Santa Catalina's narly man

So the one initial problem with Santa Catalina, was it's lack of food. Even the local restaurants were closed, aside from one fried chicken joint that didn't like Westerners. We'd be told by a girl at the Lost and Found to take some water and snacks because the local shop usually sold out pretty quick. When we arrived it had sold out completely and for 2 days after as well. I learnt to appreciate rice and tomato puree as a staple for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Calyn was leaving the following afternoon as she had a plane to catch from Panama City, but we spent the morning in the blistering heat wandering around on the beach before I saw her off at 2pm, on the last of three buses that left the town for Sonar, with promises to catch up in Seattle (her home town and one of my last destinations on this trip).

Rolo Cabanas, and the rest of Santa Catalina, is predominantly a surfers hang out; so there were some real dudes in this place with surfer dude language to match: narly, sick, dude and so on. Matt and I had planned a snorkeling trip, however, this was not meant to be (and also was expensive at $100+ a pop).

So after a day spent trying to find the beach - I managed to get us well and truly lost - Matt had resolved to get up early and collar a fisherman to take us snorkeling. A fine plan, but this man had slept in until the afternoon (the reason why we missed the first snorkeling trip) and was touting such plans around 1am to get up at 5.30am. I could see there were flaws here. The snorkeling didn't happen, but after a change encounter with two Dutch guys on the way to a surfing lesson, surfing did.

Our "teacher" was the epitome of a surfer dude, fully equip with the curly blond hair and quicksliver attire: we were ready to surf. Or not. After totalling it about one hundred times, losing my glasses and getting into trouble: "Charlie, stop doing your hair and get out of the break zone" (I hasten to add, any of you that know me will know this is an unlikely interpretation of the situation; I had in fact been wacked in the head by the surfboard after coming off and losing my glasses, sod the hair I was giving myself a second or two to get composed and check for concussion).

It was a great day though and at $30 for the lesson and hire of the board, a cheaper one than snorkeling. I surfed until I could surf no more and got burnt like an Englishman: this burn was much to the wonder of all the surfer dudes at Rolo's (who tan in their sleep) and I oft felt like a freaky science exhibit - wow man, have you seen how red you are?!?! Yes, thank you, I have.

Matt left that afternoon and I had one more night in Santa Catalina, resting my laurels in the hammock outside my room. The following morning I was up early to head to David, which was basically the journey from Lost and Found to Santa Catalina in reverse. The journey was relatively easy, though there were some odd goings-on on the bus from Santiago to David between the bus driver and a group of men. One being unceremoniously left on the roadside, and the other being taken by the police during a passport/ID check.

I was happy to arrive at the Purple House (yes it's all purple) backpackers lodge in David. There isn't much of a tourist pull to this place, aside from it's a hub for buses going all over Central America; I was here to catch one of those to San Jose the following morning. Because of a small delay getting to David, the ticket office was shut, so I was going to have to leave extra early the following morning, as there was only one bus per day and I was told they can fill up fast.

There were some great people at the hostel, and a friendly dog (named Cutie of all things) with a penchant for guest's toothbrushes and razors - in fact, the dog was so fond of the things the hostel owner had to keep a stockpile for if any should become a play-thing and need replacing.

The evening was spent with a few rums in good company, as is always when you just meet people in this communal atmosphere, passing the time watching films (though having lost my glasses in the surfing incident, the only way I could see the tv was using my wacky pair of prescription sunglasses) and chatting.

Up early, purchase tickets, "yo escribo mi nombre en el libre por la frontera" (check it out) and helped an elderly American gentleman out with some Spanish (it was basic, but I was so happy about this it was almost stupid) and headed off for the 10 hour journey back over the Panamanian boarder to San Jose. I was sat next to a Panamanian guy for the journey home who I'm pretty sure had been partying it up for Carnival because he stunk of beer; he wanted to practice his English and showed me pictures of his wife and little girl. He worked on a boat, but had trouble explaining what exactly it was he did and the conversation dried up a little due to both our lack of language skills.

Ten hours later and back in San Jose back to hostel 1110 and very glad to be there (even though I got conned by the taxi driver from the bus terminal, which gave me an anger to the point where I had to tell myself to "take deep breaths"). I had the following day to do all the souvenir shopping I'd planned and to simply take it easy before my flight to Calgary to greet winter.