It is quite a sight to behold. Here we are, relaxing on our pool loungers, staring at the Caribbean Ocean from the 13th floor pool of our Panamanian hotel. Only this isn’t the stunning view. What has my attention are the speckled red dots displayed across my arms, leg and somehow, my chest. My legs had a few large purple bruises added in for contrast. In a place where people wanted to see and be seen, I stood out for all the wrong reasons. As I sit there, I’m on the cusp on a wonderful realization. 

First, I have to earn these spots.

Seven days earlier, we spent several sweat-filled minutes waiting at the Panama City airport. Sweaty because even at 11:00 PM, humidity was 100% and also sweaty, because our driver was running late. In Panama , not having immediate access to a ride means spending every second shooing away aggressive taxi drivers who hound you.  When our driver arrived, we got to enjoy the thrill of driving in a Latin American country. Nighttime edition. It is highly recommended, and easily stacks up against driving the streets of Rome.

Even on the highway, turn signals and lane markers are mere suggestions.

Why bother signaling when there aren’t actual splashes of paint to indicate lanes? Approaching the many toll booth crossings is a test of will, with our driver barely easing his speed and trusting the barrier would lift before he crashed through it. Despite the darkness, even vehicle lights were deemed unnecessary by two trucks that we encountered at close range and high speed. While traveling uphill.  On a highway. A surprise that was equally shared between my husband, myself and our driver. 

Our destination for a few days, was the rich Panamanian rainforest, the large swaths of protected lands running alongside the canal. The last time we were here, we only spent a few hours in the jungle and were eager to return. It is a place where sunscreen is rarely applied. The mist, clouds and downpours are often present, (see: rainforest). When the sun briefly appears it is A) too hot to be outside and B) your sweat glands are simply turned to ‘on’ for the duration of being outside.

The days are spent hiking.

Traversing the summits surrounding us, we are quickly rewarded with the richness of the biodiverse ecosystem. We spotted coati crossing our path. A brown lemur-like creature with a long, but not prehensile, tail. We were enthralled by the trails of leaf-cutter ants, busily marching with their pieces of leaf, or marching back to get another. Bright blue butterflies, lizards and agouti – the central American version of a small raccoon, that looks more like a very large rodent. These outings always came with the fear of flash rain storms, running out of drinking water and encountering less friendly critters.  The rainforest doesn’t do a good job of separating the cute and cuddly from venomous and deadly.

Knowing this, we still sign up for a night hike.

This means paying money for someone to lead us on a three-hour tour in the dark, with stifling humidity, to see things you wouldn’t want to see in the daylight for free.

A few things, if I may.  The concept of day and night is very different near the equator.  There is no dusk nor dawn. Like a light switch, it is either bright or dark. Also, three-hour tours don’t have a great track record (at least my name isn’t Gilligan). Nevertheless, we are excited as our guide’s arrival. He is equipped with a flashlight, a machete and rubber boots, which seem an odd choice to climb steep, slippery trails until I realize they prevent him from being bitten by all the unseen creatures at ground level. For contrast, I thought I was smart to wear full length tights, coated in bug spray, that prevent me from feeling the sensation of unidentified bugs landing on me.  Looking down at the thin layer of spandex covering my legs, my first sense of doubt sets in about the soundness of my decision.

Over three hours, I stare with great intent at the beam my flashlight offered. Having been here in the daylight, I am well aware of how much creeping and crawling occurs where we step. Occasionally our guide would stop us, point his light at a seemingly innocuous hole or tree trunk, and reveal pure nightmare fuel.

For the arachnophobes, we see a jumping spider, two varieties of tarantula and a nest of spiders that even makes my husband recoil. The nest is a mass of web, leaves and legs, spanning two square feet and is built around a small shrub. The number of spiders inside this webbed madness is almost comical. I cannot recall if they were baby spiders or just a cluster of small spiders, but they numbered in the hundreds.  

Then came the millipedes. You know, those many-legged insects that find their way into your garden planters and almost look fluffy? In Panama, they are straight out of Wrath of Khan. The flat-backed millipede is as wide as my thumb and stretches three inches long. ‘Fluffy’ is not how this critter would be described.

My fear is focused on the ants.  

Specifically, the bullet ant. Ants that are larger than our queen carpenter ant, travel en masse at rapid speed - if you are thinking, “duh, that’s why it’s called a bullet ant” just wait - they have spikes, similar to the stingers of a wasp, that emit the most painful sting of all insects on earth. A sting so painful, it is likened to being struck by a bullet and lasts up to 24 hours. When agitated, they are known to climb trees in order to fall down and attack from above. Little armies of one-inch paratroopers whose combined sting can be fatal to us humans. This is not a normal thing I concern myself with.

The peak of the summit held a stunning revelation through a small break in the canopy: a view of The Bridge of the Americas, lit up with Panama City in the background.  I’m sure the view was breathtaking. I was too busy trying to avoid ants to stand still for that long.

A short flight and long boat ride later, we found ourselves on the Caribbean coast, on a makeshift island surrounded by the sea. The island is a mass of mangroves, with boardwalks connecting wooden structures built on stilts. We are at an eco-resort (traveler short-hand for no air conditioning) and enjoying the time of our lives. By happenstance, we are the only guests at this already tiny, remote place. While we can see the mainland to our west, everything else is just sea.

There are stingrays sleeping at our doorstep, a visiting nurse shark gives us a thrill and we spend hours each day snorkeling among the incredible variety of fish. We alternate snorkeling with kayaking to spot the monkeys living here full-time. Did I forget to mention this was also a refuge/rehabilitation space for many species of monkey? What a wild time! And I am still to discover that small crabs occasionally wandered into our above water hut, a startling realization for all involved. Above water, the dining experience is fantastic, more so when we remember there is only propane and solar power fueling the creations our chef prepares in the tiny kitchen. It was during one of our astonishingly good breakfasts that we note a number of painless red dots on our arms.

This is how we learn mangroves are an excellent home for no-see-ums and their bites are easily prevented by applying a barrier of an oil-based product to the skin. Something we do not have, and considering the sweltering heat, reminds me of basting a turkey before sticking it in the oven. Though we never feel a single bite, the results of their efforts were visible.

Unlike the no-see-ums, the source of my leg bruises is readily identifiable: boats.

Imagine a small wooden boat which could seat about ten people. The boat is covered with a canopy, which is necessary to shelter passengers from the extremes of sun and rain. To get in or out, a passenger simply needs to duck under the canopy and step onto the dock. Which would be the case if the water level was not sitting 2.5 feet below the dock. The actual space remaining between the bottom of the boat canopy and top of the dock results in a hands-and-knees approach to disembarking that can be mistaken for a Stop. Drop, and Roll fire drill.

After our eco-resort adventure, I know enough to book a short stay where we enjoy strong water pressure, air conditioning and crustacean-free rooms.

During our first pool lounging session, the first time we really did ‘nothing’ during this trip, my attention is drawn to the darkening bruises on my legs.  Then, I notice the full spread of the bites.  Not itchy at all, so the amount of them kind of snuck up on me. As I notice one, I start noticing more. And then, I discover the numerous red dots emerging in my cleavage. Clearly, this was the place to be for no-see-ums. Like some pop-up, trendy nightclub for the insect world.

Then, two things happen in quick succession.

First, we notice two strikingly beautiful influencers taking turns recording each other at a nearby pool. Before we roll our eyes too hard at these young women, I need to say that we met them later that day in an elevator. They were both lovely. Genuinely engaging, and carrying their high heels to their next location (Smart ladies, save those feet!).

Second, I look down at the blemishes and deepening blue splotches on my skin and feel…nothing. A lack of feeling that surprises me, because I know myself and my inner demon very well.

I should feel embarrassed. There is simply no way to lay by a pool, wearing a bikini and hide the marks. In rapid fire prose, my inner demon voice starts listing off all my body’s failings. All the reasons I should cover myself from head-to-toe with a towel, shrink from the world and hightail it back to our room.

Except this time, the voice does what it does best – be an absolute a**hole – and is not met with a captive audience. Despite the fact we are in a beautiful place, surrounded by beautiful people, I don’t feel embarrassed. Maybe it is sheer exhaustion. The ability to sit there and relax is a stark contrast to seven days of non-stop movement and adventure.

In this moment, I feel acceptance. The ‘blemishes’ I am sporting are simply the result of some of the most fun days I may ever experience. That is all. It may not seem too earth shattering for anyone else (because, it isn’t) but for a lifelong worrier of What Will Other People Think?, acceptance feels like a radical shift.

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