Last weekend I took a day trip into the mountains to El Valle de Antón, a town nestled inside the crater of an extinct volcano. I had a handful of places I wanted to visit, but I wasn't in a hurry. I found myself moving slowly through the day, allowing each place and each moment to unfold.
My driver, Saul, picked me up early that morning, and our first stop was Butterfly Haven.
The butterfly pavilion itself was small, but the moment I stepped inside, I forgot about time. Thousands of butterflies floated through the air in every direction. Some landed on flowers while others drifted effortlessly past my face. Saul stepped inside with me just long enough for a butterfly to land on the leg of his pants. He laughed, smiled, and then excused himself to wait by the car while I wandered.
I ended up staying for nearly forty-five minutes.
As I made my way toward the exit, a young employee noticed my curiosity and invited me to see the caterpillars. One by one, he carefully removed each one from its enclosure, explaining what species of butterfly it would eventually become. He placed them gently into my hands. Some were tiny and furry. Others were brilliantly colored. One was surprisingly large.
He also showed me the difference between a chrysalis and a cocoon, something I had never really thought about before. Butterflies transform inside a chrysalis, while many moths spin silk cocoons around themselves before they emerge. It was fascinating to see both side by side.
When I returned to the car, Saul asked what I thought.
In Spanish I told him, "No pude evitar sentir alegría allí." I couldn't help but feel joy in there.
He smiled and replied with one word.
"Espíritu."
Spirit. Spiritual.
I smiled.
"Sí."
Our next stop was the Square Trees Nature Trail. Tucked away on the grounds of a hotel, the trail winds through the forest for about 1.4 kilometers before looping back.
Saul wasn't able to join me on this hike, and although I think he would have liked to, I found myself looking forward to the quiet. Walking alone always changes the way I experience a place. Without conversation, I notice more. I move more slowly. I spend more time looking than walking.
Before arriving, I had read that sloths are sometimes spotted high in the canopy. Knowing they blend almost perfectly into the trees, I found myself constantly looking up.
I never saw one.
Instead, I noticed other things.
The square trees themselves were unlike anything I had seen before. Their trunks begin with remarkably square bases before gradually becoming round as they reach toward the canopy. I found one enormous tree that had recently fallen and imagined how magnificent it must have looked when it was still standing.
Along the trail, columns of leafcutter ants marched steadily past, each carrying a piece of leaf many times larger than itself back toward its nest. I found myself standing there longer than I expected, simply watching them work together.
The trail crossed several precarious suspension bridges over a creek below. I won't pretend I loved that part. Fortunately, I caught up to a Panamanian family who crossed ahead of me without hesitation. Watching the three of them make their way across gave me just enough confidence to follow behind.
By the time I reached the end of the trail, I hadn't found the sloths I had hoped to see.
I left smiling anyway.
From there we continued to Chorro Macho, one of El Valle's best-known waterfalls. Tourist attractions aren't usually what draw me to a place, but while I was there it seemed like one I shouldn't miss.
As we walked toward the waterfall, the sound of rushing water grew louder with every step. The closer we came, the more the air filled with mist until there was no way to stay dry. I didn't mind. By then, the mountain air had turned warm and humid, and the cool spray felt refreshing.
Because it was the rainy season, the waterfall was full and powerful. We continued down to the natural pool below, where people were swimming in the clear mountain water. I dipped my hand into it and immediately understood why so few people stayed in very long. It was surprisingly cold. I decided to enjoy it from the shore instead.
By lunchtime, we had worked up quite an appetite. I had researched a few restaurants before my trip, but instead asked Saul where he liked to eat. He took me to a small local restaurant where we both ordered chicken with rice, beans, and plantains. I also tried an iced green tea that was brighter and more citrusy than the green tea I'm used to back home.
As we ate, we talked about our families. Saul shared that he has a twenty-three-year-old daughter from his first marriage and an eight-year-old son with his current wife. I shared stories about my own family, and before long we were passing our phones back and forth, showing each other pictures. We both laughed when he told me he wasn't planning on having any more children.
Our conversation drifted easily between Spanish and English. Whenever one of us couldn't find the right word, we'd pull out our translation apps, wait for the translation, and then continue talking. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. We were both making an effort to understand one another, and somehow that mattered more than speaking either language fluently.
After lunch, we wandered through El Valle's outdoor market.
Sunday is the busiest market day, but because I chose to visit on Saturday to avoid the heavier rains that were forecast, it was a little quieter. I didn't mind.
Local farmers filled their stands with fresh fruits and vegetables while artisans displayed beautifully embroidered bags, pillows, table runners, and fabrics inspired by the plants and animals of the region.
The pieces that captured my attention most were a collection of hand-woven masks made from natural fibers. Their craftsmanship was extraordinary. If I had more room in my suitcase, I probably would have brought one home.
A woman also showed me a small embroidered purse with a sloth stitched onto the front. She smiled and tried to bargain with me, but I knew I wasn't going to buy it. I stayed for a while anyway, admiring her work before thanking her and moving on.
I never took photographs of the embroidered pieces. Somehow it didn't feel right when I had no intention of purchasing them.
The drive back to the coast took about an hour and a half. By then I was tired in the way that only a day spent outdoors can leave you. We talked a little more on the drive home, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in English, and sometimes with the help of our phones.
As I looked out the window, I found myself thinking back over the day. I never saw the sloths I had hoped to find. I didn't swim beneath the waterfall. I didn't buy the masks I admired.
Instead, I carried home memories of butterflies drifting through the air, caterpillars resting gently in my hands, leafcutter ants disappearing into the forest, a shared meal, and two people from different countries doing their best to understand one another.
For me, that was enough.
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If you enjoyed spending the day with me in El Valle de Antón, I'd love to invite you to continue the journey.
My paintings begin with moments like these. Long walks, quiet conversations, and the small details that are easy to overlook. Members of my mailing list receive behind-the-scenes glimpses into the artwork as it develops, along with stories from my travels that never make it to social media.
I'd love to have you along.