My first view of Casa Tallman
Day Two, Sunday, May 23rd 2016
I awoke around 11 am. My stay included a free breakfast, so I got dressed and headed down to the restaurant to see if they were still serving.
It was late for breakfast and I was the only one in the restaurant. I gave the server my breakfast coupon and she disappeared.
Sometime later, she showed up again (remember, we’re now on Panama time. No one is rushed.) with a plate holding scrambled eggs and two slices of ham luncheon meat. The eggs were hardly edible and the ham was worse. Oh, well, it filled the hole.
This is where I mention that no one serves decaf in Latin America. Because of my Minuere’s Disease, I can’t drink caffeine. If I don’t brew it here, I don’t drink it.
After a leisurely breakfast (who’s rushed with this kind of food?), I headed back upstairs to pack. It didn’t take long, all I’d used was my toothbrush and a pair of jammies.
The hotel has a free shuttle to the airport. My flight into Panama was to their main airport. The puddle jumper I took to Bocas flew out of a little airport on the other side of town. I asked the shuttle to take me to Albrook Field and they told me they didn’t go there, only to the main airport.
I made my first Panamanian error. I had them call me a cab and I didn’t ask the driver how much it would cost. When we got to the airport, he wanted $48. Wes tells me it should never cost more than $35. These are US prices.
One of the nice things about Panama is that they use US currency, so there’s no math involved in figuring out how much something costs.
I awoke around 11 am. My stay included a free breakfast, so I got dressed and headed down to the restaurant to see if they were still serving.
It was late for breakfast and I was the only one in the restaurant. I gave the server my breakfast coupon and she disappeared.
Sometime later, she showed up again (remember, we’re now on Panama time. No one is rushed.) with a plate holding scrambled eggs and two slices of ham luncheon meat. The eggs were hardly edible and the ham was worse. Oh, well, it filled the hole.
This is where I mention that no one serves decaf in Latin America. Because of my Minuere’s Disease, I can’t drink caffeine. If I don’t brew it here, I don’t drink it.
After a leisurely breakfast (who’s rushed with this kind of food?), I headed back upstairs to pack. It didn’t take long, all I’d used was my toothbrush and a pair of jammies.
The hotel has a free shuttle to the airport. My flight into Panama was to their main airport. The puddle jumper I took to Bocas flew out of a little airport on the other side of town. I asked the shuttle to take me to Albrook Field and they told me they didn’t go there, only to the main airport.
I made my first Panamanian error. I had them call me a cab and I didn’t ask the driver how much it would cost. When we got to the airport, he wanted $48. Wes tells me it should never cost more than $35. These are US prices.
One of the nice things about Panama is that they use US currency, so there’s no math involved in figuring out how much something costs.
Air Panama Flight 457
I sat in the waiting area and took out my Kindle. Before I could get started reading, an Air Panama worker came over and told me the plane was boarding. I hustled to catch up with the other passengers.
There were only eight of us on the plane. Since we were all seated and ready to go, the pilot took off half an hour early.
The flight to Bocas was on a twin engine, high-winged turbo-prop plane. The seats were infinitely more comfortable than the Airbus and you actually got the sensation of flying. I wanted to see if I could slip the pilot twenty bucks to let me fly the plane.
We took off and soon were out of the city. Below me, jungle spread out as far as the eye could see. We hugged the coastline all the way to Bocas. It was a pleasant one-hour flight. I enjoyed watching the scenery go by. We only flew at about five thousand feet, so the visibility was great.
As we got over the islands of the Bocas del Toro Archipelago I took particular notice. The area around the islands is littered with sandbars and reefs. Being a deep draft boat, we would have to be especially careful if we ever brought the Victory here.
By the time we landed, I was desperate to find a bathroom. There were two ladies at a table checking people in. I walked past them to find the facilities, expecting to come back and check in after my stop.
When I got back, Wes and Joyce were there waiting for me.
“I’ll be just a minute” I said, “I have to pick up my bag.”
An Air Panama employee heard me and said “Over here.” He had my bag waiting outside the check in area.
I tell you this because they charged every visitor that got off the plane $3 for a garbage fee. Wes suspects that the proceeds go directly to the mayor’s slush fund, because he’s never seen any money spent on improving the dump. I did not contribute to the graft.
There were only eight of us on the plane. Since we were all seated and ready to go, the pilot took off half an hour early.
The flight to Bocas was on a twin engine, high-winged turbo-prop plane. The seats were infinitely more comfortable than the Airbus and you actually got the sensation of flying. I wanted to see if I could slip the pilot twenty bucks to let me fly the plane.
We took off and soon were out of the city. Below me, jungle spread out as far as the eye could see. We hugged the coastline all the way to Bocas. It was a pleasant one-hour flight. I enjoyed watching the scenery go by. We only flew at about five thousand feet, so the visibility was great.
As we got over the islands of the Bocas del Toro Archipelago I took particular notice. The area around the islands is littered with sandbars and reefs. Being a deep draft boat, we would have to be especially careful if we ever brought the Victory here.
By the time we landed, I was desperate to find a bathroom. There were two ladies at a table checking people in. I walked past them to find the facilities, expecting to come back and check in after my stop.
When I got back, Wes and Joyce were there waiting for me.
“I’ll be just a minute” I said, “I have to pick up my bag.”
An Air Panama employee heard me and said “Over here.” He had my bag waiting outside the check in area.
I tell you this because they charged every visitor that got off the plane $3 for a garbage fee. Wes suspects that the proceeds go directly to the mayor’s slush fund, because he’s never seen any money spent on improving the dump. I did not contribute to the graft.
Penn and Dawn on the road to Bocas
We piled into Wes’s Toyota pickup and headed to the house. At first the road was good enough. There are two roads on the island, one goes to the north side of the island where Wes and Joyce live and the other follows the coast around the to Bluff Beach.
My first impression of Bocas del Toro was of a rundown Mexican town. Most of the buildings are wooden with tired siding. They were all built in the last century. All of them need at least a fresh coat of paint; many looked like they were on the verge of falling down. There are several buildings under construction. It looks like the job was started about fifty years ago and they just gave up on it.
We passed the one gas station in the islands on the way out of town. There aren’t many cars here. Tourist and ex-pats drive cars. The locals with vehicles drive trucks because they only have one if they use it for work. Everybody else either walks or rides bicycles.
The first thing I noticed was that all the taxis were four-wheel drive, double cabs pickups. I soon learned why.
We turned off the main road and headed into the hills. The road got progressively worse. At first there were only a few pot holes that Wes easily avoided. Then the road deteriorated.
We came to a spot where the road was washed out. It had been filled with gravel, so we could get through. After that, there were more pot holes than there was road. No one pays any attention to the lanes and Wes spent as much time driving in the on-coming lane as he did in our lane.
Then the jungle began to encroach on the road. The two-lane road became a one-and-a-half-lane road. The jungle had eaten up most of the other lane. At places the jungle moved in from both sides and it was a one-lane road.
My first impression of Bocas del Toro was of a rundown Mexican town. Most of the buildings are wooden with tired siding. They were all built in the last century. All of them need at least a fresh coat of paint; many looked like they were on the verge of falling down. There are several buildings under construction. It looks like the job was started about fifty years ago and they just gave up on it.
We passed the one gas station in the islands on the way out of town. There aren’t many cars here. Tourist and ex-pats drive cars. The locals with vehicles drive trucks because they only have one if they use it for work. Everybody else either walks or rides bicycles.
The first thing I noticed was that all the taxis were four-wheel drive, double cabs pickups. I soon learned why.
We turned off the main road and headed into the hills. The road got progressively worse. At first there were only a few pot holes that Wes easily avoided. Then the road deteriorated.
We came to a spot where the road was washed out. It had been filled with gravel, so we could get through. After that, there were more pot holes than there was road. No one pays any attention to the lanes and Wes spent as much time driving in the on-coming lane as he did in our lane.
Then the jungle began to encroach on the road. The two-lane road became a one-and-a-half-lane road. The jungle had eaten up most of the other lane. At places the jungle moved in from both sides and it was a one-lane road.
I felt like Michael Douglas in "Romancing the Stone." That's when it hit me. I felt like Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone. I kept a sharp eye out for Kathleen Turner stranded on the side of the road. She wouldn’t show up for a couple of days when her cousin’s funeral was over.
After about twenty miles on the pot-hole express, the road turned to dirt. It was much easier to drive on.
Wes says they live in a gated community. There is a heavy, rusted iron gate on the road. I had to get out and unlock it.
Now comes the fun part. We turned down a long driveway to the house. My first view was of the back wall. It looked like a two-story mansion.
We got out and lugged my baggage up a steep staircase. When we reached the top floor (the living area) I noticed that most of the house was outside.
The house is built on concrete pillars to keep it dry when a storm forces the waves ashore. It’s about fifty feet from the beach. The property is thirteen acres with about four hundred and fifty feet of beach-front.
At the top of the stairs there is an open-air hallway leading to Wes and Joyce’s room. It’s a separate building from the main house, connected by the causeway.
Going in the other direction took me into the kitchen. The main building has a large kitchen, a dining area, a sitting area and a bathroom with a loft above the sitting area.
Both in the bedroom and the main house, louvered teak doors open the front of the house to the sea. A pleasant breeze made the hot, sticky day comfortable.
On the other side of the main building, a small building houses the second bedroom. It’s tiny. It barely has room for two single beds.
I got myself settled in and took a little nap. I had very little sleep in the last twenty-four hours.
Reading is the main activity at Casa Tallman, so I grabbed my Kindle and joined it. Wes and Joyce go to bed around nine o’clock, so I took my book into my room and read for a couple of hours before drifting off.
After about twenty miles on the pot-hole express, the road turned to dirt. It was much easier to drive on.
Wes says they live in a gated community. There is a heavy, rusted iron gate on the road. I had to get out and unlock it.
Now comes the fun part. We turned down a long driveway to the house. My first view was of the back wall. It looked like a two-story mansion.
We got out and lugged my baggage up a steep staircase. When we reached the top floor (the living area) I noticed that most of the house was outside.
The house is built on concrete pillars to keep it dry when a storm forces the waves ashore. It’s about fifty feet from the beach. The property is thirteen acres with about four hundred and fifty feet of beach-front.
At the top of the stairs there is an open-air hallway leading to Wes and Joyce’s room. It’s a separate building from the main house, connected by the causeway.
Going in the other direction took me into the kitchen. The main building has a large kitchen, a dining area, a sitting area and a bathroom with a loft above the sitting area.
Both in the bedroom and the main house, louvered teak doors open the front of the house to the sea. A pleasant breeze made the hot, sticky day comfortable.
On the other side of the main building, a small building houses the second bedroom. It’s tiny. It barely has room for two single beds.
I got myself settled in and took a little nap. I had very little sleep in the last twenty-four hours.
Reading is the main activity at Casa Tallman, so I grabbed my Kindle and joined it. Wes and Joyce go to bed around nine o’clock, so I took my book into my room and read for a couple of hours before drifting off.
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