Two weeks ago we traversed the border into Panama. On the Costa Rican side there wasn’t a single police officer. When we crossed the bridge, walking I might add, there were several very strict looking soldiers that were wearing camo uniforms and holding ARs. After some confusion with Panamanian customs officials involving proof that we were not just going to stay in the country, we all piled into a van and were off again.
The drive to Boquete, our next destination, took over five hours. The house we stayed at was part of a golf course resort in a lush, long and skinny valley. The house was the first on this trip which was similar to an American-style house. Kylie and I did schoolwork most of the time we stayed there and Dad went golfing several times.