On the road from Panama to Yavisa... this was a couple of hours into the trip. My dad had gone ahead of us to see Father Kasubuski, but when he got there, the priest was off building a road or something. I won't go into the rage I feel about the deforestation that roads... like I said, I won't go into it here- it's a discussion for "Jo Mamma" or "Church and State." Anyway, my dad was going to try to give me a bottle of water and some cookies. I already had 3 liters of water in my side cases, and plenty of cookies- I mean power bars. Even if you're subsisting on cookies, don't admit it. So we had found my dad somewhere after the Bayano checkpoint. The millitary police at the checkpoint basically waved us through. My dad always stops and hangs out with them for a while, so he'd basically prepped them for us. "Go on, you father is waiting for you with Father Pablo!" they said. You'll be riding along on a decent chunk of road and there'll be this bridge. Kind of a big bridge but there are bridges all the time so you get tired of noticing them. And then you'll be, like, wait a second! I need a picture of this! I know I said that the feeling of arrival in Yavisa was like arriving in Coldfoot, but I didn't mean to imply that the towns are the same. Coldfoot is just a gas station and a camp. Yavisa has been an Indian city for hundreds of years- maybe thousands of years. Africans escaped from the Spanish and settled with the Indians something like 500 years ago. You might do some math and say WAIT? 500 YEARS? Well, yes and no. The Spanish tried to found cities, and then they died, and the Africans they'd forced to come along- they survived fine, and they still live in Yavisa. So it's a small city, an outpost of unique civilisation. Take your malaria pills and don't drink the water. The road to Yavisa- here's a shot of the road out. This "road" has been underconstruction FOREVER. They build it, and it washes away. So they kind-of build it again. I have no idea what they're doing. It's fun though.