Hostel Ghettos Of Bocas Del Toro, Panama

When I searched "Bocas Del Toro," one particular phrase stuck in my mind: backpacker ghetto.  Backpacker ghettos are little towns or neighborhoods with a large amount of cheap hostels.  Many backpackers, usually of the dirty hippie variety, show up in these places and begin an ambitious campaign of never leaving.  They tell you they are hanging out to "find themselves," but it seems, suspiciously, that the only things they are finding are lots of cheap alcohol, easy drugs and hostel sex.  Their best friend is a sketchy local who speaks fluent, Reality TV Show English, has a blond, foreign girlfriend(s) and only apparent source of income is drug dealing.

This is an accurate description of Bocas Town, the principal town on Caracol Island where most of the budget lodging and population is located.  Bocas Town is small enough that the various expat owners of the hostels and bars in the area know each other.  They have more or less set a schedule of taking turns having parties and drink promos at their different establishments every night.  Naturally a small tourist town that parties every night attracts a lot of seedy backpacker elements, for example: me.

Fortunately Bocas Del Toro has a much more attractive side.  Although you are practically required to sleep in Bocas Town if you are on a backpacker budget, you can spend the entire day relaxing on the many quiet beaches located far away from the madness of the backpacker slums.  These majority of these beaches are on the far side of Bastimiento Island, which is a short boat ride from Caracol Island.

I didn't see the need to be seedy this time in Bocas Del Toro.  I was in the good company of my Spanish and Argentinian friends.  I felt comfortable knowing that by speaking Spanish with them I would be less likely to attract the attention of various drug dealers, hookers, touts and general assholes who prowl Latin American tourist towns preying on groups of gullible "Uhhh-Noo-haabloo-espanol" gringos.  Besides that they are just great fun to hang out with.

Mondo Taitu Reception

When we arrived in Bocas Town in the early afternoon, we were ready to collapse after our 8 hour trip all the way from San Jose, Costa Rica.  Mondo Taitu was the first hostel I thought of checking out.  It fits the backpacker ghetto mold: it's very cheap, a little dingy and rundown, has guests who never leave, and a bar with a staff that likes to party. This afternoon it looked pretty quiet and they had availability.  And at $11 a night with free breakfast, coffee and bikes included, how could we say no?

Mondo Taitu is a winner for price in Bocas Town.  There are plenty of other budget options on the main drag, Calle 3a, which is two blocks from the main docks where all the upscale hotels are.  It's easy enough to walk up and down the streets searching for availability; however, besides Mondo Taitu there are few other hostels located off the main drag which are worth checking out:

1. Casa Verde is a nice hostel at the southernmost end of the strip.  It's right on the water and is less of a party hostel since it's further away from downtown.  Had a good time here, but it may be different now since the management changed recently.

2.  Aqua Lounge is the dominant hostel/club in Bocas Town, which says a lot since it's not listed on HostelWorld.  It's essentially a big dock over the water on a small island across from Bocas Town.  It has the town's biggest parties, and they are fun as long as you aren't trying to sleep in the dorm room that shares a wall with their massive sound system.  Be aware that every time you go into Bocas Town, you have to take a water taxi.  Those four dollar boat round trips add up after a few days.
   

Not The Tourist Beaches

There were parties going on later that night.  We talked of going out, but were more excited about going to see the white beaches of Bastimiento Island in the morning.  Our immediate priority was rest, and we found it on a small beach near the hostel.  The beach matched Bocas Town: dumpy and in need of a cleanup.  A group of local kids laughed while playing volleyball on the dirty sand.  For the moment, it was fine for a quick late afternoon nap.



After napping on the beach, we gathered our strength for a stroll around the town.  The town was quiet expect for a small high school student protest that was going on in the streets.  The students were parading to get more support (read: money) for their English Language program.  This protest highlighted the extreme disparity typical in developing countries' tourist areas.  We were only a few blocks from the main strip, but all of the glamorous hotels and nice waterfront restaurants were nowhere to be seen.  Here the kids walked in streets lined with litter and lived in concrete block houses with no windows panes and a single bare light bulb to illuminate the interior.

"English: It's Like A Universal." Please, They Need Teachers

No worries.  Most tourists never walk past Calle 3a anyway.

We were starving and in need of some dinner.  No one had the motivation to cook that night.  We started checking the prices of restaurants to find something that fit our price range.  Many of the small, local "sodas" were already closed, so our search was restricted to most of the upscale restaurants right on the main docks.  They are all pretty much the same.  We settled on one place overlooking the water and ordered typical Central American/Panama meals: seafood/meat, rice, salad and fried plantain patacones.

Towards the end of dinner it started to drizzle.  In Central America a little drizzle is not to be taken lightly; it's often a prelude to a storm.  By the time we paid for dinner and walked the five blocks back to Mondo Taitu, the drizzle had turned into a torrential downpour.  We resolved to wait out the rain and go out later.  My Argentinian friend had brought a bottle of Italian Cinzano to sip on.  I played songs on my guitar to pass the time.

Two hours later we were still listening to the rain pound on the tin roof.  Mondo Taitu was empty that night expect for a drunk couple from New York who had ducked into the building to dry off from the downpour.  All the guests had either already gone out before the rain started or were asleep.  Our little Spanish, Argentinian and Gringo group decided to stay in so we could get up early to see the beaches of Bastimiento Island.  I continued to sing songs for my friends and the drunk New Yorkers as the rain pounded a beat outside.