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Drug Barons, Michaela’s Knee And An Island Named Accountant: Days In Paradise
We have to admit that we’ve been a bit self-indulgent for the next seven days – well, it is Christmas after all. From now until 28th we’re on the ridiculously picturesque island of Contadora, out in the Pacific about 90 minutes on the little ferry boat from Panama City – a ferry boat which, with echoes of how Greek ferries used to be, crams as much goods and produce into its limited space as it does passengers. An early departure time means we’re down at Flamenco Marina before daylight and disembarked and checked in to our room-with-an-incredible-view on the island shortly after 10am. Before coming here we’d read that the…
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Cartago: In The Shadow Of Irazu
Our arrangements for the journey from Tortuguero to our next base are a bit on the sketchy side. The instructions are to be down at the riverside at 8.30am and ask for Kendall, who will take us in his boat to the nearest point where the road meets the river, at La Pavona one hour’s ride away, where we are to ask for a man named Robert, who will drive us to San Jose. After that we have to find the bus to Cartago. At precisely 8.30 a man in a blue polo shirt approaches us saying “La Pavona?”. He isn’t Kendall but he knows which is our boat. Later,…
