November 5, 2008
The U.S. election safely (and triumphantly!) concluded the night before, we threw a few clothes into a bag, loaded Rich’s bicycle into our Nissan, and set off on Wednesday morning for a three-day adventure into the Azuero Peninsula of Panama. We were high from Obama’s victory, and felt like we were on a celebratory pilgrimage. Our goal was to reach the town of Chitré the first night, Pedasí the second, and drive back home on the third. And in between Chitré and Pedasí, to stop in the little town of La Palma where Rich served in the Peace Corps in 1970.
Driving west through Panama City (we live on the eastern edge) we said a fond farewell to the polluted, chaotic cityscape that is the main east-west road through town. It is aptly called Tomba Muerto… (Tomb of the Dead). The traffic is always nuts, ignoring traffic lights and stop signs, and entering and exiting the roadway at illegal points, but Rich has really learned how to flow with it. He jokes about making money hawking bumper stickers for Panamanians asking How’s My Driving?
In half an hour we reached the new (northern) bridge over the Panama Canal, built to lighten traffic congestion over the original Bridge of the Americas going out of the city to western Panama. (Note to my mom, who was with me in Panama in 2004 and remembers the Centenario bridge when it was under construction: Mama, it looks a LOT like your new bridge in Bucksport! Suspended by two elegant sail-like triangles of cables – very pretty – but without the classy lights and lookout post that your bridge has.)
The land mass of Panama is most closely equivalent in area to the U.S. state of South Carolina, but it is shaped like a long, east-west tilde with the Azuero Peninsula jutting southward from the middle-western part of the country. The Azuero peninsula is famous for its sandy beaches, which don’t exist in the eastern half of the country. All the other foreign teachers at Rich’s school have been making weekend trips to the beaches since August, but we hadn’t trusted our car to make it there until recent repairs, so this was our first foray.
The first half of our trip was on the Pan-American Highway, which extends through the Americas all the way from Alaska to Argentina with only a brief gap in the Darien jungle of eastern Panama, but don’t let the fancy name fool you! In Panama, at least, it is NOT a smooth, highly engineered road. In many places it is two-lanes, and it slows WAY down to go through busy little towns, kind of like old US route 40. Very picturesque, though – not sterile, like our interstates. Our total 3-day round trip was about 500 miles, which is nothing on US interstates, but Panamanian potholes and periodic torrential rains make efficient travel impossible.
Our first stop was at a roadside open-air bakery/restaurant for breakfast, where we ordered omelets, resisting the sweet pastries and fried corn tortillas that Panamanians love. The place was hopping on a Wednesday morning, with workers, couples, and families pulling in for a 10:00 am meal.
After a two hour drive through countryside and small towns we stopped at the beach in Santa Clara. The public beach charges $2 per person for parking, but the beach, itself, is free, as are bathrooms and changing rooms. A little restaurant/bar has a captive audience. We strolled up the beach to a quiet spot and spread our towels. Hot sand, warm breezes, blue and green surf, and families playing. Rich put on some sunscreen to mollify me, and baked on his towel while I walked along the edge of the surf under my umbrella. (White Girl does the Tropics...)
We next stopped in the town of Penonomé, capital of Coclé Province (like a county seat) and walked around the town center. Rich had been yearning for a “pueblo típico” (typical small town) with a central plaza and bustling commerce, and Penonomé satisfies. Panamanian flags flew everywhere, celebrating the November holidays of Independence Day (November 3, for independence from Colombia in 1903), Flag Day (November 4), and Independence from Spain (November 28 , achieved in 1821).
From Penonomé, it’s another hour to the turn-off southward onto the "Carretera Nacional" (National Highway) from the Pan-American Highway. The countryside grows more and more lovely and agrarian. It looks somewhat like the American south. Contented cows and horses graze in hayfields interspersed with corn and sugar cane fields, tree-lined country roads, coconut palms, and flowering plants. Little shrines appear along the highway at odd intervals. Angela, my Spanish teacher, says they are actual graves, usually for someone who died at or near that place, buried there rather than in a distant cemetery so their soul will rest.
Chitre is a town of about 48,000 people and the capital of Herrerra Province. It has the prettiest town square of anyplace we’ve seen in Panama! A central, elevated gazebo looks out upon lush plantings and the walkways are designed to entice people through this little oasis of greenery on their way to the cathedral at one edge or the candy kiosk at the other. Around the edges of the square are restaurants, hotels, and shops. We stayed at the Hotel Rex, an old and simple, but comfortable, hotel which sits right on the town square. A beautiful 2nd floor terrace lets you sit and watch the world go by below in dry comfort (in rainy season). You don’t have to be a church-goer to enjoy the lovely old cathedral (La Catédral de San Juan Bautista). I liked most that its huge doors are wide open all day, and late into the evening. There is no preoccupation in Panama with keeping the homeless out. As we walked back to the hotel after our $12 (for both) dinner, Rich spotted a street vendor selling strips of tender, marinated grilled meat on skewers, the taste of which brought him back vivid memories of 1970 Panama.
Thursday morning we set out from Chitré for the town of Las Tablas, a bustling commercial center of 25,000 people. It was HOT by 11 am, and we were happy to duck into a shop that sells the handmade leather chairs Rich had been looking for. We talked with the shopkeepers and said we would come back the next day, on our way home, to buy two rocking chairs and 4 straight chairs for our still-sparse house. Then we stopped for lunch in a local restaurante for the traditional Panamanian "sopa" (soup) called Sancocho; a hearty chicken soup with tropical root vegetables (yucca, taro, and yam). It's an acquired taste, but it certainly has grown on me! I am now trying to make it at home.
By 1 pm we reached La Palma, the village where Rich had lived for 8 months as a Peace Corps member. He exclaimed in nostalgic recognition when we reached the turn-off, a soccer field at the edge of town. We turned northwestward and drove through a picturesque little town, built into rolling hillsides. "Why didn't you tell me it was this pretty?!" I asked. He had always portrayed La Palma as extremely poor and simple, but it looked lovely to me. Houses were painted in pastels, flowers were everywhere, and there was no trash to be seen (in stark contrast to Panama City).
We parked in front of the hut where Rich had lived - a simple, adobe house, on one edge of the town square, now turned into a hardware store. No one was around as we got out of the car and started walking around the town. Rich wanted to look for a man who had been his assigned contact in his Peace Corps days. Benigno had been designated because he had considerable education (to the 8th grade level or so). When we reached a street Rich thought was close to Benigno's house, he asked a friendly, elderly passerby, who directed us to a nearby store. We went in. It was simple and stark beyond all recognition in the States - lots of bare shelves, a few cans of sardines and tomato paste, but mostly empty shelves and jars that perhaps held wares in better days. A middle-aged woman and a young woman were in the shop, and they politely answered Rich's queries. The young woman then made ready to leave her post and take us to where we could find Benigno. It turns out she was his 31-year old daughter, Rosalina! She was friendly and companionable on the walk through town, but shy until later in our visit.
When we reached Benigno's home, he was sitting on the front porch with an elderly neighbor woman, and a young woman and her little girl. Rosalina preceded us, and gestured to Rich as she greeted her father. Benigno, 65, with impaired eyesight and a lame leg, peered at Rich. Rich said, (in Spanish), "I don't know if you recognize me? It's Ricardo." Benigno said, "Of course! Don Ricardo! Please sit down!" Rosalina had told us that her father had spoken often of Rich, and we proceeded to have a lively hour of conversation with the family and neighbor about Benigno's health, local happenings (including a bizarre story about a local wild-but-beloved monkey that had been mysteriously poisoned), and family news. We were treated to photos on Rosalina/s cell phone of recent local events, and the elderly neighbor hobbled into the house to fetch a framed photo to show us of her beloved daughter, who lives and works in Panama City. Rich was charming and entertaining, and I blundered along in my elementary Spanish; it was a delightful hour. Finally, we took our leave, promising to come back in the spring to witness sugar cane processing.
Rich was transported for the rest of the day. Peace Corps had been such an important chapter in his life, and this visit brought it all back. We arrived in the little seaside town of Pedasí in late afternoon. We checked into Dim's Hostal, a lovely, funky big old inn with five guest rooms and a large garden. The focal point of the yard was a huge mango tree with a roof built into its branches covering a patio filled with inviting chairs and tables and hammocks. We spent quite a few hours on that patio in the next 24 hours, and despite the heat there was always a breeze. Breakfast, included in the room price, was served there, made to order. Rosa, the assistant to the owner, and the one who did everything, was a charming Panamanian woman who chatted with us amiably whenever we crossed paths. We could have stayed there happily for a week.
On Friday morning after breakfast we set off for one of the town's two beaches. The sand was so hot we couldn't go barefoot except at the water's edge! Rich sunbathed and I walked. It is a beautiful setting, with a dark-colored sandy beach, wooded shores, and huge rocks sticking out of the water. Did I mention that it was HOT? After an hour we surrendered and went back to the hostel, showered, packed our bags, said good-bye to Rosa, and started home. We stopped in La Tablas to arrange for delivery to Panama City of the leather chairs. Our only other stop on the 6 hour drive home was in the little town of La Arena, famous for its pottery. There we bought lovely - and cheap - pots for our fledgling tropical garden and had lunch. It rained a bit on the way home, but that is Panama. The only thing that marred our great adventure was that we reached Panama City in rush hour, and spent a frustrating 80 minutes crawling the last 15 miles! We''re hoping that among Panama's concessions to development and modernity it will recruit a few good traffic engineers.
For photos from our trip, go to http://picasaweb.google.com/anneew
Monday, November 17, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
On Being An American in Panama During the 2008 Presidential Election
November 1, 2008
I am so nervous, I can hardly sit still. Yesterday I made 15 super-extra-long distance phone calls from our house in Panama City to voters in Ohio and Pennsylvania to encourage them to vote next Tuesday or before. Between each call, I got up and paced around the room, adjusting the fan and the curtains to minimize the breathtaking humidity in the house. When I got back to Panama a week ago from my two-week trip to the cool, temperate U.S. Mid-Atlantic, I walked from the air-conditioned plane into the air-conditioned airport, and from there, outdoors, into a blanket of warm, wet wool. I could have swept some of the air into a jar, put it in the fridge,. and had a full drink of water from the condensation. My skin, which had resumed its normal fine-pored, dry texture in the US, was back to sticky within minutes. The climate here is like a big, panting dog that follows on your heels, even into the bathroom.
We want Obama to win so badly that we can't concentrate on anything. Even that. I have abandoned my usual Spanish language TV channels in favor of madly flipping from CNN to the BBC and back again to parse the news from the commercials and gain reassurance that Obama is still the favorite to win. CNN plays his (and McCain's) campaign speeches wherever they go, and I could recite both mens' by now, but I can't stop watching. I can't imagine a greater contrast between two men, and two visions of America. That's a good thing, I hope. The more stark the contrast, the more accurate a referendum this election is on Americans' view of the world and our place in it.
I have asked a number of Panamanians about their views of our election. They range from the predictable to the bizarre, but all the neighbors and teachers at Rich's school with whom I have spoken favor Obama. Panamanians know firsthand what it's like to have America boss them around, and they take a dim view of our war in (on) Iraq. They also have long experience of American racism, both the overtly hostile kind, and the subtly condescending kind. My Spanish teacher favors Obama because he seems like a reasonable man who might have a clue how the world's brown-skinned peoples experience the world. Our next-door neighbor, a truck driver for his wife's home-based customs business, believes that George Bush coordinated the 9/11 attack with Bin Laden... Needless to say, he doesn't trust McCain.
On the other side are some of the students at Rich's school (and presumably, their parents). Most of the kids are indifferent or uninformed about the U.S election, having no connection with North America, but the more sophisticated and older students have taken an interest. The International School of Panama (ISP) draws from a broad community of educated Panamanian and foreign families. Most of the students have Latin American parents; and about half of them have lived in Panama most of their lives. Many of the parents are businesspeople or professionals in law, medicine, or politics. The Mayor of Panama City sends his children to ISP.
In Rich's economics class an argument erupted this week between the Obama supporters and two McCain supporters. Rich said it was fascinating to watch, and watch-only he did, to stifle his impusle to flatten the McCain advocates. "They were my two weakest students in that class, and their peers made short work of dismantling their arguments in support of McCain." I guess if introductory econ students can see that our emperors have no clothes and that Obama has done his homework (a concept they understand) it bodes well for the upcoming generation.
This coming week is Rich's first week off since starting the school year on August 11th. Most teachers immediately leave town, to go to the beach or to other countries for a vacation. We will travel a bit in western Panama... after the election. Until next Tuesday night, we are glued to the news from the country it turns out we really do love.
I am so nervous, I can hardly sit still. Yesterday I made 15 super-extra-long distance phone calls from our house in Panama City to voters in Ohio and Pennsylvania to encourage them to vote next Tuesday or before. Between each call, I got up and paced around the room, adjusting the fan and the curtains to minimize the breathtaking humidity in the house. When I got back to Panama a week ago from my two-week trip to the cool, temperate U.S. Mid-Atlantic, I walked from the air-conditioned plane into the air-conditioned airport, and from there, outdoors, into a blanket of warm, wet wool. I could have swept some of the air into a jar, put it in the fridge,. and had a full drink of water from the condensation. My skin, which had resumed its normal fine-pored, dry texture in the US, was back to sticky within minutes. The climate here is like a big, panting dog that follows on your heels, even into the bathroom.
We want Obama to win so badly that we can't concentrate on anything. Even that. I have abandoned my usual Spanish language TV channels in favor of madly flipping from CNN to the BBC and back again to parse the news from the commercials and gain reassurance that Obama is still the favorite to win. CNN plays his (and McCain's) campaign speeches wherever they go, and I could recite both mens' by now, but I can't stop watching. I can't imagine a greater contrast between two men, and two visions of America. That's a good thing, I hope. The more stark the contrast, the more accurate a referendum this election is on Americans' view of the world and our place in it.
I have asked a number of Panamanians about their views of our election. They range from the predictable to the bizarre, but all the neighbors and teachers at Rich's school with whom I have spoken favor Obama. Panamanians know firsthand what it's like to have America boss them around, and they take a dim view of our war in (on) Iraq. They also have long experience of American racism, both the overtly hostile kind, and the subtly condescending kind. My Spanish teacher favors Obama because he seems like a reasonable man who might have a clue how the world's brown-skinned peoples experience the world. Our next-door neighbor, a truck driver for his wife's home-based customs business, believes that George Bush coordinated the 9/11 attack with Bin Laden... Needless to say, he doesn't trust McCain.
On the other side are some of the students at Rich's school (and presumably, their parents). Most of the kids are indifferent or uninformed about the U.S election, having no connection with North America, but the more sophisticated and older students have taken an interest. The International School of Panama (ISP) draws from a broad community of educated Panamanian and foreign families. Most of the students have Latin American parents; and about half of them have lived in Panama most of their lives. Many of the parents are businesspeople or professionals in law, medicine, or politics. The Mayor of Panama City sends his children to ISP.
In Rich's economics class an argument erupted this week between the Obama supporters and two McCain supporters. Rich said it was fascinating to watch, and watch-only he did, to stifle his impusle to flatten the McCain advocates. "They were my two weakest students in that class, and their peers made short work of dismantling their arguments in support of McCain." I guess if introductory econ students can see that our emperors have no clothes and that Obama has done his homework (a concept they understand) it bodes well for the upcoming generation.
This coming week is Rich's first week off since starting the school year on August 11th. Most teachers immediately leave town, to go to the beach or to other countries for a vacation. We will travel a bit in western Panama... after the election. Until next Tuesday night, we are glued to the news from the country it turns out we really do love.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
My Spanish Teacher
Angela is a dream-come-true for a would-be anthropologist trying to learn a new language. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 3:15 pm I arrive at her middle school classroom at the International School of Panama (ISP) for my one-hour session. There are usually 2 or 3 young students in the room, being tutored by another teacher. It is a warm, welcoming, and colorfully decorated room. Angela greets me warmly and we sit down to begin.
I might be the most non-traditional student she has ever had. We never do any drills or standard language training. I figure, she does that all day with middle schoolers, and I can (and do) work with textbooks to learn the grammar. What I need is practical instruction in how to get around town, how to shop for groceries, how to talk to shopkeepers, and how to understand cultural nuances. So I prepare a lesson each time based on my needs. I think she is enjoying it because not only does she not have to prepare a boring lesson, but she gets to expound upon Panamanian culture and customs to an eager audience.
Angela is a very attractive, fit woman in her late forties; the mother of two daughters (one a senior at the school and the other a freshman in college). I know she is divorced from their father, but I don’t know if she has remarried. I wait for her confidences rather than asking many personal questions, although she is very forthcoming with stories and examples from her own experience. I know she adored her father, who died some years ago, and that she spends every Thursday evening with her 82 year old mother, who loves to go to the casino. Her daughters both live at home with her in a neighborhood near our own. The younger one is a tall basketball-playing senior at ISP whom my husband says is “a great kid”.
I arrive with a page of notes and questions from my preceding few days of adventures and misadventures, and after a few minutes of polite pleasantries, she asks, (in Spanish) “What’s on for today?”
Here are the topics we have discussed so far: politics and the current Panamanian elections, public and private education in
Here’s to teachers everywhere!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
We've got a screecher
Our daily round of sounds in Panama goes something like this:
6 am: The pet bird belonging to the people who live in back of us starts screeching. (Unless it never stopped, the night before.) Its calls sound like barks, harsh and desperate, although I’m open to learning that this is really a melodious mating call. I’m not sure what the owners do to turn the bird off and on, or if it is completely self-determined.
6:30 am: The little yellow school bus (“Collegiales”) roars up our little dead-end street and honks for the little girl who lives across the street. She comes out with her mom, or dad, and climbs in. The bus roars away. On a good day, it is a newer bus which does not spew black smoke in its wake.
6:50 am: Rich and I start up our car (a 2003 Nissan Maxima), glance at each other to acknowledge the ominous rattle it has sprouted, and pull out of our little carport to head for school. I go with him most days to drop him off so I will have use of the car. The 6-mile round trip takes 15-20 minutes.
En route up the hill to the International School of Panama (ISP), we slow down at the huge cut in the mountain to take in the day’s assortment of noise, trucks, men, construction equipment, cement mixers, and “caliche” (construction debris) which will some day result in a local connection to the highway between the airport and downtown.
7:00 am: Rich gets out at the school gate and shouts pleasantries to the ISP security guards. They like him because he is kind to them and speaks colloquial campesino Spanish.
Midday: The next door neighbor’s doorbell sounds many times a day. It is a classic Ding! Dong! and is mostly pleasant, since it means bustle and activity, but unfortunately our house has the exact same doorbell, so I am never sure that it’s not ours. Our neighbor, Marcia, is a customs official who works from home, and received packages and visitors all day long. It’s better than any house alarm or security system we could have. Other sounds contributed by Marcia’s family include the quiet putt-putt of her son’s motorcycle as he comes and goes, the prattling of two little boys who are cared for during the day by the family, and the good-natured yelling of Marcia’s mother, who arrives each morning to manage the household. My favorite, though, is the lovely singing in the shower by Marcia’s 20 year old daughter. Their bathroom is literally 6 feet from our living room, and unless our house is closed up and the air conditioner on, the sounds of splashing water and her voice fill our living room.
Any old time: Huge thunderclouds spill over the mountains to the north and roll over our neighborhood toward the sea. Deep booms of thunder and cracks of lightning usually precede by a few minutes a torrent of rain, which can last from a few minutes to a few hours. The roofs are specially designed to soften the sound of the rain, which our neighbor says could otherwise drive you insane. I like the sound of tropical rain – big, huge drops, and little streams rustling everywhere.
Late afternoon: Lots of street noise as workers head home. Everyone honks their horns constantly. It’s hard to know exactly what they mean, but since there are virtually no traffic lights or rules, we’re guessing it’s just communication. Drivers seem less angry than in the U.S., but no less hazardous.
Evening: If we do evening errands down at our local shopping center, which is quiet during the day, we marvel at the swarm of people, laughing and chatting while picking up take-out food, dry cleaning, groceries, hardware, and housewares. Sometimes I meet a fellow teacher of Rich’s at the ice cream store for a dip top cone (pronounced “deep top”) and we sit at an outdoor table to watch the crowd. She is here in Panama alone, and is struggling with the adjustment.
9 pm: We tune in to CNN or ESPN, now that we have cable, to find out what’s happening outside of Panama. Or even in Panama, since we don’t yet understand the Spanish news channels. Even CNN en espanol is focused on the US election. The other day there was a one-day workers strike in Panama which even shut down Rich’s school, and we still can’t seem to find out what it was all about.
10 pm: It’s hard to describe the sounds made by the huge frogs which live everywhere, but especially along the edge of the cliff, a few hundred yards from our house. They sound like a chorus of sore-throated old men who practice nightly, but can’t get the unison-thing down yet. I’m told they never will.
6 am: The pet bird belonging to the people who live in back of us starts screeching. (Unless it never stopped, the night before.) Its calls sound like barks, harsh and desperate, although I’m open to learning that this is really a melodious mating call. I’m not sure what the owners do to turn the bird off and on, or if it is completely self-determined.
6:30 am: The little yellow school bus (“Collegiales”) roars up our little dead-end street and honks for the little girl who lives across the street. She comes out with her mom, or dad, and climbs in. The bus roars away. On a good day, it is a newer bus which does not spew black smoke in its wake.
6:50 am: Rich and I start up our car (a 2003 Nissan Maxima), glance at each other to acknowledge the ominous rattle it has sprouted, and pull out of our little carport to head for school. I go with him most days to drop him off so I will have use of the car. The 6-mile round trip takes 15-20 minutes.
En route up the hill to the International School of Panama (ISP), we slow down at the huge cut in the mountain to take in the day’s assortment of noise, trucks, men, construction equipment, cement mixers, and “caliche” (construction debris) which will some day result in a local connection to the highway between the airport and downtown.
7:00 am: Rich gets out at the school gate and shouts pleasantries to the ISP security guards. They like him because he is kind to them and speaks colloquial campesino Spanish.
Midday: The next door neighbor’s doorbell sounds many times a day. It is a classic Ding! Dong! and is mostly pleasant, since it means bustle and activity, but unfortunately our house has the exact same doorbell, so I am never sure that it’s not ours. Our neighbor, Marcia, is a customs official who works from home, and received packages and visitors all day long. It’s better than any house alarm or security system we could have. Other sounds contributed by Marcia’s family include the quiet putt-putt of her son’s motorcycle as he comes and goes, the prattling of two little boys who are cared for during the day by the family, and the good-natured yelling of Marcia’s mother, who arrives each morning to manage the household. My favorite, though, is the lovely singing in the shower by Marcia’s 20 year old daughter. Their bathroom is literally 6 feet from our living room, and unless our house is closed up and the air conditioner on, the sounds of splashing water and her voice fill our living room.
Any old time: Huge thunderclouds spill over the mountains to the north and roll over our neighborhood toward the sea. Deep booms of thunder and cracks of lightning usually precede by a few minutes a torrent of rain, which can last from a few minutes to a few hours. The roofs are specially designed to soften the sound of the rain, which our neighbor says could otherwise drive you insane. I like the sound of tropical rain – big, huge drops, and little streams rustling everywhere.
Late afternoon: Lots of street noise as workers head home. Everyone honks their horns constantly. It’s hard to know exactly what they mean, but since there are virtually no traffic lights or rules, we’re guessing it’s just communication. Drivers seem less angry than in the U.S., but no less hazardous.
Evening: If we do evening errands down at our local shopping center, which is quiet during the day, we marvel at the swarm of people, laughing and chatting while picking up take-out food, dry cleaning, groceries, hardware, and housewares. Sometimes I meet a fellow teacher of Rich’s at the ice cream store for a dip top cone (pronounced “deep top”) and we sit at an outdoor table to watch the crowd. She is here in Panama alone, and is struggling with the adjustment.
9 pm: We tune in to CNN or ESPN, now that we have cable, to find out what’s happening outside of Panama. Or even in Panama, since we don’t yet understand the Spanish news channels. Even CNN en espanol is focused on the US election. The other day there was a one-day workers strike in Panama which even shut down Rich’s school, and we still can’t seem to find out what it was all about.
10 pm: It’s hard to describe the sounds made by the huge frogs which live everywhere, but especially along the edge of the cliff, a few hundred yards from our house. They sound like a chorus of sore-throated old men who practice nightly, but can’t get the unison-thing down yet. I’m told they never will.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
8.31.08 "I'm not dead yet..."
8/31/08 “I’m not dead yet!”
Two weeks have flown by and we’re now in our house in Brisas del Golf, which you can find on Google Earth, east of downtown Panama City, three quarters of the way to the airport. The community is named after the road leading to a nearby golf club, but it’s really a HUGE suburban development of hundreds upon hundreds of little houses laid out in grids, and built wherever the undulating, hilly landscape will allow.
I stopped writing for awhile because I became really ill with dehydration and traveler’s digestive upset, landing me in our local medical clinic for a 2-hour treatment with IV fluids, and a bunch of prescriptions for vitamins and antibiotics. It took me a week to feel halfway decent again! Part of it was that we were literally camping in our house for the first week, with no refrigerator, stove, washing machine, or air conditioner. Camping is hard in NICE weather, let alone heat and humidity! Rich spends each workday in air conditioning, but here at the house the indoor temperature climbs past 90 most days. Now, we have all the major appliances, so all we need is some furniture. We sure did start from scratch! Rich is mildly horrified at the expense, but I had done a projected budget and we’re coming in under budget for the most part. How in the world has he retained such a 1950s idea of what things cost???
Panama’s rural landscape is visible from our front steps and we can drive to the country in about 20 minutes. Huge palm trees of all kinds are interspersed with cinderblock houses and lush vegetation, none of whose names I know yet. Unlike all of Panama City, there is little traffic on country roads, and people saunter down the middle of the road, ceding right-of-way very slowly. Rich is trying to revisit something of the rural Panama he knew in 1970; some of the roads to Villalobos and beyond do capture it.
What in the world am I doing in Panama? I’m not depressed, but definitely lonely and adrift. I study Spanish every day, do lots of errands to keep us in food and supplies, and talk with the neighbors, haltingly. A family living behind us has two cute little girls who are entertaining to watch, as they are bathed in large outdoor utility sinks. Another neighbor has a screeching pet bird, whom Rich nicknamed “Dinner”, implying what will happen if it doesn’t shut up. Our neighbors on either side have been wonderful to us. The end house, with the beautiful view, is owned by a retired French couple who have invited us over to enjoy their view and speak French. On the other side is a Panamanian couple with 2 or 3 children (about ages 10, 16, and 18) and a very friendly, talkative mother-in-law, who has offered us help at every turn. Everyone seems happy that we have moved into the vacant house, and Rich has charmed everyone with his (apparently highly translatable) sense of humor.
Two weeks have flown by and we’re now in our house in Brisas del Golf, which you can find on Google Earth, east of downtown Panama City, three quarters of the way to the airport. The community is named after the road leading to a nearby golf club, but it’s really a HUGE suburban development of hundreds upon hundreds of little houses laid out in grids, and built wherever the undulating, hilly landscape will allow.
I stopped writing for awhile because I became really ill with dehydration and traveler’s digestive upset, landing me in our local medical clinic for a 2-hour treatment with IV fluids, and a bunch of prescriptions for vitamins and antibiotics. It took me a week to feel halfway decent again! Part of it was that we were literally camping in our house for the first week, with no refrigerator, stove, washing machine, or air conditioner. Camping is hard in NICE weather, let alone heat and humidity! Rich spends each workday in air conditioning, but here at the house the indoor temperature climbs past 90 most days. Now, we have all the major appliances, so all we need is some furniture. We sure did start from scratch! Rich is mildly horrified at the expense, but I had done a projected budget and we’re coming in under budget for the most part. How in the world has he retained such a 1950s idea of what things cost???
Panama’s rural landscape is visible from our front steps and we can drive to the country in about 20 minutes. Huge palm trees of all kinds are interspersed with cinderblock houses and lush vegetation, none of whose names I know yet. Unlike all of Panama City, there is little traffic on country roads, and people saunter down the middle of the road, ceding right-of-way very slowly. Rich is trying to revisit something of the rural Panama he knew in 1970; some of the roads to Villalobos and beyond do capture it.
What in the world am I doing in Panama? I’m not depressed, but definitely lonely and adrift. I study Spanish every day, do lots of errands to keep us in food and supplies, and talk with the neighbors, haltingly. A family living behind us has two cute little girls who are entertaining to watch, as they are bathed in large outdoor utility sinks. Another neighbor has a screeching pet bird, whom Rich nicknamed “Dinner”, implying what will happen if it doesn’t shut up. Our neighbors on either side have been wonderful to us. The end house, with the beautiful view, is owned by a retired French couple who have invited us over to enjoy their view and speak French. On the other side is a Panamanian couple with 2 or 3 children (about ages 10, 16, and 18) and a very friendly, talkative mother-in-law, who has offered us help at every turn. Everyone seems happy that we have moved into the vacant house, and Rich has charmed everyone with his (apparently highly translatable) sense of humor.
8.13.08 Panama City drivers are NUTS!
8/13/08 Panama City drivers are NUTS!
The Olympics are in full swing, but we missed the opening ceremonies last Friday evening because we were VERY lost, driving around in circles in crazy downtown Panama City traffic. I particularly wanted to see the opening ceremonies because my nephew, Zach, at 23 has just spent three months in Beijing working on the lighting for the opening and closing ceremonies! Quite an amazing experience, I’m sure.
Anyway, back to Panama traffic, I have not yet driven here and am NOT looking forward to it! The roads are full of potholes, the drivers are insane, and the streets are mostly without names! Well, maybe they have names, but no one agrees on what they are, and there are no up-to-date maps available. Having driven around for two weeks now, we pretty much understand the major arteries, but couldn’t give you directions to save our lives. When you come to visit, TAKE TAXIS!!!
Rich started teaching this week, and I have been on foot downtown doing errands to advance our cause of moving out of the hotel into a house near school. It is so hot by midday that I am drained and have to collapse in our air-conditioned room. Rich’s school is fully air conditioned, fortunately.
The Olympics are in full swing, but we missed the opening ceremonies last Friday evening because we were VERY lost, driving around in circles in crazy downtown Panama City traffic. I particularly wanted to see the opening ceremonies because my nephew, Zach, at 23 has just spent three months in Beijing working on the lighting for the opening and closing ceremonies! Quite an amazing experience, I’m sure.
Anyway, back to Panama traffic, I have not yet driven here and am NOT looking forward to it! The roads are full of potholes, the drivers are insane, and the streets are mostly without names! Well, maybe they have names, but no one agrees on what they are, and there are no up-to-date maps available. Having driven around for two weeks now, we pretty much understand the major arteries, but couldn’t give you directions to save our lives. When you come to visit, TAKE TAXIS!!!
Rich started teaching this week, and I have been on foot downtown doing errands to advance our cause of moving out of the hotel into a house near school. It is so hot by midday that I am drained and have to collapse in our air-conditioned room. Rich’s school is fully air conditioned, fortunately.
8.5.08 There's a gecko in my suitcase
8/5/08 There’s a gecko in my suitcase…
Ever since the millennium, when we were told the world might end, it has been my annual New Year’s resolution to become more flexible; more open to new and spontaneous experiences. My natural (Meyers-Briggs) “J” tendencies are all in the opposite direction, so this is no mean undertaking. I am organized to a fault (my dear son, Ira, calls me “frighteningly organized”). On day 5 in Panama I can already tell that Panama is going to do more for me in this regard than a New Year’s resolution ever could!
This morning I awoke to the jumbled chaos of our hotel room at the Crystal Suites, a down-in-the-mouth hotel in Panama City where the commodious rooms have kitchenettes and a widely variable assortment of other conveniences. Michelle has an iron and ironing board in her room, but not a coffee pot. Marilyn has a coffee pot, but not a coffee cup. We have dishes galore, and a stove, but no pots or pans to use on it. This morning we spent a hilarious half hour making coffee without a coffee maker or coffee pot (Marilyn, our potential source thereof, checked out yesterday…)
According to one of our Panama guidebooks, the Crystal Suites was built in 1999. This we can’t believe. More like 1969! The building is perfectly pleasantly designed, but very shabby and rundown. The towels are threadbare, the floors stained, and the furniture in need of cleaning. There is an army of very pleasant maids and maintenance staff, and they clean the bathrooms and make the beds daily, but they can only work with what they’re given. Our guess is that a developer with an eye for Panama City’s impending business boom built the place and then flipped it immediately to another company to manage. The current owner is probably making the most possible money off the place without reinvesting in the facility.
The Internet connection was “down” in the little hotel “Business Center” so I couldn’t call or Skype-chat with my sisters this morning, as arranged. The two hotel computers are a mess – full of viruses and clearly in need of cleaning and updating (both inside and out). One is missing its front panel, so the buss connection thingy is sticking out, probably getting dusty, moldy, and coffee drenched. Both computers are equipped with Windows 2003.
Once back in our room after breakfast, I started to pick up our messes. I lifted my straw hat from a pile of clothes atop my open suitcase and a gecko scurried around the brim. I yelped in surprise, dropped the hat, and the gecko disappeared into the suitcase. Throughout the morning, as I pass the suitcase, I gingerly pull one article of clothing at a time off the pile; shake it, fold it, and put it into a drawer. No sign of the gecko yet. My son would have already tamed and named it by now, so maybe I should do that.
In 5 days we have accomplished about 3 ½ things: 1) opened a bank account (well, started the process… they wouldn’t accept our first deposit until they complete the paperwork on their end, sometime next week); 2) scouted out and paid for car insurance on the car we bought here in May (though we haven’t yet managed to pick up the car); 3) looked at half a dozen places to live (but not found one yet); and 3 ½ ) bought a coffee grinder! Actually, the coffee grinder merits full-accomplishment status, since morning coffee will be Rich’s lifeline before his 7 am start-time.
I’m not saying it’s entirely Panama’s fault that things are so hard to accomplish here. We arrived exhausted, following a three month run-up marathon of preparations. I am not yet even minimally conversant in the local language (thank god for Rich’s good command of Spanish!). And we are bemused and bewildered by the procedural catch 22’s that lie in wait with everything we do. Panama is a 2nd world country in terms of its infrastructure - spotty, but improving. The school at which Rich will teach is friendly, supportive, but not necessarily very well organized. Plus, it is going through a huge expansion – from 650 students last year to 800+ this year! The administrators are quite upbeat – hopefully, they are sincere.
Ever since the millennium, when we were told the world might end, it has been my annual New Year’s resolution to become more flexible; more open to new and spontaneous experiences. My natural (Meyers-Briggs) “J” tendencies are all in the opposite direction, so this is no mean undertaking. I am organized to a fault (my dear son, Ira, calls me “frighteningly organized”). On day 5 in Panama I can already tell that Panama is going to do more for me in this regard than a New Year’s resolution ever could!
This morning I awoke to the jumbled chaos of our hotel room at the Crystal Suites, a down-in-the-mouth hotel in Panama City where the commodious rooms have kitchenettes and a widely variable assortment of other conveniences. Michelle has an iron and ironing board in her room, but not a coffee pot. Marilyn has a coffee pot, but not a coffee cup. We have dishes galore, and a stove, but no pots or pans to use on it. This morning we spent a hilarious half hour making coffee without a coffee maker or coffee pot (Marilyn, our potential source thereof, checked out yesterday…)
According to one of our Panama guidebooks, the Crystal Suites was built in 1999. This we can’t believe. More like 1969! The building is perfectly pleasantly designed, but very shabby and rundown. The towels are threadbare, the floors stained, and the furniture in need of cleaning. There is an army of very pleasant maids and maintenance staff, and they clean the bathrooms and make the beds daily, but they can only work with what they’re given. Our guess is that a developer with an eye for Panama City’s impending business boom built the place and then flipped it immediately to another company to manage. The current owner is probably making the most possible money off the place without reinvesting in the facility.
The Internet connection was “down” in the little hotel “Business Center” so I couldn’t call or Skype-chat with my sisters this morning, as arranged. The two hotel computers are a mess – full of viruses and clearly in need of cleaning and updating (both inside and out). One is missing its front panel, so the buss connection thingy is sticking out, probably getting dusty, moldy, and coffee drenched. Both computers are equipped with Windows 2003.
Once back in our room after breakfast, I started to pick up our messes. I lifted my straw hat from a pile of clothes atop my open suitcase and a gecko scurried around the brim. I yelped in surprise, dropped the hat, and the gecko disappeared into the suitcase. Throughout the morning, as I pass the suitcase, I gingerly pull one article of clothing at a time off the pile; shake it, fold it, and put it into a drawer. No sign of the gecko yet. My son would have already tamed and named it by now, so maybe I should do that.
In 5 days we have accomplished about 3 ½ things: 1) opened a bank account (well, started the process… they wouldn’t accept our first deposit until they complete the paperwork on their end, sometime next week); 2) scouted out and paid for car insurance on the car we bought here in May (though we haven’t yet managed to pick up the car); 3) looked at half a dozen places to live (but not found one yet); and 3 ½ ) bought a coffee grinder! Actually, the coffee grinder merits full-accomplishment status, since morning coffee will be Rich’s lifeline before his 7 am start-time.
I’m not saying it’s entirely Panama’s fault that things are so hard to accomplish here. We arrived exhausted, following a three month run-up marathon of preparations. I am not yet even minimally conversant in the local language (thank god for Rich’s good command of Spanish!). And we are bemused and bewildered by the procedural catch 22’s that lie in wait with everything we do. Panama is a 2nd world country in terms of its infrastructure - spotty, but improving. The school at which Rich will teach is friendly, supportive, but not necessarily very well organized. Plus, it is going through a huge expansion – from 650 students last year to 800+ this year! The administrators are quite upbeat – hopefully, they are sincere.
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