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

for my brothers

Pascal: "Nothing is so unbearable to a man as to be completely at rest, without passions, without business, without diversions, without study."

doing nothing at all is hard work

My toes are waving hello at you from the other end of the hammock at my new home away from home. Yet another product of my unwillingness to plan or at least schedule ahead was that the only flights with a seat left were at 6:30 am and 5 pm. So at 4 am I had an incoherent conversation with a man I presume was at the front desk of my hotel about taxis and airports. (Dave, if you are reading this, I know 4 am is not early for you but it felt like hell.) I was dreaming that Emily Brown and I were having a conversation about a very large ham that she and Chris had been gifted and she was just getting to the part where she was going to tell me what she did with it. Now I'll never know. I'm an island dweller for now, and embracing the life, even if just for a short time. I rented a bike, which is now staring at me from the curb, and got the lay of the land while bathing in my own sweat. But then I had a late breakfast sitting looking out at the water and the boats with the breeze cooling my skin, and feeling good about not having to figure out where I'm going to sleep tonight, and how I'm going to get there. Mind you, by tomorrow I will probably feel the urge to move along but today is a good respite. And tomorrow is May Day, which is apparently a good excuse for a holiday here. I'm in Bocas del Toro, which feels a bit like any ocean-side town in a warm sunny place that tends to fill up with ex-pats and tourists. I've had a late morning nap to make up for my lost dream and now I'm considering a cocktail. I was amazed to find that this place-the entire island- does not have a bookstore. If I'm ever an ex-pat in my golden years, I shall have a bookstore to feed the habits of those like me. My Spanish works quite well, it turns out, once I was speaking with people who are used to talking to non-native speakers. Yes, I know that means I speak it badly but we knew that already. By the way, feel free to leave comments. They won't show up right away, but I'll post them as soon as I get back on line-unless you ask me not to, of course. Clay, I tried to get photos yesterday of what I think were 'wild' bee hives as I rode through the country side. We slowed down a lot because believe it or not, the PanAmerican Highway turns into a rutted, dirt road in places (like your road, Dennis), but of course there were never any at the side of the road at those exact times. I don't quite know how people do this 'nothing' thing for any length of time, but I'm going to give it a try.

Another day, another bus ride

On today’s bus ride, there were not only chickens, but I got to hold one. It happened by degrees. I had a window seat, and eventually a woman with a baby and son who was maybe 7 years old got on. An older man helped them get on and stowed their bags, but told the boy to hold the box He ended up next to me. I saw that the box had several sizeable slits cut in it and when the boy saw me looking he told me it was his gallina-his hen, although clearly it is still quite small. I fabricated for myself a story wherein his grandfather gave it to him to take home, but of course I don’t know really. Eventually the bus filled up and the boy’s mom told him to stand and give up his seat to an adult. By this point the box was residing between us rather than on his lap, so then it fell to me to hold the chicken box.