It seems as though I better write something on here. Partly because a nice aunty might be fretting, but also because this sort of forms my diary while I'm away and it's always good to have aides memoire when looking back - as it seems I will be.

So the tour first. Puerto Viejo continued to be relaxing, with the hire of a bike a good idea. Got me out and about, including to the animal sanctuary - which remains a fine thing as long as you don't bear in mind the slums we passed as we left San Jose. Sloths for oaths, I suppose.

I opted for the cheap shuttle out of Costa Rica and into Panama and, as was always the case, you get what you pay for. A battered jeep of some sort turned up, with a gum chewing woman and a surly teenager for her mate. After the driver had gone to see her boyfriend in town for a bit, we picked up two Spanish people and were quite snug in the back. It then became clear that more were to join our happy throng, but with no obvious spare seats I was confused and concerned.

I needn't have worried as surly teenager left the party after a row over the ownership of a mobile phone. I got her front seat and someone got mine before throwing a Yank girl in the boot with the luggage.

Obviously we got a mile or two out of town and changed drivers. He then set the meter running for no apparent reason before we stopped for fuel and a chat with the garage owner.

Finally we were on our way and taking a 'short cut'. However, the roads were empty and the driver safe. Decided this would be a good enough way to get to Bocas del Toro and sat back for the ride.

Obviously, the vehicle would not cross the border as there was really only a rickety old railway bridge, so we were invited to cross the crumbling contraption by foot and then meet our next driver. The border was suitably dusty, hot and full of dodgy people, with a nice little $3 tip for something rather ambitiously defining itself as 'customs'.

Our new driver, Leon, was a Panamanian wheeler-dealer with the correct hat and moustache, as defined in the Central American Pictorial Dictionary of Dodgy Characters. He had a locked attache case on the dashboard and a mobile phone in his hand, which he used constantly for the next fun-filled hour and a half - which I spent in the middle of three seat bench. I was hot and sweaty and felt sorry for all my neighbours - of which there now counted nine.

When I say 'fun-filled', I mean boring and terrifying in alternate periods. The boring part consisted of the many stops Leon had to make in the course of his business dealings. Mainly, we seemed to be picking up bits of paper that were a direct result of the numerous phone calls.

The terrifying part was down to the drive through the 'no overtaking' mountains that separated us from our destination. This is banana country and many banana wagons ply their trade here. This is annoying to the average commuter, and indeed, the average wheeler-dealing Panamanian spiv. As such, much overtaking is attempted - many efforts being thwarted by the laws of physics and/or the vague wish to remain breathing - preferably without the use of a ventilator. The crosses on the side of the road indicated not all overtaking manouevres have always been a complete success.

Still, we got to our next part of the journey - a water taxi to Bocas. A certain amount of confusion reigned in that it wasn't entirely clear if we had the cost of the final leg included in our fee. Still, we had and we leapt into our spacious berth, pleased to have got this far.

Of course, when a Central American form of transport appears full, it is clearly anything but. My hopes for a seat on the outside of the boat were dashed when another eight people were invited aboard, some of whom had clearly had a lifetime of fried chicken. So once again I was in a middle seat and had started sweating profusely again.

Once we got on our way, the breeze soon sorted the perspiration out as we we were travelling VERY VERY fast in a launch that was so low in the water, I presumed a James Bond style submarine conversion was going to take place. It didn't and we made it - right into The Mouths of the Bull.

Welcome to Panama.

Next entry will largely be about books, so feel free to ignore.