Home?

My network interface card on my notebook was exhibiting consistently bad performance. It was able to detect networks but could not establish connections. I fiddled with the router. A German arrived in a zodiac dinghy, one of those little inflatable boats so common on large sail boats and used as tenders. He didn't pay the $5 daily slip fee as he was ostensibly a customer of the restaurant. As a customer he does nothing more than occupy a chair and consume WIFI bandwidth for free. He chastised me for interfering with his network connection. I offered to give him some compensation on his room and asked which room he was in, knowing full well that he was not staying at Casa Verde. He departed in a huff. Good riddance.

After Walter graciously picked me up we transported my goods to the apartment after a run to the ATM. I made a partial payment and received a set of keys. We went back to Stephen's and rode across the calm waters to the site of his home construction project which was currently stalled. Next we saw the lot we attempted to see the day before from the water front. The land was extremely steep and a long way from Bocas Town.

We rode back past Isla Colon to Isla Bastimentos to watch the boat races. The races were over but the boat parties were in full swing, 50 foot catamarans, the Janpan houseboat, some people pedaled foot powered surf boards when they could manage to balance themselves. We ogled the eye candy. In less than an hour we headed to go see the property I was most anxious to view.

As we neared the property I saw a 30” barracuda inches from the surface. The water was profoundly calm, as tranquil as a pond nestled in the hills, reflecting the mangrove trees. Translucent jelly fish the size of dinner plates populated the water in great numbers. Walter commented, “They need to stop killing all the turtles.” Yup, for more reason than one. The water was deep and we pulled Stephen's boat right up to the shore. I hopped out in my sandals, as the water was sure to be over the top of my boots. After lashing the boat to a mangrove the others disembarked onto a strange stiff flora on which small crabs skittered. Toads, obviously in huge abundance croaked out a raucous chorus. I trod upon the fallen grass with an objective of spotting the source of all of this noise, but elected to retreat, this being hazardous grounds not being able to observe that which could lurk next to my next step.

Stephen, in the mean time was ascending the hill. I found what appeared to be the path of least resistance but found my footwear lacking. My feet, wet with muck slipped on the insoles and the sandals rotated beneath my feet. A strap gave way pulling itself out of the plastic sole. Every dozen steps I so I turned around to view the expanse of the bay. Far higher than the mangroves I gazed at the most placid ocean water imaginable. Every twenty meters I ascended about eight meters and the view improved commensurately. “Jim, this is where you need to build your house.” The execrable sandals failed to strongly diminish my desire to ascend to Stephen's vantage point. Yup, Stephen, you are correct, this is the site of my new abode.

Five hundred meters separated us from the most interior border through lush jungle. The damnable sandals hindered my progress while my eminently suitable boots lay in the boat. Along the trail, the diminutive red poison arrow frogs, the adults of which are small enough to readily rest on a man's thumbnail were observed in good numbers. We found a small clearing and watched a monkey, listened as the Montezuma Oropedola provided jungle sounds as we watched a monkey, high in a tree. “You'll need to put in an observation deck here.” “Yup.” Three hundred meters of jungle before the end of the property I said, “I will return, donning appropriate footwear.” Walter gave me a benevolent smile; he had told me at least twice to wear my boots.

The walk back down was punctuated by pauses to observe the amazing surroundings. I stopped at the top of the clearing and doffed my troublesome footwear, descending barefoot.

As I walked to the boat, I found myself unable to tread on the hard, bristly terrain that my more prepared companions traversed and elected to wade through the muck. Bad call. My left foot sunk in far over my knee and my cell phone, cradled in the lower pocket of my cargo shorts was sacrificed to the god of the ill prepared, a fact that I did not ascertain until the following morn.

But a short ways after we set sail for home a dolphin and her calf frolicked off the starboard bow.