TheExpatJournals.com

July 23, 2004…There was a double killing in Casco Viejo last night and all I can say is `two down, one to go.’ Someone poisoned two dogs in the building next door a couple of hours after I was tempted to post on a Yahoo board to find out what the consequences of killing the neighbor’s dogs might be. Now before you get the wrong idea, I do consider myself a dog person. But the incessant barking for weeks on end was enough to make me want to kill.

I’m absolutely in love with Manuela. In fact, I have the key to my neighbor’s apartment so I’m free to take Manuela whenever I want. She is well behaved. All the Kunas on the Paseo know her name. One of the artists on the Paseo pours water from his bottle into my cupped hands for Manuela when it’s especially hot out. If she rushes to the balcony barking, it’s an alarm, not the norm. No, this is about the owners and not the dogs.

What is it about obnoxiously loud that is so culturally appealing here? There is no such notion as a right to quiet enjoyment. People talk loud at any hour of the day or night and close enough to your building to sound like it’s indoors. This is not limited to Casco Viejo. It’s actually a lot more quiet here than other places I’ve experienced in the city though I must admit passing on an apartment with the most astounding views because I knew I couldn’t take the noise of the location. I remember being in Bocas where it seemed there was a competition to see who could play their music the loudest which resulted in a cacophony of sounds that did not blend together at all. Imagine if you will, listening to speed metal, classical, country and salsa, all at the same time, and you get my drift.

Here, squatters may not have much, but they sure have either an adequate or an excellent stereo system which they feel free to crank up loud enough to `entertain’ the entire block! And this goes on until they deem it over. In short, until 4 or 5AM on the weekends, it’s pretty common to have salsa cranked around the corner, house music from across the street at the bar, and jazz wafting out from the building below me. And of course, the dogs barking incessantly as the owners simply smile about them doing so. And then there are there is the alcohol induced volume of `conversation’ as partiers depart the scene at all hours. So assuming you’ve left a door or window open, you’re awakened at all hours by noise of some loud sort. No one hesitates to shout at any hour. No one hesitates to beep their horns at any hour. Apparently, consideration for anyone living in the area is never considered when it comes to a Panamanian’s cultural right to be loud. Diesel motors, beeping horns, people yelling, music, clown horns on the ice cream carts braying non-stop, and dogs barking on narrow streets where buildings form canyons and those canyons trap and amplify sound is like having street noise piped into your apartment by a sound system capable of being used at a concert…in other words, it’s really loud in Panama City. I told friends when I first got here, this place makes New York City seems like a silent movie. Thank heaven I don’t live on a busy street in this city! Of course, if that were the case, you couldn’t leave a window open anyway due to the diesel exhaust.

And you’re never going to get an apology for the noise from anyone because they don’t see it as anything to apologize for. Same is true for missed appointments. Panamanians, as a rule, seemingly flat out lie when scheduling times to meet. I’ve had "Be there in 5 minutes" equal two hours, "Thursday morning before noon" equal the following Tuesday, and so on and so forth. I remember phoning someone who was supposed to be here, for the third time, and was now two hours late. When I said to him on the phone that he was supposed to be here two hours earlier, his response was, "Oh yes, I could not get there then." Period. No apology, no concern for any inconvenience this causes, that’s just how it is.

It’s almost amusing unless you are sick and tired of waiting and waiting and waiting to no avail. I’ve felt trapped any number of times because appointments I’ve made tend to be around basic services and therefore are not optional. I have no choice but to wait…for the telephone installation, for the electrician, for the internet tech…and basically anyone I’ve set up an appointment with. I have yet to have someone show up when they said they would. It doesn’t happen. And this is the norm, not the exception. And I suppose when you’re accustomed to a certain level of professionalism, even define it based on parameters like keeping your word, being on time for appointments, etc. then this can get really old really quick. So the trick I believe is to forget what you know, what you expect, what works for you and imagine life as a slacker where things do get done…eventually.

Can’t say I like this at all, but I am reminded of some television news footage years ago after massive flooding in the Midwest. Folks were lined up for hours to get drinking water and other supplies, sometimes they waited all day. Tensions ran high and anger spilled in words and attitudes. One old man interviewed said, "Way I see it is this…you can scream and yell or you can stay calm, either way, you’re still gonna have to wait for water." Either I can accept this lackadaisical approach to appointments or I can stay completely bent over the `lack of professionalism.’ Either way, I’m gonna be waiting for my appointments to show up.

Part of what taxed my tolerance to the hilt last week was that I got terribly sick, no fun under the best of circumstances, but downright tragic in one’s own mental drama when alone and in a new country. I do firmly believe that we see the world exclusively from the perspective of what’s going on internally. And I have been sick, weak, and oh so very alone. The world looks quite different from there. Last week I had begun to describe as the worst week I’ve ever lived through that didn’t involve death. Not to tempt fate, but there are times I’m a drama queen and this is one of them.

First, my computer went down. It crashed around loading in C&W’s ADSL installation disk. After reloading the Operating System, all seemed fine. The tech wanted to reinstall their software. I asked him not to, now fearful, and a slight war of the wills ensued. "Trust Me!" were his famous last words before I was without a computer for 10 days until the hard drive was replaced. Okay, maybe it was coincidental timing, but it was working perfectly fine before this installation.

By that same evening, I was sick as a dog…fever spiking at over 104 for nearly 4 days. Neither prescriptions nor Tylenol every four hours made a dent in my daily roller coaster of freezing and burning for hours on end. Imagine if you will the Tropics…no fans, no AC, two layers of clothing, under covers and you still shake violently because you’re so cold. Then the silk sweater begins to feel like fire on your arm which is your cue to turn the AC down to 60 and strip. And now, though your living room could effectively double as a meat locker, the sweat continues to pour out of you. And this goes on for hours and hours each day. No energy, no food, no computer, no Vonage, no DSL, and now, I had to also face giving up the one addiction I could never let go of: nicotine.

What caused this illness was a contaminated batch of nicotine nasal spray. I had `quit’ smoking years ago, but what I did was simply switch addictions. I have remained completely addicted to nicotine. So, to go cold turkey on top of all else because I’m backed into a corner and have no choice might have been the only way it was going to happen, but that’s damned cold comfort in the face of withdrawal.

I cannot accurately relay how completely alone and isolated I felt during this fever. Sure, people offered to help, but how do you impose this on someone you’ve known for 6 weeks? As my boyfriend said of a time he was deathly ill on a boat, `People were there, but no one cared.’ And let’s face it, when you’re sick, after seeing a doctor, having that comfort is what matters the most. And he’s in Scotland where wishing he could take care of me doesn’t offer nearly the same comfort as being taken care of.

So I used the hired help. Called Nixie at 6:30AM one morning because I knew I was now in trouble. And I was. She came right over. She cooked breakfast, made soup and I finally got a little nourishment which helped. And that night, when the fever absolutely raged between 10PM and 2AM, I took my neighbor up on her offer to help. She, Blanca, came up and sat with me, called her ex-brother-in-law who is a doctor. In spite of my doctor’s prescriptions, this was getting worse and that was getting scary. I think simply not feeling so completely alone and isolated was what was most needed at that point. I gave her keys to my apartment so someone else at least has a set.

I was saying later that it was the first time I missed NYC because there, you can pick up the phone and order anything you want anytime you want it. From what I now understand, most restaurants in Panama City deliver, too! Which is thrilling to learn and indeed, I now have two menus from my neighborhood in the event I want delivery.

And Dennis Melton was my savior of the week. I couldn’t get downstairs to make a sandwich let alone figure out how to / where to replace my hard drive. He totally hooked me up. And I believe his guy was the first person I’ve dealt with in Panama who didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, but rather the truth. "No, we don’t have them in. Yes, I expect them in, but there’s no telling how long it will take to clear customs." Dennis’ guy even managed to recover folders I hadn’t backed up in the last month!

Okay, so last week was fever so severe I wondered if I was going to live through one night, no computer, no way to communicate with anyone I’ve known for more than 6 weeks, nicotine withdrawal, no sleep, inability to eat… weak, weak, weak…lonely, lonely, lonely. And what’s worse is that I judge myself for being `weak’ in the face of dealing with all this. In reality, simply moving by yourself to another country is an imposing task…add the burden of any one of these elements on top of the existing challenge and guess what? It would add up to a bad week for anybody.

So now, I’m on the mend and I’m nicotine free. With the new hard drive, it’s like having a brand new computer. I have DSL and Vonage works GREAT. I even managed to configure my wireless router, so now I’m unplugged, too. I have a landline. I have electricity. The fact that, for some reason, my building has no water this morning feels almost irrelevant. Perhaps it’s because it’s not my problem to solve, just my problem to live with until it’s solved. Oh and I lost my cell phone…don’t care, just don’t care. Someday, everything will all work at the same time.

This miserable week did bring a couple of issues to the surface for me. I called my neighbor up that night because I was so sick I truly had begun to wonder if I would live through the night and that made me realize that no one had keys to my apartment, no one would know and even if they found me, who the hell would they contact? You couples don’t have to even think in these terms, but when you’re on your own, it’s a completely different ballgame.

In the US, if you’re in an accident or whatever, your driver’s license or credit cards would usually lead authorities to a contact. I don’t carry anything in Panama City that indicates where I live nor who to contact. Does anything even exist that actually does state where one lives in this country? So I think it might be a good idea to make up a laminated ID that offers up information otherwise difficult to figure out in the event it’s needed. This is not meant to be morbid, just practical.

As I stated earlier, I do believe that everything I see in the world around me tends to be a reflection of the peace or lack thereof inside me. What I observed last week was bleak, bleak, bleak. I was standing on a corner at Cinco De Mayo Plaza and there next to the curb of such a busy intersection were two stillborn puppies, one still half-encased in it’s sack. How the hell does such a grisly scene exist in the middle of such a busy place? It would be like walking down 42nd Street and just as you cross Broadway, looking down and seeing this image. Now, I’m sure this is way more of a visual than any of you want and one I sure hope I can expel soon enough as I literally get nauseous every time I think of it, but in many ways, such a perfect analogy for this city…yes, that exists, too. And no, unlike most pockets of poverty and strife in the US, it’s not `hidden over there where you don’t ever have to be reminded’…it’s in your face. That doesn’t take away the beauty that exists in abundance, but it sure is a reality check.

Instead of all the fresh wonders I normally see walking along the Peatonal, this Saturday, it looks very different. I move in slow motion due to weakness. My eyes no longer exude that which people respond well to. I see shriveled old women sleeping on benches. I see the dead puppies. The humidity is so thick the air feels solid to breathe. As it reaches my bronchial tubes, it’s rejected and ejected causing an uncomfortable tickle at the back of my throat. And like a dry heave, the cough clears nothing. I even see a dead gecko.

I need a rug for my kitchen. In a store, I use my foot to move one to look at what’s beneath it and I’m instantly reprimanded by a clerk. Using your foot is not allowed! The clerk leans down to peel back the rugs so I see the selections underneath. And today, I’m so not in the mood for the clerk to follow me everywhere I go. But they do.

I see a blouse that I think might actually fit. I take it off the hanger and slip it on for sizing. Again, I’m instantly reprimanded, this time by a security guard. They have dressing rooms for things like that and I have just committed yet another shopping infraction. I leave…still haven’t purchased a thing. On the way home, I see a dog, so disease ridden there’s no hair anymore and so shaky and weak, he can barely move. It’s not the first time I’ve seen dogs like this around here, but it’s the first time I can’t shake the image.

It’s so hot…it’s so humid…The garbage smells disgusting in this weather…I’m sick of the mosquitoes…I’m sick of the ants…It exhausts me to try to understand the language right now…I’m so weak…I’m so alone…I have acquaintances, not friends here…It’s my birthday. Alone, I have ice cream for supper. Friends from the States call. My son calls. My sister calls. My boyfriend calls 4 times and quits singing after the third message. Finally, about 11:30 that night, a friend from NYC calls. He’s at the diner we all hung out at as a group. That was my social life in NYC. He goes there intentionally to pass the cell around and over the course of nearly an hour, I get to talk to about 12 friends I used to see 3-5 nights a week. We laugh and once again, I feel connected…even though they are thousands of miles away. Isolation is much more a state of mind than a physical reality.

I try to tell myself this is all just bad timing and that soon I’ll be glad that I got all of this horrible stuff out of the way at one time rather than it coming in bits and pieces. What I’m really trying to tell myself is that, no matter how I feel right now, it will change. Like my computer rebooting, I have to get back up to speed before I can assess my condition. Just because Panama City feels like hell on earth to me today doesn’t mean it won’t feel like heaven tomorrow. I have picked up a few helpful things in my day and knowing that whatever I feel right now will definitely change is a resource at this moment. Another is realizing that my opinion does not equal the truth. Just because I can be black and white doesn’t mean the world is. Armed with this, I wait for a better day, a better perspective, a better outlook.

In spite of only seeing the flip side of the pretty coin called Panama, one thing remained throughout…I truly love Casco Viejo. I could wax on for ages about why or I could tell you that I don’t know why and they would both be truthful responses. I feel special living here in the same way I felt special living in NYC. It’s part history, part beauty, part architecture, part essence of life, part adventure, part colors, part people, part views, part intangible magic, part edge, part food, part culture, and all because of something deep inside, where words are only limitations, where the soul insists on using no words at all, "This is home." That’s a knowing. Everything else is just noise subject to change.