Bocas Del Toro: Red Frog Beach...Has Red Frogs

"You foto? Money, Money, Money?!"

You think I would've learned by now.  Some cute kids show me a palm leaf full of little red frogs, on Red Frog Beach in Panama.  I take a picture.  They start yelling: "Money, Money, Money?!"

Whatever.  Take the damn money.  We're all rich white people anyway, tu sabes?  I'm more annoyed with all the gringos who have came here before me and encouraged this kind of soft scam business.  The kids are just too damn cute to get mad at, even though they are little scam artists.

This is the tourist industry outside of the Western world: from the big international agencies booking all-inclusive's down to the little street kids charging for pictures.  The backpacker community can avoid the international travel agencies (indeed it's a mark of their "independence") but when it comes to local businesses, anyone is fair game, from the senior citizens on their disposable income to the grungy, unwashed student on a gap year.

The amazing thing is how many independent Western backpackers still assume that local businesses in underdeveloped countries operate like they do in the first world.  They feel uncomfortable that there are rarely fixed prices for goods and services, and they complain about having to pay cash for everything.  Or even worse, they try to be an "in-the-know" savvy backpacker and start with a ridiculously low offer for a local service, and still don't get why the guy won't give their cracker-ass a better deal than a local.

Anyway, you should go to Red Frog Beach.

A Random Tour Boat Company

Our little Spanish, Argentinian and Gringo trio booked a boat to Bastimento Island with an "official" tour boat.  I hesitate to call it an official business because, being in Panama, they have a office and employees, but don't have travel insurance, safety waivers, emergency contacts and all that legal shit which we find so annoying in the United States.  As annoying as it is, if something does go wrong, most Americans are happy to have the paperwork to help their lawyer build a substantial lawsuit against the (incorporated) company.

The boat company quoted an initial price of seven dollars per person to take us to Bastimento Island.  We said that was fine, at which point they mentioned -oh, by the way- beautiful Red Frog and Wizard Beaches are on the opposite side of the island from the dock where we drop you off.  For an additional three dollars, there is a truck (conveniently) waiting at the dock to take you directly to the beach.

If you don't take it, the walk is a 1/2 hour through mosquito-infested, muddy jungle...

                                  It's rainy season, so you can expect rain starting around 3pm...

                                                                 The last boat leaves the island at 5:30pm...
                                                                                                     
                                                                Also the price covers the park entrance fee...

Ten dollars later we were on the boat, after a short reminder to wear our life jackets just in case, you know, something might, maybe, perhaps, come up.  Ojala!  Embrace spontaneity and change? Carpe diem?  Ironically, the travel bloggers who write that romantic shit all the time turn out to be incredibly boring, organized, anal people who actually research all their information ahead of time and have their entire travel schedule planned out already...complete with a post about it online in advance modestly bragging about how they love to "live in the moment."

Legoland Boat Dock 

The weather was overcast and the short trip had no surprises.  The most exciting part was the island's floating dock, made of interconnected, synthetic plastic cubes which decidedly clashed with the rest of the wooden, rustic-looking dock's ornaments.  I assume it was an economical alternative to building a fancy, all-wooden and thatch "authentic" structure.  It's fun to jump on.

A quick walk uphill brought us to the Red Frog Park/Resort entrance where the trucks wait for tourists.  The interior of the island is mosquito-infested and muddy, but the gravel trails are well-laid out and there are little pretty communities of exclusive luxury villas starting at around $95,000 for a "partial ownership" plot.  This is probably too much for the average backpacker to consider, but not to worry, there is Bocas Bound Hostel!!  According to most of the reviews, you will love staying at this affordable option, as long as you don't need running water or friendly service all the time.

Somewhere inside my cynical little heart I find the will to say this: Red Frog Beach is beautiful.  It is isolated and far away from the backpacker ghetto of Bocas Town, so the sand remains pristine and clean, and the extra effort required to get here keeps it from being overrun by tourists.  The clouds, strong wind and slight drizzle didn't stop us from enjoying the wild scenery.  In fact, the inclement weather added a certain drama to the waves crashing on the rocky outcropping that would have been absent on a perfectly still, sunny day.

The drizzle comes and goes intermittently while we lounge on the beach.  Take pictures.  We try laying down for a while; I am too wound up and do martial arts on the sand to amuse my friends.  Take pictures.  The drizzle increases so we amble up a strategically-constructed, scenic observation deck that's protected by the verdant jungle foliage.  Pictures.  More pictures.  Hey, we're alone here.  Smoke a little.  Laugh a lot.  Tomfoolery.  My Spanish friend has an easy smile. My Argentinian friend, she has the most wonderful laugh.  God, it is beautiful here.

Within an hour the drizzle has grown into the typical equatorial afternoon downpour.  We seek shelter at the nearby Palmar Tent Lodge bar & restaurant.  Not surprisingly, it's staffed and patronized by American surfer volunteers.  They procure us a round of Balboa beers.  Talk. "Where are you from?  Argentina?! Spain?!  United States.  Oh."  "You speak Spanish pretty well.  Why are you here?"  "I don't really know."  The usual backpacker talk.  More rain.  "Another round?"

Another hour passes.  Maybe more.  Maybe less.  The rain keeps time.

The rains clears up.  We walk around the Palmar Tent Lodge grounds.  The fancy tents and dorms set on the edge of the jungle go straight onto my "Someday, Somehow List."  It's a typical eco-friendly, self-sustainable "insert-hyphened-word" green community that's affordable by Western standards.  If you like to rough it in nature, but not really, really rough it, it's perfect.

The three of us wander further down the beach and unknowingly cross the invisible border between Red Frog Beach and Wizard Beach.  The only difference here is that all the other tourists are gone.  The sunbathers, swimmers and beach chairs are tiny dots in the distance.  After we walk around an outcropping of rocks and fallen driftwood, those final signs of civilization disappear from sight.  Most likely there are private, luxury villas hidden back in the jungle, but from the beach it appears we are alone.  Our conversation becomes less frequent as we let the sound of the wind and waves take over.

Eventually we stop to take a rest on some smooth driftwood.  Several pictures of the "Wish-You-Were-Here" variety are taken.  Look at this one.  Silence.  Laughing.  Silence again.  I'm not thinking about my home in San Jose, Costa Rica: the robberies, the crime, the scams, the gringo bullshit.  For once in Latin America - I can breath easy.  I am in good company.  Gracias, amigos.

We take the last boat at 5:30pm back to the madness of Bocas Town.