Chasing Rainbows and Birds
Monday, January 7th, 2008I slept late, wandered into town, and ran into nomba-pals at boquete bistro where I listened to tales of a hunt of the elusive quetzal. A young American (sing that chorus david b) had arrived at nomba. For several years he’s attempted to spot that elusive bird: the resplendent quetzal. He’d dragged the Israelis from their beds at 5 am in an attempt to find this shy creature along a trail noted for it’s presence this time of year – to no avail.
I myself had hoped to find this creature soon, but now I wonder. I can only hope for good bird-karma. Personally, I think this is a quest best attempted alone or at most, with a guide. I detest bird-watching with non-bird-watchers. I purposefully discourage any non-bird-watcher-friends from joining me when I undertake this endeavor. It’s hard to ignore the stares that ask “are you ready to start walking again now?” after I’ve paused to follow my eyes or ears.
But what I did most today was read the book that debbi-doodle left me before she departed panama: “eat, pray, love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. Freed from rushdie’s children I’m sharing another (albeit more emotional) woman’s journey across the globe. I am thoroughly enjoying her story despite the fact that I’m only really good at one of the subjects she tackles as she moves from italy to India to Indonesia.
I did get a chance to walk south of town and document at least a handful of new species on my bird list. A little while later, after finding a source for cheap, whole roast chicken to keep in the community fridge (an addiction that has followed me to central America), I settled on the back patio to marvel at the evening’s rainbows.
As the mist creeps down the mountains around 4:30 pm the rainbows start to appear: whole rainbows you feel you should go touch or taste or at least go dig under at their ends. I suppose there IS gold in those rainbows. Not hidden in pots but in the bank accounts of American retirees. Land in these mountains is expensive.
But for now, on weekends, the town is filled with ngobe Indians – who’s women float in a sea of color and who’s men enter the back alleys late on Saturday night to partake in loosely organized tournaments of fistfights. I walked thru the small bar-zone this morning to see the pockets of men on the curb nursing the wounds from their fights with fists and alcohol.
today is my last day here before i move on. it’s grown on me. something i didn’t expect. plus, it’s easy to be comfortable here but it’s time to challenge myself a bit more. i will upload some pics, etc. but expect the updates to get less frequent in the coming weeks.
some closing thoughts/recommendations on boquete: nomba hostel is good for meeting people and getting adventure advice from ryan but the rooms at hostel boquete are a FAR better value and much nicer. the guy that sometimes runs the place is kinda flaky, tho, so confirm any reservation and if you plan to stay another day and have been told you can have another room, don’t move your stuff out until the other room is available. reservations and payments fall thru the cracks. boquete bistro has great breakfasts and lunch and good service. the lebanese restaurant (don’t know the name but there is only one) has excellent salads and looks fancy but is very reasonably priced. shalom bakery had great coffee, free wi-fi and crazy-cheap food. i had breakfast: bagel w/ cream cheese, chicken salad on cabbage and coffee for $2.50. the saturday ngobe market is not a morning market but starts later in the day.
and darn, today is a holiday so i may not be able to get laundry done :(.
Peggy Rehm