TheExpatJournals.com

Yeah…the Panamanian attitude of Manana is hitting me. Actually, when I opened this, it was in lieu of having the skill set to build a website and horrible baggage from nightmares with developers in my all too current previous life in NYC. So it was mainly for sharing my photos and journals as opposed to me expecting it to get the kind of activity VEW and CEW and AIP get. Having said that, I do hope to put together a killer website that might offer a lot of comprehensive information without soliciting tour packages or hiding behind fake magazines to sell overpriced real estate, etc.

Can you tell I’m in a bad mood tonight? And Bull, I forgot you coined one of my new favorite words…in spanglish… perrocide. Because poor Gail was having images of Colombians being gunned down on our streets and dogs being poisoned on a daily basis, I never did post about something I found out very shortly after the double perrocide in Casco Viejo and that was a genocide of perros in Taboga. (I leave it to you Bull to coin a new word for that one.)

There were the same kind of annoying, loud strays on Taboga and while we were waiting for the ferry for our return trip, we had to shut some of them up. The woman at the batido stand had become so accustomed to doing so that she simply handed us a jug of water to toss at them. Does the trick every time and is cruelty free. Anyway, this man starts talking about the dogs in Spanish. I was telling him about the double perrocide the week before. He told me they had recently
rounded up (his number was 300, later confirmed to be 60 by a reliable Taboga resident) stray dogs and cats and killed them all. As both sources told me, they were mangy, no owners, noise, scaring tourists, feces on the beach, etc.

Once upon a time, this would have just seemed horrible to me. Now, it makes sense. On the other hand, Manuela, my wonderful next door neighbor Springer Spaniel, and I continue to walk together frequently. I met a woman at the recent Arts fair who makes the most INCREDIBLE stuff out of old cayucos, old wood, and driftwood. Beautiful, beautiful work! She used to live in Savannah. So day before yesterday, I’m showing some folks the fantastic government building with the gynasium size internal courtyard where there is a giant marble mosaic compass on the floor. And due east, it’s open air to
the Pacific Ocean. I hope you got that. Where can you stand in the west and look due east at the Pacific Ocean?

So on the beach below, I spied the fantastic remains of a huge cayuco (that’s boat or more specifically, canoe). Later that day, when the tide was out, I grabbed Manuela to head down to the beach with the intent of walking along the beach to rescue the cayuco remains for this lady to possibly use. They’re not that easy to come by. (And, btw, at the point I entered the beach, the city is building a beautiful brick terrace on the beach and I took the best pictures of these kids swimming there over the weekend. The bay does NOT stink here like it does in Paitilla.)

So once we’re on the beach, without thinking I let Manuela off her leash and in an instant, she was swimming. And loving it! We walked around the point to get to the cayuco and in the process, had to go under this building built on massive pillars out over the water. It seemed pretty creepy primarily because I had this moment of fear about the tide rushing in and getting trapped under there ala opening the dungeons to let water in to drown prisoners 250 years ago. As we passed underneath, it was obvious there had once been openings like windows in the old wall on the sea there. And something was so ornately carved into one of them though I couldn’t quite make it out. I will go back and see if it’s possible to get a picture as it was a totally intriquing little find.

So I can’t even tug this cayuco. It’s about 18 feet long and still quite solid wood even if it is a sunken cayuco without sides that is now driftwood. I think digging it out of the sand partially covering it might help. Wrong. I stood on an edge tipped up and jumped with all my weight and the thing didn’t even budge. So the artist won’t be getting this wood.

As Manuela and I walked back, I noticed again…as I have everytime I’m on the beach, how incredible the stones are. It’s a sandy beach, but the most beautifully colored stones always wash up. At one point, I picked up bits and pieces of this ancient tile from a floor that was once in a house and is now an empty lot that is mainly used for parking. It seems sacrilege to see cars on the remaining gorgeous tile flooring. Yet, I have a feeling, that if I went over with a hammer and a wedge, I might get arrested. Anyway, I planned to use the tile in a clear, wide vase the way some people use marbles to arrange flowers. And then I realized these rocks would be even more beautiful. So one day soon, I’ll head out again with Manuela and we’ll collect rocks and get a photo of that creepy window that might have once been in a dungeon. Did dungeons have windows?

Had another dog moment tonight. That damned loud dog next door was barking. Her owners never make her stop, but she’s afraid of me. I was on my balcony on a call to California and so I made her stop. Her owners must have been near the door because it’s the only time my presence doesn’t immediatly cause her to run inside. She came towards me, teeth bared and I had no water, so I threw my plastic jug I use to water plants at her. That scared her and her owners who appeared to
find out what the problem was. I went back to my call and they threw my jug into the street. They live upstairs in the only building in this circle that still has squatters. The man and I have always been quite friendly speaking on the balcony. I’ve told him I have felt like killing his dog because of the noise she makes. He just smiles. I think tonight, the wife threw down the juice jug and now, there’s a line drawn. Maybe I can bribe the restaurant on the other side of their balcony to serial perrocide?

Not always so juvenile and I have always loved dogs, but all of these problems are really the owners, not the dogs. I was up in someone’s apartment this morning who refused to allow his dog to bark on the balcony. And he walks him with a leash. And that is as it should be. You want dogs to have freedom? Move out into the fucking country and don’t impose your lack of responsibility on us!! That was always my favorite curse word in NYC and I suppose I’ve been in withdrawal, what with all the Spanish I’m speaking these days.

Casco Viejo is in high gear where renovation is concerned. It only occurred to me today, when speaking with someone about the ‘false’ construction boom’, that a lot of it is probably based on not knowing how much longer the longer tax exemptions will last. Some say Torrijos will extend once in office, but no one knows for sure, so folks who might have waited even years to build are opting to do so now to take advantage of the savings offered with the 20 year tax exemption. I can think of at least a half a dozen projects that have started since I moved in 2 months ago. And the prices of the new construction are really high. Many apartments are at $1500 sq. mt.

Because people had been contacting me as a result of reading my journals, and because some wanted help locating apartments, I talked to a couple of people and was offered the position of ‘referral agent’ by several brokers. I showed two visitors around since the weekend…long hours in the sun, but great to see inside all the available apartments in the neighborhood. The folks from the States were an absolute treat to meet! But, as usual, no one shows what they don’t gain the most from showing. And sellers talk inflatedly about what rent potential investors can get. And it reminded me of being in Bocas where it’s all about how much you can get and what it used to be like and how much there is to be made…and I’m thinking, jeez, if I had wanted to be immersed in a culture with that particular dominant value, I would have stayed in New York.

So my little bubble was burst. And the reality of the developers in Casco Viejo feels cancerously present. The locals are loosing out as was bound to happen. And from what I hear, there is a law in place that imposes fines on those who buy property and don’t develop within x amount of time. Those are the ones full of squatters tainting the path to complete gentrification and full coffers. Best prices are definitely presale. Commercial space in new construction is sold long before construction ever begins and for that matter, most of the best apartments. And then for 10-20% more, you can buy that commerical space as construction comes close to a finish.

So I don’t think I like being a referral agent. I’m no good at bullshitting. I’m no good at being unethical. I’m no good at jumping into bed with whoever will pay me the most. I love exploring. I love finding the impossible. And I absolutely love the corner just before the tourist police station where the unrestored building meets the restored one. The collision of texture and color is as beautiful as any abstract painting I’ve ever seen. Or the worn off round spots on the cobblestone. And I still marvel everytime I hear a gecko. And tonight, as I came out onto the balcony, a Kuna family was walking by and first the little boy smiled and waved followed by his two sisters. They were all under 6. Then the 3 adults followed suit and we had one of those absolutely delightful moments between strangers only to be interrupted by the dog next door going crazy on the balcony. She doesn’t appear to like Kunas and there are lots of Kunas around here. They probably thought I was mad after that sweet exchange to suddenly slam the plastic jug in the direction of the dog, but by the time the dog’s owner and I had our exchange, the Kunas were on their way. And I was on the phone to California the whole time. I hung up. The dog was inside. And I was back on the balcony when two men with small coolers came by offering to sell me something.

Tortuga (turtle)…??? Couldn’t quite get the Spanish. Tortuga creme, I ask? No…again, couldn’t understand. Tortuga carne (meat), I ask? No…this time I understood. Tortuga eggs. Didn’t know whether to feel horrified for what that implied or whether to be in awe of the fact that someone had just offered me something that I would never in a million years be offered in the US.

LOL…They’re singing “I’m All Shook Up” …Elvis in Take Five downstairs….you know, the city’s famous ‘jazz’ club. Can’t make out if it’s all English or not and once I go inside, I close my door and all of this disappears.

Had no idea this was going to become a saga, but it did. I feel better. And that’s exactly why I’ve journalled from the age of 8 on. Who knew people would wanna peek?

BTW, I get to meet some of you tomorrow at the Panama premier of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. In a private exchange, we have decided to wear black to the movie, not as a statement, but in lieu of name badges. To my thinking, gringas in black anywhere near Multi Centro should make us pretty easy to identify. And coming from NYC, I don’t have much else anyway. My grandmother used to call me the perpetual widow. This neighborhood is the first thing in perhaps my adult life to inspire me to want to surround myself with color. Living in Casco Viejo is surrounding myself with color. It’s bound to wear off…I know there’s a play on words there somewhere, but I’m missing it right now. Too amused or something by the fact they’ve now lapsed into “Jailhouse Rock” downstairs and if that’s English, I don’t understand it.

This is an edited post. I was in such a bad mood when I originally posted this and it was such a free flow, that I was cutting my nose off to spite my face. Someone once told me that you can say anything you want as long as you don’t name names. I’m a guest in Panama. I have a right to my opinion, but no right to criticize. Wish I had known that earlier in life. Took a long time to understand that my opinion and the truth can be two very different things.