With sweat beads pouring from his brow, the muchacho strains as he lugs the cumbersome cargo up the final steps of the formidable staircase to the Gone Fishing Panama Hotel.  As he pauses a moment to catch his breath, the teenager looks back down the cliff to see the Pacific waves lapping against the bow of his slender vessel.  Rubbing his bleary eyes from the sleepless night, the teenager clears his throat to say to anyone in the hotel who will listen: “VENDO PESCA’O!” (“FISH FOR SALE!”).

Peeling back the bag unveils a bounty of two oversized Pargos, or Red Snappers, each over four and a half feet long.  The young man explains that he has been awake the entire evening, reeling in these monsters.   “They pull VERY hard”, he exclaims, attempting to recount to the battle he has just waged without realizing that his exhausted demeanor lends any such credence he might seek for his tale.

As the hotel owner weighs the fish and pays the muchacho, I ask him where he caught them.  “Everyone around here thinks they know where to fish, but only I know where to find the Snapper that are this big.”  My curiosity sufficiently piqued, I ask him what this information might cost while smiling wryly.  Noting my interest in his craft, and calling upon his entrepreneurial spirit, the teen claims that he’s not really in the business of escorting fishermen.  He does leave at 6pm and go until 2am after all, and I might not be up for such a strenuous safari…..buuuut, if I were to make it worth his while, he’d think about taking me out.

“How does $20 sound?” I ask.  As we shake hands, his face beams with the smile of having swindled yet another gringo.  Funny thing is I’m smiling and thinking the contrary.