But right now you can still meet a surfer from Devon there who attended the same boarding school as Winston Churchill yet walks and talks with the angels and aspires to draw all his sustenance from sunlight. Or spend the sunset hour over a cup of tea with a ex-SWAT team Memphis policeman turned soul searching beach bum. But I cannot claim that any of the charaters involved are fictional and their stories are probably not mine to tell.

You can lie on your back on a cliff top listening to the waves roll in against the shore and pick out the constellations you recognise in the night sky in real darkness. At this time of year, before midnight, Scorpio sits low towards the horizon in the south west. But if you happen to wake in the wee early hours not so long before dawn and raise your eyes to the heavens it is Orion, Pelaides, Tauras and Gemini that you will find there. And tonight Venus will rise just above the thinnest sliver of a new moon above the island.

You can find opportunity to ponder the statement that you are more likely to get struck by lightening than be attacked by a shark. And then be provided with proof through encountering a guy who makes his living diving, surfs in his spare time, and, of course, has never been savaged by any form of marine life. His father, who cannot swim and so clearly is more in danger of drowning than being eaten by a shark, has had the misfortune of having been struck by lightening twice. You can try to imagine the mathematical equation that might accurately describe the myriad possibilities and probabilities contained in those relationships.

In a village you can discover that what to some people are incorrigible problem neighbours, to you, turn out to be a series of shy and serious children who come to your door for help with their homework or to borrow the hoola hoops you happen to have leaning up against the wall by the back door or ask to use your bicycle pump or occasionally beg a little cooking oil or salt on behalf of even shyer adults. Their mother – or maybe it is an aunt - will stand quietly in the background observing. Later, if a horse happens  to wander through the yard in the rain and you manage to catch the beast and return it to its place, tethered to the shared fence, that same woman might promise that you can ride it on a day when the sun is shining.

You can observe first hand the relative merits of a big stick and harsh words or a small treat and a lot of kindness in the realm of dog management and use the information to extrapolate various other lessons about life.

I am managing a hostel in Santa Catalina. The Blue Zone is a laid back surfer hang out that comes complete with a charming house with an ocean view, a slightly crazy dog and a definitively crazy cat. It the slow season and the regular manager is taking some time out.

My duties are not so strenous that I don’t have ample time to meditate, do some yoga, take the dog for long beach walks, cook fish, chat to my guests, dream up various plans for the garden and my life.

My dive training is going slowly because my dives are dependent on enough but not too many people going out to Coiba Island on the dive boat. Soon I should get hold of my study materials which means that I can address myself to the theoretical side of diving while I am not actually under water.

Two hours on the bus to the nearest grocery store. No internet to speak of, no phone, no post.

On the other hand, there is the sunset over the Pacific ocean. Whales, dolphins, turtles. Surf. Clams on the beach. Fried fish. Rainy season thunder storms. Endless star gazing.

* …’time’ here referring to maybe six months or so…

• A day of sunshine surrounded by storm clouds
• A three wattled bellbird by the road
• A gift of freshly caught tuna
• A friend for the afternoon
• A loan of an intriguing book
• A wasp sting

It has put me in a reflective state of mind.

I wonder why I am here and not there and I ponder on whether I should stay. Motion suits me but the pull of place, any place, also exerts a force.

But I don’t like Bocas very much so, ultimately, it puzzles me why I have been contemplating, quite seriously, remaining here for some time. Make no mistake, the islands are stunningly beautiful but the sluggish local economy revolves around tourism. Swarming touts ceaselessly roam the streets and everywhere, as you go about your daily business, you are subjected to a compulsive, yet curiously listless, mutter of uninspiring propositions: Hola, chica! Which beach you go to today? Tour? Wanna tour? … Need a room? Good price. Good price… Amiga, buy weed?

Possibilities arise in all directions. Maybe a catamaran to Galapagos? A yacht to the San Blas?  Dive training here in Bocas? Involvement in community projects?

I am still uncertain what my next step will be but it seems more and more likely that it will involve moving on. When I consider my momentary hesitation it occurs to me that, in a way, Panama represents the end of a chapter. The opportunity to abandon one continent for another implies a new beginning, a different world, and I am standing on the brink.

A group of interlinking islands surrounded tropical beaches fringed by swaying coconut palms, monkeys, sloths and birds above in the forest canopy. The echoing throbbing roar of a distant troupe of howler monkeys.

Fingers of light and shadow shoot across the sky as black and violet thunderheads gather in the evening. A rumble of thunder and vivid electric flashes end in a sudden downpour. The din of water pounding on a tin roof.

In the silent night a school of spotted eagle rays slowly skim the surface of black water under a star studded sky. The smooth satin skin of the sea is broken by a sudden splash and silver flash of a fish rising.

Coffee in the morning on a wide wooden deck looking out to sea, clouds of fish swirl in constant motion underneath.

Thanks to Michael at Ciclo Guilly in Puerto Limon for helping me out with the hub.

It could be worse. I may find myself having to while away the time diving and hanging around on marinas trying to find passage to South America or beyond.

Still no new computer and thus still no photos. However, recently I’ve been travelling with Sarah and Tom, a mostly Australian couple who have ridden on dirt down the Great Divide from Canada. We parted company this morning but you can check out a few of their recent blog posts for some photos of shared adventures here and here.