El Cupolog

Crossing Río Bravo / Cruzando el Río Bravo

Río Bravo, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013

Cross Section Camacho

La Paz, Bolivia - © Diego Cupolo 2012

Across the bridge, Across the border

Desaguaderos, Peru - © Diego Cupolo 2012

Stuck

We were all set for Colombia. I bought a tube of toothpaste and called Capitano Fierra the day before departure.

“Sorry, plans changed,” he said. “We’ll be leaving in five or six days.”

I asked why, but got cut off.

We were already in Isla Grande, a short ride from the take off point, and Panama’s old-people-in-tour-buses Caribbean coast was eating our cash.

“Five or six days?!” Ania said. “Where are we going to stay for five or six days?!”

“I don’t know.”

We were surrounded by small towns with $40 dorm rooms and stores without bananas or fresh fruits in stock. No Bananas … in Chiquita Banana Panama.

Cheap fruit was our life line.

Without it, we were surviving on tuna spaghetti every night. Paprika was the secret ingredient, but tuna gets old fast.

“So, what do we do?” Ania asked.

“Well, there ain’t much in Portobelo and everyone says ‘stay away from Colón.’ Maybe we should start thinking about Panama City again.”

“Panama City?! Again?!”

“The bus ride costs much less than staying here another night.”

“I don’t want to go back. I’m tired of cities.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

It started raining again. We thought about our options. Panama City. We really had no where else to go and, at least, we knew we could make money there.

When the rain stopped, we started walking down the road, thumbs out.

I cracked open six coconuts while we waited.

Isla Grande, Panama - © Diego Cupolo 2011

Over the Sixaola, Walking into Panama

We got in with fake tickets.

Ania and I crossed an old railroad bridge over the Sixaola River and entered Panama. The country requires all visitors to show an onward/return ticket (proving they’re not staying in the country), but we didn’t have one so we printed out a fake Expedia flight reservation.

It worked.

Panama instantly felt different than Costa Rica. People’s homes were more dilapidated, the reggae music was louder, and the beer was cheaper.

Ania and I were happy about our successful border crossing, but we had no idea where we were going. There, in front of the immigration office, we ate our last Costa Rican avocado while flipping through the guidebook in search of a cheap campground.

Rio Sixaola, Costa Rica-Panama border - © Diego Cupolo 2011

By the Powers Divine

She asked me to make her hair pink …

Cerro La Cruz (1500 meters) - Jinotega, Nicaragua

© Diego Cupolo 2011

Day 31: A whop bop-a-lula a whop bam-boo

I woke up in Caguas with sand in my ears. Sand was everywhere. It was all over the bed and it wasn’t my bed. I was in the guest room at Federica’s mother’s house.

Federica lived with her mother.

This proved to be a problem when we arrived at 4 am. As soon as we pulled up Federica’s mother, Angela, ran into the front yard screaming about how she was about to call the cops. She unloaded on Federica and ignored me so I stayed quiet.

They argued from the lawn to the kitchen. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. Not knowing what else to do, I asked for a towel and took a long shower. *Escape* When I got out, Angela had gone to bed and Federica showed me to the guestroom.

Now it was the morning of my last full day in Puerto Rico and I wasn’t supposed to be in Caguas. I was supposed to meet the next housesitter, Stefan, in Vieques at noon and show him around the house. This was a real problem considering I didn’t have Stefan’s phone number. 

I got out of bed and found Federica in the kitchen. She was making eggs for breakfast. Salsa music was playing softly on the radio. She gave me a big smile and kissed my cheek. We ate, I got a tour of the house and I then told her my predicament. Soon enough, we were on the road to Fajardo. 

My phone rang right as we pulled up to the ferry dock. It was Stefan. He was about to buy a flight ticket to Vieques. We talked about a complicated mess involving cars, round trips and cargo boats, but in the end, we decided it would be better to postpone everything and meet the next day. He was pissy (and rightfully so), but the problem was solved.

I hung up and told Federica I didn’t have to leave until the night. She was happy. I was happy. Life was good.

We drove away from the town and found an abandoned church. I walked in and started taking pictures. There were many vacant, forgotten rooms of worship. Crosses, symbols and podiums. If properly combined, the images could’ve had some kind of cultural significance or grand meaning, but I wasn’t focused. Federica was standing behind me, rubbing my back as I took photos.

What was I thinking dragging her into a decaying church? Our time together was ticking away and it’d be better spent in a place with fewer hypodermic needles on the ground.

We got back in the car and drove towards Luquillo. We parked near a popular surfer’s beach called La Pared. The cool wind blew the waves high. We spent the rest of the afternoon rolling around in sand and watching surfers glide across water.

After that, we ate at a Puerto Rican restaurant overlooking the town square. Federica had mofongo. I had chicken and rice. We talked, drank Medallas and laughed. There was something very comfortable between us.

No pressure, just relax.

Federica was young, well, not so young, she was in college, but she seemed more grounded than a lot of women my age. Also, she had not grown bitter towards love, men and relationships like most women my age. It was a nice change of pace.

We made each other happy.

My flight would be leaving San Juan in 24 hours.

We got back in the car and drove towards the ferry dock in Fajardo. I had to take the 8 o’clock ferry to have enough time to straighten out the house and meet Stefan in the morning. We parked near the ticket gate and I tried to convince Federica to come with me to Vieques. She hesitated. I bought a ticket and walked towards the boat as it blew its horn.

The crew had already boarded and a lonely janitor mopping the floor looked up at me.

“You just missed the boat,” he said.

I was glad.

I would be staying on the mainland another night.

“Well, where are you going to sleep?” Federica asked.

“I don’t know, maybe the beach, maybe someone’s backyard, maybe the waiting room at the dock, anywhere.”

“If you’re staying, I’m staying with you,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” 

We bought a six-pack and headed towards Siete Mares beach. Once again, we went through the hole in the fence and, once again, the sideways crescent moon was smiling down on us. We spread out a blanket. The stars were bright in the sky. I was watching Orion’s belt as Federica undid my own.

We slept there, in the sand, next to a lifeguard hut.

© Diego Cupolo 2011