April 25, 2025
There’s something about Lula’s BnB on Isla Colón that seems to attract the delightfully unexpected. Case in point: Chris from Kansas.
Fifty-four, soon to be retired, and shaped like someone who once fought a vending machine and lost, I encountered Chris with wide eyes, sunburned ears, and the cautious optimism of a man who’d just googled “how to start a new life abroad.” Born and raised in Kansas and never lived anywhere else, his world travels to date consisted of a few business trips to other states and exactly one foray into Mexico to visit his brother. And yet, here he was in Bocas del Toro, Panama, researching retirement options like a newborn kitten discovering his paws… if that kitten also had a drawl, maybe high blood pressure, and a fear of possibly everything.
To be fair, I give him a ton of credit. This was no easy leap. For someone raised in a deeply conservative state, where the worldview tends to lean narrow, coming to Panama required an open mind and more than a little bravery.
So I took him to yoga.
Let me clarify. I took him to beach yoga, in a surfer paradise, where streets are barely paved – with a barefoot Reiki practitioner who may or may not have been astrally projecting while she spoke. Our instructor introduced herself and seemed to promptly forget Chris’ name. Despite multiple corrections that we all laughed about, she continued to call him “Mike” for the entire session. This might’ve been hilarious… until Chris, blinking back sweat and confusion simply lying in savasana, quietly shared that Mike was actually his brother, the one back in Kansas watching his house. After years of being estranged for each other. Suddenly, our yoga instructor’s spiritual “misfire” felt less like a mistake and more like a… cosmic glitch in the matrix? Chris was floored. Possibly by divine resonance. Possibly by his hamstrings.
Oh yeah. Meanwhile over on my mat, I did yoga from what I could recall while she worked with Chris, pretty much exclusively. I maybe didn’t get the most value for my money, but worth it to introduce Chris to this experience.
Later that day, I invited Chris to join me on a tour of a local chocolate farm. A boat ride was involved. His first ocean voyage.
He approached the vessel with the cautious dread of a man eyeing a suspicious carnival ride. He could not get his life jacket on fast enough, and the few times the captain cut the motor Chris whipped around like he was expecting to see a rogue wave overtake our wee boat.
But this was no ordinary chocolate farm visit, if such a thing exists.
Green Acres Chocolate Farm is a labor of love, giving and vision. Owned by Gary Mitchell, who moved here from the U.S. in October 2019 (October 29th, to be exact if I recall, as he recalled), Green Acres is more than cacao. It’s conservation, reforestation, and a small-scale revolution. Gary is working to reestablish the almendro tree among other pet projects, not just because it’s a keystone species or because dozens of birds, animals, and insects rely on it, but because he’s determined to help bring back the great green macaw from the edge of extinction, which calls the tree home.
Gary is also just a flat-out wealth of knowledge. Every step through the rainforest is a lesson in biodiversity, food insecurity, and ecology. If you find yourself in Bocas, step back from the surfing and the bars and the diving and go meet him. Or, better yet, toss him a few bucks to keep the mission going: www.greenacreschocolate.com
But I digress.
Here we were, tramping through the jungle, learning about symbiotic relationships and seed dispersal when, out of nowhere, Chris from Kansas asks about… the mycelium network. I did a double-take. Who is this man? Turns out, he’s not just rejecting Trump, he’s expanding his worldview in real time. And with genuine curiosity.
Chris was open – really open – to learning. About the rainforest. About the fragility of ecosystems. About why Gary, who is gay, feels uneasy about flying back through Miami just to visit his mom in L.A. About the lesbian couple I met on Ville Vie Cruises who extended their trip rather than fly home through Florida, opting for San Francisco instead.
Chris soaked it all up. He didn’t argue, didn’t shut down. He just listened. A man from a state that banned drag shows before it banned assault rifles, standing in a Panamanian rainforest, asking thoughtful questions about the mycelium network and queer safety in modern America. It was something to behold.
Yes, he’s, well Kansas. He’s clumsy, managing to step on two of the farm’s dogs and to find the one pile of dog poop on the dock. But his heart? That thing’s working overtime.
And honestly? I think this world could use a few more Kansans like Chris.
If you find yourself in Islas de Colon, Panama, may I suggest:
Lula’s Bed n Breakfast
Greenacres Chocolate Farm