The Devil in Bocas del Toro

Clearly, I couldn't make it out of Bocas without some collateral damage. Lost my digital camera (already #2 of the trip!) on my last night out... devil, I'm telling you. Luckily, the one photo I'd managed to download is pretty appropos of this blog post. Here's Tomo, my beloved Aussie coworker holding his not one or two but three to-go beverages from the bar in the wee hours of 80's power hour night. Enjoy.



I did it. I made it out of Bocas del Toro- but not before it got into my bloodstream.

It's a sick little town, Bocastown. Under a mile cubed, couple main streets, the docks on one side and the airport's tarmac out to the sea on the other. Erik and I stalked Calle Principal, the busy stretch of civilizationl in a four-hour-a-day game of "Gringo Hunt," handing out flyers and making new friends all over the concrete in the name of Bar Mondo Taitu. It was pretty funny, rolling out of bed hungover, slapping on the day's game face and a cup of coffee and rolling out for another day working the Bocas corner. We got to know all the other streetside characters too, the "Jesus guy" sunglasses vendor who had an unsettling habit of holding my hand whenever we'd cross paths, the nice drug dealers, the shady drug dealers, the surfers heading out with their boards and, of course, the devils.

Carnaval's a big deal in Bocas. It's a wild street party, originally based on the coming of Christianity and celebrating the defeat of the devil. But Carnaval doesn't start until later this month. These days, when dusk falls on the small park in the center of town and the streets are full of tourists returning from beach jaunts and locals doing their grocery shopping, the devils own Bocastown.

There were two, one red and one black. They were probably of normal height, but made much taller by the elaborately frightening masks and costumes they wore and the whips they carried in their hands. They'd lash out at passerbys with them, one more boggling detail of Caribbean life to add to the tourists' list of things-that-aren't-normal. The local kids loved them and ran wild during the day aping the devils, whipping their friends mercilessly with little regard to the ambulatory traffic around them.

Devils everywhere in Bocas. Devils like the chitres that bite you invisibly on the beach and 80's night power hour at work and bars with water trampolines and diving boards into the ocean and islands full of people who are on a quasi-religious mission to avoid the word 'no.' Devils like a group of friends who you like to hang out with too much and one person you can't get enough of and no Internet access to update your blog with.

So I had to scoot, and believe me it was a tough desicion. I lent Erik temporarily to the allure of killer waves and low-budget lifestyle and took a little plane south back to Panama City, to the (relative) sanity of Luna's Castle. Planning a long postponed descent down to Columbia, possibly after another week staffing the reception desk here in my beloved Casco Viejo. Gonna dry out, get back into my yoga and reflect on what a crazy three weeks it's been.

I miss Bocas already. Till we meet again, devils.