TheExpatJournals.com

The temperature lately has been mostly perfect. I’m sitting on my balcony because I succumbed to my addiction and started smoking again and refuse to stink up my house. For awhile there, before the bronchitis, I was smoking for about 4 days wearing a disposable plastic glove on my right hand to diminish the nasty odor…makes for a bizarre fashion statement. With cigarettes $1.35 per pack, it was just too much of a temptation. And I’ve developed a very nasty Coke habit because it’s everywhere and only 25 cents a bottle (if you bring an empty) at the Chino’s on the corner! One thing about Coke here is that it’s sweeter than in the US. I was looking at the ingredients last week and there’s no corn syrup, so it’s all sugar. Because none of these little markets have air conditioning, there’s not much of a candy counter, thank God. It was interesting to note how they sell medication, like Tylenol, etc, by single tablets. I watched a woman purchase individual tablets of about four different kinds of medication. And it doesn’t appear as though many of the locals smoke. I assume that’s because, to them, $1.35 is a lot of money. Having said that, the Chino also sells individual cigarettes, too.

When I call these markets `Chino’, it’s because that’s what the locals call them. And that’s because it seems as though most are run by Chinese. It’s the closest you’re going to get to a bodega / a 7-11 in Casco Viejo. The guy who works in my Chino is named Jackie…like Jackie Chan he tells me. But absolutely none of the locals call him by his name. When they go in, they yell “Chino!”

It was a stressful week I wasn’t quickly shaking off, so yesterday I decided to take a walk. I love how that inevitably captures me and dispels whatever my brain is using to beat me up with. There’s just too much life and beauty around me to stay put in the tiny little insignificant world that is my brain. When I left, I hadn’t eaten all day and I was in a very bad mood, so I decided to treat myself with a Coke and M&M’s from the Chino. I had my discman and headphones and was ready to be visually and aurally soothed (Moby, take me away!). As I walked out of the store, I dropped my Coke on the sidewalk before ever taking a sip. The bottle shattered and I started using my flip-flop to sweep the broken glass into, conveniently, a water drain at the base of the curb. Across the street, the `squatters’ (developer noun…I call them locals) next door saw and came across the street with a broom, cleaned it up for me refusing to allow me to do it, and then gave me paper towels to brush off my feet in case I had glass in my shoe as well as another empty bottle so I wouldn’t have to pay an additional dime deposit. For those of you who saw my photo albums on the full moon night, the woman who did this is pictured in the curlers and is named Indida…I think that’s how it’s spelled.

Yeah, it’s real dangerous around here, as I pointed out to Susan, Kathleen & Leonard, and Mivia on Friday night as we walked around relatively late in the evening. I jokingly shivered at the entrance to the Paseo by saying, “Yeah, real dangerous… `buenas, buenas’ scares me every time.” I had just pointed out to them where one night, I started heading down the dark steps to the beach for photos of the full moon when a National Police joined me just to make sure I was okay. He’s the same one who suggested moving over to the location where I ended up getting the best shots that night. He’s also become my favorite Spanish teacher. He understands what I say and then very clearly, tells me how to say it properly, as in proper grammar. Coincidentally, there was a National Police standing beside the spot I pointed out to them who said something to me as we passed. I remember responding and putting my hand on his shoulder as if to pat him goodnight.

Later, it turned out I was telling them about him. It was the same cop only I didn’t remember him. Until he came up to me after I put my guests in a taxi. He reminded me of the night I was taking pictures of the moon. And I got another Spanish lesson in the process.

So, I went upstairs, grabbed my laptop and brought it down to the street to show him the photos I posted at the little Casco Viejo group. I also wanted to share the internet with him, because he told me he had never been on the internet. And thanks to my wireless router, that night, several National Police stood around and checked their email and my Spanish tutor got his first taste of the internet. Then the owner of the car we were using for a desk came and we had to move. So I took the laptop around and showed the ladies the photos of themselves. At one point, I needed to use the bathroom and made the decision to trust this group. I ran upstairs, left my computer downstairs and still have it today.

Last night, 4AM, a woman leaving a club was blocked in by another car and couldn’t depart. Frustrated, she decided to just lay on her horn. Woke at least 3 of us in the building up. My Spanish tutor, Abdiel, was on duty. She ended up arguing, but ceasing at his instruction to do so. I could see him pointing to our building as if to say, `people are sleeping, what are you thinking?’ I was so annoyed that I grabbed an egg intent upon blasting her as she departed. I was too irritated and instead of just dropping it on her roof, I threw it and missed by about 6 inches. It rained a lot today, so at least I won’t continue to suffer as a result of my own anger. In other words, the raw egg didn’t bake on the street below me today, but was washed away instead.

But I still can’t stop the urge to wage my own little war on the noise here. Yes, I should be a bigger person or just accept the
fact that I live in the middle of an alley of weekend noise, but…I’m not a bigger person and I do not accept that these jerks are so thoughtless. Poco a poco. Got the cops on my side now. And he was assisted by a local parking attendant. Poco a poco. The cop asked if I by chance had any coffee. I took a pot downstairs. I’ll never be a local…I’m a gringa. But I learn from these people and live with these people and I like these people and as far as I’m concerned, I intend to be the best neighbor I can be. And I find myself getting the same treatment in return. And that makes for a comfortable way of living.

Above I mentioned the woman from the photo with rollers in her hair. I keep forgetting to mention how common it is to see women in the street with rollers in their hair. And the other thing I keep forgetting to mention is the smell of many Panamanians’ hair. I have a stupid strong sense of smell. It’s amazing how primal that particular sense is and how overlooked in it’s importance to the memory bank. The first time I fully realized that I was a mammal was when my son was born. I couldn’t stop sniffing his hair. It smelled like a down pillow. And for the first time, I knew I was an animal…a
mother sniffing her young. Down here (no pun intended), I smell the same thing in passing…often. It’s their hair. For me, many locals have a very strong scent of down. And somehow, it seems bonding, too.

Before I went to bed last night, I was on the balcony composing an email when suddenly, the largest gecko I’ve seen crawled to within a couple of feet away from me. Most of the geckos I’ve only seen straight ahead, but I got to observe this guy’s profile. It struck me how like little crocodiles they look primarily because he kept jerking his head up and down, thus outlining the shape of the head. Then he crawled even closer and I realized he had a moth in his mouth, which explained the head motion. Now, I was looking at him straight ahead, no longer his profile but his back, and the other thing I had never seen before was how they wag their tails slowly, like a cat. It reminded me of a time in Central Park when I laid under a tree and watched a squirrel above me crawl part of the way up the trunk, turn around, lock his back claws into the tree, stretch his front legs forward while he yawned and then tucked his two front legs up under his chin and went to sleep. I remember thinking that, while I had lived many years of my life in the country, only now in the middle of New York City was I afforded this intimate view of a squirrel.

Spending time on my balcony has helped me understand all those old men in the south who always sat on their porch and, what it seemed to me at the time, watched life passing by. In Casco Viejo, it’s a very interactive experience. I even saw someone I knew yesterday. And you just never know what you’re going to see from here. Yesterday, there was a small group of school children singing something in unison as they passed. I took a picture and one small girl noticed me, so she
smiled, leaned her head back as they passed underneath and waved. It’s always interesting to see who does and does not notice and how people choose to respond. It’s kind of like being in an elevator. Do you just ride silently and pretend others don’t exist or do you interact? And I enjoy those moments with strangers. It was one of the things I loved about NY, brief magical interactions with strangers you would never see again. But for one moment, you connected. And that always brightened the day. Still does.

I took a visitor into a grocery store last week to pick up something and, like any other gringo I’ve ever been shopping with, am still baffled by the cuts of beef here. They don’t resemble anything I know. At least the El Rey on Via Espana has a chart on the wall of what they are. I need to take a picture, print it out and memorize it because honestly, it’s just so intimidating in the meat department that I just don’t even buy beef here. On the other hand, to walk down virtually any other aisle is almost like being in the US: GatorAid, Kellogs, Krafts, Sara Lee’s, Scott, Charmin, Log Cabin, Campbells, Lender’s Bagels, Heinz, etc, etc. It’s not at all a foreign trip into the grocery stores here. So far, there is absolutely nothing I’m missing. Because I’m allergic to wheat, I thought I might have to give up pasta altogether down here. Wrong. Riba Smith has the protein pasta and the Mini-Max in Bal Harbour has the most delicious pasta this non-wheat eating woman has ever had in the form of a rice vermicelli noodle. I had eaten rice pasta in the US and never cared for it too much. Love what I buy here! 75 cents per package and I get about 3 servings in a package. They also have rice flour, soy flour and a couple of other alternative-to-wheat flours. The only two things I’ve found to be severely lacking here and that I do miss is
good cheeses and an abundance of alternative-to-wheat flours. But I brought a few pounds of non-wheat bake mix and in reality, I probably miss knowing I can get cheese more than I really miss cheese. I swear NY’ers must be the only people in the world who would feel so deprived of so many options they never even avail themselves of.

I love it here, just love it. On a daily basis I feel fortunate to be so lucky to have the experience of living here. But now, I must go back to work, summer vacation is over and we’ll see what living with job stress is like in this setting. Otherwise, I’m going to be living with financial stress and I know how that sucks.