TheExpatJournals.com

Didn’t know I was going to stay that long, but one thing lead to another and quite honestly, I was loving it there so much, I didn’t want to leave. I wrote 22 pages of journals, but since you’re all so familiar with Panama, I can sum them up simply by speaking about a few stand outs.

I love riding an ATV through a jungle road!! I do mean LOVE! Realized that, no matter how bumpy, rutted and potholed the road was, if you sat on one like you were riding a horse with an English saddle using your legs and your seat, not your feet and rear end, then the bike just absorbed it all underneath you and your body just sort of glides through the wind in what is essentially, an oxygen factory. Leaving the hot sun by the lagoon heading up through the cool jungle with the breeze from the ride…it wasn’t simply great fun, it ranked right up there with anything I’ve experienced so far in Panama. The mystery of the jungle, the sunlight penetrating its darkness in visible rays, the sound of birds and monkeys and God knows what else, the crazy vines hanging down 60 or more feet, the green, the green, the green. I still have trouble distinquishing between heliconias and banana plants except for the fruit or flower. There are so many massive jungle trees up there. I have no idea of what they are and perhaps should care a bit more about learning about them, but I was more into simply appreciating the aesthetic, the privilege of the experience than turning it into a science lab.

I did realize the jungle seems to be mostly about recycling. Seems everything that dies, and God knows life spans seem limited, are somehow used in nature. One piece of property that is partially cleared had so many of the little golden frogs that I kept fearing I was stepping on them.

And the smells! Fresh, sickly sweet, flowery sweet, clean, earthy, smoky near Indian houses…I had the feeling it might be the cleanest air I had ever breathed mainly because of all the oxygen that much green must produce. The ocean with it’s majesty is great, but it was the jungle that captured me.

Also loved wearing those $12.95 lug soled rubber boots all the Indians wear and what a different it makes pyschologically when traipsing through high grass. Without them, a couple of walks I took through the jungle would have been impossible. Those boots freed me up to enjoy it on a level I had never experienced. I got a smaller machete and used dying palm fronds still attached to the tree to learn to hack in the same slice twice. Got fairly decent at it. First time I hit it in the same spot felt like so good. Someday, I want to be able to hack open a coconut. BTW, Gundula…I finally did take the ATV day and hacked some bananas at the beginning of your driveway. They were so high, I had to stand on the seat and honestly, I still don’t know how I managed to stop myself from falling. Barely recovering from the fall as I hacked and those bulky boots seemed to stick on the step of the ATV, I saw that below the tree was a ‘rock’ of caliche, a swath of pure brain coral. Could have been at least a nasty fall, but I didn’t fall, so that’s that. That simple moment does give you an appreciation for the difference in life out there and the dangers you face in just daily living. Many other things lead me to the conclusion that, after all the virtually impossible construction is over, simply living there on a daily basis is a lot of work.

Mornings began with clearing out all the dead or waste from the house lest it turn into an ant smorgasboard. Seems ants love dead moths and butterflies especially. And you know the proverbial moth to a flame, well when you have the only light for God knows how far in the house at night, well, it’s good to have really good screens. Still not sure of how those toads/frogs that line the deck at night to eat all those drawn to the light actually managed to get inside every night and leave their waste wherever it suited them. I kept thinking of the crass Southern saying rednecks seemed to love…slick as frog shit…though I can’t say I learned its origins as I tended to pay attention each morning assured that I would need to. So you wake up, debate between attending to sweeping out the dead..the nasty or having coffee first. Coffee always won. Sitting on that deck in front of a sea that grew increasingly rough as I was there, watching the sun rise over the jungle and cast the edge of it’s colors over the sea, watching the mist begin to dissapate over the morning sea, watching the dragonflies play as the sun rose casting it’s light that turned the jungle into a diamond dusted sea of green and of course, the hummingbirds that seemed to favor attempting Kamikaze suicide in the glass doors…

You know? I can write and write and write and take photo after photo, but this is one of those places where none of it would suffice in even beginning to accurately relay the experience. As I’ve said before, some things are meant to be photographed, but some things can only be experienced. It takes too much effort to attempt to relay what one could simply sit there and soak up.

Anyway, cleaning up the dead or nasty ended up equaling sweeping the whole house. And of course, garbage is always a pending task. Some gets burned. Some gets set aside for taking into town. Some gets through into a compost heap. And if you want to eat, you cook. Which means you seem to always need to clean out the fridge, make supply lists and take that 2 hour round trip into town for supplies. Being completely off the grid, you become aware of energy in a way they tried to instill in us back in the 70’s. When washing dishes, I only used hot water when necessary and never just left the water running. Each day, I was checking the solar panel display to make sure there was no need to run the generator to charge the panels. With all the sunshine, that wasn’t an issue, but I did start to grow concerned about how long the water supply would last after over 2 weeks with no rain. That turned out to be justifiable. By the time my friends got back, I had about a day or two of water left. Since the water comes from rain catchment which is mainly done with drains on the roof of the house and since this house is basically new, seems a piece of gypsum board tape had somehow managed to get into the main tank and clog the system so water wasn’t continuing on to the other two storage tanks. So I wasn’t getting new water supplies even if it were to rain. The problem was resolved by draining all 3 tanks, taking a portable pump to the spring and running water through a hose from the spring for awhile. And then we started getting those night rains that can fill up all three tanks in one or two rains. I never heard thunder or saw lightening, but I do remember a neighbor up the road saying she got 1600 gallons from her roof system in one hard rain that didn’t last more than five minutes…remarkably tropically hard rain. I’m just glad I didn’t have to resort to figuring out how to do all that. Could have been a challenge, though with help, I’m sure I would have simply figured out what needed to be done and got on with it. What other options are there?

An Indian named Duncan, whom everyone knows who is smack dab in the middle of all this ROP stuff in Bocas, works for my friend. Duncan has been on his land for 50 years and his father before him. He lives next to my friend’s house though across the Mimmi Timby and up in the jungle a bit. What a great name for a river..the Mimmi Timby. My friend’s house is where the mouth of the Mimmi Timby meets the Atlantic.

Anyway, there’s an elegance about Duncan. Gringos have hired him a lawyer and are paying his fees. He commands respect, never in words, but simply by being who he is. Duncan is elegant and powerful in the way some quiet people are. I thought his wife was also quite elegant. There’s a lot of honesty and a lot of dignity in those two. But, like any Panamanian, when the owner’s away, the work day hours are greatly diminished. But I had guests coming up and the grass was high and I had already found one snake. Z taught me a few things about the jungle. And I remembered the lessons well. Thought about it as they began, at my…umm..encouragement to begin to cut the substantial yard. They didn’t begin closest to the house and cut outwards. In short, they were definitely cutting in towards the house. In any event, those guys saw me cleaning the truck and working in and outside. I don’t ask someone to work if I’m not willing to roll up my sleeves myself. The two workers, Duncan and Alberto, ended up being very easy to work with, but I found even with Duncan, things are offered up unless you ask. I’m yet to meet a truly ambitious Panamanian outside the Rabiblanco set…greedy yes, ambitious no. The stereotype seems to be just good people enjoying life and working when they must. There’s a strong part of me tha feels that is an example to follow rather than judge as lacking from a go-getter American perspective.

There, it’s a large cleared property and the jungle is safely at bay, but not so far away that you don’t still feast your eyes constantly on it’s many wonders depending on the time of day, the color of sunlight and whether or not the leaves have moisture, either from the cool night air or a tropical rain. Shockingly, it did not rain 15 of the first 18 days I was there and even after that, only rained at night, but never during the days. I had 20 out of 23 days of sunshine in Bocas. Must be some kind of record. I mean the joke in Panama is that, while the rest of the country has rainy and dry seasons, Bocas has two seasons, wet and wetter.

And to lay down at night, hear the roar of the Atlantic and be enveloped in the pitch black of the night. The last 2 nights I was there, moonlight was much more visible and I could not believe the difference it made in the way everything look and even in the ‘vibe’, for that matter. I will forever carry with me the 2nd night I was there and how, when I turned out the lights to go to sleep, it probably took a full two minutes to even make out any form whatsoever because it was so very dark with the cloud cover that zero light from the sky got through. It was an enveloping kind of blackness that I almost could feel lost in, like you were under some sea though it wasn’t scary, just a new experience one marveled at. By the same token, I have NEVER seen a night sky like that when it was perfectly clear. You could see so much space dust that it couldn’t have all been the Milky Way. There were several bright stars that seem to revolve with different colors during revolutions: red, blue, green, and platinum starlight. Since I’ve come home, I looked up a couple of things because of how absolutely lacking my knowledge is about the constellations and learned that what I was probably seeing were certain stars that are indeed two stars revolving around each other, but at such a distance they appear to be simply one star.

I saw howlers (pretty much daily), a sloth from about 2 feet away, white faced monkeys in abundance, huge bats, hawks, lots of parrots and various other birds including white and grey garzas (herons), a couple of gneccis (however that is spelled) and just the one little snake. And of course, I was babysitting 3 shitzus who had taken the place of children in my friend’s wife’s life once her own children were grown and gone.

After they returned, one dog got sick. We had just come back from the two hour trip into town and turned around immediately to take the dog back in. The vet had just left, so we got on a boat for 35 minutes, took a taxi for another 30-4 minutes and finally arrived at the vet’s house. Next morning, after sub-cutaneous ‘IV’ solution, my friend took the dog on over to David by bus, 4 hours. I took a long taxi ride to the Changuinola dock on the river and caught the hour long water taxi back to Bocas and once again, took that hour long truck ride back to the house. The dog didn’t make it and I thought my friend’s wife was going to crumble. She screamed and wailed and sobbed for hours before falling asleep from the sheer exhaustion of it all. Very sad situation, but I felt she was better when I left. We spoke about things and that seemed good.

Got home tonight to learn that an old dear friend of mine, Chris Whitley, finally managed to kill himself though the official press release says it was lung cancer. For years, there were many things he was dealing with as a direct result of the addictions that enslaved him. He was 45. I had tried to save him from himself a few times over the years to no avail. He ended up in such unbelievably bad shape and unwilling to stop getting f**ked up…jails, institutions and death is not mere pablum when you’re talking about alcholics and addicts who continue drinking or using. It’s not a cliche for nothing. I don’t know if I’m too soothed by Bocas or if it’s so not a surprise or what, but I’m not feeling much around this one, though I did love the guy so I probably will at some point. He was such an astonishing talent and watching him waste it like I watched him do was equally painful. On the deck last night, my friend was saying…around the dog, that maybe it was simply that as he aged, death became something you dealt with more often than when you were younger. Chris does make the 3rd person I’ve been really close to who has died in under 3 years and that is just the count of people in my heart. There have been at least 9 others who were in my life who have died in the last 4 years. So his words sink in as I learn this news.

Remember that camera I used up until it finally died? Remember how I said I had to hold the lens shut with a rubber band because a drunk person had dropped it? Guess who? I have to say, that underneath all of it was a spirit so remarkably beautiful, a mind so admirably keen and a depth of passion so deep it left people feeling like they had just witnessed something too private to witness whenever he played…it’s very sad, but it’s not a surprise. I got home to a phone call about him. I googled him and got 1,700,000 hits and the first few pages were all obits. He died the day I left for Bocas. I had only had one long talk with him since I moved to Panama. By then, he could rarely be found or show up. Jail, park benches, bus stations, train stations…And this is a guy most critics called one of the 3 best guitar players of the CENTURY. I will begin remembering the many times and pains and joys we shared over the years and it will probably sink in. But not tonight. It’s already late and I woke up at 6AM to the colors of the sun rising above the ocean and jungle. I set my alarm so I could see it one more time.

My friend’s place is magic and worked its hoodoo on me. The energy there is good. One weekend I had 4 friends up from Panama City and one was remarking how surreal it seemed to find this private road through this private paradise that was full of only gringos. I was only afraid one night ( though I must admit I found it made good sense to sleep with a flashlight and machete on the night stand) and that was a week ago Saturday. I grew accustomed to occasionally seeing flashlights at the beach. They really stood out in the blackness. I would watch tv without any other lights on in the house. That night, I saw a flashlight and went into another room, completely black knowing that it would camoflauge me from whoever might be looking in. I watched the light head up a jungle path, turn around and head up close to the house which is built on a little hill with the storage shed, the bodega, is at the base of the hill.

When the flashlight got there, he started shining the light up at the house and kept doing so. I had to duck behind a wall to
keep from being seen through the glass. He was, without a doubt, scoping the house. Now granted, in Panama, I feel practically assured that crime would be limited to theft without violence, but I also knew the jungle grapevine probably meant that a lot of people now knew that I was staying out here alone. They had a maid, who was not only an incompetent maid, but I’m convinced is also stealing due to primarily all my missing underwear after looking at every possible place it could have otherwise gone and my friend was missing pillows when she got home, PLUS two of the four times I drove the hour round trip down that rough road to pick her up, she was a no show. Anyway, when she asked me if I wasn’t afraid out here, I asked her, “Why? Plus, I’m bigger than all the men around here.” Indians are small, though I would never challenge one with a machete. And they always carry a machete. And the progress one Indian with a machete can make clearing out jungle is still astonishing to me. It’s as essential to them as cell phones seem to now be to city dwellers. A friend of mine from the States once marvelled that I stopped to offer a man with a machete a ride up a steep mountain. I had to laugh. She was right…only in Panama would you not hesitate to give a man with a machete a ride. Which I did every time I left the house. The back of the truck would be transformed into public transportation on every trip and all of them toting machetes.

Anyway, while he continued to scope the house with his flashlight, I grabbed my newly purchased headlight looking ‘lantern’ and snuck out the back door, stood outside and with the element of surprise, shined my flashlight right back on him. I never could see him, but the minute I did that, he turned his completely off and never turned it back on. Still, I left the keys in the truck that night in the event I needed to escape. And it was the only night I didn’t leave the house completely wide open. That night, I closed and locked all the doors…12 in all. Granted, a window is easy to break, but at least I would hear it. Fortunately, it was a cool period.

Every night was far cooler than it gets in Panama City, probably far cooler than in Bocas town even, given all the jungle and that ocean breeze. I never used a fan at night and frequently found myself wrapped in a blanket watching tv, always slept under one. A couple of nights, I did even close some of the glass doors because it was a touch chilly inside. And you guys with your snow shovels are probably laughing at the idea of what? 60 degrees equalling chilly. That’s okay. I understand.

Duncan left for a week in Panama City on Sunday. He came up to the house and needed employee/employer discussion/interaction. My friend was stil in David with the dog. His wife was there, but Duncan spoke directly to me and never looked at her or her friend, always me when he spoke. Somehow, it felt like an honor. Of course, it might have just been the orange pound cake that bonded us. I gave him and his wife, Petrona, most of the cake. The next day he was already asking me when I was going to make it again. And his English is what I presume to be bejan (to my friends from the Colon side). Sure sounds similar in Bocas as to what I’ve heard on down the coast.

Christmas is just not on my radar yet. The only thing I’ve seen that stands out was an 8-10 foot inflatable snowman in the large, fenced yard of an old banana company house across the street from banana fields in Chanquinola…everything is across the street from a banana field around Changuinola. In that setting, in that heat, it seemed so bizarre, so funny. Saw the Kunas today and they told me the chidren of Cartisugtupu are already asking about the ‘new’ Santa coming back this year.

That was Aaron, my son, the first white Santa in Kuna Yala history. They asked me today to come play Santa this
year. Now, Santa has to be white and roam the streets of that populated island handing out candy to all the kids who swarm in hopes of being lucky enough to get some. I still remember Aaron, nearly succombing to the heat in that complete costume that even included black rubber gloves, turning around to me at one point and saying, “This is so depressing.” I asked him why and he told me there wasn’t enough candy to go around and the Kuna leaders were frequently telling him who to give it to. So maybe we did inadvertently start a tradition last year, but this year, I intend to send supplies by boat because you’re limited to 26 pounds on the plane and the sea is too rough to go by boat. Aaron won’t be with me this year as his Dad and I alternate Christmas holidays with him.

I will make a plea now…if anyone wants to donate candy, buy in big bulk…nothing that will melt…and I’ll hook up with you to get it. The island has a population of 2,000, so that’s a lot of candy as they have lots and lots of kids. Crayons, coloring books and other little things would also be great. Also might be interested in the right company if someone out there can deal with no electricity, sleeping in a communal hammock bamboo hut, no running water, etc. I would prefer NOT to play Santa and to take pictures of someone who does. We also feed as many people Christmas dinner as I have food to provide. I had managed to bring a lot of food and everything else was fresh seafood bought from a Kuna who free dives beautifully and then sells his catch. For Christmas dinner last year, as I recall we had crab, lobster, smoked tuna, squid, raisins, pineapple, and rice. Food is something else I intend to ship because rice and seafood without any veggies can get old. I remember watching a woman dressing iguana and thinking, I’m not ready for that.