Covid hit me the day we left the city. Leisa had been very sick with it and I thought, after four days without symptoms, I was in the clear. Trying to remain optimistic, I convinced myself it was just a mild hangover from last night's beers.
We were travelling from Panama City to Valle de Anton, a small town in the mountains, three hours south-west of the city. We were eager to leave the city and fill our compromised respiratory systems with some clean mountain air. En route, my condition deteriorated. The fever had set in and my nausea seemed to worsen at every turn. It didn't help that our bus driver was trying to set a new land speed record up the Pan American Highway. At least we would arrive faster, or plunge off a cliff. Either way, I took comfort knowing it would be over soon.
We were picked up at the bus stop by the owner of our hostel, Ariel. I liked Ariel instantly. In the Booking.com greeting message I mentioned we were musicians. Immediately, the conversation turned to music and what styles we were into. He also told us stories about his experience of the 1989 US invasion. Music and geopolitics in the first ten minutes. This was my kinda dude.
Ariel's house was full of art, photos and instruments. A creek ran through the back of the property, an ideal spot for swimming and bird watching in the surrounding fruit trees. I spent the rest of the afternoon jamming with Ariel and hearing stories about his three ex-wives. My favourite song by him is called ‘No Musica’, about songwriters' block. Having not written a song for two years, I found this very relatable. I asked him how he got through these periods. He replied “drugs and infidelity”. Even though Ariel is a gentle, hospitable retiree, I got the impression he embraced the rock 'n' roll lifestyle back in the day.
The next morning, Leisa and I attempted the India Dormida hike. We only made it halfway up and I was already feeling weak and nauseous. We returned to the hostel where I remained horizontal for two days, gripped by an intense fever or, in Spanish, fiebre. We attempted the India Dormida hike a few days later. I was not fully recovered, however I was determined to do this hike. Besides, I had spent too many slow work afternoons researching this hike to call it quits.
The hike was very steep, and more of a scramble towards the top. The winds were strong and felt like they could blow us off the mountain. The views from the top were amazing and well worth the steep climb. At the bottom we stuffed our faces with tamales and some handmade alfajores (what Leisa refers to as a gourmet Wagon Wheel) that an Argentine couple sold us. Again, my sickness took a turn for the worse. This time my throat turned to razorblades. With the last of my energy, I rode into town and ordered a cocktail of pain medications and throat lozenges. I would remain doped up and horizontal for two more days.
I admit, I could have dealt with Covid much better. My reluctance to rest early on, and to continue hiking probably extended my suffering. We said our goodbyes to Ariel and hitched a ride in a van with an Italian we met at the hostel. I was beginning to feel better by this point. After being in bed for most of the week, I was happy to be on the road again.