Camping in Panama - No Rules
(thepanamareport.com) Somewhere back in middle school, I was forced against my will to attend an adventure camp in the hills of Blairstown, New Jersey which was intended to increase self-confidence in youngsters through the magic of mother nature, scary rope courses and bad trail mix.
The adventure course instructors were all young college students who wore dreadlocks and Birkenstock shoes, well versed in the art of, among other things, listening to reggae music and smoking marijuana. To these young adults, the carabineer was a holy object and it was not uncommon to see them with multiple hanging from their belt loop at any given time.
While it was technically their job to supply campers with healthy doses of encouragement and moral support, I remember thinking on more than one occasion that if I ever found myself in their loser shoes past the age at which I could ride a bike on my own, I would gladly jump off the camp's tallest cliff.
In our first gathering at Blairstown, I remember the challenge set forth over the coming week and in the spirit of go-getter-ness, it was presented not as a request but as a order. "We will define ourselves this week," the head counselor said, a woman we were told to call T-Bone.
"We will set goals and strive to reach those goals. We will use communication, cooperation, and an ability to resolve conflicts in order to succeed. This week is about hope. This week is about opportunity." The moment she said it I realized--almost like forgetting ones keys--that I had accidentally left a value-pack of Twizzlers exposed on top of my bed. For the remainder of the lecture I used hope, opportunity, and goal setting to devise a plan and save my forbidden candy from the evil wrath of T-Bone's hippy posse.
Camp was an uncomfortable time for me, seeing as though I was accustomed to my own wing of the house and a sleeping area not ridden with ants. The bathroom areas at Blairstown were big warehouse-sized rooms that provided little privacy for changing clothes or taking a shower. To avoid the embarrassment of dropping a towel in front of a hippy counselor or having someone accidentally walk in on a bowel movement, I simply steered clear of hygiene all together using instead a small stick of Right Guard I had been saving over the years. By the end of camp I was dirty, bloated, and smelling horridly of granola; if this was what it felt like to define oneself, I was happy to remain undefined.
If, unlike me, you have grown to enjoy camping, Panama may be your oyster. "Private Property" and "No Trespassing" signs are uncommon here, meaning almost any place is a good place to lie down for the night. If you're seriously averse to paying a hotel or hostel, there are a myriad of outdoor opportunities to call home. Don't quote me on any legal ramifications here, and while the chances of Panama's deep-south-rifle-slinger equivalent coming after you are slim, there are no guarantees.
Beaches: Almost all public beaches, and most of the private ones too, are fair game for camping. The further you get from a major city, the more secluded and private they will become. Some private beaches are patrolled by guards but they can be paid off with a stick of Double Mint.
Mountains: The amount of untouched and un-patrolled jungle here is astounding, and the only real threat you should consider in camping in the woods is, besides FARC guerillas, the animal factor: some areas are home to pumas and jaguars, who can also be bribed if approached in the proper tone of voice.
City: While I'm not a fan of urban camping, I do see a number of people (mostly homeless men or crack heads) calling the City's park benches home for the night. There are a number of roofed-in areas you can score a bed, but this just comes off as gross and squatter-like.
Panama doesn't have a whole lot of traditional camping grounds, so use your imagination and explore. Camping in Panama is about hope, it's about opportunity, and it's about defining yourself, whatever that is in Spanish, for the many generations to come.
