TheExpatJournals.com

I know, I know…I don’t write here anymore.  No time, no inclination, no entries.  Facebook is something relatively new for me.  I have the opportunity to say hi to people I would never have been in touch with again in my life.   There are people from all stages of my life in music, people post music, people from high school and of course, people I’ve met in 2009.  So through a series of Facebook twists and turns, this very brief post is simply to offer up some links to moments from the past that are more relevant than ever:

www.megreilley.com
www.ericbachmann.com
www.rickshapiro.tv

And ps…I’m jealous of all the snow in the US this week.  Happy Holidays from here.

One thing I do miss a lot about Panama was spending New Year’s Eve in Portobelo at the home of my friend, Sandra Eleta .  Being the great lady that she is, it was always fascinating and since I spent a one night with her when I was in Panama a couple of months ago, missing it was felt all the more.  Her Portobelo compound was always filled with the most interesting people no matter when you visited, but New Year’s Eve was special.  It instilled in me an appreciation for new spiritual traditions.  The custom of burning a muneco (doll in English, but almost a life-sized scarecrow-like rendition in real life or as most foreigners here call them: effigies.) of someone you dislike was something I adored in Panama, so I was very glad to see it’s just as much of a custom here in Ecuador.  In Panama, they’re called munecos.  In Ecuador, they’re called ‘Ano Viejos’.   (more…)

I attended the most wonderful Art Fair at CIDAP  last weekend. This was apparently the ‘masters’ show and considered the best of the year here. While much of what was sold was too ornate for my taste, it did not mean I could not admire the work. What was right up my alley and excited me in a way I haven’t felt excited by visual arts in years was this hand painted fabric by the Shipibo tribe in Peru. (more…)

I’ll be back in Casco Viejo Tuesday night. I love NYC, but I’m sure happy that I’ve missed Panama. My neighbor says that all the plants I bought and potted are now thriving and as a result, I’m giving her a run for her money and that, between us, we have the greenest balconies in Casco Viejo.
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This circulated via email some years back, but I always loved it and every now and then, dig it out to forward to folks.

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May and were still smelling pretty good by June. However, they were starting to be fragrant, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers. Baths equaled a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.”

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My friend Dawn was the first person to ever make me aware of how sensitive I am to my geographic location. You know how certain people might bring out your sense of humor and others bring how your intelligence? I have found that where I am on this planet does the same thing for me.

As I write, I’m on a plane bound for NYC. Kids, if you ever have concerns about crossing borders, invite me along. I don’t know why, but I must have a face that says “I’m an innocent, don’t waste your time.” I am never hassled. Now, as sure as I write that, let’s see what happens when I come back to Panama. I should say, to date, I’ve never been hassled. Not after Lockerbie when leaving Heathrow. Not during September of 2001 leaving NYC. And once I had to fly to London with a colleague who was of Arabic descent. He said it was the first time he hadn’t been hassled. So, I’m the designated smuggler. Of course, the only time I remember smuggling something and lying on my customs form was because I was hell bent on bringing back 4 liters of the most amazing olive oil I’ve tasted to this day. It was from the south of Spain. The olives were grown on the property where I was staying the oil was processed at a co-op down the road.

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