Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo. That’s how we’re “lovingly” woken on day 2 of the Camino Real tour. Each rooster crows louder than the last, all of them apparently trying to outdo one another. We fuel up on fried eggs, patacones (fried plantains) and coffee.
And what else do you need to conquer the day? A generous coat of SPF 50 sunscreen and a good dousing of insect spray. Not exactly a scent I’d wear on a date. But pretty soon, that won’t seem to bother someone at all …
We set off at 8:30 a.m. Five hours across pastures and meadows under a blazing sun. Remember the classmates who always got picked last for teams in P.E.? I was one of those kids at school. So you can probably picture me scrambling along, panting and wheezing, because my “athleticism” hasn’t improved one bit since then.
Cows line our path again and again. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” and I’m utterly smitten with this cow’s gaze.
We pass a rise with a little wooden house on it. A reddish-blond dog and a black one suddenly come tearing down the hill toward us. Friendly or hostile? They wag their tails. Phew, lucky again. But before we can get any cuddling in, their owner calls them back.
Once again, Lucia shows us nature’s treasures, like the Panama tree, which the state declared the national tree in 1969. Fun fact: every country in Central and South America has a national tree, a national flower and a national bird. You already know the tree. The orchid Flor del Espiritu Santo (Flower of the Holy Spirit) is the national flower, and the Aguila Harpia (the harpy eagle) is the national bird.
The villagers of Quebrada Ancha sent us off with some provisions that were rather unusual for me: ripe stalks of sugarcane. But how on earth am I supposed to eat this? The inside of the cane is threaded with woody fibers I can’t properly chew, let alone digest. It’s easier than I feared, though. I just suck the cane juice out of the fibers. I can hardly believe it, but this snack sends my energy right back up. During a short break, Molinar even picks us some oranges. Now nothing stands between us and the next climb, and one look at this view makes all the scrambling in the heat worth it!
Just one more hour of walking, and then we finally get our lunch break! A local family treats us to chicken, rice and beans.
Anton and Juliane leave us here, continuing on to Isla Grande. Lucia won’t be with us over the coming days either; she’s heading back to Panama City. From here on, our guides Molinar from Quebrada Ancha and Euginio, who’s also from the area, will lead us along the Camino Real with their local knowledge. Molinar and Euginio, along with my companions Alicia and Irene, speak no English, and I speak no Spanish. Well, this could get interesting. How am I supposed to tell them that a snake has bitten me or a scorpion has stung me!? Ah, it’ll all work out somehow …
For the next few hours, we wade through mud. Time and again I sink in so deep that the black of my ankle-high trekking shoes turns mud-brown. Around 6:30 p.m., we reach our quarters for the night. Our host is Pascal, who lives in a simple wooden hut that has everything a person needs to get by. Curious, Irene and I inspect the fire pit in the spartan little kitchen.
We seem to have crashed a guys’ night at Pascal’s. Several of his friends are over. Seven dogs mill around us, three of them Pascal’s.
Irene and I climb down the hill to the nearby river to wash off the day’s sweat and grime. The dip in the river hollow is incredibly refreshing. Dusk slowly creeps into the forest. Fireflies dance on the bank. Cicadas usher in the night with their song.
Good thing we brought our headlamps. But when I shine mine on my trousers to put them back on, I let out a scream. A saucer-sized spider has made itself at home on them. In a panic, I shake it off. And the spider isn’t the only creature to set me off. Pascal has a small cage with a rat locked inside. A RAT. To me, those are the most disgusting animals there are, the ones I’m terrified of. Why would anyone keep a rat? At least it’s gone by the next morning. And I’d rather not know where it ended up.
Irene, Alicia and I settle into the hammocks. I could drop off right away, I’m so wiped out. But there’s still dinner, which Molinar cooks for us. Pascal’s friends head home. And for us, too, it’s time to turn in.