Mountainous highway and torrential rain – a scary combo

On our way out of Boquete, we decided to stop by Las Olas, a beach resort the family from Kissimmee (our fellow white-water rafting and canopy-flying friends) was calling home for two weeks. The kids had raved about the black sand beach so much that we had to see it for ourselves. Lots of signs pointed the way to Las Olas, which was good because the road out there is fairly non-descript with large, open fields of green flanking it. Beautiful countryside, no doubt, but still desolate.
Las Olas was interesting with a three-story resort resting right on the beach, a gated community off to the right, and some huge homes under construction directly to its left. It was obvious that this beach locale is going to be a popular destination someday.
Unfortunately our Kissimmee friends had not yet returned from their adventures, but their sister gladly welcomed us in, showing us the three-bedroom condo and all of its amenities. We strolled down to the black sand beach where some were soaking up the rays and others were jumping in the waves. We couldn’t get over just how huge the beach and the waves were!
After a short visit, we got back on the road in an effort to make it to our halfway point – Santiago.
Word of caution: Do not attempt to drive the Panamericana Highway at night during rainy season. It becomes a death trap!
Stupid tourists that we were, we left Las Olas around 4 p.m. and we could see the dark clouds developing in the distance. We did happen to drive a good portion of the road in no rain or just a light drizzle, but when the torrential downpours really hit, it was pitch black out and big tractor-trailers were coming at us from around the curves blinding us as they passed.
Also, the headlights on our rental must have been set too high because everyone we passed flashed their high beams at us even though we did not have our high beams on. This resulted in a string of non-stop cursing from my husband as he fought to stay on the road.
Since we were up in the mountains, we knew there wasn’t much of a shoulder, if any at all, and we couldn’t take the chance of stopping to wait for the rain to subside. That was too dangerous of a prospect.
Instead, we just had to keep driving knowing that with each curve we rounded Santiago got a bit closer. We were both leaning forward as far as our seatbelts would allow, straining to see the road’s yellow and white lines through the rain. Every once in a while, when I caught a glimpse of the white line along the shoulder I would tell my husband he was over too far to the left or too far to the right.
Finally, Santiago came into sight as did the obnoxious colors of the Hotel la Hacienda. We were relieved but the huge margarita we ordered at the bar also helped take the edge off.