Solar-powered luxury is available in one of eleven bungalows in this eco-lodge on the island of Boca Brava
Richard Holledge
Surprising place, Panama. A few minutes down the road from the airport at David, Panama’s second city, a fifty minute flight west from the capital, there’s a small marina where the fishermen gather – no posh yachts here.
From the jetty you can hire a boat to wend through the muddy waters of a bay, past mangroves and mysterious inlets and islands where there are few signs of life – just the occasional curl of smoke from a house hidden by the trees or cowboys rounding up their cattle.
Come market time, like a scene from the Wild West, the herd is forced to swim across the sea at a narrow point to the mainland where they are loaded up on lorries and taken away.
The sea gets bluer, the horizon opens up, as the boat sails around Boca Brava, one of the biggest islands, to tie up at the small resort of Cala Mia. There are only eleven thatched bungalows, each with a terrace, where you can sit and watch the gentle ebb and flow of the tide.
This is the kind of place where you swiftly lose the will to move. Maybe some light kayaking, a swim, perhaps a walk in the woods to a hill top to gaze over the islands which stretch to the horizon.
It’s hard to beat the mindless pleasure of watching the fishermen failing to net a single fish, the pelicans patrolling the calm sea and waiting for the iguanas to pop out of the undergrowth and scuttle up a tree. Occasionally the howler monkeys let rip with their discordant bellow as if providing the sound effect for a part in a horror film.
The furniture, materials and woodwork of the bungalows are made locally and unlike the rudimentary cabins of Kuna Yala these are nicely decorated with local art and rugs, tiled floors, glass walled bathrooms and lots of water and electricity. Simple, but sophisticated enough.
You get the gist from the hotel publicity which boasts that Cala Mia is ‘an entirely solar powered resort … catering to an ecologically and socially aware clientele, we here in Cala Mia realize there are certain responsibilities towards the earth and its people.'
Five per cent of the price of the room goes to support the indigenous people many of whom work at the resort. So Cala Mia is not designed and made to become a “hot spot” for George W Bush-lovers.
Bizarrely it is another US President which has the place abuzz as we discover once we have teetered up the jetty and adjourned to the little terrace bar and restaurant to toast the soothing views of the Pacific.
Cala Mia’s owner, Vittoria Ghini, is expecting, well, who? She is agog. She has been given no name and is instructed not to ask for one when her guest arrives. All she knows is that she is a woman and that she requires an extra boat to carry not just an array of suitcase but her entourage.
Who is this mystery woman? Who would be so grand? Madonna? Nicole Kidman?
No such luck.
She turns out to be a glamorous woman in her Forties, maybe Fifties, trailed by two aides who stayed glued to their mobiles arranging the next stage of their journey, a local guide, her mother and her rather odd son of about ten who had a pony tail.
Despite the discretion of her guide but with the assistance of Google we discover she is called Sheila Davis Lawrence. She’s the widow of Larry Lawrence, former US ambassador to Switzerland and big Democratic Party donor. Her claim to fame – or infamy – is that she was accused of having an affair with Bill Clinton some years ago. She denied all and threatened to sue.
In a macabre twist the body of her late husband was exhumed from Arlington National Cemetery because he had claimed he warranted a military burial for serving in the merchant marines in World War II and sustained a serious head injury when his vessel was torpedoed by a German submarine. Lies, all lies.
To be fair, she didn’t seem that grand, but she did hire someone from the hotel to accompany her on a trip to a beach with the sole job of walking in front of her sprinkling cooling water on the hot sand. After two nights, she set off for a cruise on the Canal where Panama’s top chef, Charlie Collins was to prepare an on board feast.
That was the about as exciting as it got. Phew, thank goodness. The days returned to the demanding routine of getting up as the sun struck the terrace, breakfast of omelettes and fruit, lunch and a supper of fresh fish and locally grown vegetables. Not many visitors to disturb the tranquillity.
There was a rather flushed honeymoon couple from Chicago, another couple of newlyweds from Dublin (looking rather flushed) and a howler monkey who took such exception at the invasion of humans he aimed a rain of pee from the safety of his tree. Paradise comes at prices per room £110 (plus 10 per cent tax) in the low season to £275 for a bungalow suite in the high. Breakfast is included.
One feels the owners, Vittoria, who is from Italy and her Dutch husband Max Van Keeken are on a never-ending quest to find their own private paradise. Like so many ex-pats in Panama they have that restless sense of adventure.
They met in Antigua when she was working on a hotel development and he was a yachtsman with an unquenchable desire to seek new horizons.
They owned a hotel in Costa Rica before embarking on Cala Mia and live in a beautiful villa a boat ride away with glorious views of the ocean and its little archipelago of islands. Here they breed cows and make cheese, helped by indigenous Indians who they helped settle on the island.
Already there are signs of civilisation encroaching – a small resort of lodges has sprung up on the ocean side, there is a deep sea fishing club and talk of a major hotel being built. So get there soon.
