Dispatches

All sorts of flotsam washes up

n the shores of Bocas del Toro in Panama, and I guess I was part of that scene, which consisted of surfers, tourists, locals and outlaws – mostly from. Many beers later and I retreated to the bunkhouse and tried to settle down to sleep. It was not easy. At some point someone else stumbled in and, in flickering candlelight, I saw the walls were crawling with insects. I struggled to get back to sleep and was eventually woken up for good by an eldritch screech of “WHERE’S MY MONKEY?” from the hostess.