, right from wrong? Who`s to say?
In any event, I am here to observe and must refrain from concrete judgements. I am, however, able to use these experiences to inform myself of the lifestyle that works for me, and the many options and ways of life available to those willing to venture. I know how fortunate I am to be blessed all of you back at home. Falmouth is not to be taken for granted, nor the gifts of comfort found in the daily lives of family, friends, co-workers and access to education.