Arrived in the searing heat of a tropical sun, sweat for days and body angry from all the hot.
Wandered that one main street backwards and forwards until that Camping Spot appeared, then wandered from there to the casa for ages.
Left a language, found a language, never understood that tight-lipped Panamanian of the Señora except when it came to scrambled eggs and feeling like family.
Explained wisdom and Jenga to Rodolfo, then sat silently for hours in the aftermath watching that tower sway precarious.
Was scarred by that mystical sea creature and the appertaining booty shot, antibiotics.
Danced in the street late into the night with that Costa Rican musician, to that sweet music I couldn´t hear, swaying.
Broke my heart good on that idle Thursday evening outside that Campíng Spot.
Broke someone else´s in misplaced... everything.
Bastimentos, mud.
Left Bocas in a mad rain storm, sweating on 2 hours sleep and that sting of goodbye.
(now Boquete.)
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