Bocas del Toro: one extra.

I decided to stay in Panama for my last day of vacation. Tomorrow, I get on a bus to travel 6 hours to San Jose, Costa Rica so that I can catch my flight back to the States on Wednesday. So, what am I doing with my last day of vacation? Absolutely nothing. I tried to be productive, but it rained all day, which resulted in hours spent lying in the hammock, alternately reading a bad murder mystery from the book exchange, dozing, and being woken up by people passing by.

Just a few days ago, I was thinking that I might be a little relieved to be going home. My Central America trip was a bit more disappointing than my Africa trip I think. Costa Rica turned out to be one huge spring break-style destination more than anything else, though my favorite parts were Nicaragua and Panama for sure. I was getting tired of meeting people and was starting to feel decidedly anti-social. But trips have a habit of turning up atthe end, making you wish you had a few extra days or an extra week to squeeze in that extra bit of something that caught your eye. I met an interesting med student from UNC last night. An interesting med student who doesn´t drink and was going to turn in early originally. He was a friend of Brian, a guy I met earlier in Puerto Viejo, who turned up in Bocas today. Since I was already two tequila shots into the night, I chattered on quite a bit more than I usually do. I mistakenly revealed my secret interest in sci-fi (something that should always be kept under wraps when first meeting a boy) and that I owned a pair of Crocs, which I had to fix with dental floss when the hinge broke. Meanwhile, around us, girls with ruffly skirts and big hoop earrings mingled. But I had stopped wondering how they kept their clothes so smooth when my own clothes seemed to come out of the backpack perpetually wrinkled. Ah, the wonders of alcohol. He also doesn´t drink, which of course puts my interpretation of the night´s events into dubious light since drunk people always seem retarded to sober people. They were headed to Isla Bastimentos the next morning, but said they would stop by my hostel to say hello before they left. Around noonish.

He never came. Unless they stopped by when I was out for breakfast. And for some reason, I was disappointed. Though I know the common knowledge that boys never keep their word, never call when they´re supposed to, much less show up when they say they will, I couldn´t help but be puzzled by the no-show. Was it my imagination when he hugged me in glee since he has Crocs that he too repaired with dental floss? What about when he held my hand on the way back to the hostel and told me I absolutely must come with them to Bastimentos the next day because we have to exchange books? Looks like my playa-alarm must be malfunctioning. Funny, he didn´t seem insincere or the least bit shady. I actually thought we connected. But I suppose a connection over Isaac Asimov and Croc river shoes with tequila in the mix could potentially be questionable.

And to think, last night, I was asking myself whether I could possibly be attracted to a balding freckled (I think, it was dark) guitar playing mohawked med student who sings like he has the lungs of an elephant while strumming guitar. And not just any song, but Dave Matthews, who I happen to hate. The answer, oddly enough, was that I may quite possibly be attracted to such a guy. I suppose we´ll never find out now will we. Today, I left for San Jose, and I leave behind my balding mohawked med student without a goodbye, an exchange of email addresses, or even a last name. I´ll add him to the list of people I felt I hit it off with this vacation and will likely never speak to again.

Rivers from Nicaragua
JT the Mormon surfer (also from Nicaragua)
Mohawk from Bocas del Toro, Panama.

On another note, the DEET bug spray has not only failed to prevent the 92 bug bites I´ve accumulated on my body so far, but its also managed to melt the plastic face of the little blue Target watch I´ve had since my Africa trip. Yesterday´s snorkeling trip in the ocean resulted in its grisly death. It continually beeped every 3 minutes as it entered its death throes. I´m now watch-less and feeling very naked. Not knowing what time it is is strange. But I find that I´m more patient when I don´t have a watch. Waiting is a little easier when I don´t know exactly how long I´ve been waiting because I don´t know how mad I should be getting. There´s a certain freedom to not having a watch. Why are we so preoccupied with time anyways?