Panamania

I'm always up for adventure, especially when it involves traveling to new countries and discovering beautiful beaches. Why should it be any different when 8 months pregnant? Well, maybe I failed to remember that I'm married to a man who is proportionally rugged as his beard is big, and I'm proportionally irresponsible as my post-pregnancy butt is fat. So, two months before Harper was born, we decided to plan a quick trip to Bocas Del Toro, Panama.

The 6 hour bus ride (I learned my lesson) to the Carribean coast was hot but beautiful. Once we arrived at the coast, we took a 45 minute, very bumpy boat-taxi ride to la isla Colon. I thought I was going to pee my stretchy pants the whole time, a phenomenom that my trampoline-fearing sister told me about but I never understood until that moment. After disembarking the boat and hastily finding a toilet, we checked into a little hostel and crashed for the night.

The next day we rented bikes and decided to check out the island. Unbeknownst to me, the paved road would quickly turn into golf ball sized rocks, thus sending me on a potentially labor- inducing ride around a deserted island. (Check 1 for fat butt/irresponsability proportionality.) Once my pregnant body grew numb to the constant tumult and did not go into preterm labor as expected, Rivers convinced me to keep going because he was sure there were beautiful beaches ahead. (Check 1 for rugged/big beard proportionality.) Well, being the obeisant wife that I am, I kept on peddling my little cruiser through mud and sand under the hot sun until we were miles away from the town. That's when I realized that I hadn't brought any water. (Check 2 for fat butt/irresponsability proportionality.) At first I tried to be stoic, but it was really hot and I was really pregnant. Naturally, Rivers shimmied up a tree (check 2), took out his hunting knife (check 3), and hacked off a few coconuts. He then whittled a stick into a point and opened the coconuts on the pointy stick, handed one to me and told me to drink. (Check 4, 5, 6, 7.) I was soon rejuvenated but decided I'd had enough adventure so we turned around and bumped home. Somehow I did not pee my pants.

The next day we decided to check out the less-inhabited island Bastamientos, so we took a water taxi and were dropped off in what looked like someone's backyard. We asked the boat driver how to get to the town in order to find a hostel to drop off our backpacks, and he told us to walk towards the "blue tarp" and we'd find the main street. He failed to tell us that the street was more like a dirt road, and there were in fact no cars on the street (or the whole island), and the town was comprised of about 20 houses, 3 restaurants and 4 hostels. After walking around the blue tarp a few times, (which was actually us unkowingly walking around town a few times) we gave up and asked an 8 year old girl how to get to the apparently beautiful Red Frog beach. The girl stared at us and, with a thick Carribean accent said: "you're gonna walk to rrrred frrrog beach?" Ummm... Yes? (Check...I lost count) Following her directions ("walk through about 10 people's backyards and you'll find a "street" that goes straight there") we set off for the beach. After about 20 minutes of walking uphill through thick Panamanian rainforest mud, I lost my ocean appetite. My flip-flops kept slipping off, so I was walking barefoot. I was carrying a backpack, a purse, 2 litres of water (lesson learned), and technically speaking, a small child. I was really, really hot. I had slipped and grabbed a hold of a poisonous, ferocious plant and my hand was swelling. We had just seen a poision dart frog, which, under the circumstances, was more terrifying than exciting. I think I almost cried, but with lots of encouragement from Rivers, we finally found the beach. Were we satisfied? Nope. We were told that just around the corner was an even more beautiful beach, so we set out to find it. About an hour later, after trekking through more mud, more dart frogs and more tears, we found the beach. I was over it.

The next day, our last day in Panama, we went back to isla Colon and decided to rent bikes again. I know... but I figured that if I brought water this time, things would be different. Well, things were different, but definitely not better. After biking over the golf ball rocks for a ways, I started to feel some pain in my abdomen. Hmm, peculiar, but I kept biking. It wasn't until the pain persisted that I realized-oh my goodness-I'm having contractions! We quickly disembarked our bikes and carried them onto a desolate beach. "I'm going to have my baby on the beach on an island in Panama", I thought. "I'm going to die." Heroically, Rivers fashioned a makeshift bed for me on the sand out of our towels and his T-shirt. He was so ready for this. When I frantically asked him what we were going to do, he calmly assured me that he had read how to deliver a baby on wikipedia, "just in case". Phew. And I was worried? Ha. Luckily, Rivers didn't need to put his skills to the test, and after a bit of rest, we hopped (okay, I more like waddled) back to our bikes and rode for a couple of hours until we found a beautiful, deserted beach. This one was almost worth it. Almost.