The last week has been
a smudge of people, places, colors, cultures,
language, temperatures, topography, geography, menus ... all
flip-flopping wildly, but delightfully so. Admittedly I am a touch
ADHD so the battery of shifting stimuli suits me fine: at least I am
not bored. Boredom is the arch-enemy (
usually keeping company with
other villains like procrastination and defiance) tamed only by a
flurry of needless cooking, dishwashing, housekeeping or other, even
worse, misadventures like unintentional-
snake-hunting-in-the-tropics(
or writing bad blogs and sordid country love songs).
We left the lush jungle islands of Las Perlas and their man-eating
serpents and crocodiles (I'm making this up) and mess of noisy birds
and leaping fish (I'm not) for an overnight passage to Panama City.
The bright moon faded with the lunar eclipse and we found ourselves
(surprise!) once again blasting along on a blackened night amidst a
multitude of twinkling planets and stars. And airplanes. And fishing
boats. AND CONTAINER SHIPS. Hundreds were anchored, awaiting transit
through the canal: peppering the approach to Panama City - where
skyscrapers emerged like ethereal towers of tinsel rising towards the
heavens through the tropical mist of the early morn.
Ugh. The city sprawled as far as the eye could see. The ships spewed
corkscrews of black smoke. The mud flats stretched dull and reeking
along the shore. Unfriendly shoreboat drivers slammed over in grimy,
leaky pangas to deliver us to a rickety wharf we scaled with our
belongings, trekking across the long footbridge and up, up the
crumbling staircase to Balboat Yacht Club - where both food and
service were utterly abysmal. We did a few forays for produce and
pricey rum, and were unequivocally on the verge of panning Panama City
...
The next day we happened on a taxi driver - Adriano - with a spacious
air conditioned van and equally huge pride in Panama and its history.
After running errands (stop at the ATM, drop off wash at the
lavanderia) he toured us through Panama la Vieja - the stately ruins
of the ancient city that was plundered by the pirate Henry Morgan; and
Casco Viejo - the old city subsequently built after the sacking, in
the late 1600s. Casco Viejo has a French Quarter-like charm: narrow
streets hemmed by colorful buildings with wrought iron balconies and
graceful wooden doors. The gentrification is evident, but the charm
remains, and I felt a tug of yearning to live here (maybe a season or
so, and work on some writing ... we'll see .. ). Later he brought us
to a fabulous parilla "Jymmy's" and joined us, saying grace before we
dug into our steaks, then cruised us by General Noriega's vacant,
overgrown compound. It was an amazing day in the company of a sage and
captivating gentleman, and I genuinely warmed to Panama City.
PHOTOS HERE
That night I humped my bags ashore (with Chewey's help) and found
Rogelio (the taxi driver I'd hired in February) waiting for me at the
gate of BYC to bring me to Tocumen for my 3AM (!) flight to Ft.
Lauderdale. It was a l-o-n-g night; I was asleep before the plane took
off but even so, the 2 ½ hour flight wasn't long enough (yawn)! After
customs and immigration I rented a car and drove to Jupiter where I
rendez-voused with my parents and sister Karla and her family.
Suddenly I was magnificently immersed in another world: traffic,
telephones, relatives, pets, Christmas! - and all the trappings: the
last-minute shopping for groceries and gift wrap, preparing the
holiday feast, and lots and lots of catching up.
Now I'm at Mom and Dad's up north in Lake Place - Florida, that is,
but it could be Lake Placid, NY based on the 40 degree temps! We're
perusing photo albums, watching tv, drinking wine, and a game of gin
rummy is no doubt imminent before the visit is over. Meanwhile I'm
bundled up in all the clothes I have ... What a 180-degree turnaround
this has been - from day after day wearing the same tank top and
swimsuit, isolated from the rest of the world, plugging along on our
delivery - to this!
Traveling, the most seemingly subtle deviations I find are the most
telling. Sleeping quarters are not always a given: in the last year
and a half I've slept on floors, couches, trampolines, pipe berths,
settees, a horsehair mat, cushions on deck, beneath mosquito nets and
thatched roofs, in frigid cold and sweltering heat, on a lumpy pullout
sofa bed, and - ahhhh - in real luxury: a wide bed with downy blankets
and fluffy pillows. If you are tired enough you will find rest in any
of these settings, but each time I put my head down it registers (and
I am always thankful to have someplace safe and comfortable to lay!).
Another variation is in the brand of beer you order. Just when you
think you've gotten used to the unique refreshment of (Singha,
Imperial, Balboa, _______ ) you land in a new spot and the local beer
is (fill in the blank _________). How you say hello, please, and thank
you varies - because even in Spanish-speaking countries it differs
significantly: bueno versus buen dia versus buenos dias; de nada as
opposed to mucho gusto, and so on. What footwear you don (flip flops
on the dock? KEENS in the garbage strewn surf? closed-toe shoes to
protect from snakes and giant ants on the trail? or none at all?) ...
and whether, as in Mexico, you don't really sightsee as much as STARE
at the ground where you're putting our feet; because man-eating
potholes, sidewalks that disappear into crevices, missing manhole
covers, ditches, and other hazards - are rife!
But for now, I am safe and sound at Mom and Dad's (what could be MORE
safe and sound) coddled, warm (despite temps in the 40s) well fed
and content ... and contemplating EXCITEDLY what is in store for my
homecoming, and 2011!
