Shrouded in Mist and Sweeping Vines
A day in Boquete's Lost Waterfalls
June 16, 2023
Happy Friday, travelers!
I set aside a whole day to do exactly what I’m doing right now. Instead of staring at a blinking cursor, I followed the day where it led until the words were no longer a jumble of letters floating before my eyes. Of course, they burst forth at exactly 10:31pm and five seconds. But they are here, and for that I am grateful.
Since I left you hanging on a lovely bookish post, it’s time to go back to April.1 Country 27 of 197. We left off in Panama City, and now that the country intro is out of the way, it’s time for this place to really shine.
Like most countries on the Journey to 197, Panama shone in her landscape. Rolling hills make way to peaks shrouded in nebulous mystery. The jewel of it all is unspoiled, white sand beaches where aquamarine waves effortlessly glide. You’re seeing it in your head, aren’t you? I promise it’s better in person.
Can you blame us for wanting to get lost in it all?
The 4am wake-up call in Casco Viejo wasn’t so bad considering we were chomping at the bit to get out of dodge. Two nights in the city were enough—our gazes were cast to the clouds as we prepared for a place that wasn’t on the original itinerary for Panama. Boquete and her cloud forest, a quaint, charming mountain town cloaked in a mist that settles on the peaks like a celestial blanket.
We boarded our flight as the sun rose, and witnessed the golden splendor of morning as we flew a quick 45 minutes across the country. It is humbling to see coastal flatlands make way to altitude in the blink of an eye. If we were on a bus, the trip would have taken nine long hours. Panama, the country of countries. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this were an entirely different place.
And in many ways, it was.
We landed in a tiny municipal airport, hailed a taxi to the David bus station, then hopped on the next ride to Boquete for a buck seventy-five each. Boquete was already proving itself to be my kind of destination. A journey that asks something of you, more than a hop, skip, and jump. But a pleasant journey, nevertheless.
When at last our magenta-interiored bus pulled up to a little plaza, Val and I looked at one another and then at the front. All the locals got up, the universal sign that this is the last stop. Like a true friend, Val had caffeine on her mind and an adorable local coffee shop in sight. We walked ten feet, all our luggage in hand, and ordered velvety dark chocolate mochas.
After a long, uphill trek from town, we saw a pastel painted sign pointing us down a gravel driveway next to a corner convenience store where an abuelita sold takeaway. A few moments later and we were there.
Our Airbnb was a bee and butterfly farm on its own little piece of paradise.2 From the winding front path of our cottage, the mountains disappeared into the clouds. Every step we took was surrounded by flowers. Buttery cream, soft petal pink, vibrant marigold, sun-drenched yellow. I could feel myself coming into a sense of equilibrium being in a sanctuary such as this, where everything slowed and all that mattered was the next breath.
Second only to our cottage, the next best part about Boquete was our total lack of itinerary. There was exactly one thing I wanted to do before we left: hike. I didn’t care where it was or what the trail was like. I just wanted to get in the mountains and see Boquete for myself.
Our charming hostess in her lilting British accent called The Lost Waterfalls hike “a great workout” in the morning breakfast hut. (That’s another plus of this Airbnb—a traditional Panamanian breakfast is included.)
What she didn’t mention was the altitude. The short distance, just 2 miles out and back, that were straight uphill on shaky natural stairs, shrouded in mist and sweeping vines of the cloud forest. Oh! And the mud. My God, the mud. I’ve never been covered in it on this scale. Every step was a negotiation. Will we make it? Will we not? Move with the breath, let it all out. Through the challenge, I couldn’t help but smile. Everywhere we looked was pristine, sheer rainbows made of waterfall mist that clung to our eyelashes and landed in our hair in fat, clear droplets.
Every time Val and I do a physical challenge like this, we talk capital-L Life. We share the deep things that are going on when we don’t get to see one another. We talk about our love lives, about the most visceral parts we felt when things didn’t work out with this guy or that one, and we realized later on that he wasn’t the right fit at all. It turns out best friends see these things before we do. And a hike that turns your hamstrings to jelly is the perfect place to let it all out. Our setting bore witness to our words, keeping them safe amongst all the other deeply personal things it’s overheard in the past hundreds of years.
At the third and final waterfall, we came to a bend in the road. The limited glimpse of a steep natural staircase was our foreshadowing that the end of the hike would be the most difficult. One look at Val and I asked, “Are we going?”
You already know the answer.
The end was a blur, this hike more than we bargained for. Exhausted, shaky muscles carried us through to the end, back the way we came. The hostess at the ticket counter called the bus driver who agreed to turn around and come get us, because that’s small town life and yet another reason to love Boquete. I can’t imagine the sight we looked, two American girls covered in mud, sweat, and dew hobbling as fast as we could down the rickety wooden bridge.
Hours after we made our way back to civilization and stocked up on food, we took a short walk (which didn’t feel so short on our still-wobbly legs) and took a seat at the taco spot across the street from a nightclub far from town. When our favorite waitress brought tajín-rimmed margaritas, we clinked skull glasses and took our first sip as the sun’s bright orange glow faded to streaks of pink and lavender, then made its way behind the same mountains we’d traversed earlier.
To friendships that last. To friendships that move, from distant corners of the globe.
Whoever and wherever you are, reader, I hope you have a Val. I hope you have days like these that end in a well-deserved toast. I hope you have wonder, love, peace, and indescribable joy. I hope you have your own Lost Waterfall.
Until we meet again,
Sarah
P.s. Summer reading à la From the Aisle Seat is coming in a few short days! I’ll share what I’ve been reading this month in a post around the 30th.
If you’re new, you probably don’t know yet that I’m notoriously bad about writing these reflections months late.
This is the best Airbnb I’ve ever booked out of all 28 countries to date. And I’ve had the opportunity to stay in some pretty amazing, unique places!