If You Aren’t Into the Backpacker Scene, Try This Alternative.
The Koko Acqua Lodge in Bocas del Toro, Panama is an honest-to-God gem. While hostels are popular in the Bocas, they’re not popular with Amanda (my best friend) and I. This was a nice, private escape with a very short walk (about 15 minutes) into Bocas town proper. The property is owned by an American couple and consists of six bright yellow overwater houses with bright blue and wooden accents. The houses sit at the end of a dock and feel as though they are situated at the end of the earth.
Each home includes Wi-Fi, air conditioning, a private bathroom, and a full-sized kitchen. We were able to store wine and cheese in our fridge for late-night charcuterie soirees. (A soiree, in this case, means getting drunk at the end of the dock—and running away at the sight of a couple getting it on in their well-lit window.)
Each house has its own private dock with hammocks, which are perfect for lounging, reading, and enjoying the weather, no matter what the forecast. Even sitting amid the fog rolling in on the water is enjoyable, and it brings a mystical and ominous presence to the already isolated compound.
Isolated. That is exactly why we chose the Koko Acqua Lodge. We wanted to be away from the bustle of the town, and to have the experience of staying in an over the water bungalow. In an almost sitcom-esque fashion, we had several unexpected guests continuously show up at our “isolated home” on the island.
The Ants Go Marching In. And Then Leave. And Then Come Back.
The couple who owns the property is so entirely lovely. When we arrived, they welcomed us into their home, where they cooked up pancakes, bacon, and a fresh pot of coffee for us and a pair of traveler bros from Argentina, who promised to teach us the tango at some point. (Never happened.) The couple told us all about the activities to do in town, mentioning a chocolate tour in the jungle, yoga, and taking kayaks out from their own property. The two also spoke of their journey in learning Spanish, politics in Panama and the United States, and their lives before emigrating and retiring to the Bocas.
At this point, I was still a pretty doe-eyed girl and fairly new to traveling. I honestly had no idea that some people opted to leave the United States—to me, at this age, that seemed crazy. Who would leave the U.S.? This was my first look at ex-pat life, and I remember being very interested in what that lifestyle looked like. For them, it was running this hotel on the water.
The husband brought us to our bungalow. It was cozy and had a rustic charm. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the top of the fridge. “Dang it, those ants are back. Well, try to ignore them for now. I’ll be back later to fix that.” A party of ants lived on top of the appliance. I’m unreasonably fearful of bugs, and with the ants there for hours, I constantly felt as though we were sharing our new home with a group of strangers. He tried to rid them at least twice, but they would always resurface. Such is life living on an island!
Panamanian Perspective.
In the mid-morning, we decided to take it easy. We spent a few hours napping in the hammocks outside on our deck. When awake, we read our books and spent time enjoying the quiet and taking in the beauty around us. Well, Amanda took a 20-minute break to push me roughly in the hammock and tell me that she was going to rock me until I flew into the ocean. Traveling with your {soul} sister means that sometimes you pick on each other a lot.
A slender man with the typical Latin male swagger walked onto our deck with a wide grin. (Actually, I think it was more of a smirk.) He wore his longish hair tied behind him in a ponytail. He was nice enough, sussing out what we were doing in Panama. The man made himself at home on our deck and sat and chatted with us. He gave us some good tips about where to eat and drink in town. After this, he told us about the several children that he had with three different women.
“Do you ever have any interest in marrying these women?” I asked. He laughed and shook his head. “No.” Amanda curled deeper into her chair and asked, “Why not?” He grinned even wider and shrugged. “Because I want to be happy.”
I honestly feel as though that moment was made for a movie. It was so candid and matter of fact. He was a very funny guest!
The Pig Storm.
Traveling while female definitely can be spooky at times. On our first night in Bocas del Toro, a storm began brewing just as we got home. As you can tell from the photos, the compound of houses is pretty desolate and far away from town. We somehow got it in our heads that someone might come and break into our home. In addition to locking the front door, we put a chair in front of it. The bed in the kitchen was small, but both of us were determined to sleep on it because we were too scared to take the bed upstairs. I think Amanda slept one way on the bed while I slept the other way. Yes, we are big babies. We’d rather sleep like complete idiots than have our own beds.
In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the rattling of the windows and the door blowing. It sounded as if someone was trying to open them. I jumped up and looked out the door, but it was pitch black. I realized Amanda was not in the bed, nor was she in the bathroom. She decided to sleep upstairs after all, and came creeping back down. “Do you hear that?” Her voice was quivering.
We both crept to the window behind the kitchen bed and listened. We heard a pig squealing and screaming as though it was being tortured. What in the hell? It was nearing three o’clock in the morning, and as loud as the thunder and rustling of the wind were, this screaming pig was somehow louder! We listened and looked through other windows, trying to determine where it was coming from. We surmised the house to the left of the property. The windows continued to rattle, and the door continued to shake as though someone was opening it.
The storm didn’t seem as though it would subside anytime soon. Exhausted, we tried to get back to sleep, but it was difficult. The painful squealing proved intense, and the sound of the door rattled me in particular because I slept right next to it. We moved the kitchen table behind the chair that was securing the door. This was easily one of the most frightening nights of our travels together.
The squealing sound was gone the next morning, and we still don’t have an explanation for why we heard this sound in the middle of the night—or how it managed to out-scream the noise from the storm. The squealing was so chilling and pervasive that it felt like it was in the room with us. To borrow from Fitzgerald, “No one could ignore the shrill [squealing] urgency of that… guest.”
The Stowaway.
One afternoon, I was digging through my beach bag, when a decent-sized lizard crawled out and scurried under my bed. “Ahh!” I threw my hands in the air and climbed onto a chair. Amanda also jumped onto a chair at the kitchen table. Our ragged breathing when it would disappear, and fierce screams when it scurried out and scaled a wall or the bed, alternated for a solid 20 minutes at least. Then, we devised a plan. We laid out a pillowcase on the floor and waited for the lizard to climb onto it. Once it did, we quickly dragged it out the door and down the dock until it jumped off and ran away. There may be one less pillowcase in that cottage.
One Less Tea Cup.
When we returned home from dinner on our last night in Bocas del Toro, we discovered another rogue guest in our home away from home. As if the list of guests could get any more bizarre, we walked into the kitchen and found a hefty-sized crab running around. We jumped onto the bed in the kitchen and screamed bloody murder as it snapped and sidled under us. No way were we going to sleep with this crazy crustacean underneath us, plotting of ways to snap our ears off.
We sat hostage on our bed for about thirty minutes, trying to figure out a way to get the crab out of our home, and also trying to figure out how it got inside in the first place. Then I came up with a brilliant idea. I stepped off of the bed, onto a chair, onto the top of the kitchen table, and then onto the counter to grab a coffee mug. After that, I made my way back, playing this bizarre rendition of “the floor is lava.” I handed the mug to Amanda, and she dropped it on top of the crab. We were able to use a broom to push the crab in the cup out of the door, onto the dock, and into the sea…and the owners have one less mug now.
I don’t think that these critters ruined our experience. Rather, I just happen to think the amount of madness we experienced in 48ish hours is hilarious! I would absolutely recommend going with this accommodation option in the Bocas del Toro, Panama, and this is not even a sponsored post.
Thinking of visiting Bocas del Toro? Here’s where it ranked to me.
The accommodation we stayed in does look romantic, and that’s always the joke in our circle—that we often travel without our husbands. Here’s why a girls’ trip to a beautiful place is so important!
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