I seem to be exploring progressively less with each place visited. Eventually a boat taxi brought me to Bocas del Toro and I set to with trying to get a feel for the place. It became quickly clear that this town, like so many others, is entirely dependent on tourism. Every other shop front is selling tours, diving instruction and activities as well as transport to the more remote surf beaches.
Before setting out I’d imagined that touring these places was something of a minority activity. Nothing could be further from the truth: there are literally thousands of young people on the move following the tourist and surfers trail through Central America.
In addition, there are many more elderly who, attracted by the low property prices and good tax breaks have set up homes for at least part of the year. So, the main street of Bocas has signs of modern development with modern building techniques replicating vernacular styles.
Two blocks back, however, some of the homes are not quite so pristine and some blocks are vacant.
Even so the signs of development exist and satellite dishes adorn even the most basic of homes.
On passing the school I decided to go in, introduce myself to the headteacher and ask for permission to take photographs. She was happy to let me photo the buildings but not the Niños. The main buildings were well ventilated if a little dark inside but only the staffroom had the benefit of air conditioning.
Given that it was lunchtime there was none of the barely repressed bedlam typical of UK schools. All seemed calm. There was also a church school in the town and, as far as I could tell, all children were in uniform so family incomes must extend to providing these basics.
After a distinctly disappointing lunch I headed back to Isla Bastimentos but continued past the hotel to visit Red Frog beach. The boat taxi made its way past pristine mangroves and nosed its way past some very expensive boats before stopping at a wooden landing stage. A boardwalk led to an entrance kiosk where I was parted from $3 entrance fee. Red Frog is a private beach and resort. Not that this put people off; taxis arrived at regular intervals to deliver fresh people cargoes.
I declined the offer of a golf cart to transport me across the island – am I beginning to look decrepit? The walk took all of ten minutes. The beach was picture postcard and I risked a quick dip in the heavy surf which was not as warm as I’d expected it to be.
There was even a beachside bar so a beer stop was inevitable. Amongst all this apparent wealth I found two children using vines or lianas for skipping ropes.
Two worlds collide indeed. On the way back the taxi man before mine identified a sloth in the mangroves and took his passengers over for a closer view. Mine was not so obliging.
A quiet evening followed at the hotel where Steve, one of the Americans introduced us to a dice game. After six successive blank scores I went on to win three straight games and was only defeated on a technicality on the final game. Pity I couldn’t do that in Las Vegas!
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