The Saga Continues

The three musketeers (This is myself, Amy the swiss girl and Ule the german) arrived on the island Isla Colon, one of the many islands in the state entitled Bocas del toro, just off the Panama coast. Isla Colon is not completely corrupted by tourism, but it is the most developed and in the future I fear it will be in trouble if this doesn't slow down. The main draw to all the islands are the dense jungles that open up to the natural pristine beaches. And of course the energetic nightlife, charming small town life of the caribbean, and appealingly slow laid back way of living.

Welcome to my first blinding flash of sadness. Ule and Amy have gone. There are bigger and better things awaiting them. This is also true for myself however.

See, I would go off on a tangent about Bocas, but there really is nothing to say other than I have been having fun. There are no specific events worth repeating, just the words good times and wonderful people to sum it all up.

There is a guy I'd like you to meet however, his name is Quinton. Right out of high school he went to Alaska, got his wilderness paramedic's license and did an internship with 'Kayak Guiding and Mountaineering.' This is where his money and savings came into play. He then traveled around with his sister, Amy, to Buenos Aires, Ecuador. Patagonia, Chile, Peru, Bolivia, and Amy left him from Lima. From there he went to Bolivia and traveled for a month with his love, Nicole, who he still has deep love for today. He said a tearful goodbye to Nicole on the Galapogous islands and went to Colombia, travelled around with a lot of amazing people. He got stuck on an island with his Argentine friend Louis, ran out of money by this time and didn't eat for extended periods of time. There was a family - a young lady and a much older man on this island, with a child of 3 years old. They had nothing, but the family invited them into their house and cooked for them, welcomed them into their humble home consisting of not much more than a table and 3 chairs inside a wooden hut. He somehow got back to the mainland, and from there he took sporadic transportation such as chicken buses and trucks, to finally arrive in Bocas del Toro and meet me. He has worn the same shorts everyday for the last 7 months. This tall lanky blonde is 18 years of age and his family won't speak to him.

Kate Skaret, my sister, I am addressing you right now. You have been wondering what to do after high school for a little while now. You are tall and lanky. You are blonde. You are almost 18, and have just graduated from high school. If you ever do something like that I won't speak to you ever again.

Anyway, some of you might not believe this, but I would like to say that my travels have not been dangerous thus far. There have been many tourists, many comforting and safe places to go and see. I think it's time for a small change. Central America has not been my goal for the duration of my travels, it has been mere transit. The kind of adventure I'm seeking lies much further south. It's not dangerous, but I won't say that it's always safe.

This next paragraph may cause a slight headache, possible dizziness and stomach pains. Read with care.

There are many ways to cross the Panama/Colombian border. You can fly, which is hassle free but pricy. You can take boat, which is time consuming and a little irritating but much cheaper. Or, you can take your life in your hands with every step and attempt to walk the Darien gap. For people such as my sister who have just graduated from high school and don't know a thing about the real world, I will explain that the Darien gap is a long stretch of about 125 miles of forrest and swampland between Panama and Colombia. There is no road. The Darien gap is known for the presence and activities of the leftist Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. (FARC) Many countries recognize this as a worldwide terrorist group. These armed guerillas have committed countless human rights violations. To fund their organization they perform ransom kidnappings, gold mining and taxation of the illegal drug trade.

But enough with the meaningless facts.

There is no need to jump to conclusions, I of course am not going to try crossing the border by foot. Let's not be that silly just yet. The three options to any even slightly abnormal person are: fly, boat or turn around. A flight is expensive. Do I even need to address the option of turning around? And so, a boat is the way I shall do this.

This might be the last you will hear from me for a while. Once I get to Colombia I will not be flashing around my shiny Macbook computer or camera at least not right away, and it will take a number of days for me to arrive. Speaking of my camera it has mysteriously stopped working. I have no pictures of interest at the moment to offer, but some fairy dust I imagine will help and when my camera starts working again you will have your images of Colombia.

Bailey