Day 4

Monday, Day 4: I awake to see the marmalade colored sun begin to rise over the mountain peak we crossed the night before. My body aches, but in a good way, the way it does when you know the worst is over. It’s a satisfying feeling. Alex and I eat a couple of oranges that Silvania’s siblings pick for us and then some “patio” chicken soup. “Pollo de patio” or “mountain free-range chicken” is not like chicken at all. It’s more like leather. I got a giant piece stuck deep between my back molars and I joked with my new friends that I would be taking a piece of San Soleadad with me all the way back to Panama City.

We met with the pastor of the church in San Soledad. He told us that not many missionaries have ever made that hike, the one that the Buglere people make as part of their daily life. He said most missionaries take a boat or the small plane. He said that it speaks much to him that we made that trip. That one sentence made it all worth it.

We talked and shared our heart to redeem the culture of the Buglere people through their music, and our desire to do a teaching and song-writing workshop at his church in the near future. He loved the idea, and said he would begin promoting it and telling the people to start making their traditional instruments by hand.

I learned so much in that short conversation. Before this, I thought that the Bugleres traditionally did not use instruments in their music. After talking with the pastor, I found out that they have many diverse and interesting instruments that I have never even heard of before! They just have not used them commonly for years. We also learned that most of the dresses that the Buglere women use are really from the Ngobes, a neighboring people group. He explained how their traditional dress was much different, but the new clothes that the Ngobe had adopted were much more comfortable. I thought about it, I guess I would rather wear cotton blend than palm bark. Ha!

We then headed down the mountain to the coast, the town of Santa Catalina. It was a two hour hike, but I think it turned out to be three hours. After yesterday, though, nothing seems bad. This was all downhill!

We finally used up all of the purified water we carried with us. One of Silvania’s aunts had boiled us some of the creek water, but the smoke from the coals that boiled the water made it taste like wet cigarette juice. It was everything I could do to not gag. 

I saw my first multi-colored poisonous dart frog on the trail, tried to get a good picture but failed. Oh well. Speaking of poison. Silvania’s dad decided now was a good time to tell me about something that had happened the night before on our hike. He said that right on the side of the trail, the whole line of us hikers had passed a highly venomous viper. The only person to see it was the last in the line. They told each other but decided to wait until the next day to tell the Gringo. They also told me that the nighttime was the worst time to hike if you want to avoid snakes. Thanks guys. Also, Alex said that he was glad that I got to experience an indigenous person’s reality in their daily life.

We arrive Santa Catalina around noon. Seconds after getting to the New Tribes Mission base, Silvania asks if I want to go swimming in the ocean.  “It’s right over there”, she says. Now remember, dear reader, that “right over there” means what? Yes, a few miles. She says there’s a store that has cold sodas. “Alright, where is it?” “close”... Why don’t I learn? 

We get almost to the store and I realize that my money is back at the mission base. So we decided to swim at this part of the beach. I go to change behind a tree, as I squat down to hide myself from being seen, I fail to realize that the branch brushing up against me is full of biting ants! I ran into the ocean so fast, you wouldn’t believe!

Now this whole trip I had been praying that God would help us get in and out as fast a possible, both to be at the YWAM base to prepare for the new Discipleship Training School and to be with our families. Earlier, at the New Tribes Mission base some of the locals had laughed at us when we asked if any boats were leaving today so that we could take a bus from the Caribbean port near Costa Rica. They said those boats are few and far between and you’ll be lucky if you can get one in about 5 days! “Lord please”, we prayed! 

Now remember the different modes of transportation I was telling you about at the beginning of this letter? I decided to start asking around after my time swimming in the ocean, if anyone was leaving this afternoon. I stopped by the clinic and asked an elderly gentlemen playing dominoes. He said he thinks the doctor is leaving today and I could ask him. He is a young latino man, and I see him trying to use the community’s only pay-phone. I introduce myself and ask if he would be willing to take two people with him on his way to Chiriqui Grande, the port. He hesitantly asks whom we know here in Santa Catalina. We told them we were friends with the mission and his face lit up. He told us how he and the mission have a very good relationship and would love to take us. How much? Nothing. PRAISE GOD! “But we’re leaving in 20 minutes, I have two emergency patients that have an ambulance waiting for them at the port”. 

My body, still aching but pumped with adrenaline found the strength to run back the few miles back to the mission to get Alex and tell him the news. I arrive, completely winded, and he starts to get ready. We then run back with our backpacks on and make it with minutes to spare.

The boat the doctor has is the “penca”, the fiberglass boat that will get us to the port in a spine-crushing, 4-hour ride. The boat was tied to a tree and was being thrown around by all the shore break. Needless to say, this was no protected bay. We took off sailing straight over some of the smaller waves. The experienced driver knew how to time this all just right. Then we sped as fast as the engine would take us parallel to a few 10-foot waves, getting out of their way in what seemed like the nick of time. We finally made it past the big breakers, but I was still planning on what I would do to swim back to shore if the boat was capsized by one of these giant waves.

The two patients and their families took up most of the 20-foot boat. One patient was a 7-year-old boy who had second degree burns all up and down his body. His dad held him on his lap the whole way there. His little head was jerking up and down the whole time, occasionally smacking against the wood seat. The other patient was a 50-some year old man who was in a lot of pain, and was lying on a plastic hospital mattress propped up against the bench I was sitting on. About 20 minutes into our trip that bench broke in half from one of the extremely harsh bumps that was caused by the bow of the boat crashing at 50 miles an hour on the next wake.

I found my happy place on the floor of the fiberglass boat, holding onto the side with my right hand, trying not to get knocked around too much. I would change hands every so often to dry my mummy-like hand that would get wrinkled from the salt water spray that was constantly smacking it. The life-jackets the driver gave Alex and I served better as seat cushions than life preservers, so that’s just what we used them for.

All along the way we could see little villages and little settlements, literally in the middle of nowhere. Boats were these people’s only means of transportation. Why would they want to live here? What must life be like for these people? We passed by one small bay and we saw small canoes that look very much like others I’ve seen in the past going up and down rivers with outboard motors, but these had small, 7 foot by 4 foot, triangle shaped sails on them. This bay was heavily dotted with them; it was like a scene from a fantasy movie.

Night fell and we still had one and a half more hours to go. We finally entered the protected bay of Bocas Del Toro and the waves were much more calm. The stars came out like shimmering diamonds in the sky. I thought of how navigators of old would use these beautiful lights to guide them. I believe this was my first time on the open ocean at night. It was perfect to go with my first time hiking at night, the day before.

We arrive in Chiriqui Grande port. We see the lights of the ambulance in the distance, when all of a sudden, our motor sputters and then stops… Now what? I hear on the radio one of the nurses with us is holding, “Where are you guys?” “Do you need us to pull you in?” The driver tries various times to restart the engine with the tank of gas tilted. Finally he gives up and radios another boat to come tow us the remaining 100 meters to the dock. The driver then tries one last time and the engine fires up!

We sputter on to the dock where the whole town is gathered around, waiting to see the patient transfer. Alex and I help holding the boat steady while they lift the patients to the dock and into the ambulance. By the time I step out the ambulance is gone.

I decide to put on my wet socks and shoes and save my very last pair of dry socks for the bus ride home. Alex and I walk off the dock into what seems like the very center of a small town. Chiriqui Grande looked like a typical Latin American town that offers none of the familiarity for Westerners that many of the larger cities now have. For me it was like going back to the time of my DTS outreach in Mexico. It reminded me of some of the strange and slummy towns that we would go through.

Now the missionary at the New Tribes Mission back in Santa Catalina had told us that the last bus left Chiriqui Grande at 9:00pm. Because of our little gas-running out incident we were now at 8:30pm, a half hour later than expected. Now it was really cutting close! We were also told that the bus terminal was some distance out of town and we would have to take a taxi to get there, first thing.

We went to the nearest corner, looking very out of place. Here we both were, a white American with a big backpack on and an indigenous man with an equally big backpack on, all in the middle of the nightlife of a predominately Black-Latino town. We wait for a taxi. We see many people driving up in taxis and then we are turned down by every single one after they drop off their passengers. We keep waiting, 8:45 roles by. I am getting very nervous. My cell phone finally has signal after 3 days of none. I look for some number on the side of one of these taxis so that I can call one to come pick us up, no luck, no telephone number.

I suggest going to the next corner, where we might have more luck. Alex says, we don’t know this town we should stay where we are. I see the wisdom in that, but then I start to think…if we don’t get a taxi in the next 5 minutes, we are going to have to find a place to stay the night in this town that we don’t know, and trust me, the shoddiest roach motel in my home town doesn’t even compare to the nicest hotel here. Not a place you would feel very safe either.

I convince Alex to go the next corner, while I call information for a number of a taxi service in this area. Just as I call information I spot another taxi. He just dropped off his last customer and is going grociery shopping at the mini-mart with his family. I beg him and tell him of our situation, and he assuredly tells me to keep waiting a bit longer, one’s coming. So we go to the next corner and keep waiting. Nothing.

I pray one more time that God would provide a taxi for us so that we can at least get to David, the next big city over the mountain range on the Pacific side, at least there we can sleep in the bus terminal until early the next morning when a bus for Panama City leaves. I feel motivated to go over to the same taxi driver who is now shopping with his family. I feel kinda bad asking him, but I did it anyway. I told him our situation and he agreed to take me. He also assured me that the bus doesn’t leave until 9:30 anyway. Phew! PRAISE GOD!

So we squeeze in the back seat of his 4-door mini Nissan pick-up, a very common taxi vehicle. And wouldn’t you know it, 4 other guys hitch a ride in the back of the pick-up as well. I keep a tight eye on my backpack.

We get to the “bus station” which is more like a gas station with a little outdoor restaurant. We see a short but nice looking tour bus, running, looking like it is ready to take off. I ask to buy a ticket, he starts to sell me one and then abruptly asks: “Where are you going?”, I say, “David”, he says, “sorry, we’re going to Panama City”. “I’m going to Panama City!” God’s provision once again! It’s a direct 9-hour bus ride. We can just sleep and be in Panama at 5:30 the next morning! I call Kristina and she is so excited!

I quickly go into the dingy bathroom to change into dry clothes and… dry socks. If anyone has ever been into a bathroom in a bus terminal of a developing nation than you can imagine what the wet, smelly floors of this bathroom were like. With no other choice I change into my clothes, dropping my wet ones… on the floor…gross, and roll up my pants to not get soaked on the floor. Then, I, with dry socks in my pocket walk onto the bus, find the only remaining seat, take my smelly shoes and socks off, and put on my sacred, fresh, dry socks. I put on my jacket to protect me from the famously frigid Panamanian bus air conditioners, and settle in to try and sleep. I also avoid drinking my water, knowing this is a non-stop 9-hour bus ride.

I didn’t sleep much as the bus whirled and took these sharp, mountainous corners as if the driver were auditioning to be the driver in one of those new car commercials where there is a small caption on the bottom of the screen that reads: “closed course, do not try this at home”.

We stopped in Santiago, the place where we stayed the first night, at about 2 in the morning. I got out and had a bite to eat at the little cafeteria that is open just for the buses coming through in the middle of the night. I also had an idea that I got from my Swiss friend that Kristiina and I worked with in Venezuela. If at first asking the busdriver to turn down the frigid air conditioning doesn’t work, pull out your mummy sleeping bag and zip up. Great idea, I slept much better the rest of the way, not freezing like an icicle. One small problem, I think the bus driver didn’t like me messing with the system by asking him to turn it down, so he played this game where he would turn it off until it got sweatin’ hot, and then turned it on until it was frigid cold again. This made me only be able to doze off and on as I zipped and un-zipped my sleeping bag, all the way home.

We arrived in Panama City an hour early, 4:30am. The terminal is about a 40 minute drive from our house. Kristina was going to pick us up when it was at 5:30, her night vision isn’t so great so that was pushing it. It starts getting light around 6:15 here. But at 4:30, I just as soon her go back to bed and we get a taxi. We dickered one down to a reasonable price and headed home to finish our journey.

Kristina let me sleep all day, thanks Honey. I was so glad to be back and to hear Natalie say, “dah-dee!”.

I still reflect and thank God for how he brought us through this experience and got us though safely and quickly so we could be home with our families. It’s not that I was so desperate to be with them, but He knew and cared about the little things. It seemed that every time I cried out to Him, he responded in a very tangible way. First, the 4X4 pick-up that saved us 6 hours of hiking, then the human pack-mules to help us make a two-day hike in one day, protecting us from the snakes, protecting us from injuring ourselves on the trail those many hours, giving us just the amount of food and water we needed, protecting us from Colombian drug lords who I almost unknowingly asked for a boat ride in Santa Catalina, providing a 4-hour boat with the doctor, a taxi at the last minute, and the last bus out of Chiriqui Grande, not just any bus but a Panama City direct one.

We made this trip faster than anyone has ever made it I think. Sometime within the next few months we are planning on going back, but staying for a bit longer, and maybe taking a nice, smooth boat ride there. More on that trip after we go.

God is Great. He is always faithful. He cares about the little things and He loves you so much.

THE END... for now