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On the way up the coast we stopped for breakfast at La Playita Resort, not in a million years, expecting what we would find. The entrance was blocked by three large ostriches, pacing back and forth as if they were guards in front of some kind of castle or fortress. (Might as well have been wearing red coats and beaver hats.) Slipping past the ostriches, we walked in upon this giant area of wildlife so diverse and jam-packed that you couldn't open your eyes without seeing an interesting animal.

Up in the trees for example, sat giant scarlet macaws along side dark brown spider monkeys. On the roof of a small building crawled a tiny titi monkey who was very inquisitive and wanting to touch me. He looked like a small cat-chipmunk hybrid. Then, out of nowhere, this petit man came out from behind one of the buildings, wearing a brown shirt, some cargo shorts, and a giant piece of ice around his neck—the kind rappers wear. He introduced himself in spotty English: “I am Lester,” he said in this squeaky crow voice. Welcome to my home.”

Lester sat us down and explained the animal kingdom we had stumbled upon. “You see, I am a racehorse jockey in the United States.”

“Wow, how many races have you won?” I inquired.

“Over three thousand. I am probably the best.”

“Well what else do you do other than jockeying?”

“Well, I am a master of karate, a mentor, an instructor, philosopher, surfer, diver, karate master and gourmet popcorn chef. I also collect animals.”

“Oh how interesting,” I lied, really wanting no more than to fire up his giant ego on a kebab with some red bell peppers and a few porcinis. He's really cool though. Lester's little resort is open year-round and has four rooms for rent. He does his own fishing tours, kayak and snorkeling expeditions and several other tours. Lester's resort impressively speaks for itself. My incomprable camera skills captured a scarlet macaw and a spider monkey in the same photo. Damn I am good.

Next stop: El Valle

I was venturing for my first time into El Valle or The Valley: a quiet artsy and nature community set in the base of the crater of an extinct volcano. The drive in was somewhat rollercoastery, revealing cosmic panoramas of rainforest, mountains and sea. The town itself is quaint and has the feel of a small mountain village in Vermont or Maine: a mini artisan market, several bakeries and restaurants, and two neat attractions, the thermal mud baths and waterfall, which we wanted to hit up. Greeny bought perhaps the most touristy of all tchatchkis, the Panama shot glass. He also bought both of those which come in second and third place: the cheesy Panama magnet and puffy monogrammed Panama t-shirt. Greeny is a gangster.

On our way out of town, we swung by what looked to be someone's home—the home of someone who made beautiful wood furniture. The man standing on the porch looked wild, with a cowboy hat and gaucho-like roughness to his skin. We complimented him on the tables and chairs outside; several pieces which looked so unique and detailed, that we wanted them for ourselves.

The man, it turned out, was a master wood craftsman. He offered up several of his pieces for sale, including two stunning tables made from a thick tree segment. We bought the tables and watched as his little wood-working minions sanded then varnished away. Both tables together were $40—a price that, in the states, wouldn't even cover the artists lunch bill. The tables now sit at home in our respective living rooms and in addition to each telling its own story, the tables simply remind the artists in Greeny and I, that we suck.

Photos from this adventure: Isla Cana, Isla Cana set 2, Playa Bucaro, Azuero, Playa Bucaro set 2

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