change is constant

There is a quietude, a dampening down that comes with travel, especially solo travel. As I contemplate re-entry into everyday life, it is this peace with myself that I regret slipping away. I'm at the Panama City Airport, through all the formalities and now just waiting. There are 3 older women traveling together, headed home from their Panama adventure. Also a newly formed group of people who seem to have their Christian faith in common, I overheard them discovering this commonality as we all stood in line to get checked in. One of them is pioneering in Idaho, whatever that means today. There is a young man who had his wife and 4 year old son with him earlier but they were just seeing him off. He told us that she had lived in the US with him until 2 years ago, and then wanted to come home. So he visits sometimes, and this time he found that his son knows little English, and he no Spanish, and it was clear that his leavetaking was hard. His wife and son had been supposed to come back with him this trip but at the last minute she backed out. Stories everywhere, although I am surprised at the ease with which some share theirs. I was up until after 1 last night, and then up at 6 this morning. I'm hoping that means sleep on the plane will come easily. Layover in Houston, and then SF late this evening. Hasta pronto. Thank you for reading my musings!

Maybe we fiind what we are looking for after all

Today was a day of encounters. At the bus stop this morning two young women showed up, both Americans. One of them is here doing an internehip with the Smithsonian, which has a facility in this town and seemingly every area of Panama. She told me she is working on a bat study. I had always thought all bats were blind, or nearly so. However, the type of bat they are studying goes after larger prey-namely a type of frog, and with the larger prey they need sight in addition to the sonar and other sensory devises they have, and these bats can see. They also monitor the mating sounds of the particular frog they hunt, and can use their powerful and finely tuned sonar to pinpoint the frog’s location. Meanwhile, the man waiting on my other side looked at me and smiled after we watched a mango drop from a tree and roll down the street toward us. Another chicken bus but this time the local science population clearly changed the composition of the riders, nearly all either somehow involved in science, or headed to the locks. Funny how that changed the experience. I'm in shorts and flip flops, body greased with sunscreen and bug spray, the wind blowing through all the windows of the bus, and I find myself at peace in this moment and this place. I know it is transitory, but it's sweet nevertheless. I arrived at the locks in time to see two large ships pass through, which was fascinating, amazing- and then nothing to see at all. So I decided to head for the Causeway. I had planned to walk out to the street and catch a bus but as I headed that way a van taxi pulled up beside me and we negotiated a fare. Through the next half hour ride, I karate chopped my way through words, phrases and even whole sentences in Spanish with the driver. He suggested we rent a bicycle for two once he knew where I was going-ha! I’m fairly certain he was just entertaining himself. At any rate, we had a pleasant conversation and I was delighted to have even a stunted conversation in Spanish that went beyond destinations, prices and food and he was very patient. And by that point in the day, the air conditioned ride was welcome. We did reach an impasse a time or two when I could not figure out what he was asking me, or how to say what I wanted to say. I met Louise at the bus station later in the afternoon. She is a retired school teacher, 83 years old and spoke very good English, having grown up in the Canal District with her dad working in the tunnels of the Miraflores Locks. She said that when she was in school, the US provided free education to the children of the canal workers, in English. More conversation with a young couple waiting for the same bus, and then this evening a Canadian family group was at dinner. We talked about everything from best places to dive (I contributed absolutely nothing to this topic), to treatment of cow manure to make potable water, to our travels in Panama. I can’t really do them justice. They are clearly more worldly and sophisticated than I would have expected, which is an indictment of my thought processes more than anything. It was a husband and wife, one of their five children who is mid-university, the wife’s dad and an uncle. An odd configuration for a traveling group but it seemed to work. In the end, I am reminded that regardless of who they are, or how they are, I bring myself to each encounter too.

Being lost and finding the bread crumbs

Always the question when on the bus is where I am to get off. The problem is that I’ve never been where I’m going and there are often not signs to tell me when we’ve gotten where I want to go. Sometimes I ask the driver when I get on, and they will then indicate to me when it’s the stop I want. Other times, like today, I asked a fellow passenger at some point if this was Esclusas de Miraflores-the Miraflores Locks. She sat across the aisle from me, so I lurched gracefully across to ask as the seat cushion I had vacated temporarily slid forward-clearly not attached! She said no and indicated it was a ways up. So when I thought it was the right stop, I looked to her for confirmation and she confirmed it with a nod of her head. The connection to other humans is sometimes simple and even as tenuous as the seat cushion’s position on its frame, but it frequently makes a significant difference in my day when it happens. What a difference it makes when you know where you are going! Coming home, I knew where I needed to get off the bus and this made for a relaxing ride, other than the various bodies that came and went on the seat next to me. The chicken buses are converted school buses, and this one had unequally sized seats. The left side had longer bench seats with room for about 2 ½ adults, and the right side had shorter seats with room for about 1 ½ adults. The only problem is that I don’t know any adults who can be split in two physically. So when the bus gets full, there’s some real intimacy. The seat covers are the color of chocolate mud and the vinyl covering most is ripped and patched. I first shared with an old man who was headed home to a distant town. He said it would take him an hour and a half to get there. Then a young school girl, and then a big muscular man with whom I shared a brief discussion about the commute. I had noticed that I got different vibes from the different seat partners, and I wondered how much of it was just my perceptions, and so I endeavored to have some sort of social interchange. The weather (hace calor!) or traffic (hay mucho trafico) generally sufficed as my test group. Look for the resulting thesis on newsstands near you soon.

more photos uploaded

at https://picasaweb.google.com/farmerrirene/Panama?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCPiml_H-yKSKlQE&feat=directlink

You can't get there from here

My afternoon did not go as planned. When I got in at the airport, I couldn't get a taxi ride because they wanted the 3-4 passenger groups-they charge by the person, and it's not metered, so a single fare is a lot like a one-top in the restaurant world. Not worth their time. The fare is whatever they can get, with some unspoken minimum based on the length of the trip. So I walked out to the street and flagged down a passing taxi. When I asked him how much (important to do before getting in the cab), he said back-how much will you pay? Since I knew what I'd paid for the same trip in reverse, I dropped the figure a couple of dollars, and said $2. He said ok, and in I went. But then things got harder. I could not find a bus for Gamboa. I asked several people, one of whom said to take the del Sabor bus. This I did, but the driver had never heard of the stop I wanted, and when we pulled back into the Gran Terminal, I knew I'd just had a lovely air conditioned cool-down but I was still back where I'd started. Oh, except now I had seen the town of Clayton, and I'd seen the US Embassy, should I have need of it. I went again in search of someone who knew and with whom I could communicate. By the third person, I realized the problem-I needed to go to the other side of the terminal-not where the metro buses run but where the chicken buses run. Oh. But I need a card to get through the gate. So that entailed a visit to a window, where I paid $1.25 just for a card to get to the bus loading zone-I still don't understand that but it was the only way to get through the turnstile, since jumping it didn't seem like a very good idea. Yet again, I asked for the bus to Gamboa, and it was pointed out to me. I got on the bus and since the driver was chatting on his cell phone, I asked the Committee of Concerned Riders if the bus went to Gamboa. One of them was sufficiently acquainted with the driver to interrupt his call and ask him, to which he answered yes. Then I tried to pay with the card I had just bought, and the Committee kindly informed me that the fare was cash only and that I was to pay when I got off. Ok. Gracias. I sat down. Not even 30 seconds later the Committee was back in action. Not my bus. This bus was in fact not going to Gamboa, but some other place that the man in front of me said was not close to Gamboa. Disappointing news, but better than a long pointless ride on the not-air conditioned, bumpy, lumpy chicken bus. So I thanked the Committee and assured them of my vote for them in the next election, and exited the bus. Back to square one. At last I was told that the next Gamboa bus left at 4:30. It was now almost 3. Ok. So I'm taking a taxi. And off I went, but all was not finished. Turns out Gamboa is in BFE, and once there, the driver had no idea where Ivan's B&B was. We asked a few people, and I must confess that I was by this point a bit grumpy. I was regretting this plan to stay at Ivan's, and wholly unhappy with the time taken for the trip. All my doing, but still grumpy. As we drove away from the 3rd or 4th person, they called out to us and pointed down the street. There stood Ivan waving us in. I won't share the words that I was muttering to myself but you can imagine at least some of them. Ivan was Mr. Cheerful and within 30 seconds of my arrival said "You are really lucky I had room". At this point I noticed that I must be in fact a grown up, because I did NOT say what I wanted to say at that point. I did not find it possible to agree with him just then, but I maintained a discreet silence. I'm happy to report that things started looking up from there. There is only one other guest here, Kevin from Brisbane, Australia. He is in Panama for a diving trip but here for a few days doing some birding and other adventures. Dinner and breakfast come with the package, which is good because the next closest food is at least 10 minutes by car, and I don't have a car. And I don't think taxis come out here looking for fares. So tonight Ivan, Kevin and I shared stories over spaghetti and cherry pie, and then Ivan trusted us alone in the house while he and his wife Gladys went down the street for a social call. Not being sure of Ivan's sense of humor, I didn't play any practical jokes on him. But by tomorrow night, who knows? I'll be part of the family by then. I walked down to the canal before dinner. This town was built when the canal was built, specifically to house the employees of the dredging division. It's a company town, and feels strangely silent and haunted. Lots of jungle, birds and other wildlife in and around it though. I can hear something outside my window right now, and I think I may have nightmares about the strange creature I saw earlier. It looked a lot like a miniature sloth and when I asked Ivan what it was, he named it and said it is a sort of large rodent-like animal. Oh goodie. If I sound less than enthusiastic about this spot, it's only because I am. And I know who chose it, which makes it worse, of course. But the people are nice, and it's too late now. Up early tomorrow and off to see the canal, the Miraflores locks, and the Causeway. Or so the plan says.

Said another way

Travel exposes one to different ways of doing things. For instance, the airport at Bocas is different in a couple of ways. I hadn't noticed when I arrived, but they have made good use of the end of the runway once the asphalt ends-it is a baseball diamond. I would really have liked to see how they handle a game and a plane simultaneously but if it happened while I was here, I missed it. Bleachers too, so you can watch either planss or games, or both. The airport is just a few blocks from downtown, so I was able to walk to my hotel, and then walk back to the airport. When I checked in for my flight today, after checking my back pack (small enough not to check on standard flights but these planes for the intra-country hops are tiny), I was asked to step on the bag scale. I had to ask a second time to be sure that was really what he wanted. Sure enough, they weighed everyone with their carry-on. I guess we were close to our weight limit? Confidence inspiring. Since we got to choose our seats when we got on the plane -nevermind that boarding pass with a seat assignment, I queued up early enough to get a window seat. Turns out I got both a window and an aisle seat, because my side of the plane had one seat per row. I like that they don't worry about little things like having your carry-on stowed for take off and landing, and shutting down portable electronic devices. No bother with such silliness! I'm on my way to Panama City's domestic airport, then a short taxi ride and a bus ride to Ivan's B&B, my home for the next two nights. When I emailed Ivan yesterday to see about a room, he responded with a bunch of questions of his own. He wanted to know what I plan to do in the area, how I was arriving and did I want dinner, among other things. I'm used to coming and going fairly anonymously, and I think Ivan's may be a different experience.

People are strange when you're a stranger

I met someone last night who is from another planet. In a former life. And who's to say, really? It made for an interesting conversation with a fellow human who is trying to make sense of irrational things. He said we met in a former life too, but I don't recall it. The festival, it turns out, is today. But I am leaving for Panama City today, and will miss it. There was a big baseball game on last night, apparently Panama's equivalent of our World Series. Walking the streets after dark, it seemed that everyone was gathered around a TV out on the street, with the volume WAY up. At the end, the score was tied, and the favorite team (not sure who was who) was at bat with bases loaded. The pitcher hit the batter, which of course gave him the base, gave the team the winning run, and up and down the street you could hear eruptions of joy. And then the music started, and the dancing. Earlier in the day I had reason to pass by a rundown house painted green on raised piers about 3 feet off the ground, a metal roof, with plants smothering the front. There was a long narrow porch, really just wide enough for passage. But clearly it was the mens' territory. Jutting out from the porch was a roofed overhang, under which sat a TV, and somehow the men managed to sit in that narrow porch and watch TV, smoke and drink their beer. It made me smile, the way that humans behave. Men congregate and make man noises, women circle up and chatter endlessly, and the children run playing in circles around them all. And life goes on. I suppose that in a community such as this, being unhappy with your mate would in some measure be diluted by the constant presence of others. And for sure it would be a force in keeping a marriage together because it would not be just the couple divorcing, but the whole group would be disrupted. I like looking in on other ways, and other lives. And I'm glad I'm not required to stay and participate.

carpe diem

So this is how it works-I wandered down the main street after posting those photos and was wondering what to do next. I was considering a boat taxi to another island, and as I walked by the main plaza, a man standing next to a chiva said "Bocas del Drago?" And I said "Cuando va?" About half of the passengers were school children on their way home for their mid-day break. We drove across the island through a jungle interspersed with wooden houses on stilts, beautiful clumps of bamboo, concrete buildings, a little school in the middle of nowhere, and then there was Drago. I never meant to come here, and I didn't have a bathing suit or other things I might have brought had I planned to go to the beach but my underwear worked just fine. And I will probably never pass this way again. So I went. Back for yet another shower and then down to the May Day festival, whatever that involves.

watching the world go by

There's a single sheet with which to cover myself on my bed, a ceiling fan and a floor fan. Still I slept with the window and balcony door open last night. The fan helped to drown out the street noise, and the room would have been intolerable without it anyway. When I walk into a place with air conditioning, I confess to feeling an immediate relief and delight, but it doesn't take long for it to chill instead. Best of all is to find a spot in the shade, where the breeze cools the sweat on your skin, a cold drink and people watching to be done. The faces here are intriguing. There is quite a mix of ethnicity, due mostly to some of Panama's not so dignified history of making use of others either against their will or for wages that keep them in poverty. But of course Panama has no corner on that market. At any rate, you can see people of African descent, native Panamanians (Indians, for lack of a better word), Asians and European, and most frequently there is a mixture. Some family groups seem to be rainbows of skin colors. Not very many albinos like me, but almost any other can be found here. I posted a few photos, hoping this works... If this doesn't work as a link, copy and paste the following into your browser: https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=farmerrirene&target=ALBUM&id=5873046051336229681&authkey=Gv1sRgCPiml_H-yKSKlQE&feat=email