Waking to the sounds of birdsong is something that I will never take for granted. It’s a type of immersion that is so special and understated but reveals so much about a place. In Santa Catalina, that is paired with the waves that hit the shore. I can hear the ebb and flow, and the trickle as the water flows back down the sandy slope.
I get up and step out of my room. The hammock there is swinging slightly in the pacific breeze. I sit down in it and look out over the ocean. Some surfers are paddling out for their morning fix, while fishermen load their boats for a day of harvesting the sea. The air smells faintly of salt and ripe mangoes, and the sun is beginning to warm the earth.
Santa Catalina is a sleepy town, but it hums with quiet energy. It’s the kind of place where time slows down, and you begin to notice the small things: the way the light filters through palm fronds, the laughter of kids playing barefoot in the sand, the rhythm of life dictated by tides rather than clocks.
After breakfast, I walk to the dive shop in the village center. My guide is waiting outside, with a smile on his face and a snorkel in his hand. A group of us get acquainted and walk down to the waters edge. Some locals are waiting by the boat. I step into the warm water, up to my knees, before hopping into the boat.
The adventure today takes me to Coiba National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of Panama’s most treasured ecological gems. We glide across turquoise water, past tiny inlets and coral reefs I can see shimmering beneath the surface.
We approach the island, and the dense jungle reveals itself – lush, untamed and teeming with life. The park is often compared with the Galapagos for its unique species and pristine ecosystem.
I hop off the boat and I’m surprised how instantly I am surrounded by fish. Angelfish and butterflyfish dart through the water, their scales catching the sunlight perfectly. I float for a moment, letting the current carry me gently and I feel a kind of peace that’s hard to describe, like the ocean is holding me.
I snorkel around the reef for what feels like hours. Every turn reveals something new: a sea turtle gliding past with effortless grace, a school of silvery fish moving in perfect synchrony and even a baby reef shark that seems to watch me as much as I watch it.
As I swim up to the beach of a small island in the park, two bright blue parrotfish swim feet from my face. I have never seen anything like it. In that moment I felt complete. That is what travelling is for me, it’s being in places I wish my family could see, that I never could have dreamt of seeing.
On the shore, the sand is golden and soft, and the jungle behind the beach feels almost prehistoric. I sit under a palm tree, drinking some water and running white sand through my fingers. I listen to the sounds of the forest, birds calling and leaves rustling. It’s wild but not threatening. It feels like nature is just going about its day, and I’m lucky enough to witness it.
Our guide tells us about Coiba’s past, how it was once a penal colony, and how that isolation preserves its ecosystems. It’s strange to think that something so beautiful was once a place of confinement. Now, it’s a sanctuary, not just for wildlife but for people who come seeking something deeper than just a holiday.
On the way back to Santa Catalina, the sun begins to set. The sky turns a soft orange, and the water reflects it like glass. I sit at the front of the boat with my feet hanging over the bow, salt on my skin, and I feel content. There’s something about Panama that gets under your skin, in the best way. It’s not just the landscapes or the wildlife, but the rhythm of life. It’s slower, more intentional, and somehow more alive.
This blog was written by university student Meg Topps during her work experience with us.
