TheExpatJournals.com

Beginning with coming over to sign the lease on the new apartment last week, life has been completely different. That day, I kept running into people I knew. Seems I can’t walk a block without interacting with folks. Everyone knows me, says hello and smiles. I didn’t realize how comforting that interaction on the street was until it was gone. It does remind me of the neighborhood feel of an NYC of yore, a time when perhaps you didn’t know the shopkeeper’s name for the first few years of going in there on pretty much a daily basis, but you knew each other anyway. You shared those few moments each day or every few days that said "We are neighbors. We share this and that is special because that’s just about us and not the rest of the world. We have mutual respect for one another. The day is a little bit brighter now that we’ve shared a smile."

I walked over to Catedral to catch a taxi and a Presidential Guard began the flirting, "Where are you from? Do you live here or are you visiting? Where do you live? Where is your husband?" A taxi stops, I get in and realize that what is exuding from me must be a lightness of spirit, aka happiness, that shows because that is the only time I get hit on by the men with machine guns. I’m no spring chicken, as they say in the States, so it’s what’s exuding from me, I’m convinced. And that makes me realize that some cloud has lifted that I didn’t realize had been there until it was gone.

And it is gone.

The next night, some friends from NYC who live in Bocas as of July, were in the city for the weekend. They called me from the airport to say they were getting on a plane and asked if I would have dinner. We came to Manolo Caracol’s. The manager there, Rene, is the husband of my maid. She was my maid before he worked there. One of the cooks is a woman who lives in the neighborhood who always beams a smile my ways and call my name. I must make a point of trying to remember hers.

After dinner, we took a little walk as the wife had never been to Casco Viejo. Again, it seems like I know everyone on the street. The wife is completely exhausted and it’s several blocks to La Casona. We begin walking and this local taxi sees us, stops and drives us the few blocks as a courtesy. Yes, I knew him. It’s always a treat to go to La Casona for me. I just love that place. Can’t explain precisely why, but it is just about the coolest indoor public space in Panama as far as I’m concerned. The bar uses a cooler for ice. There is no air-conditioning. The open courtyard features paint buckets with cushions for seating. And of course, there’s Blanca. The place is just cool. Period. That’s not something you can describe…you either have it or you don’t. You either get it or you don’t. La Casona is cool.

Okay, so I need to fast forward a few days. It’s now Tuesday and I woke up at 5AM. I took my first cup of coffee outside, sat on what I presume to be part of the original wall above the sea facing Amador and just enjoyed the ambience of a high tide and no people. I decided to take a cup of coffee to the Paseo in hopes of catching a sunrise. All the street lanterns were still on. As I approached the obelisk in the French Plaza, a man was raising the flag in front of INAC. I carefully stepped across the army of cutter ants marching across the wide walkway and as I began to ascend the steps to the Paseo, I remembered the first time I had to leave this and go back to NYC.

That was a year ago Thursday, the day of Presidential travel Hell between the inauguration here and the Republican Convention there. Anyway, I thought about how on that morning, I walked out almost this early and just absorbed it all to carry with me. What I remember even more vividly is how I really did not want to leave.

Pelicans must surely be some modern day ancestor of the pterydacteral. Those crooked wings and that primitive beak make them seem a mini-version of the impression every nature museum I went to as a kid left on me. The tide was high and the sea was calm; the breezes light, but sensual in their caress. By now, there was some semblance of natural light as the day edged it’s way here. And then…a mystery was revealed to me.

Every time I have ever walked that Paseo, I always noticed the unusual number of moth wings laying about, captured in puddles that collect. I even took a number of photos of it at one point. These are large brown moths with a wing span of 5+ inches. I never understood where they came from or why so many died here. As I reached the seaside of the obelisk, I noticed what seemed like a fight between what I thought was a grackle and a bat. And then it seemed like several bats attacking the bird, so I headed for a closer look. They weren’t bats, they were moths. And true to the old cliché, they were compelled towards the light of the lantern. Can anyone tell me why moths are so attracted to light? Or at least remind me to look it up online.

Back to my mystery…I looked up and, to my surprise, the obelisk was covered in these huge moths. And apparently, where there are moths, there are grackles. The grackles were feasting! And they only dine on the actual moth, not its wings. Those they discard for the wind to pick up, but the wall of the Paseo doesn’t allow them to travel far, so the puddles of water at the base of the wall end up full of moth wings.

I stood for a bit at the wall looking out to sea, just loving that this is where I get to have my second cup of coffee. I noticed a man sleeping under a sheet on a bench and just then, his alarm went off. I kid you not. He may be homeless, but he has sheets and an alarm to wake him up. I almost resented his presence and then decided, what presence? He’s asleep so it’s still private here in one of the most public spots in Panama. Indeed, he stirred when his alarm went off, briefly sat up and then went back to sleep.

I walked over to the little look out point dedicated to Captain Raul Chevalier, where there is a break in the wall and the little semi-circle is enclosed by an iron fence. Here, the wind flows unbroken by the wall so I knew it was a spot safe from mosquitoes. And besides, this is the time of day when the temperature could not be more perfect and the beautiful ocean breeze feels like some version of silk made of air slipping across your exposed skin.

I write this now next to an open window across a cobblestone street built atop an ancient wall beside the sea where the sound of waves lapping the shore at high tide provide a music bed that Sharper Image may market, but I get for free. And oh God, what a way to begin the day.

Last night I saw a friend of mine. When he asked me how I was, my response was the customary, "Good," but apparently the look on my face prompted him to ask me if I had fallen in love. I had to laugh at how he didn’t believe me when I told him there’s not anyone even on the periphery, that what he sees in my face is being back in Casco Viejo. I don’t think most people understand things like that. And I think he probably thinks I’m lying. But I’m not.