Bocas del Toro

What had always confused me about Latin America, is why the buses are always so frigid. I never thought I could get frost bitten in Panama until I took an overnight cross-county Latin Greyhound express. They crank up the AC so much, that Latinos are accustomed to bringing winter blankets with them on long bus trips. I saw a guy in a snow suit and asked him where he was skiing. “Nope, just taking the bus to Costa Rica,” he tells me.

On a 10-hour trip north to Bocas del Toro, a beautiful chain of islands, my girl sat right below one of the vents, and since I had to use the whole blanket, she shivered the whole time! Just kidding…I did let her borrow my t-shirt (what a gentleman). We were fortunate to catch on the in-flight TV the pirated DVD of Big Mama’s House 2 in Spanish – if you can believe it, it’s even better than the English version!

We ended up in Almirante, the undisputed armpit of Panamá. No offense to any native Almirantes, but this place had been pretty neglected. I’ve noticed that throughout Latin America, the power and money is centralized in the capitals and other major cities, leaving the outlying provinces to fend for themselves – meaning public infrastructure such as road maintenance and plumbing often goes ignored by the government. It was a pretty filthy. I wanted to take a bath in Purell after I left this place.

Almirante was the jump off town for the islands so we took a $3 water taxi for a 30-minute sunrise cruise to Bocas Island. The great scenery on the boat trip more than made up for our white-knuckle bus ride.

We found our hotel and crashed for hours. In the afternoon, we explored this funky ex-pat enclave. It had a very hippie vibe - I smelled patchouli everywhere. It’s quite an eclectic little town with some great food. My favorite was El Pecado (The Sin) restaurant. The first time we tried to eat there, the bartender told us they couldn’t serve any more food because they ran out of water. I stopped for a second –this is an island! How can they run out of water?!? Oh well, I was resigned to dining on my favorite Papaya fruit shake.

Melba and I found a great place that served us a monster lobster dinner for 25 bucks. It was amazing. While we were eating, we made friends with some local young’uns. These kids were very cool and loved seeing their pics on the digital camera.

The second day, we took a boat excursion to watch some dolphins jump through our wake.

We snorkeled some crystal clear waters and chased tiny flounder on Starfish Beach - it was covered with these huge red starfish.

We hopped on land and trekked through the jungle until we found Red Frog Beach. It had a cool bar where all the seats were swings hanging from the trees.

Nighttime served up some local debauchery at the Barco Hundido – the local Swiss-Family type bar whose deck encircles a sunken ship that’ all lit up a night. While sipping your Balboa beer, you can sit and watch trumpetfish and crabs
hanging out in the ship’s hull. Part of the bar is a party boat. Supposedly, the owner will untie the boat from the dock without notice. People on it don’t realize they’re floating away until they see the bar in the distance.

Swan's Cay

This island was unbelievable - it's tiny and out in the middle of the ocean right off Bocas del Toro, but is the only place in Panama you'll find the red-billed Tropicbird. We paid, Javier, one of the local boatmen to take us around the islands in his boat for the day. The guy was great and incredibly honest. After Melba and I got back to our hotel, somebody was knocking on our door. It was Javier with our sunglasses that we had left on his boat. He called around and found out where we were staying and dropped them off before he called it a day. I really love the honesty of the Panamanians we've run across.

Supposedly, you can get a boat through that little hole. Javier wouldn't do it even after I called him a little girl in Spanish.

Kayaking the Canal

My girl Melba came down for two weeks in December. The day after she arrived, we celebrated her birthday- since I couldn’t a birthday cake, I had the nice lady in the local bakery change a cake that said “Congrats on your retirement!” to “Congrats on your birthday!” Melba thought it was a very...um...tasty gesture.


Being the smooth operator that I am, I surprised her with a night in an awesome rain forest resort just an hour down the canal. The place was incredible and very 1^st world. The best part was the hammock on our balcony. I fell in love with the amazing view; Melba fell in love with the rum punches. Gotta love all-inclusive!

We went on a night jungle excursion in an open top truck with a guide and huge spotlight who pointed out tons of critters from anteaters to giant capybaras – the world’s biggest rodent. It looked like a rabbit a rabbit on Barry Bonds-type steroids.

The next day we signed up for kayaking the canal – one of the best things I’ve done in Panamá. They first took us cruising in the motorboat, weaving in and out of giant container ship making their way from ocean to ocean.

When they left us off, the first place we hit was Monkey Island, where a family of monkeys came running out of the jungle and jumped on our kayaks. The guide passed Melba a grape, and in a second, one of the little thieves had snagged it from her hand and jumped to safety in a nearby tree.

We kayaked for about 4 hours. Our guide, Edmundo, found us some howler monkeys , crocodiles sun bathing, three-toed sloths and these giant iguanas that were so big, Melba got a little too scared and almost tipped our kayaks.

Taboga

This island is a 45-minute boat ride from the city. You can actually see the skyline in the distance. When the tide comes up, the beaches disappear and it makes its own islands. We ate a giant snapper on the beach (the fish came complete with head, fins and tail) with what I think is the best Latin invention – the patacón. It’s a salty deep-fried smooshed banana slice.

Begging the Question

I encounter children begging for money every now and then in Panama. In fact, at dinner last night an adorable girl about 5 years old with big sad eyes sauntered up to our table in hopes of finding compassionate souls willing to hand over a Balboa or two. We couldn't resist, but I wish I had. It turned out her mom had dropped her off at the street corner and ordered her to go from table to table, only to pick her and her winnings up an hour or so later. It's sad that she is this destitute, but by giving her money, we were just perpetuating her mother's dependence on her as a source of income.

The linked article covers this sad situation ubiquitous in poor countries and why it's often not a good idea to give.

http://tinyurl.com/23w5x6

Changing my name

Some Panamanian stole my likeness and decided to name his restaurant after me...the Bramadero. I wish I took a pic of it. I also found a Costa Rican hotel with the same name (http://tinyurl.com/yrg7gd). There's definitely a case for copyright infringement...but can I really blame them? ...It is a pretty good name.

So many questions...

Here are some questions that are rolling around in my head. Any help on answering them would be greatly appreciated.

1. In a country that has boasts some great musicians (Panamanian Ruben Blades is a huge salsa star), why do I always hear “Bad Mamma Jamma” on the radio?

2. Why is Old Milyukee considered a good beer here? All right, it did win some awards a few years back, and it was pop’s favorite, but still...Old Milwaulkee?!?

3. Why do Panamanians go nuts when I sing Sweet Child O Mine at a karaoke bar?

4. Why does my roommate believe appropriate house attire is a pair of stained tighty-whities? Haha- I kept track before they left for X-mas: 26 days in a row of tighty-whitey sightings.

5. How is it possible that I can make instant friends by buying a round of 25 cent salchicha kebabs?

6. Why am I so addicted to the kool-aid slurpees they sell on the street?

7. Why do I love this country so much? Easy answer: easy, easy livin’

Yazz Fest

For some strange reason, Hispanics refuse to pronounce J's. It's very rude. What gives them the right to pick and choose what letters they sound out? It probably gives the J's an inferiority complex. So the recent Jazz Festival that took place in Panama city really wasn't a Jazz Festival as much as it was a Yazz Festival. A friend invited me to go last night, and I didn't know what I was getting into until I had them spell it out.

It was a pretty big deal with international acclaim and took place in Independence Plaza right in front of the cathedral. My favorite part was when they had a jam session with the 3 best Yazz artists in Panama - all under 12 years old. Those kids could pound out the tunes. The video below from the festival is typical Panamanian dancin' and singin'.

Christmas Eve

Christmas and a lot of other Panamanian holidays are celebrated by lighting the sky on fire. Well, that’s what it always seems like from the stockpile of fireworks that are set off. I’ve come to realize that it isn’t a holiday unless I’m nearly nailed by a bottle rocket.

There was a great show the city put on about two weeks before Christmas to start the season. It took me by surprise. I thought we were being invaded…again! It’s possible, James Baker is back in office.

From my roof, which is probably one of the best parts of my apartment (I’m planning on putting a swimming pool up there soon), you can get great 360 degree view of the city and the skyline. On holidays, you can see spectacular fireworks shows throughout the whole city. The funny thing is, they’re all illegal. I guess not too illegal – I picked up some from a guy selling them off a table right in front of my grocery store.

Pour some out for the homies

I’m a little late in writing this, but in November, Panama and many other countries celebrate Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. It’s most famous in Mexico where the colorful holiday is more of a celebration of the loved one’s legacy. Its roots hail from prehistoric practices that were meant to greet the deceased during their yearly return to earth to visit their loved ones. They’d decorate and put out a great spread of food to make their “stay” more comfortable. Strangely enough, this seemingly Pagan holiday is a huge part of the Mexican Catholic calendar. It points to the Catholic church’s interesting acceptance of the indigenous traditions in Latin America. Who says religion can’t evolve?

Panama’s celebrations are more reverent and somber than Mexico’s. Mostly, it’s a day off to visit loved ones’ grave sites and adorn them with copious amounts of floral arrangements. Whereas American culture seems to ignore death as if it were a myth, Latinos exhibit more reverent respect for it and embrace it as the natural cycle of life. The holiday became personal when my roommates and I accompanied a girlfriend to a Panamanian cemetery, where she paid her respects at her mother’s grave.

Anybody who’s familiar with my story won’t be surprised to know that I like this holiday. It makes us take a second out of our hectic lives to reflect on those who paved the way for us. I know what you’re thinking – life isn’t hectic at all down here in Panama! But the holiday helps us put things into complete perspective. It’s a nice yearly reminder.

I do think that a one day celebration is long enough, and maybe even too long – the holiday turns Panama into a dry country for 24 hours. Not a drop of booze is sold anywhere. By 10 pm, you could see long lines in front of the bars and liquor stores – I think we were all done reflecting. It was time to really celebrate.

Insanity is color-blind

I learn a lot from TV. I’m not afraid to admit it. In Latin America, it’s a great cultural barometer.

It’s even more educational sharing TV time with the roomies. They love to further educate by adding their own social commentary and critiques, especially in how loco the rest of the world is. They’re usually not too far from the truth. The world in which we live is pretty screwy.

Not surprising, their view of the world is piped in through subtitled American shows like America’s Top Model, Desperate Housewives and Springer (they actually have an awful Jerry Springer knock-off. It’s possibly the worst thing on TV, but comes on every day on channel 16 at 3pm and is impossible to turn off.) And although there tends to be a sense of awe and reverence for American culture, the roommates love to poke fun at its absurdity. Half of the time, I’ve got no room to argue – it’s pretty silly.

When the PS3 was released after Sony chummed the water by limiting distribution, the crazies came out in droves in the States, camping out for days for the highly-coveted social-life killer. Perhaps it points to American overindulgence and unrivaled wealth – a $600 sticker price didn’t seem to slow down the masses.

Anyways, while watching interviews of the Sony faithful championing precious video game consoles, breaking news came across the screen. A riot broke out in Fresno, California, at one store as they sold their final PS3. Cameras panned the carnage – children crying, innocent video games trampled in the street, controllers burned beyond recognition – it was ugly. There were actual fist-fights over the stupid system.

My roomies, taking it all in with as much incredulous awe as me, let out a poignant and biting, “Stupid Gringos.” I had to agree. Brawling over vid games was ridiculous. Isn’t that why you buy them to begin with- to simulate fighting so you don’t have to do it yourself?

The camera got a close up shot of the crowd – and guess what, they were all…wait for it… Latinos. Fresno is 40% Hispanic. The rioting crowd was 100% Hispanic.

I turned to my roomies with a hearty laugh and gave them a much-deserved, “Latinos estupidos!”

A BBQ? No it’s trash day!

I smelled something cooking and seriously thought my neighbors were grilling out. No such luck. The trash collectors are taking the week off, and, well, I guess it was starting to stink.

I was real tempted to start roasting some Smores.