panama anniversary
I am sipping a gorgeous cup of freshly brewed local coffee and writing to you from a cafe high in the mountains of Panama, in the tidy village of Boquete, altitude 4400 feet. Our hotel room overlooks a rushing stream and a glorious garden with probably 30,000 flowers in full bloom, shimmering brightly in the zizzy mountain air.
Evenings are cool and comfortable; afternoons are pleasantly warm, hot if you're hiking; mornings are crisp, suffused with the bajareque, the local weather miracle in which mountain breezes carry a mist that's like a transparent cloud, kissing the skin with coolness and forming rainbows in the middle of the town square. Lift your head and, in any direction, you'll see verdant mountains with their heads in the clouds, mist weaving through like pipe smoke around a grandpa's beard. Sit on the hotel veranda and look over the noisy tumbling Rio Caldera and garden, with impossible cliffs in the background, and smoke a Cuban cigar, and you're in heaven.
This is, by our estimation, the best first anniversary anyone's ever had. How do we stumble into these amazing fortunes?
Evenings are cool and comfortable; afternoons are pleasantly warm, hot if you're hiking; mornings are crisp, suffused with the bajareque, the local weather miracle in which mountain breezes carry a mist that's like a transparent cloud, kissing the skin with coolness and forming rainbows in the middle of the town square. Lift your head and, in any direction, you'll see verdant mountains with their heads in the clouds, mist weaving through like pipe smoke around a grandpa's beard. Sit on the hotel veranda and look over the noisy tumbling Rio Caldera and garden, with impossible cliffs in the background, and smoke a Cuban cigar, and you're in heaven.
This is, by our estimation, the best first anniversary anyone's ever had. How do we stumble into these amazing fortunes?
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