The Driver

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I had a dilemma when I woke this morning. Should I wear underwear or not. The previous days walking had caused the friction between my two chubby thighs to escalate and my boxers had no doubt contributed to the nappy-rash-like soreness I had between my legs. In the end I decided to give my boxers another chance (a fresh pair by the way!!).
With the rain consistently and heavily falling the previous day we had decided to leave the beautiful Boquete and head for the Caribbean haven of Bocas Del Toro. Once again we had to make our way back to David to catch a bus to Changuinola on the east coast. I had been reading the Spanish phrases at the back of the Lonely Planet and was trying to pick up some hints. Little did I know that I would actually use one of the phrases at the bus terminal in David. As an employee of the bus terminal pointed out the bus for Changuinola I turned to him and asked - "Que hora es?", which I was using to ask what time the bus would leave at. I felt a huge sense of pride as the words rolled off my tongue. To my delight the man understood what I had said and replied to me. The fact that I had no idea what his reply was did little to diminish my immense sense of pride.
The bus to Changuinola was similar to a mini bus back home, seating about 15 people. I noticed about 10 minutes into the journey that the bus driver was extremely talented. Not only was he able to eat a sandwich, change a CD and drive at the same time he was also able to drive without making the slightest attempt to look out the front window of the bus. He was much more interested in turning around and chatting up the busty woman sitting near the front of the bus. Half of me was terrified, the other half was quite impressed with his ability to keep us on the road.
As the bus ascended into the mountains our altitude soon had us amidst the clouds. Visibility was reduced drasctically. However this did not deter our mighty bus driver, in fact he picked up speed. He powered through the winding mountain roads, treating corners with the same contempt as a Formula One Driver on the racetrack. He even had the courage to overtake a lorry on a bend.
As we faced almost certain death two things sprung to mind. Firstly I took solace in the fact that when we eventually crashed the sheer cliffs accompanying the side of the road would make our deaths quick and painless. Secondly I congratulated myself on making the correct decision with regards to my underwear. Sure, there was irreversible damage to my boxers, but at least my favourite shorts would live to fight another day if we somehow got to the Bocas.
Miracously we did make it across the mountains to the lush plains of the Caribbean coast. I almost felt a pang of disappointment when we got dropped off the bus. The excitement was over. Our boat ride to the islands was safe and boring. I wished our bus driver was steering our boat aswell.

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Photos

Boquete
The reason we left for Bocas del Toro