TheExpatJournals.com

The other morning, a friend phoned from NYC. At one point, she said mentioned that she had opted to stay in the city this weekend and my response was , “Oh right…it’s July 4th.” I love the fact that I had completely forgotten! When I was visiting Panama trying to decide whether or not to move here, people would tell me that, as a rule of thumb, you are either moving to something or away from something or both. I LOVE New York City, but I sure like me a lot better when I’m not in it. I LOVE America, but I sure don’t like the government there.

On September 9, 2001, I was sitting in a small park on the corner of 6th and Bleecker debating with a friend and exited the spar by simply saying, “Anyone can love being an American, but you’d have to be stupid or living in denial to use the word proud.” And then I directed his attention to the wonderful view of both the Empire State Building AND the World Trade Center.

So after nearly a month here, I’m finally able to answer the original question for myself…I’ve run back to me and away from `them’. I like the excitement the common man here has for Torrijos. It’s palpable. I hope their hopes are realized. I’m not at all interested in getting into debates about politics. It will quickly ruin at least part of the day… (I could no longer sit at dinner in front of a friend the other night if I wanted to preserve the friendship because my feelings on Bush run too deep though I also believe everyone, including myself, is entitled to their personal beliefs. Live and let live.) I just wanted to honestly share a huge factor in the decision to become an expat.

As long as I’m being honest here, the fact that I had roughly 500 square feet and paid only (yes only as per market value) $1800 a month versus the cost of what 1/3 of that can buy here weighed in heavily, too. And I’m ready for an adventure and Panama is definitely that.

I get to explore both the city and the country. I get to learn a new language, learn a new culture…everything is new, nothing is tired, nothing is old. I got tired of trying to explain the move to my friends in NY. The most important factor is an intangible that resides deep inside where words have no relevance…it made sense. So I finally just said that `middle aged men have affairs…middle aged women move to foreign countries.’ And then, through a waitress at the Costa
Azul (a restaurant I go back and back to), I met a woman from Australia last week. We ended up having dinner together twice. What I thought was a joke might be more true than I had imagined!

I don’t have to do anything more than sit on my balcony to watch magic happen here. In my corner of Casco Viejo, there are two men among the several who `park’ cars and do favors in general to eek out a meager living. One is in a wheelchair. They are out early to work those leaving for work. I know they don’t actually convince people that they’ve been watching out for the safety of their car all night, and that what really happens is that they get a small tip because it’s easier than engaging with them. So yesterday morning, the guy in the wheelchair is attempting to engage a man in a black Lexus and it’s not working. The man gets in his car, drives about 20 feet, stops, pulls out newspapers to throw in the garbage, hesitates a moment and then makes a decision. He pulls something else out of the car, walks back to the guy in the wheelchair and hands him something that from here, looks like a Palm Pilot. You should have seen the guy in the
wheelchair beam! He sat and played with whatever the device was long after the Lexus pulled away. And then began to show it to his friends.

I overlook an entrance to the Paseo de las Bovedas where, primarily, Kunas set up blankets to sell their wares. But there’s one man who sells Panama tourist trinkets. When a tourist is approaching, he is busy sweeping the area of his wares. When tourists aren’t around, he spends hours each day dancing with his broom with as much passion as if it were his woman. Never mind the Reuben Blades sightings (he supposedly lives a few doors away from me), this is the stuff that excites me to witness.

You cannot believe how many police are all over this neighborhood. There is a central location for the national police. Across the street from that is the station for the Tourist Police. And of course, there are the Palace guards. It’s nice to be so surrounded by so many cops. While I was visiting, I actually got to write to one friend that a first had occurred in my life…I was hit on by a man with a machine gun!

As I discussed recently with a male friend, getting hit on here is different from what I’m used to in the States. There’s nothing crass about it, very respectful. And from what I understand, very, very common. Seems most happily married Panamanian men have at least two girlfriends. And while I know a lot of gringos move down here to rescue the beautiful, young Panamanian women from their lot in life, it still somehow leaves me feeling uneasy when I see couples who fall into that category.

I went shopping with two friends on Saturday. We covered Avenida Central from one Machetazo to the other…that’s Calidonia to the Peatonal which would be a distance of roughly Union Square to Canal Street for anyone familiar with NYC. And not dissimilar to walking Broadway before the designer stores took over. Realizing that I now describe places in NYC by landmarks that USED to be there was one of the reasons I felt it was time to leave…If I wanted mall culture, I’d live in the suburbs. It was awful watching Disney take over Times Square and corporate America the rest…I mean, there’s even a Red Lobster on 41st and 7th now! 80-100 year old businesses are going out of business left and right. What I loved most about NYC was it’s edge, it’s art and it’s uniquely individual culture from block to block. NYC has lost that now, but it still exists here in Panama City!

Now back to shopping… the walk up Avenida Central started with lunch at the Hotel Caribe behind the Calidonia Machetazo. I had soup, salad, chicken, rice, plantains and what I assume was mashed red lentils, or something close, for $2.75. It was good, too. Couldn’t begin to finish all of it. Walking among the vendors covering every inch of sidewalk is like one long Woolworth’s for the most part, however, you also have local wares abundantly interspersed. For example, on a table you might find cigarette lighters in miniature Mazola oil or Jim Beam bottles sitting next to handmade beaded
necklaces or the fantastic earrings made from coconut with small `thorns’ to insert through your ear to keep them on. And the produce! This is the best place I’ve found to buy spices and vegetables…a bag of bay leaves or cinnamon or curry for 25 cents; 3 pounds of cucumbers for 25 cents; a bag of green beans that looks better than anything I’ve seen in the stores for 25 cents; lettuce for 80 cents instead of the $2.39 head of iceberg at Super 99; beautiful small eggplants, potatoes for roughly 25 cents a pound; and so on and so on. Other than the KFC, McDonald’s, Burger King and Wendy’s, which were somehow tiny in the scope of the flavor of local culture, there was no sign of corporate America. God I wish I had taken my camera to capture what resembled a voodoo queen surrounded by green herbs of all different sorts…they literally encircled her. Herbal medicinal compounds are a thriving part of these street vendors. One day, I want to take a local with me who can translate and reveal the mystery those vendors are to me at this point.

Imagine a great street fair and all the different food you can sample and you’ll have some idea of what every weekend is like along Avenida Central. I had a delicious cup of what I would call `green’ orange juice, not that the juice was green, the fruit was. I actually thought they were large green limons, but no, it was naranja. The first few sips were `interesting’ and by the 2/3 mark, I knew this would become a regular thing for me. Delicious! (Are these the famous Boquete oranges that also appear green?) One friend decided to try the sugar cane juice and so perfectly stated that it was `like drinking sweet grass.’ He was right…imagine sugar and grass in the blender. It was green…sort of that muckish green color of all lakes at any Six Flags park. And it was ice cold without ice. I loved looking at the large machine they use to make it. They pull the roughly 8 foot lengths of sugar cane off the back of a truck and run it through what looks like some Jurassic-sized meat grinder. After the novelty of a few sips, however, it landed in the garbage.

Backing up to Casco Viejo for a minute, each evening, all around the neighborhood, ladies stand in front of their buildings and cook. It’s where the locals `eat out’ and is always to go (para llevar). They all use the Chinese aluminum pots to deep fry chicken or fish which they place on plates and cover with foil. They usually supply a fork, but not napkins. A fried chicken breast costs 50 cents.

Now back to Avenida Central…the first time I went to Calidonia was with a Panamanian friend. At one point, we were warned by store clerks that a known pickpocket was following us. Which I thought was very nice of them to do and which also means that now, I am really careful as a rule…not afraid, just responsible under the circumstances. I dress in a way that makes me look like the equivalent to poor white trash…shorts, t-shirt, sneakers or flip flops and a Yankee cap…worlds
away from how the Panamanian women dress to the max on a daily basis. I don’t wear a watch or earrings unless it’s the coconut earrings I mentioned above. While I do carry a small backpack, it’s usually one made of rafia and I put all the things I don’t want to lose inside a small plastic bag (like from grocery shopping) that I tie shut. So if a pickpocket does manage to get his/her hands inside, the odds of successfully reaching their destination before I feel it seem fairly slim to me. And I do NOT carry anything in my pockets that I fear losing. I’ve been shopping there lots and so far, no problem at all.

After we reached the Peatonal…the part of Avenida Central that is closed to cars…the pedestrian mall…I felt someone grab my bag from behind. I turned around and it was a friend of mine, Ina, with her daughter, sister and mother. They are Kuna and apparently are of a royal bloodline. I met her the first day I visited Panama City because she works another friend. She graduated from the University of Wisconsin, so her English is fluent and the girl has such the `New York attitude’…in other words, bright and assertive. Ina and her family are a whole `nother story…as we say in the south.

When I was looking for apartments in the city ( I am renting because it seems crazy to me to buy before I’m positive I want to live here…but I’m renting with a lease purchase option at a price determined now with a portion of my rent each month going towards the purchase price…ask and ye shall receive in many places.), I would determine what I wanted to see from the local classifieds and Ina would make the call on my behalf, speak in Spanish, and then drive me around to see things. Her younger sister came with us one day apparently wanting to sate her curiosity about the middle aged American woman looking to move here by herself. By the afternoon, this tiny girl and I were walking arm in arm. I later heard that she went back telling her mother that I was not what she expected. It seems that 45 is considered old down here, but for some reason, they, men and women, all think I look very young for my age (muy joven). A couple weeks later I met the mother when a group of us, including Ina’s in-laws from Albany, took the train ride over to Colon. The train runs alongside the Panama Canal, has comfy seats, mahogany, brass and an outside viewing platform as well. $20 one way, slightly less round trip and about 50 minutes in each direction. Nice ride, but once is enough for me to ever visit Colon.

The only thing I liked about Colon were the interesting advertising and/or political hand painted signs on the walls. It seems like a scary, lawless, poverty ridden town except for the rich Arabs and Chinese with businesses in the free trade zone. One of the Arab houses we saw had, not only serious fencing with a gorgeous artful, wrought iron version of serpentine barbed wire, but also a guard with a semi-automatic weapon. In that tiny pocket of Arab wealth, apparently there’s quite the `keeping up with the Joneses’ mentality. Seems that when one neighbor tore down the house on his lot to build a bigger, better version, another neighborhood followed suit in order to remain the biggest on the block.

Ina’s Mom is a lady who always wears the customary Kuna dress. She´s also an expert mola maker and the bead work on her legs (called simply rings) and arms are so beautiful. Rings are tiny individual strands of beads that add up to about 8 inches in length and when put all together form a beautiful design. Her leg rings are the Kuna flag. (I’m constantly amazed by the aesthetic similarities of ancient art…the Kuna flag looks just like symbols in Greek pottery which we would closely associate in modern times with the Nazi cross.)

After lunch in the nice Hotel Washington, when we were alone, Mom asked me to take a couple of pictures of her to keep as souvenirs. I felt quite special having a Kuna ASK me to take a picture instead of asking me to pay to take her picture. At the end of the day, she invited me to come visit their home and said to me in Kuna (with Ina translating) that ´Now, I am her very good friend.¨ In Kuna, it sounds like Anini Anedi. Then, she asked permission to measure my legs and intends to present me with the gift of rings. How amazing is that? I’m told the daughters in this family get their own islands when they marry because of their bloodline and because the Kunas pass land through the women.

A couple of weeks ago, the youngest daughter brought the oldest daughter to my apartment for a visit. She and her husband both are both teachers. She teaches at the school on Ustupu in Kuna Yala. I was surprised to learn the school had about a thousand students between the ages of 4 and 14. It might have also been the first conversation I had in Spanish that went beyond ordering food or asking the price of something. In any event, I’m invited to come out for a visit and LOVE the thought of going to San Blas as a guest instead of a tourist.

I cannot understate how amazed I am by this family and how much their care for me has made such a difference in my transition here. When the murders were in the news last week, I got a call from Ina who wanted to make sure I was being careful. As if the women in the family aren’t enough, I also stumbled across the website of an artist one day when another friend and I were doing a net search on Ustupu. It turns out that Ina’s mother’s brother is an incredible painter who
now lives in Montreal and is considered quite famous among his own. Check it out for yourself here: http://deleonkantule.tripod.com/introeng.htm

Now that you have some background, it was with great pleasure that I was able to introduce my two Gringo friends (oops..one’s a Brit and they’re not Gringos. That slang is for Americans only.) to the Kuna family who so warmly invite me to become a part of their family. (I think that being here alone without a family is unimaginable to them.) They are a constant source of warmth for me.

And wonder of wonders, I got a phone on Friday!! Having said that, I wonder how long it would have taken without intervention. Kevin Bradley (Kevin Bradley Insurance) put a call into a friend of his at Cable & Wireless. Within a few days, I had a phone. Thank you Kevin!! Of course, two days later my electricity went out for 29 hours so it really didn’t matter if I had a phone or not. In all fairness, it’s a bad breaker switch in my building that has nothing to do with service. It seems that, although blackouts are fairly common, they’re also pretty short lived. Knowing that somehow makes it seem like no big deal. If I buy this place, a generator will definitely be in order. As will a reserve water tank so that maybe, I can have better water pressure and actually enjoy a lengthy hot water shower…a hot water bath is not a problem and a scalding hot water shower is not a problem. But everytime I try to get just the right temperature in the shower, the cold water pressure up to that `altitude’ dominates. But at least I have a huge bath tub…which seems a rarity here. Before I depart the john speak, I just want to say that I love the built-in portable bidets in seemingly every apartment here…quite the luxury in the states or overseas, but standard here. Moving quickly on…

At first, I really missed being able to splash my face with really cold water. The cold water here just doesn’t feel all that cold to me, more like cool. And having never been someone who was in the least bit interested in cold showers, I now understand that what I have always known to be a cold shower doesn’t exist here. I was also someone who could never in a million years imagine adapting to living in the `room’ temperatures here. My apartment has central AC and I was prepared for exorbitant electricity bills in exchange for my comfort. I do NOT like hot, hot weather. So, I am shocked that I rarely use my AC. At night, I sleep under a sheet and a thin chenille bedspread with only a fan. Some nights, I even feel a bit chilly with just that. One night recently, the weather was such an ideal temperature, worthy of an evening in Boquete. I was sitting on the balcony thinking I could almost wear long sleeves, when one of the locals next door wandered by in a thick wool ski sweater. I was quite amused, but to him, it was cold. “Muy frio” he tells me. I just smile.

As I sit here writing, it’s to the sound of what might be a middle-eastern ballad wafting in loudly enough to hear each lyric. It immediately struck me how incredibly diverse this town is musically. In addition to traditional, salsa, and modern pop versions of Latin music, there’s lots of jazz, rock and the Hispanic equivalent to experimental / indie rock. On Friday nights, The Arch…my favorite restaurant in Casco Viejo located immediately behind the French Embassy with hands down the best gazpacho I’ve ever had thanks to Juan, the chef from Spain…rents a DVD to project on the outside wall of what I would guess is the French Embassy. In any event, it is so cool to sit outside, have a meal or coffee and watch a movie in that setting. The courtyard is surrounded by potted palms which sort of creates it’s own tiny little world. Most evenings you can watch clouds coming in from the mainland so low that, at first, I thought there was a fire somewhere. To the right is the bay with a view of the Causeway and the Bridge of the Americas. Two weeks ago was some Bruce Willis war film. Last week was Bon Jovi in concert. This week was Andrea Bocelli in concert.

One thing that strikes me over and over about this neighborhood is how much more quiet it is here than anywhere else I’ve been in the city. Weekends are pretty busy, but most week nights, all I hear outside is the sound of waves lapping the shore across the street. I was floored by the noise in Panama City. I told people this place made NYC seem like a silent movie. Horns, horns, horns and horns. Bad mufflers. Diesel trucks. Car alarms. But it’s the honking at all hours that got me. They don’t just honk like we do in the states. It’s literally another language.

Honks might mean any number of things. This taxi is available, do you want a ride? I’m not going to stop, so don’t even pull out any further than you already are in this intersection. I’m about to cross a street and can’t see what’s coming, so if you hear this, stop and don’t hit me. I’m outside, are you coming down? Okay lady, you’re free to cross the street without me hitting you. It’s a language drivers use liberally in Panama City and I so appreciate the relative silence in Casco Viejo.

So for my continuing list of dislikes: 1.) The horrible exhaust fumes in traffic…and there is usually heavy traffic and especially from the diablos rojas. It’s impossible for me to walk on main streets because of the exhaust and I try to only get in taxis with AC less I get stuck in traffic breathing that. It’s worse than London! Apparently, there are no emissions standards here and it’s very common to watch black smoke pouring out of a tailpipe. 2.) The ants…hormigas…are seemingly impossible to get rid of and I’m told I get to learn to live with them. It keeps me rigid about washing dishes, but I also brought with me a Burt’s Bees citrus facial scrub that they have now discovered in the bathroom. As we say in NYC, “Whatcha’ gonna do?” The Chinese death chalk or Dos Tigres spray seem quite effective. 3.) The mosquitoes in my neighborhood… I had begun to think that my common scent would have to be `Eau de OFF’, but I’m reluctant to douse myself daily in chemicals, so have decided to wing it and hope that, like someone once posted of their gardener, that the bugs just get to know me. I’m yet to find a natural repellent here. Somehow, it does seem better this week. I don’t know if that’s because I haven’t been walking around as much in the evening or if it has more to do with the way I have cut out sugar and increased garlic. Jungle trekkers swear that no sugar and lots of spice, especially garlic, is the best repellent.

Having moved down here without bringing anything that wouldn’t fit into two suitcases and two carry-ons, I found that what I missed the most were my art and my rugs. I’m not finding good rugs down here and probably wouldn’t spend the amount it takes to buy them if I did find them. Some things do cost more here and in general can be summed up as `luxury’ items…if you could call the internet a luxury item though DirectTV is much less, but where the hell is “Six Feet Under?”.

Anyway, I found a wonderful young artist as I walked to Ave. Central one day. There is a place near yet another police station that offers studio space to young painters called Artes Plasticas. I wandered, liked his two pieces in the ground floor gallery and on another day, the cleaning lady took me up and made the introduction. I now have 3 of his paintings and it begins to soothe the void that are my walls. He actually does some work with mixed media which is impossible to find here. Most art I’ve seen falls into what I would call a commercial Latin style. If you’re into the watercolors of Casco Viejo, you can buy them all day long on the walk around the French Plaza for $5. I’m sure they would make lovely Christmas presents.

That’s it for now. I am loving Panama City.