R
Raven
Guest
Over the years I have read many travel tidbits or articles about Panama, the Canal and tours available while in port. There is almost always the obligatory comment to be careful while in Colon or to not to travel on your own while in Colon. Never details - just thoses quick comments. I've always been curious and wondered if this was overblown hype or something of substance.
Today, while reading a blog about event called Earthrace, I got a better idea of the serious nature of traveling in Colon, particularly after dark. From the support crew blog at www.earthrace.net :
Day 12: Race Port Stop 3: Panama, 8th May
Posted by Earthrace Administrator on 10/05/2008
Colon, Panama, Atlantic side. Torrential, tropical rain. And I mean the really fat heavy stuff that drenches you in a nano second. I am bouncing over potholes in our rental car. It's dark, rainy and we're in bandit country. I'm on my way from Colon Hospital, where Mark is having an operation on his foot, (having slipped and sliced it badly on a piece of aluminium), to a downtown pharmacy to buy drugs and crutches. A nurse has come with me to show me the way and because it's too dangerous to drive alone at night. We are car-jacked twice only the doors are locked and they can't get in.
I still have the 20km drive back to Shelter Bay Marina to do with a boot full of sweating groceries. There's a sickly smell of melon - despite choosing hard unripe ones to keep better on the boat - they're already turning in the humidity. No-one at the hospital knows where the marina is and I can only vaguely remember the direction from that afternoon. It was light and not raining then and we were also following another vehicle and concentrating on avoiding the potholes to keep Mark stable in the back.
Bobbo, canal transit Guest Crew from Atlanta, has come with us and generously flashes his visa card to get us seen quickly and a room for them for the night. He's thoughtful and kind and keeps pushing for experts to look at Mark's foot. He also insists on calling a taxi to guide me back. I don’t want to admit that I’m a little scared to drive on my own, it seems silly, but the rain is heavy, the road is bad and I’m tired.
It's a good call, as I know I would not have recognised two of the turnings in the dark and we really are in the middle of nowhere. The only light comes from constant flashes of lightening. You have to go slowly to pick out a path in the road - you don't want to hit a pothole, go off the road and change a tire in this neck of the woods. There's a pick-up truck ahead stopped in the middle of the remote road with a huddle of lads on the back and by the roadside. Edgar, the taxi driver, slows in front of me, starts to pass, and then the pick-up truck accelerates to block his way. He dodges and floors it - I'm so close on his tail I can see the sweat on the back of his neck through the rear window. We pass them and I'm grateful to Bobbo for being over-protective back at the hospital.
Later that night Adrian, Tino and I drive back to Panama City. It's a long trip - two and a half hours, even though it's only 55 miles. The road is bad and we're really tired. Tino falls asleep in the back. I'm nodding off until Adrian urgently asks if I'm awake enough to drive. He says his eyes keeping drooping and blurring. I force myself awake and start chatting rubbish. I really don't trust myself at the wheel either. We've been up for 19 hours now and it's been a very stressful day.
We're trying to get a swift transit through the Panama Canal from the Atlantic to Pacific Ocean. It’s the busiest season and there's an eight week backlog. We're pulling every string we can; we're bombarding the media and embassies, and flashing what few dollars we have to expedite this long and bureaucratic process. Our fuel is still in bond and we need to get yet another agent to release the container, and then truck it to a marina. We decide to move it to the other side of the canal so as not to lose time if a transit slot becomes available. Nothing is easy.
We need petrol. It's 2.30am and most stations are closed but we spot one just too late to pull in, do a U-turn across the central reservation and head back. There's a girl standing looking bored by the pumps; there's a guy standing next to her, eyeing us closely. We faff around trying to remember which side to fill up from and it's only when we ask for $20's worth that we notice the gun dangling from the guy's right hand. He says nothing, just watches us. We thrust a note towards the girl; she barely looks up. We zoom off. I am fully awake now.
Today, while reading a blog about event called Earthrace, I got a better idea of the serious nature of traveling in Colon, particularly after dark. From the support crew blog at www.earthrace.net :
Day 12: Race Port Stop 3: Panama, 8th May
Posted by Earthrace Administrator on 10/05/2008
Colon, Panama, Atlantic side. Torrential, tropical rain. And I mean the really fat heavy stuff that drenches you in a nano second. I am bouncing over potholes in our rental car. It's dark, rainy and we're in bandit country. I'm on my way from Colon Hospital, where Mark is having an operation on his foot, (having slipped and sliced it badly on a piece of aluminium), to a downtown pharmacy to buy drugs and crutches. A nurse has come with me to show me the way and because it's too dangerous to drive alone at night. We are car-jacked twice only the doors are locked and they can't get in.
I still have the 20km drive back to Shelter Bay Marina to do with a boot full of sweating groceries. There's a sickly smell of melon - despite choosing hard unripe ones to keep better on the boat - they're already turning in the humidity. No-one at the hospital knows where the marina is and I can only vaguely remember the direction from that afternoon. It was light and not raining then and we were also following another vehicle and concentrating on avoiding the potholes to keep Mark stable in the back.
Bobbo, canal transit Guest Crew from Atlanta, has come with us and generously flashes his visa card to get us seen quickly and a room for them for the night. He's thoughtful and kind and keeps pushing for experts to look at Mark's foot. He also insists on calling a taxi to guide me back. I don’t want to admit that I’m a little scared to drive on my own, it seems silly, but the rain is heavy, the road is bad and I’m tired.
It's a good call, as I know I would not have recognised two of the turnings in the dark and we really are in the middle of nowhere. The only light comes from constant flashes of lightening. You have to go slowly to pick out a path in the road - you don't want to hit a pothole, go off the road and change a tire in this neck of the woods. There's a pick-up truck ahead stopped in the middle of the remote road with a huddle of lads on the back and by the roadside. Edgar, the taxi driver, slows in front of me, starts to pass, and then the pick-up truck accelerates to block his way. He dodges and floors it - I'm so close on his tail I can see the sweat on the back of his neck through the rear window. We pass them and I'm grateful to Bobbo for being over-protective back at the hospital.
Later that night Adrian, Tino and I drive back to Panama City. It's a long trip - two and a half hours, even though it's only 55 miles. The road is bad and we're really tired. Tino falls asleep in the back. I'm nodding off until Adrian urgently asks if I'm awake enough to drive. He says his eyes keeping drooping and blurring. I force myself awake and start chatting rubbish. I really don't trust myself at the wheel either. We've been up for 19 hours now and it's been a very stressful day.
We're trying to get a swift transit through the Panama Canal from the Atlantic to Pacific Ocean. It’s the busiest season and there's an eight week backlog. We're pulling every string we can; we're bombarding the media and embassies, and flashing what few dollars we have to expedite this long and bureaucratic process. Our fuel is still in bond and we need to get yet another agent to release the container, and then truck it to a marina. We decide to move it to the other side of the canal so as not to lose time if a transit slot becomes available. Nothing is easy.
We need petrol. It's 2.30am and most stations are closed but we spot one just too late to pull in, do a U-turn across the central reservation and head back. There's a girl standing looking bored by the pumps; there's a guy standing next to her, eyeing us closely. We faff around trying to remember which side to fill up from and it's only when we ask for $20's worth that we notice the gun dangling from the guy's right hand. He says nothing, just watches us. We thrust a note towards the girl; she barely looks up. We zoom off. I am fully awake now.