Beach bumming before we transit.

On Inauguration Day – the day the US of A will be officially confirming its rebirth – we will be transiting from the Atlantic to the Pacific side of the great continent that is called The Americas.

My expectations have risen to the extent that it feels like we will be passing through a kind of mythical birth canal ourselves. 

But before being pushed out to the other side we have been wallowing one last time in the womblike warmth of the Caribbean, aka The Archipelago of Bocas del Toro.

We practically had the place to ourselves. In pre-COVID times, gringos would swarm all over the beaches and jungle trails, into the mangroves, the eco resorts and restaurants. Now, the area was deserted and all we heard were raucous parrots and the occasional fisher sloop or half empty water taxi motoring by.

The Bocas del Toro archipelago is out-of-this world beautiful.  Apparently, even god has left her footprints when she stepped down from high heaven to sling her hammock for a while on the Islas Zapatillas. From a drone perspective they look as if a pair of flip flops has stepped on the barrier reef. Unfortunately, apparently human flip flops have followed course, because the once beautiful reef bordering the shore is all but dead.

Nevertheless, we were not in a hurry to leave. Within a few days we will be gazing at another marvel. But this time, it will be of human origin.