The Mamaloca bar needed some limes so some of the part time helpers were sent to go collect some. I had never seen the farm so I hopped along for a ride. We took a 26 foot panga across the bay. As we rounded the point to the unsheltered waters of the Caribbean the swells neared five feet. The captain surveyed the waters and the channel concluded that it was not safe to attempt to make a landing on this side.
A "camino viejo" old trail made of sand held in place with wooden slats made for easy and scenic walking. After traversing the width of the island we headed along the beach, found another trail to climb back over a muddy trail to the other side. This walk was much muckier and I immersed my boots over the top in muck repeatedly. I was glad I had decided to wear long pants. After our second traversal we walked further along the beach on the and finally arrived a the appropriate spot in front of the farm. The view after a hundred meters of ascent was spectacular. The old farmer certainly had an appreciation for the merits of the aesthetic.
I lingered at the farmhouse, the boys continued up to pick limes by the bagful. Mamaloco goes through a hell of a lot of limes. Congratulations Chester.
The big chef treated a group of friends to sausages accompanied by vegetables. I had never had chayote before, but it will certainly not be the last. The band returned and the place started to fill up again. Half the people were locals, owners of resorts on adjacent islands and miscellaneous proprietors. This lead to the stories of Bocas. Everybody had a tale. I have several myself.
The band was the same as Wednesday night, but this time it was reggae alternated with trippy, all in all it was a wonderful performance.
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