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.