The three musketeers headed over to Almirante via BMT water taxi then walked a short distance to the lot in which Chester's car was currently being kept. We drove over to see a lot on which Stephen had extended some credit, secured by the lot. The lot was on the water many hundreds of meters from the road, beneath a lot held by the lot owner's father. Walter asked for permission to pass and the location of the trail. I grabbed the machete from the truck. A cross-eyed woman pointed the way. We walked down slopes populated with cocoa trees, the fruit of which were in every color I had ever seen, from a unripened green, yellow, ripe brown and dead and decaying black. Enormous nisporo trees had been felled near everywhere. Nisporo is a variant of ironwood, denser than water, it doesn't float. It is also exceptionally hard; it is impossible to drive a nail into it. The trees had been milled with chain saws on the spot into every conceivable plank and post dimension.
At long last we queried our guide, “Do you have any idea where we are or where we are going?” Well, he didn't. Using a compass we headed south, which was sure to get us back to the road somewhere. Eventually we ran into an indian girl probably four or five years of age walking through the woods with a what was most likely a younger sibling. Walter asked where the house was and she pointed the way. Within minutes we were at a house, but not the same house. Three Indian women sat around under the elevated house and nine kids milled about all clad in nothing but underpants. We walked back to the road, tried to take our bearings, Stephen headed uphill, I followed and half a mile later we arrived at the car that we had parked on the shoulder of the road.
Next we drove up to the area around the hydroelectric lake. We drove for miles past hundreds of barracks the housed the workers. Looking down on the small lake I pondered how much electricity this project could possibly produce. Without knowing the volume of water flowing out and the distance it was falling it is of course impossible to even estimate.
We reached the end of the passable road, encountering a manned barricade and turned around. A man on horse back indicated land was for sale. Despite the fact that I am seeking ocean front property we drove a couple of miles down a dirt road in the mountains and could occassionally see the ocean.
Finally we headed back to Almirante and sought out Luis, the crazy Colombian. Luis' primary source of income is selling 60 watt solar systems to locals for $700. I have no idea how he can pull that off. He said his profit margin is 100%, but he buys the panels, rectifier and batteries. Me thinks his math is a little off. A discussion regarding prices of the various options for paid conjugal companions left me very bemused. He showed us a couple of tiny lots on the filthy river that “Would be perfect for a marina.” Right. If you want to invest $70k on land and $40k on docks, hire a caretaker would would pocket half of the $30 a day you might be able to make.
We caught a BMT water taxi back to Bocas. Stephen showing his pensionado card received his mandatory 30% discount while the near penniless locals paid the full $4 fare. Halfway across we encountered a BMT boat heading back to Almirante from Bocas. We sidled up, bow to bow and exchanged captains.
After dinner, Walter drove me around town looking for apartments. The first was full, the second was no longer renting. The third was half a block from the airport on the northern extreme of town. With two prop planes a day the noise is far less than in the boisterous town central. I agreed to take a two room cabin constructed of concrete panels. The pink building is trimmed with blue, red and yellow. It looked like somebody had transplanted a house from Key West. Sure enough the builder/owner arrived a few years ago from Key West.
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