Our panga washed up on an empty, sun-beaten stretch of beach on an island in Bocas del Toro, Panama.
There, a man climbed a palm to harvest coconut under the greedy eyes of vultures.
Hatcheting open the fallen coconuts, we discovered treasure. A creamy ball that tasted richly overripe, like coconut cheese, never to be seen again. The surrounding flesh was succulently sweet, and the juice, nectar for goddesses.
Drunken on coco and lazing in the equatorial heat with the ladies of Chica Surf Adventures.