We watch the boat loads of tourists cruising past, who watch the girl next to us sunbake in a g-string. We are at the insta famous Aqua Lounge, and we have far more clothes on than anyone else. In the distance I can just make out the mountains I was hiking through the day before. We linger somewhere between tipsy and drunk. It is our first evening in Bocas del Toro, an island archipelago on the Carribbean side of Panama.
Leisa and I are staying on Isla Carenero, five minutes boat ride from the Bocas town. Far enough to escape the sonic torture of reggaeton remixes, blasted until the early hours of the morning. We were upgraded to the deluxe waterfront suite. The balcony is enormous and runs almost the entire length of the hotel. The architecture reminds of the Queenslanders you see in Brisbane, except the bottom level is underwater. Seeing this gives me flashbacks to the floods that ravaged South East Queensland in 2010-2011.
In the morning we hoped to organise a boat ride to the pristine islands in the outer archipelago. We tried to negotiate a trip with a number of 'tour agents', who were also the local drug dealers. After an hour of dealing with these slimy characters we realised it is very difficult and expensive to do these trips outside of a tour. We reluctantly booked the main tour, aptly named, Tour 1. Generally we try to avoid these group tours, but it seemed we had no choice. We crammed into a boat full of hungover, sunburnt backpackers and set out for the surrounding islands. Even with the cluster fuck of a morning, our spirits were high. After all, we didn't have to work and we were in the Carribbean.
The tour guide gunned it between shallow reefs. The sun was out and the water was turquoise blue. Dolphins surfed the wake of the boat and we stopped occasionally to see sloths chilling in the surrounding mangroves.The lovebirds in front of us were all over each other and seemed oblivious to the twenty odd humans around them. The German behind us told uneventful travel stories that all seemed to end with him saving money. I cracked my first beer and soaked it all in.
We arrived at the main event, Isla Zapatilla. Think of the most cliche Carribbean paradise, this was it. After a short walk and a swim, I got a little over indulgent with the photography. It was hard not to. After a few hours, we hopped back into the boat. The lovebirds were late. Their flushed faces and cheeky smiles said it all. The ride back was bumpy and some of the passengers were feeling sick. We were too many beers in to feel anything other than euphoria. So with the sun in our eyes and beer in our veins, we fanged it into the sunset. It was a great day.