My network interface card on my notebook was exhibiting consistently bad performance. It was able to detect networks but could not establish connections. I fiddled with the router. A German arrived in a zodiac dinghy, one of those little inflatable boats so common on large sail boats and used as tenders. He didn't pay the $5 daily slip fee as he was ostensibly a customer of the restaurant. As a customer he does nothing more than occupy a chair and consume WIFI bandwidth for free. He chastised me for interfering with his network connection. I offered to give him some compensation on his room and asked which room he was in, knowing full well that he was not staying at Casa Verde. He departed in a huff. Good riddance.
After Walter graciously picked me up we transported my goods to the apartment after a run to the ATM. I made a partial payment and received a set of keys. We went back to Stephen's and rode across the calm waters to the site of his home construction project which was currently stalled. Next we saw the lot we attempted to see the day before from the water front. The land was extremely steep and a long way from Bocas Town.
We rode back past Isla Colon to Isla Bastimentos to watch the boat races. The races were over but the boat parties were in full swing, 50 foot catamarans, the Janpan houseboat, some people pedaled foot powered surf boards when they could manage to balance themselves. We ogled the eye candy. In less than an hour we headed to go see the property I was most anxious to view.
As we neared the property I saw a 30” barracuda inches from the surface. The water was profoundly calm, as tranquil as a pond nestled in the hills, reflecting the mangrove trees. Translucent jelly fish the size of dinner plates populated the water in great numbers. Walter commented, “They need to stop killing all the turtles.” Yup, for more reason than one. The water was deep and we pulled Stephen's boat right up to the shore. I hopped out in my sandals, as the water was sure to be over the top of my boots. After lashing the boat to a mangrove the others disembarked onto a strange stiff flora on which small crabs skittered. Toads, obviously in huge abundance croaked out a raucous chorus. I trod upon the fallen grass with an objective of spotting the source of all of this noise, but elected to retreat, this being hazardous grounds not being able to observe that which could lurk next to my next step.
Stephen, in the mean time was ascending the hill. I found what appeared to be the path of least resistance but found my footwear lacking. My feet, wet with muck slipped on the insoles and the sandals rotated beneath my feet. A strap gave way pulling itself out of the plastic sole. Every dozen steps I so I turned around to view the expanse of the bay. Far higher than the mangroves I gazed at the most placid ocean water imaginable. Every twenty meters I ascended about eight meters and the view improved commensurately. “Jim, this is where you need to build your house.” The execrable sandals failed to strongly diminish my desire to ascend to Stephen's vantage point. Yup, Stephen, you are correct, this is the site of my new abode.
Five hundred meters separated us from the most interior border through lush jungle. The damnable sandals hindered my progress while my eminently suitable boots lay in the boat. Along the trail, the diminutive red poison arrow frogs, the adults of which are small enough to readily rest on a man's thumbnail were observed in good numbers. We found a small clearing and watched a monkey, listened as the Montezuma Oropedola provided jungle sounds as we watched a monkey, high in a tree. “You'll need to put in an observation deck here.” “Yup.” Three hundred meters of jungle before the end of the property I said, “I will return, donning appropriate footwear.” Walter gave me a benevolent smile; he had told me at least twice to wear my boots.
The walk back down was punctuated by pauses to observe the amazing surroundings. I stopped at the top of the clearing and doffed my troublesome footwear, descending barefoot.
As I walked to the boat, I found myself unable to tread on the hard, bristly terrain that my more prepared companions traversed and elected to wade through the muck. Bad call. My left foot sunk in far over my knee and my cell phone, cradled in the lower pocket of my cargo shorts was sacrificed to the god of the ill prepared, a fact that I did not ascertain until the following morn.
But a short ways after we set sail for home a dolphin and her calf frolicked off the starboard bow.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
More Random Real Estate and Establishing a Base of Operations
The three musketeers headed over to Almirante via BMT water taxi then walked a short distance to the lot in which Chester's car was currently being kept. We drove over to see a lot on which Stephen had extended some credit, secured by the lot. The lot was on the water many hundreds of meters from the road, beneath a lot held by the lot owner's father. Walter asked for permission to pass and the location of the trail. I grabbed the machete from the truck. A cross-eyed woman pointed the way. We walked down slopes populated with cocoa trees, the fruit of which were in every color I had ever seen, from a unripened green, yellow, ripe brown and dead and decaying black. Enormous nisporo trees had been felled near everywhere. Nisporo is a variant of ironwood, denser than water, it doesn't float. It is also exceptionally hard; it is impossible to drive a nail into it. The trees had been milled with chain saws on the spot into every conceivable plank and post dimension.
At long last we queried our guide, “Do you have any idea where we are or where we are going?” Well, he didn't. Using a compass we headed south, which was sure to get us back to the road somewhere. Eventually we ran into an indian girl probably four or five years of age walking through the woods with a what was most likely a younger sibling. Walter asked where the house was and she pointed the way. Within minutes we were at a house, but not the same house. Three Indian women sat around under the elevated house and nine kids milled about all clad in nothing but underpants. We walked back to the road, tried to take our bearings, Stephen headed uphill, I followed and half a mile later we arrived at the car that we had parked on the shoulder of the road.
Next we drove up to the area around the hydroelectric lake. We drove for miles past hundreds of barracks the housed the workers. Looking down on the small lake I pondered how much electricity this project could possibly produce. Without knowing the volume of water flowing out and the distance it was falling it is of course impossible to even estimate.
We reached the end of the passable road, encountering a manned barricade and turned around. A man on horse back indicated land was for sale. Despite the fact that I am seeking ocean front property we drove a couple of miles down a dirt road in the mountains and could occassionally see the ocean.
Finally we headed back to Almirante and sought out Luis, the crazy Colombian. Luis' primary source of income is selling 60 watt solar systems to locals for $700. I have no idea how he can pull that off. He said his profit margin is 100%, but he buys the panels, rectifier and batteries. Me thinks his math is a little off. A discussion regarding prices of the various options for paid conjugal companions left me very bemused. He showed us a couple of tiny lots on the filthy river that “Would be perfect for a marina.” Right. If you want to invest $70k on land and $40k on docks, hire a caretaker would would pocket half of the $30 a day you might be able to make.
We caught a BMT water taxi back to Bocas. Stephen showing his pensionado card received his mandatory 30% discount while the near penniless locals paid the full $4 fare. Halfway across we encountered a BMT boat heading back to Almirante from Bocas. We sidled up, bow to bow and exchanged captains.
After dinner, Walter drove me around town looking for apartments. The first was full, the second was no longer renting. The third was half a block from the airport on the northern extreme of town. With two prop planes a day the noise is far less than in the boisterous town central. I agreed to take a two room cabin constructed of concrete panels. The pink building is trimmed with blue, red and yellow. It looked like somebody had transplanted a house from Key West. Sure enough the builder/owner arrived a few years ago from Key West.
At long last we queried our guide, “Do you have any idea where we are or where we are going?” Well, he didn't. Using a compass we headed south, which was sure to get us back to the road somewhere. Eventually we ran into an indian girl probably four or five years of age walking through the woods with a what was most likely a younger sibling. Walter asked where the house was and she pointed the way. Within minutes we were at a house, but not the same house. Three Indian women sat around under the elevated house and nine kids milled about all clad in nothing but underpants. We walked back to the road, tried to take our bearings, Stephen headed uphill, I followed and half a mile later we arrived at the car that we had parked on the shoulder of the road.
Next we drove up to the area around the hydroelectric lake. We drove for miles past hundreds of barracks the housed the workers. Looking down on the small lake I pondered how much electricity this project could possibly produce. Without knowing the volume of water flowing out and the distance it was falling it is of course impossible to even estimate.
We reached the end of the passable road, encountering a manned barricade and turned around. A man on horse back indicated land was for sale. Despite the fact that I am seeking ocean front property we drove a couple of miles down a dirt road in the mountains and could occassionally see the ocean.
Finally we headed back to Almirante and sought out Luis, the crazy Colombian. Luis' primary source of income is selling 60 watt solar systems to locals for $700. I have no idea how he can pull that off. He said his profit margin is 100%, but he buys the panels, rectifier and batteries. Me thinks his math is a little off. A discussion regarding prices of the various options for paid conjugal companions left me very bemused. He showed us a couple of tiny lots on the filthy river that “Would be perfect for a marina.” Right. If you want to invest $70k on land and $40k on docks, hire a caretaker would would pocket half of the $30 a day you might be able to make.
We caught a BMT water taxi back to Bocas. Stephen showing his pensionado card received his mandatory 30% discount while the near penniless locals paid the full $4 fare. Halfway across we encountered a BMT boat heading back to Almirante from Bocas. We sidled up, bow to bow and exchanged captains.
After dinner, Walter drove me around town looking for apartments. The first was full, the second was no longer renting. The third was half a block from the airport on the northern extreme of town. With two prop planes a day the noise is far less than in the boisterous town central. I agreed to take a two room cabin constructed of concrete panels. The pink building is trimmed with blue, red and yellow. It looked like somebody had transplanted a house from Key West. Sure enough the builder/owner arrived a few years ago from Key West.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Looking at land in the Dark Lands
In the morning Walter wanted to show me some property but I insisted that I was going to pursue this systematically, locating properties and plotting visits so as to minimize time and gas. A while later Walter told me he knew of eight hectare at Split Hill that was available for $80k. He summoned Pablo, the house boat captain. Finding the real estate boat not in fit order we took off in Stephen's boat, with Stephen and spent five hours on the water or exploring property.
It took an hour to reach the first property at Split Hill. Arriving at the property we could not discern any hint of a dock on the western side among the mangroves. We cruised around the point to approach the property from the other side. The term “dock” was very generously employed in describing the rough hewn planks precariously straddling the poles stuck in the mud. This terminated at some dimensional one by tens that straddled four by fours, all hand cut by chain saws. The planks gave way, I supported myself on poles stuck in the mud. We ascended a small rise with a great view of Chiriqui Bay and the mountains on the mainland. The rest of the property was brackish swamp or rises with views solely of the higher surrounding rises. We encountered a giant orb spider at least four inches across the leg spread, directly subsequently Walter picked up a stick waving it in front of him up and down and in diagonal sweeps in exaggerated motions that are the essence of his physical expressiveness.
The far side lead down into a bog of cypress that indicate that this side of the island is an altar on which humans are sacrificed to the pernicious beasts known as chitra or sand flies. We returned to the boat and headed to another finca, even more remote which was started as a rustic resort by a woman who has since walked the trail to the destination at which all trails converge. We injudiciously walked the overgrown trails without a machete, stomping heavily to forewarn the irascible serpent the frequents the lowlands, the deservedly greatly feared fer-de-lance. I wasn't hot on this spot either.
Proceeding still further we arrived at the dock at a property next to a property formerly occupied by Wild Bill a serial killer from the states who befriended expatriates, killed them, buried them on in the yard and claimed their property as his. This was not the most well thought out of operations but was seldom surpassed in the wantonness and evil with with it was executed. A dog barked at the end of the dock. Walter called out to the caretaker and we tied off. A large expanse of hill was planted with a wide variety of tropical fruit trees. Half way up a simple rectangular wooden two story house looked down over the lush lawn and fruit trays and across the bay to the mountains overlooking the blue waters of Chiriqui Grande. At night the strip of water through which we had just passed a lucky boater might chance to see a jaguar on its way to the fertile hunting grounds of Isla Popa. The jaguar is the third largest cat and has the most powerful bite. Their jaws readily crack the shells of giant sea turtles.
While the rest of the party stayed at the house I went down the trail through the densest jungle I have seen in Central America. The property climbs over the hill and descends again to the waters of Dolphin Bay. On the dolphin bay side, Bocas Town is half an hour away, on the side from which we approached it it an hour's travel. We had an over an hours journey through some occasionally very shallow water populated with the little cayucas and Pablo was anxious to return before we lost light.
After returning we attempted to eat at Gringo's, the Mexican restaurant of choice. As we drove by many people called out to Walter, “Hey.” “Stop in.” etc. At 7:30 the owner decided he was done for the day so we dined elsewhere. I returned to Casa Verde and caught up on my emails.
It took an hour to reach the first property at Split Hill. Arriving at the property we could not discern any hint of a dock on the western side among the mangroves. We cruised around the point to approach the property from the other side. The term “dock” was very generously employed in describing the rough hewn planks precariously straddling the poles stuck in the mud. This terminated at some dimensional one by tens that straddled four by fours, all hand cut by chain saws. The planks gave way, I supported myself on poles stuck in the mud. We ascended a small rise with a great view of Chiriqui Bay and the mountains on the mainland. The rest of the property was brackish swamp or rises with views solely of the higher surrounding rises. We encountered a giant orb spider at least four inches across the leg spread, directly subsequently Walter picked up a stick waving it in front of him up and down and in diagonal sweeps in exaggerated motions that are the essence of his physical expressiveness.
The far side lead down into a bog of cypress that indicate that this side of the island is an altar on which humans are sacrificed to the pernicious beasts known as chitra or sand flies. We returned to the boat and headed to another finca, even more remote which was started as a rustic resort by a woman who has since walked the trail to the destination at which all trails converge. We injudiciously walked the overgrown trails without a machete, stomping heavily to forewarn the irascible serpent the frequents the lowlands, the deservedly greatly feared fer-de-lance. I wasn't hot on this spot either.
Proceeding still further we arrived at the dock at a property next to a property formerly occupied by Wild Bill a serial killer from the states who befriended expatriates, killed them, buried them on in the yard and claimed their property as his. This was not the most well thought out of operations but was seldom surpassed in the wantonness and evil with with it was executed. A dog barked at the end of the dock. Walter called out to the caretaker and we tied off. A large expanse of hill was planted with a wide variety of tropical fruit trees. Half way up a simple rectangular wooden two story house looked down over the lush lawn and fruit trays and across the bay to the mountains overlooking the blue waters of Chiriqui Grande. At night the strip of water through which we had just passed a lucky boater might chance to see a jaguar on its way to the fertile hunting grounds of Isla Popa. The jaguar is the third largest cat and has the most powerful bite. Their jaws readily crack the shells of giant sea turtles.
While the rest of the party stayed at the house I went down the trail through the densest jungle I have seen in Central America. The property climbs over the hill and descends again to the waters of Dolphin Bay. On the dolphin bay side, Bocas Town is half an hour away, on the side from which we approached it it an hour's travel. We had an over an hours journey through some occasionally very shallow water populated with the little cayucas and Pablo was anxious to return before we lost light.
After returning we attempted to eat at Gringo's, the Mexican restaurant of choice. As we drove by many people called out to Walter, “Hey.” “Stop in.” etc. At 7:30 the owner decided he was done for the day so we dined elsewhere. I returned to Casa Verde and caught up on my emails.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Santa Fe to Bocas
Marnix drove me to Santiago with Seneth. On the way we stopped by Carlos' house but his wife reported that he had already left for Santiago. After a quick breakfast I walked over to the bus terminal . While attempting to check my bags I was informed by the driver that I needed a ticket. “Donde comprar?” I inquired. He pointed me to an office. The woman behind the counter shuffled papers, counted money and generally ignored me. Finally I demanded attention, “Yo necissito comprar billete pora bus hasta David.” Her reply was incomprehensible but in conjunction with her gesticulations conveyed to me the need to buy the ticket elsewhere. WTF? This is the ticket office. I met the bus driver “No possible comprar billete aqa, donda este otro?” He told me I could just pay him on the bus. Two and half hours later we pulled into Terminale David.
Arriving in David I walked to the Changinola bay and ran into a couple who run a resort on Isla Carenero in Bocas. I asked if it was not too late to arrive in Almirante in time to catch the water taxi to Bocas. He assured me that we would arrive in time. He's a local, so I threw my hat in. Inquiring as to who wanted water I went off in pursuit of a couple of liters of agua pura. Shortly thereafter we boarded a brand new mini bus. The seats were oversized, meaning almost big enough to comfortable hold a representative North American physique excepting the foam wrap around head cushions which served as shoulder pads. We stopped to eat and picked up and dropped off passengers at many points along the way and finally arrived at Almirante where we were assaulted by the taxi drivers through the windows and at the door of the bus. I generally choose the least aggressive driver but ended up sharing a ride with the couple with one of the more obnoxious operators. A few minutes later he was attempting to take us to Janpan and operator of dubious merit as described in an earlier post and I insisted that we be dropped off at BMT. It turned out that our choice of non service was irrelevant, the many stops had delayed us past the last boat of the day. These guys don't like to operate in the dark and with good reason. Indians frequent the water at all hours, in little dugout canoes called cayucas with but a few inches of freeboard and no lights. The are impossible to see except at low speed on a full moon and cloudless skies.
An independent, non sanctioned entrepreneur offered to take us for $10, the usual fare being $4. This annoyed Bram so much that he wanted to stay at a hotel in Almirante for $40 and leave his dog stuck in side his house in Bocas overnight. “What the fuck? There are but six of us the regular boats hold 30, he'll be coming back empty, after paying for his fuel he isn't clearing much.” I indicated that I was going to avail myself of his services, his pregnant wife pled with him and he uncivilly acquiesced. “I hope you fuckers don't ever need my help!”. Six passengers were deposited at the water taxi terminal 35 minutes later. I walked to Casa Verde wearing two packs and trailing a large rolling suitcase which held some possessions I had reclaimed in Santa Fe. I recognized not a soul. Three months gone and I knew no one. There was not a room to be had and I walked down the street to Hotel Ola where accommodations were available on the third floor. I had a spacious room with private bath, television and air conditioning. That having been taken care of I walked back to Casa Verde, got my packs, walked back and up the stairs, depositing said portion of my luggage. Another trip later I returned with my suitcase.
Locking up my goods I returned to Casa Verde to find my old friend Walter and his running mate, Stephen. Beautiful young women in bikinis were everywhere, the band started to play. I was home again.
Arriving in David I walked to the Changinola bay and ran into a couple who run a resort on Isla Carenero in Bocas. I asked if it was not too late to arrive in Almirante in time to catch the water taxi to Bocas. He assured me that we would arrive in time. He's a local, so I threw my hat in. Inquiring as to who wanted water I went off in pursuit of a couple of liters of agua pura. Shortly thereafter we boarded a brand new mini bus. The seats were oversized, meaning almost big enough to comfortable hold a representative North American physique excepting the foam wrap around head cushions which served as shoulder pads. We stopped to eat and picked up and dropped off passengers at many points along the way and finally arrived at Almirante where we were assaulted by the taxi drivers through the windows and at the door of the bus. I generally choose the least aggressive driver but ended up sharing a ride with the couple with one of the more obnoxious operators. A few minutes later he was attempting to take us to Janpan and operator of dubious merit as described in an earlier post and I insisted that we be dropped off at BMT. It turned out that our choice of non service was irrelevant, the many stops had delayed us past the last boat of the day. These guys don't like to operate in the dark and with good reason. Indians frequent the water at all hours, in little dugout canoes called cayucas with but a few inches of freeboard and no lights. The are impossible to see except at low speed on a full moon and cloudless skies.
An independent, non sanctioned entrepreneur offered to take us for $10, the usual fare being $4. This annoyed Bram so much that he wanted to stay at a hotel in Almirante for $40 and leave his dog stuck in side his house in Bocas overnight. “What the fuck? There are but six of us the regular boats hold 30, he'll be coming back empty, after paying for his fuel he isn't clearing much.” I indicated that I was going to avail myself of his services, his pregnant wife pled with him and he uncivilly acquiesced. “I hope you fuckers don't ever need my help!”. Six passengers were deposited at the water taxi terminal 35 minutes later. I walked to Casa Verde wearing two packs and trailing a large rolling suitcase which held some possessions I had reclaimed in Santa Fe. I recognized not a soul. Three months gone and I knew no one. There was not a room to be had and I walked down the street to Hotel Ola where accommodations were available on the third floor. I had a spacious room with private bath, television and air conditioning. That having been taken care of I walked back to Casa Verde, got my packs, walked back and up the stairs, depositing said portion of my luggage. Another trip later I returned with my suitcase.
Locking up my goods I returned to Casa Verde to find my old friend Walter and his running mate, Stephen. Beautiful young women in bikinis were everywhere, the band started to play. I was home again.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Everything Returned Except Anything of Value
If you subscribe to this blog and have an email about my original Carlos Nino absconding with my stuff please email it to me. txherper @ gmail.com
I am off to Sante Fe tomorrow. After over two weeks Carlos returned my stuff minus anything of value.
Missing items include the following articles:
Canon Binoculars $367.86 (They have come down $200 since I bought
them I only want to replace them so it doesn´t matter what I paid.)
Telephoto Lens $219
Tripod $85
Shipping $20
Total 367.86 + 219 + 85 + 20 = 691.86
Yesterday Carlos offered to pay me for the missing items.
http://www.amazon.com/Canon-10x30-Stabilization-Binoculars-Batteries/dp/B00004THDC
http://www.amazon.com/Nikon-55-200mm-VR-Vibration-Reduction/dp/B000O161X0/ref=sr_1_2?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1300799769&sr=1-2
Thanks
I am off to Sante Fe tomorrow. After over two weeks Carlos returned my stuff minus anything of value.
Missing items include the following articles:
Canon Binoculars $367.86 (They have come down $200 since I bought
them I only want to replace them so it doesn´t matter what I paid.)
Telephoto Lens $219
Tripod $85
Shipping $20
Total 367.86 + 219 + 85 + 20 = 691.86
Yesterday Carlos offered to pay me for the missing items.
http://www.amazon.com/Canon-10x30-Stabilization-Binoculars-Batteries/dp/B00004THDC
http://www.amazon.com/Nikon-55-200mm-VR-Vibration-Reduction/dp/B000O161X0/ref=sr_1_2?s=electronics&ie=UTF8&qid=1300799769&sr=1-2
Thanks
Friday, March 18, 2011
Computer Repair and Stuff
I returned to Santiago to retrieve my computer. The staff at compushop had disassembled it, washed it in solvent and tried it out the but keyboard could not be salvaged. The other Viao keyboard he had was not interchangeable. The proper replacement will take a month or so.
I bought a USB keyboard for $15 a USB optical mouse for $8.50 and paid the $10 for the attempted repair.
Carlos actually called me last night after four consecutive no shows. Unfortunately he indicated that his next commitment is Sunday. We shall see. I am anxious to "head 'em up, move 'em out."
I bought a USB keyboard for $15 a USB optical mouse for $8.50 and paid the $10 for the attempted repair.
Carlos actually called me last night after four consecutive no shows. Unfortunately he indicated that his next commitment is Sunday. We shall see. I am anxious to "head 'em up, move 'em out."
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Killing Time in Santa Fe
No word yet from CompuShop on the status of my notebook. My emails to them bounce. Carlos Nino has missed his fourth promise to return of my goods. Until I get both of these resolved I cannot move on.
I advised the group from Montana that should one leave a camera unattended in Santa Fe one is likely to be chased down in effort to return same. Maurice left his daypack somewhere last night, but didn't recall where. As I was sitting in the internet cafe, he had been tracked to his hostel and subsequently to the internet cafe and his possessions returned.
On an unrelated note I have posted on Linkedin that I wish to donate my Aerospace ERP software to the open source community. It should be interesting to see where this goes.
Now to go hang out in a hammock and read Jefferson Davis' "The Rise and Fall of the Confederacy" punctuated by several small strolls about town. I'm bored and I am ready to move on.
I advised the group from Montana that should one leave a camera unattended in Santa Fe one is likely to be chased down in effort to return same. Maurice left his daypack somewhere last night, but didn't recall where. As I was sitting in the internet cafe, he had been tracked to his hostel and subsequently to the internet cafe and his possessions returned.
On an unrelated note I have posted on Linkedin that I wish to donate my Aerospace ERP software to the open source community. It should be interesting to see where this goes.
Now to go hang out in a hammock and read Jefferson Davis' "The Rise and Fall of the Confederacy" punctuated by several small strolls about town. I'm bored and I am ready to move on.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Bananas Country Computer Repair
I copped a ride with Marnix to Santiago, walked down Avenida Central inquired as to where I could get my Sony Viao repaired, was directed to Compushop. They said they had a broken Viao in the back from which they may be able to use the keyboard. He will call in two days to tell me what it will cost. If it just needs to be washed with solvent it will be done then.
He wanted the password to check if it was working. I am not giving my password to anyone, everything is encrypted for a reason. I booted it of the cdrom and showed him that the computer and disk drive worked by plugging in a USB keyboard.
Went nextdoor to the internet cafe, same chain as the one in Sante Fe. The connection is unbearably slow. I think I will pop out of here and try another place.
He wanted the password to check if it was working. I am not giving my password to anyone, everything is encrypted for a reason. I booted it of the cdrom and showed him that the computer and disk drive worked by plugging in a USB keyboard.
Went nextdoor to the internet cafe, same chain as the one in Sante Fe. The connection is unbearably slow. I think I will pop out of here and try another place.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Computer Work
I repartioned my external drive, did a full backup of my computer. Twenty minutes later somebody spilled a beer on my computer. I was looking for something to do, but going off to try to get a Sony Viao laptop repaired is not high on my list of things to do.
Friday, March 11, 2011
It's a beautiful day
Despite the beautiful day, I thought I'd catch up on my blog and then go hike in the heat.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Santiago yet again
Rode with Mike to Santiago with Gloris and Morris. Morris had to check with ANAM about some land he was considering buying, wanting to ensure that that the land was not situated within the bounds of a national park and needed to get a replacement chain for his bicycle. I needed to replace the SIM card for my phone to get my old number back. Mike and Morris had omelettes, something not available in Santa Fe. I had the liver and onions again while Gloris had steak and onion. After breakfast we headed our separate ways. I walked to Avenida Central and located the Movistar (cell carrier) office, which had moved since the last time I was there.
I don't understand why a cell phone store needs an armed guard, but he wanded me with a metal detector and opened the door for me. A few minutes later I was chatting with a lovely Panamanian girl, she had never ventured far beyond Santiago. I told her I was heading for Bocas. We chatted for twenty minutes, she indicated a desire to go with me for a few days. I got my replacement SIM for free after showing my passport. I took her phone number and walked back to the restaurant, saw Morris talking with the ANAM representative, walked over to the DOIT, a Panamanian chain for home improvement with a small sporting goods section, bought some fishing supplies, checked out the tents. Walked over to Super Carne, a supermarket and stocked up on hot sauce, something Santa Fe sorely needs.
Took a bus back to Santa Fe. Thirty three passengers on a bus with seats that accommodate 28 and not in comfort. Forty school kids stood by the side of the road twenty minutes into the trip. Eighteen were jammed into the bus for a half hour and got off as one somewhere between San Juan and Santa Fe.
The day was heating up but I walked up toward Alto Piedre and then down to the river and back into town. When I returned to Tierra Libre the usual suspects were playing cards. Mike drove me to his house, I gathered most of my stuff, save a pair of socks that I hope to retrieve today. A retired couple from Vermont touring Panama, looking for a small plot of land for a small retirement house. I described Arturo's land in Alto Piedre and introduced them to Ed, the builder and Janet, the real estate agent when they showed up for dinner.
Cards, chatting, another quiet evening.
I don't understand why a cell phone store needs an armed guard, but he wanded me with a metal detector and opened the door for me. A few minutes later I was chatting with a lovely Panamanian girl, she had never ventured far beyond Santiago. I told her I was heading for Bocas. We chatted for twenty minutes, she indicated a desire to go with me for a few days. I got my replacement SIM for free after showing my passport. I took her phone number and walked back to the restaurant, saw Morris talking with the ANAM representative, walked over to the DOIT, a Panamanian chain for home improvement with a small sporting goods section, bought some fishing supplies, checked out the tents. Walked over to Super Carne, a supermarket and stocked up on hot sauce, something Santa Fe sorely needs.
Took a bus back to Santa Fe. Thirty three passengers on a bus with seats that accommodate 28 and not in comfort. Forty school kids stood by the side of the road twenty minutes into the trip. Eighteen were jammed into the bus for a half hour and got off as one somewhere between San Juan and Santa Fe.
The day was heating up but I walked up toward Alto Piedre and then down to the river and back into town. When I returned to Tierra Libre the usual suspects were playing cards. Mike drove me to his house, I gathered most of my stuff, save a pair of socks that I hope to retrieve today. A retired couple from Vermont touring Panama, looking for a small plot of land for a small retirement house. I described Arturo's land in Alto Piedre and introduced them to Ed, the builder and Janet, the real estate agent when they showed up for dinner.
Cards, chatting, another quiet evening.
Santiago
Bopped down to Santiago to get a replacement SIM for my old phone number. That took about five minutes, unfortunately it won´t work in the $17 phone for which I paid 50 pounds in London. That one minute phone call I made cost me $80. Now to find someone going to London to whom I can give my phone.
A blog entry, now deleted, has resulted in an epiphany for the man to whom I had entrusted my photographic equipment, image stabilized binoculars and other goods one year and thirteen countries ago.
The cutie who replaced my SIM wants to go to Bocas with me. I think I´ll just dig something up there. Time to catch up on the news, first time I´ve had a real internet connection for a week.
A blog entry, now deleted, has resulted in an epiphany for the man to whom I had entrusted my photographic equipment, image stabilized binoculars and other goods one year and thirteen countries ago.
The cutie who replaced my SIM wants to go to Bocas with me. I think I´ll just dig something up there. Time to catch up on the news, first time I´ve had a real internet connection for a week.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Staking out the Finca
Went with Mike to his river front property to figure out where we could build some cabinas. There is a serious shortage of places to stay in Santa Fe.
Three short hikes up hills on trails I didn't know existed.
Went back to his house, checked out his woolly opossum and played gin rummy. A very quiet day.
Three short hikes up hills on trails I didn't know existed.
Went back to his house, checked out his woolly opossum and played gin rummy. A very quiet day.
Post Carnival
Morris, Seneth and Marnix all report that the carnival was wonderful. Lots of native dresses, parades. The most elaborate Carnival in Central America. One of the locals interpreted some of the music for Morris, as it exceeded his excellent vocabulary. One group sang sweet soft music to another group with lyrics along the lines of "All of your women are lesbians, all of your men are gay." But it was all in good fun. Damn I missed it, transportation in a private bus, round trip $20. One more person whose credibility is shot, she who told me how horrible it was going to be.
Seneth looks like walking death. She really needed the break but I think she over did it.
Seneth looks like walking death. She really needed the break but I think she over did it.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
No Carnival
Seneth called and wanted to know when I was coming over for the bus ride to Las Tablas. I reminded her that I had told her last night that I wasn't going. Caught up on the blog by writing this, checked out the water front lot virtually staking out cabin sites, looked for Horasio a local builder and Stefanie's husband. He is in Costa Rica for his mandatory 72 hour stay out of the country due to his non resident status.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Lake Yeguaba
Mike and I got up at dawn walked around the finca and headed out at 8 south to San Francisco. I picked up a lock for the bathroom at Tierra Libre and we headed east around the church and then north. Headed past the park and up into the mountains looking for the continental divide. Picked up a couple of Indian women, one carrying a child and drove them for several miles to a house standing by itself, ten miles from nowhere. A group of people greeted our passengers with great humor, apparently for having received a ride in this desolate territory.
We returned to the park at Lake Yeguaba, a hydroelectric reservoir surrounded by Honduran Pines. Ranger Willy walked us to the waterfalls on the low route, beside the river. We ascended to the view point and gawked at the tourista's in bikinis as the ranger said “beuno melones” (nice melons).
A multi room build has two cabinas with two beds and one with three. Each cabina has a kitchen. The bathroom is shared by all. The cost is $10/night per bed. We strolled around for a bit and headed back. Mike did a fine job on the unmarked roads. Most of the roads down here don't even have names, but occassionally there are direction signs. I took a nap in the hammock, then we headed back into town to Cafe Delight. Arturo was holding court with people from many countries including a group of Chinese, the family of a vice prosident of Cosco, a huge shipping company. I think about 80% of the containers I see on the canal have the name “Cosco” on them. There were a few Africans and Aturo's wife and one of his sons. His party left and he, his wife, Ed, Mike and I shot the shit about the future of Veraguas in general and Sante Fe in particular. Santa Fe has a need for accommodations. People won't come up from Santiago without a nice place to stay. Santa Fe would be an ideal getaway, it is but an hour's drive, quiet and much cooler. Mike and I started a discussion on developing one of his river front properties. He is not much into projects and I need something to do. I would like to have a place in Bocas and a place in Santa Fe. Mountains and rivers in Santa Fe, jungle and ocean in Bocas. Seven hours from one to the other. Completely different kinds of places.
The Japanese girls showed up at Cafe Delight, they had hiked from Guabal to Rio Luis and made it to Colovebera. I bought them a victory round. Ed announced that he was taking over the cafe next month on an eight year lease.
We decided that the trip to Los Tablas departed Sante Fe too early and returned too early. According to Janet it is going to be hotter than hell in the sun during the day and the parades don't start until about 11. She also reports it is extremely dangerous.
We returned to the park at Lake Yeguaba, a hydroelectric reservoir surrounded by Honduran Pines. Ranger Willy walked us to the waterfalls on the low route, beside the river. We ascended to the view point and gawked at the tourista's in bikinis as the ranger said “beuno melones” (nice melons).
A multi room build has two cabinas with two beds and one with three. Each cabina has a kitchen. The bathroom is shared by all. The cost is $10/night per bed. We strolled around for a bit and headed back. Mike did a fine job on the unmarked roads. Most of the roads down here don't even have names, but occassionally there are direction signs. I took a nap in the hammock, then we headed back into town to Cafe Delight. Arturo was holding court with people from many countries including a group of Chinese, the family of a vice prosident of Cosco, a huge shipping company. I think about 80% of the containers I see on the canal have the name “Cosco” on them. There were a few Africans and Aturo's wife and one of his sons. His party left and he, his wife, Ed, Mike and I shot the shit about the future of Veraguas in general and Sante Fe in particular. Santa Fe has a need for accommodations. People won't come up from Santiago without a nice place to stay. Santa Fe would be an ideal getaway, it is but an hour's drive, quiet and much cooler. Mike and I started a discussion on developing one of his river front properties. He is not much into projects and I need something to do. I would like to have a place in Bocas and a place in Santa Fe. Mountains and rivers in Santa Fe, jungle and ocean in Bocas. Seven hours from one to the other. Completely different kinds of places.
The Japanese girls showed up at Cafe Delight, they had hiked from Guabal to Rio Luis and made it to Colovebera. I bought them a victory round. Ed announced that he was taking over the cafe next month on an eight year lease.
We decided that the trip to Los Tablas departed Sante Fe too early and returned too early. According to Janet it is going to be hotter than hell in the sun during the day and the parades don't start until about 11. She also reports it is extremely dangerous.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Stroll to the Guv's Finca
Stroll to the Guv's Finca
Mike and I walked over to La Qhia and had breakfast then he went of to see Gloris, his 27 year old Panamania girlfriend. I trekked up the hill to Alto Piedre, less than five clicks but all uphill and not gentle inclines. On my way up I encountered Arturo riding a huge 800cc CanAm ATV. He told me he would be back shortly and suggested I drop by his cabin. I passed his cabin and turned around to return. The sun was out and it was a particularly warm day for Santa Fe. I exhausted my water and approached a Bugle Indian woman in her yard and asked her for more water and she graciously obliged me. About one quarter of the way back I met with Arturo on his way back up to his place. I hopped on the back of the ATV and we went back up.
The cabin is a test effort. Arturo has reforested six hectare, planted with fruited trees and trees designed to lure birds. The cabin has a kitchen/living area and a bedroom with a bath. Constructed of pressure treated pine it has more appeal than a block building but lacks a true earthy feel. The kitchen is equipped with a four burner stove with an oven, a microwave, a coffee maker and a full sized refrigerator. Arturo took me on a tour of the grounds, down a slope to an area with spectacular mountain views amidst the wonderful vegetation and showed me where he wanted to construct more cabins that he would be renting out for $50 a night. That is a hell of a deal. We continued down the hill and I saw the lake that he had built by running PVC down the slope from the spring. The lake had three thousand fresh water shrimp that grow to the size of lobsters, fresh water oysters the size of tea cup plates and koi.
We walked back up to the cabin and Arturo gave me a ride back to Santa Fe where he was going to take lunch. Not a lot of exercise there.
I popped over to my favorite lunch spot and had a massive meal of tender stewed beef , rice beans, cole slaw for $2.50. As I sat down, Mike came over and sat with me while I ate. We then headed over to the finca at which Mike lives. The finca is two and a half hectare, bordered on two sides by rivers and on the other sides by paved roads, it is both beautiful and easily accessible. Sections have been planted with seedlings to populate other lots. The house is a simple block structure with a couple of bedrooms, each with a bath, a small living area and a kitchen he never uses. Mike cooks simple meals outside.
We headed back to town past a group of tourists walking down the road. Mike offered a ride, one of the guys declined. The girls jumped at the opportunity and they all boarded the bed including the dog. After five hours of trekking, they were flushed from the heat. The final trek, on the road, with no shade was not missed, the ride was very welcome.
We dropped back in to Tierra Libre to play Abalone, a wonderful game, I'm sure you can find it online. The instructions are poorly written. Typical inscrutable translation from some Chinese language. We debated what the instructions meant and revised the game continually until we agreed on an interpretation of the instructions.
I called Carlos' wife who informed me that Carlos left my stuff in the office when he abandoned. Sure he did. Son of a bitch, goods are gone. Wrote an email to Carlos.
Read a book on magic. Marnix and Seneth watched a movie projected on wall, too loud, went to my room, too loud. They finally shut off movie. The walls don't go to the ceiling, the people came into the room next door and were really loud, their dog barked, the roosters went nuts. I did not have a good night's sleep. I was advised that Tierra Libre would be full on Sunday night and that I would need to seek alternate accommodation for one night. La Qhia had a room in the dorm. Mike invited me to stay at his house and I did.
Mike and I walked over to La Qhia and had breakfast then he went of to see Gloris, his 27 year old Panamania girlfriend. I trekked up the hill to Alto Piedre, less than five clicks but all uphill and not gentle inclines. On my way up I encountered Arturo riding a huge 800cc CanAm ATV. He told me he would be back shortly and suggested I drop by his cabin. I passed his cabin and turned around to return. The sun was out and it was a particularly warm day for Santa Fe. I exhausted my water and approached a Bugle Indian woman in her yard and asked her for more water and she graciously obliged me. About one quarter of the way back I met with Arturo on his way back up to his place. I hopped on the back of the ATV and we went back up.
The cabin is a test effort. Arturo has reforested six hectare, planted with fruited trees and trees designed to lure birds. The cabin has a kitchen/living area and a bedroom with a bath. Constructed of pressure treated pine it has more appeal than a block building but lacks a true earthy feel. The kitchen is equipped with a four burner stove with an oven, a microwave, a coffee maker and a full sized refrigerator. Arturo took me on a tour of the grounds, down a slope to an area with spectacular mountain views amidst the wonderful vegetation and showed me where he wanted to construct more cabins that he would be renting out for $50 a night. That is a hell of a deal. We continued down the hill and I saw the lake that he had built by running PVC down the slope from the spring. The lake had three thousand fresh water shrimp that grow to the size of lobsters, fresh water oysters the size of tea cup plates and koi.
We walked back up to the cabin and Arturo gave me a ride back to Santa Fe where he was going to take lunch. Not a lot of exercise there.
I popped over to my favorite lunch spot and had a massive meal of tender stewed beef , rice beans, cole slaw for $2.50. As I sat down, Mike came over and sat with me while I ate. We then headed over to the finca at which Mike lives. The finca is two and a half hectare, bordered on two sides by rivers and on the other sides by paved roads, it is both beautiful and easily accessible. Sections have been planted with seedlings to populate other lots. The house is a simple block structure with a couple of bedrooms, each with a bath, a small living area and a kitchen he never uses. Mike cooks simple meals outside.
We headed back to town past a group of tourists walking down the road. Mike offered a ride, one of the guys declined. The girls jumped at the opportunity and they all boarded the bed including the dog. After five hours of trekking, they were flushed from the heat. The final trek, on the road, with no shade was not missed, the ride was very welcome.
We dropped back in to Tierra Libre to play Abalone, a wonderful game, I'm sure you can find it online. The instructions are poorly written. Typical inscrutable translation from some Chinese language. We debated what the instructions meant and revised the game continually until we agreed on an interpretation of the instructions.
I called Carlos' wife who informed me that Carlos left my stuff in the office when he abandoned. Sure he did. Son of a bitch, goods are gone. Wrote an email to Carlos.
Read a book on magic. Marnix and Seneth watched a movie projected on wall, too loud, went to my room, too loud. They finally shut off movie. The walls don't go to the ceiling, the people came into the room next door and were really loud, their dog barked, the roosters went nuts. I did not have a good night's sleep. I was advised that Tierra Libre would be full on Sunday night and that I would need to seek alternate accommodation for one night. La Qhia had a room in the dorm. Mike invited me to stay at his house and I did.
Just another day in Sante Fe
Don't fret. I've got copious notes and when things slow down I'll catch up. Having a great time in Sante Fe. Dinner and cards last night with the former governor, a guy from Grosse Pointe class of '74, a Cambodian woman, a guy from Holland, a school administrator from England on his way to Japan to teach them how to teach, three japanese girls ready to hike to Rio Louis, good luck with that; I am the only non indian in this city to have made the hike. It is a grueling affair. Told them who to look up in Rio Loius and if the make it to the coast gave them some contacts there. I'm on my way up the mountain. The governor asked me to drop by, maybe we can get those three girls after they realize what they got themselves into. Catch you later.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Back to Santa Fe
Woke up, had breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. They never did bring me any cutlery. I used toast to shovel eggs onto to toast.
Talked with Ludwick about his web site, what he needed to make it usable. Agreed to meet him in Santiago on Monday to meet with his web developer.
Stopped by Playa Reina, saw a small waterfront lot of Mike's and met with Nathan, an American expat who has lived his whole life in Panama, was born in the Canal Zone. He flies to Louisiana and Texas to serve as Chief Engineer on ships that never leave port the only one other person on the boat being the captain. We chatted for a couple of hours with this affable man and then returned to Santa Fe.
On the way back we stopped at Carlos' house. Carlos was the original real estate agent into town. He had heavily invested in property around Santa Fe. Last time I was here, one year and 13 countries ago, I was going to go into a venture with him, but he broke so many promises to meet that I abandoned all hope of him ever being a reliable person. I entrusted him with some photographic equipment and some image stabilized binoculars, more stuff than I cared to shlep around Colombia and told him I would be back to claim it. Carlos wasn't home. His beautiful wife peeked through the curtains, so that it was me and greeted me. She didn't know where my stuff was but gave me her cell phone number and Carlos'.
Mike showed me seven of his properties around Santa Fe including one of a couple hectare with long river frontage.
Came back to Tierra Libre. Playing games, met a couple of new people.
Three Japanese girls living in various places around Panama came to town. They were planning on hiking to Rio Luis. Their footwear was sandals and sneakers. I showed them pictures of my trek ??? and told them that they need to buy some rubber boots. Then advised them to look up Timotea.
I met Moriss is looking to buy a place in Santa Fe. He was a school administrator in the UK and found it necessary to teach teachers how to teach. Now he flies around the world and does the same thing. On the 25th he is flying to Japan for a three month stint. Needing to brush up on his Japanese he goes to Santiago and exchanges an hour of teaching Spanish for an hour of learning Japanese.
Arturo is a native Panamanian into a lot of projects. He was telling a tell of how he was a fight manager and one of his fighters in Santiago became number one contender as a middle weight. Then he talked about going to Calovebora I said I would go. He gave me his phone number but said he never answers his phone. “Leave a message, I'll call you back.” Why doesn't he answer his phone? Apparently he receives a huge number of phone calls asking him to pull strings for people. Being the ex-governor of Veraguas, the only province in the world to stretch from one ocean to another, he has a lot of pull. Arturo is back in the training game and has a fight on April 1.
Janet and her husband John showed up. I grew up in a town of one square mile on the outskirts of Detroit. John a couple of years older than I grew up in the same city.
Talked with Ludwick about his web site, what he needed to make it usable. Agreed to meet him in Santiago on Monday to meet with his web developer.
Stopped by Playa Reina, saw a small waterfront lot of Mike's and met with Nathan, an American expat who has lived his whole life in Panama, was born in the Canal Zone. He flies to Louisiana and Texas to serve as Chief Engineer on ships that never leave port the only one other person on the boat being the captain. We chatted for a couple of hours with this affable man and then returned to Santa Fe.
On the way back we stopped at Carlos' house. Carlos was the original real estate agent into town. He had heavily invested in property around Santa Fe. Last time I was here, one year and 13 countries ago, I was going to go into a venture with him, but he broke so many promises to meet that I abandoned all hope of him ever being a reliable person. I entrusted him with some photographic equipment and some image stabilized binoculars, more stuff than I cared to shlep around Colombia and told him I would be back to claim it. Carlos wasn't home. His beautiful wife peeked through the curtains, so that it was me and greeted me. She didn't know where my stuff was but gave me her cell phone number and Carlos'.
Mike showed me seven of his properties around Santa Fe including one of a couple hectare with long river frontage.
Came back to Tierra Libre. Playing games, met a couple of new people.
Three Japanese girls living in various places around Panama came to town. They were planning on hiking to Rio Luis. Their footwear was sandals and sneakers. I showed them pictures of my trek ??? and told them that they need to buy some rubber boots. Then advised them to look up Timotea.
I met Moriss is looking to buy a place in Santa Fe. He was a school administrator in the UK and found it necessary to teach teachers how to teach. Now he flies around the world and does the same thing. On the 25th he is flying to Japan for a three month stint. Needing to brush up on his Japanese he goes to Santiago and exchanges an hour of teaching Spanish for an hour of learning Japanese.
Arturo is a native Panamanian into a lot of projects. He was telling a tell of how he was a fight manager and one of his fighters in Santiago became number one contender as a middle weight. Then he talked about going to Calovebora I said I would go. He gave me his phone number but said he never answers his phone. “Leave a message, I'll call you back.” Why doesn't he answer his phone? Apparently he receives a huge number of phone calls asking him to pull strings for people. Being the ex-governor of Veraguas, the only province in the world to stretch from one ocean to another, he has a lot of pull. Arturo is back in the training game and has a fight on April 1.
Janet and her husband John showed up. I grew up in a town of one square mile on the outskirts of Detroit. John a couple of years older than I grew up in the same city.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Torio
Thursday March 3
Dropped off Bee in Santiago to go hit El Valle. I was leaving, not much else to do.
Visited a couple of Mike's properties near Torio on the Azuere Peninsula. It took an hour to drive south to Santiago. We stopped off for breakfast, I had liver and onions, he had a beer. Took a stroll on a beach. Mike had left the car unlocked, with keys in the ignition, $500 in cash in the glove box. I had everything, we ran out of the heat back to the car.
Next stop was Rio Torio where it flows into the ocean. Hung out there for a couple of hours. Talked with owner. He recommended the conch. I ordered the conch and got pargo (snapper). Headed over to Tori0 Resort and Golf. ??? No golf. 600 hectare, seven houses half acre $45,000 One hectare (2 ½ acres) $190k. Group of people from Spain. Dickhead from Dallas house bought a house for investment purposes at what he claimed was 10% of the value. A bubba. Ludwick, the Norwegian owner joined us. He told us he hadn't sold a property in three years. He had no marketing, he just expected people to drive by and find the place. He had just finished a web site. It had been designed and built by a Dutch guy in Santiago who spent a month constructing a truly horrible site for $500. Ludwick then admitted that if he gets any inquiries, he doesn't bother to reply to the emails. There was internet access, not great, but it was better than nothing. Mike crawled off to bed in the air conditioned cabin we had rented. I stayed up for a bit and caught up on my emails.
As I posted this blog entry I noticed that my scribbled instructions have been complied with and the site is 100 times better.
Dropped off Bee in Santiago to go hit El Valle. I was leaving, not much else to do.
Visited a couple of Mike's properties near Torio on the Azuere Peninsula. It took an hour to drive south to Santiago. We stopped off for breakfast, I had liver and onions, he had a beer. Took a stroll on a beach. Mike had left the car unlocked, with keys in the ignition, $500 in cash in the glove box. I had everything, we ran out of the heat back to the car.
Next stop was Rio Torio where it flows into the ocean. Hung out there for a couple of hours. Talked with owner. He recommended the conch. I ordered the conch and got pargo (snapper). Headed over to Tori0 Resort and Golf. ??? No golf. 600 hectare, seven houses half acre $45,000 One hectare (2 ½ acres) $190k. Group of people from Spain. Dickhead from Dallas house bought a house for investment purposes at what he claimed was 10% of the value. A bubba. Ludwick, the Norwegian owner joined us. He told us he hadn't sold a property in three years. He had no marketing, he just expected people to drive by and find the place. He had just finished a web site. It had been designed and built by a Dutch guy in Santiago who spent a month constructing a truly horrible site for $500. Ludwick then admitted that if he gets any inquiries, he doesn't bother to reply to the emails. There was internet access, not great, but it was better than nothing. Mike crawled off to bed in the air conditioned cabin we had rented. I stayed up for a bit and caught up on my emails.
As I posted this blog entry I noticed that my scribbled instructions have been complied with and the site is 100 times better.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Waterfalls
Wednesday March 2
Bee wanted me to take her to Guabal. I invited a couple from the states, Justin and Kate to go with us. At 8:30 we headed down toward the chiva station. The chiva was packed so we decided to wait for the next one. In the mean time we availed ourselves of a truly awful breakfast of fried tough meat and fried flour tortilla like things.
We headed back to the the chiva stop to find that the next chiva wasn't until noon. Roll with the punches. We decided to head up to Alto Piedre to see the waterfalls. We started the ascent and Justin asked me how far it was. I told him it was only about 5k but it was all uphill. He decided he'd rather go in his car. We headed back to the hostel to get it and ran into Mike. Mike took us up in his truck and tried to drop us off at the wrong spot. As we started to trek off into the jungle he asked a man driving by if this was the right spot. Back to the truck to proceed another click up the road.
I had been prepared for the easy walks on the jungle trails outside of Guabal. I had my day pack with my SLR camera, a jacket, a poncho for Bee, some water, and some food. The trail was surprisingly steep and my sedentary lifestyle in London had left me in poor condition. The while others stooped to pass under fallen trees I found my pack getting stuck and had to deal with it. We saw all three waterfalls. At the last waterfall I gave Bee instructions on the proper use of a machete. First I let her thrash and then demonstrated the correct swing and the angle at which various types of vines, saplings and branches should be struck for maximum efficiency. While I was doing so, Justin climbed a slope and observed a shack in the distance. He returned to describe the view and we all ascended. We decided there must be an easier way back and I volunteered to cross under the barbed wire to approach the inhabitants of the house to inquire if we could use the other road which surely must exist for nobody could carry any amount of groceries on the trail we had just negotiated.
As I approached I continually yelled out “Hola.” I didn't want to be sneaking up on anybody. I walked down a gulley into a ravine which was obviously the washroom, a rock and a scrub brush gave silent testimony to the purpose for which this area was employed. After ascending the slope on the far side I neared a decrepit wall-less structure. A fire burned on the earth floor, three naked Indian children ran around in great merriment and an aged Indian tended the fire. He exited his house to meet me. His mouth bore as many teeth as the house had children. He informed me that the only way back was on the trail on which we had just arrived. I returned to the group and informed them that we needed to return the way we came. I exercised far more care and caution than the rest of the group due to the contents of my pack and had some difficulty keeping up. Once I elected to just step in water over the top of my boots, the perambulation was greatly eased.
The group wanted to stand and wait for a chiva. I don't do nothing well and suggested that we hike while waiting. A short ways down the road we found a chiva idling in the road and I negotiated a return fare of $3 for the group. A few minutes later we were off and back at the chiva stop in about twelve minutes. What now? Bee wanted to see the church in San Francisco. As it was on the way out of town Justin and Kate decided that seeing a 450 year old church might be worth the diversion. Bee and I copped a ride with them. The church was closed, but a woman came by and opened it up for us.
Bee and I headed back to the main road to catch a bus to Santiago as I needed to get a haircut. I crossed the street and got a very bad haircut for $5 and then we took a bus back to Santa Fe.
Bee wanted me to take her to Guabal. I invited a couple from the states, Justin and Kate to go with us. At 8:30 we headed down toward the chiva station. The chiva was packed so we decided to wait for the next one. In the mean time we availed ourselves of a truly awful breakfast of fried tough meat and fried flour tortilla like things.
We headed back to the the chiva stop to find that the next chiva wasn't until noon. Roll with the punches. We decided to head up to Alto Piedre to see the waterfalls. We started the ascent and Justin asked me how far it was. I told him it was only about 5k but it was all uphill. He decided he'd rather go in his car. We headed back to the hostel to get it and ran into Mike. Mike took us up in his truck and tried to drop us off at the wrong spot. As we started to trek off into the jungle he asked a man driving by if this was the right spot. Back to the truck to proceed another click up the road.
I had been prepared for the easy walks on the jungle trails outside of Guabal. I had my day pack with my SLR camera, a jacket, a poncho for Bee, some water, and some food. The trail was surprisingly steep and my sedentary lifestyle in London had left me in poor condition. The while others stooped to pass under fallen trees I found my pack getting stuck and had to deal with it. We saw all three waterfalls. At the last waterfall I gave Bee instructions on the proper use of a machete. First I let her thrash and then demonstrated the correct swing and the angle at which various types of vines, saplings and branches should be struck for maximum efficiency. While I was doing so, Justin climbed a slope and observed a shack in the distance. He returned to describe the view and we all ascended. We decided there must be an easier way back and I volunteered to cross under the barbed wire to approach the inhabitants of the house to inquire if we could use the other road which surely must exist for nobody could carry any amount of groceries on the trail we had just negotiated.
As I approached I continually yelled out “Hola.” I didn't want to be sneaking up on anybody. I walked down a gulley into a ravine which was obviously the washroom, a rock and a scrub brush gave silent testimony to the purpose for which this area was employed. After ascending the slope on the far side I neared a decrepit wall-less structure. A fire burned on the earth floor, three naked Indian children ran around in great merriment and an aged Indian tended the fire. He exited his house to meet me. His mouth bore as many teeth as the house had children. He informed me that the only way back was on the trail on which we had just arrived. I returned to the group and informed them that we needed to return the way we came. I exercised far more care and caution than the rest of the group due to the contents of my pack and had some difficulty keeping up. Once I elected to just step in water over the top of my boots, the perambulation was greatly eased.
The group wanted to stand and wait for a chiva. I don't do nothing well and suggested that we hike while waiting. A short ways down the road we found a chiva idling in the road and I negotiated a return fare of $3 for the group. A few minutes later we were off and back at the chiva stop in about twelve minutes. What now? Bee wanted to see the church in San Francisco. As it was on the way out of town Justin and Kate decided that seeing a 450 year old church might be worth the diversion. Bee and I copped a ride with them. The church was closed, but a woman came by and opened it up for us.
Bee and I headed back to the main road to catch a bus to Santiago as I needed to get a haircut. I crossed the street and got a very bad haircut for $5 and then we took a bus back to Santa Fe.
Rainy Day
Tuesday, March 1
Our objective was to head out to the waterfalls before the Montana group returned to Panama City for their early return home. Tausha's husband and kids missed her and Nico was certainly not going to leave her to her own devices to make her way back. The other two need continual adult supervision. A break in the clouds was just a tease before another rain. The Montanans wanted to eat but Sentha at Tierra Libre decided that she'd rather play cards and drink, so no food was available. She referred them to another restaurant but the operators decided Tuesday was a good day for heavy drinking so they were not open. Cafe Delight is regularly closed on Tuesday. I walked them over to the only restaurant in town that was open and we all had massive portions of beef, rice, beans and cole slaw for the princely sum of $2.50.
We went down to the corner store where people stocked up on all variety of knives. 24” Machetes $3.25, perfectly serviceable stainless steel switch blades $4.50 and a survival knife. “Unscrew the cap you'll find a compass, fishing line, hooks and matches.” They did so “How did you know?” I said “They're all the same.” I walked them over to the bus stop and we bid each other goodbye.
The occasional breaks of sunshine attempted to lure me out but the sudden showers prompted me to stay and catch on my notes and play a few games with my hosts while Bee meandered about town. In the evening Mike returned followed by Ed.
Ed is a builder of luxury homes from Austin, Texas who had not built a house in three years due to the US economy and has relocated to Santa Fe. He packed up his essential items including an excavator into a half container, rented a house from Mike and set up shop. His wife and kids are still back in Texas but will be joining him after the end of the school year.
John showed up. John is in his mid fifties and formerly built swimming pools in Sacramento, California. He has acquired a large amount of land on the outskirts of town and is in the process of developing homesites on which Ed will build houses.
A Canadian couple showed up and inquired about a place to eat. We told them that we were eating at Tierra Libre and suggested that they do the same. They joined us. Then they wanted to know how they could contact their hotel in Bocas to confirm their reservation. Ed handed them his cell phone and they confirmed their booking. Next they wanted to know where to stay. I showed them my private room, which was huge with a very comfortable bed. The Hostel was designed as an office building. A single room is the size of two standard hotel rooms in the US.
We returned to conversing and the Canadians dominated the conversation. We were unable to get a word in edgewise. Ed moved inside to take his dinner in peace. John and I joined him. Mike joined us leaving Bee to deal with the irritating Canucks. After the Canucks left, I went outside and joined Bee. We borrowed a machete from Marnix and I showed her how to sharpen it. We were preparing for a trip to Guabal and a hike in the Jungle.
Bee told me about being born in Korea, growing up in Miami, moving to Japan, back to Korea and now New York. She speaks Korean, English, Spanish and Japanese. She translates books from Korean to English and can work anywhere in the world where there is an internet connection.
Our objective was to head out to the waterfalls before the Montana group returned to Panama City for their early return home. Tausha's husband and kids missed her and Nico was certainly not going to leave her to her own devices to make her way back. The other two need continual adult supervision. A break in the clouds was just a tease before another rain. The Montanans wanted to eat but Sentha at Tierra Libre decided that she'd rather play cards and drink, so no food was available. She referred them to another restaurant but the operators decided Tuesday was a good day for heavy drinking so they were not open. Cafe Delight is regularly closed on Tuesday. I walked them over to the only restaurant in town that was open and we all had massive portions of beef, rice, beans and cole slaw for the princely sum of $2.50.
We went down to the corner store where people stocked up on all variety of knives. 24” Machetes $3.25, perfectly serviceable stainless steel switch blades $4.50 and a survival knife. “Unscrew the cap you'll find a compass, fishing line, hooks and matches.” They did so “How did you know?” I said “They're all the same.” I walked them over to the bus stop and we bid each other goodbye.
The occasional breaks of sunshine attempted to lure me out but the sudden showers prompted me to stay and catch on my notes and play a few games with my hosts while Bee meandered about town. In the evening Mike returned followed by Ed.
Ed is a builder of luxury homes from Austin, Texas who had not built a house in three years due to the US economy and has relocated to Santa Fe. He packed up his essential items including an excavator into a half container, rented a house from Mike and set up shop. His wife and kids are still back in Texas but will be joining him after the end of the school year.
John showed up. John is in his mid fifties and formerly built swimming pools in Sacramento, California. He has acquired a large amount of land on the outskirts of town and is in the process of developing homesites on which Ed will build houses.
A Canadian couple showed up and inquired about a place to eat. We told them that we were eating at Tierra Libre and suggested that they do the same. They joined us. Then they wanted to know how they could contact their hotel in Bocas to confirm their reservation. Ed handed them his cell phone and they confirmed their booking. Next they wanted to know where to stay. I showed them my private room, which was huge with a very comfortable bed. The Hostel was designed as an office building. A single room is the size of two standard hotel rooms in the US.
We returned to conversing and the Canadians dominated the conversation. We were unable to get a word in edgewise. Ed moved inside to take his dinner in peace. John and I joined him. Mike joined us leaving Bee to deal with the irritating Canucks. After the Canucks left, I went outside and joined Bee. We borrowed a machete from Marnix and I showed her how to sharpen it. We were preparing for a trip to Guabal and a hike in the Jungle.
Bee told me about being born in Korea, growing up in Miami, moving to Japan, back to Korea and now New York. She speaks Korean, English, Spanish and Japanese. She translates books from Korean to English and can work anywhere in the world where there is an internet connection.
Guabal and Mayhem
Monday, March 1
I woke up at 4. The three hundred roosters one hundreds yards up the road were agitated, no further sleep was possible. I strolled around town and grabbed a coffee a little after five. At dawn I returned to the hostel and quietly tapped on the doors of the private rooms. Apparently I had awakened my roommate by showering. As I exited I observed that she had laid down a yoga mat and assumed a position in which her hands and feet were on the ground, her abdomen at a right angle and her camel toe high in the air. I averted my eyes. This was not a sight I needed.
This time the crowd was ready to go. I explained about the chiva and the lack of a queuing mechanism. The next one to go was jammed to capacity so we walked across the road and had an execrable breakfast. Mine was unimaginably tough meat that had been thinly sliced and then fried so as to increase its toughness accompanied by a deep fried flour named something I hope I don't need to recall. Watery red flavorless hot sauce was doused over everything.
We walked back across the street to the chiva stop and two of this crew headed back to the room for some reason so we missed the next chiva. I won't go into all the details as you can probably surmise my success in herding these cats. I told them they had to wait near the terminal and when the chiva drove by we had to block the back and climb in else people would appear out of no where and fill the thing. At ten we were boarded, sitting on the padded wooden benches in the covered bed of a pickup and headed up the mountain over the continental divide to find ourselves in Guabal, the starting point of a previous adventure. TODO link. Indians lined the other bench, I took an Indian boy on my knee, Indians crowded the aisle between the two benches, the diminutive but hardy folk able to stand.
An hour later we hopped out. I walked the group over to a wooden shack and stood at the window. Curious little boys came to inspect, I teased them and they grinned. I ordered a coffee, the only thing sold at this house and paid for it with $.15. The rest of the group did the same. Some of us had seconds. Less than $2 later we had exhausted the coffee supply and went off in search of lunch. There is a restaurant in town, but I didn't know where it was. I asked, but misunderstood. Following what I thought was the directions I walked into another wooden shack and Indian greeted us and cleared off room for all of us to sit down. He seemed very glad to see us; business must be very slow. I inquired what was available for lunch to find that this wasn't a restaurant. Oh, so sorry. I retained the services of his seven year old son, who would function as a guide. For a buck he was to walk us to the restaurant. The man surveyed us and decided we were harmless. I handed the kid a buck which he stared at in amazement. As he walked us through the jungle trail he kept staring at the easiest dollar he would ever make in his life. A crowd gathered behind us, just watching.
Several people from the chiva showed up. I inquired about a menu, but the woman had no idea what I was talking about. Nothing new here. I inquired about our choices, she told me something that started with “Jamonina”. Well, jamon is ham but I wanted to be sure. “Puerco?” Then I made pig snorting noises. That broke everybody up and the woman nodded in confirmation. Ok, five please. In minutes we had heaping portions of beans, rice and some diced pink cubes. I understand that experiments are underway to grow meat in a laboratory. I hope it turns out better than this. It made spam seem more like food than a Monty Python act.
We crossed the bridge and started to walk in the jungle. In the morning I had removed all extraneous material from my day pack and had inadvertently removed my dry bag. Torrents of rain caused us to rush back to town to take shelter under the overhang in front of the two room clinic that serves untold thousands of Indians who walk for hours when they need treatment. Tanner unstrapped his skateboard and attempted to do tricks, but the concrete had been sealed and had a glaze to it which rendered the surface far from ideal for skateboard trickery, or so I was told; I am not a skater. Nonetheless as he performed all eyes in the village watched in amazement some coming to the edge of the deck, others from the school and other buildings. After an hour or so of this we grabbed a chiva back. Tanner expressed his appreciation for the “most awesome thing he had ever done.” Ok.
We got back and Tanner performed more tricks on the near perfect asphalt roads down the hilly slopes to the amazement and amusement of the inhabitants while Nico took videos. I went back to my room to find a very pleasant female asian face resting on a pillow. She woke up and asked what time the restaurant opened. “Which restaurant?” “There is one over there somewhere.” “Can't help.” “Come with us, we are going to walk through town.” She got up, “I'm Jim.” “I'm Bee.” The six of us headed to walk the length of town. I told them about my trip to the coast with Rodney having walked from Guabal to Rio Luis staying with an Indian family for three days and taking a canoe to Caloveborato stay with the people involved in the transportation of a certain high value white powder. We stopped at Cafe Delight, I inquired about Elizabeth, who started the place. Seems she had moved back to the states to deliver her child and would not be returning. Stefanie's former brother in law was running the place. On the way back to the hostel somebody called out my name. I turned around and it was Timotea, the Indian in Rio Luis with whom I had stayed. We had a big embrace in the street and talked for fifteen minutes. I told him I would try to come visit him in the next couple of weeks and he was delighted. We walked back to the hostel, more skate boarding, got hungry and walked back to Cafe Delight. I spotted a blonde head sitting at a table, the man sat with his back to me. “What's up Mike? Where's Gloris?” Mike turned around and a big smile crossed his face as the six of us joined him. He had been bored out of his mind.
Most of us ate nachos, without guacamole, chilis or hot sauce. Hardly a nacho then, is it? We sat around and shot the shit. “What is there to do in this town?” I suggested, “Well we could take over the pool hall.”
The pool hall is a cantina, a bastion of masculinity, the restroom has nothing but a urinal in it. Twenty guys crowded the pool room another score sat at tables in the back room. We went to the back and bought some $.50 beers. Guys sat around drinking while latin music played. I suggested we play some pool. “But there is a room full of people and both tables are full.” “No problem. When I bring you in there you two girls grab some queues and give these guys some eye candy by bending over and pretending to shoot.” Picture a hot little korean woman in hot pants bending over in a pool hall full of Panamanian and Indian men. The girls did so, I asked the guys playing if the girls could play, they cleared the table mid game and surrendered it. I told the guys that were playing to play with the girls. Every eye in the room was resting on their asses without the slightest pretense of not staring. We took over after that game, bought a round for the house, which pleased everybody no end, cost us $.50 per person to do so. Then we went into the back room and asked them to change the music. The girls started dancing with themselves. The little Korean on whose head I could rest my chin danced with a little old Indian on whose head she could rest her chin. Tanner was performing tricks on a much more suitable surface while Nico took pictures and videos. I talked with just about everybody.
I walked by a table and somebody yelled out “Jaime.” I looked. “Como?” “Colovebera.” “Edgar?” “Si.” We recounted something of him carrying Rodney home last time we were in that nearly inaccessible little coastal town. Somebody from my group said, “You do know everybody don't you?” “I'm a little hard to forget.” “That's an understatement.”
The girls came over and said, “I can't drink anymore beer, where can we get some rum?” “Give me twenty bucks.” They forked over the cash and I went to the manager and said, in Spanish, “I'd like a liter of rum.” “We don't have rum.” “Then go get some or we are leaving.” I handed him the twenty. Despite the fact that all the stores were closed a liter materialized within twenty minutes. No mixers could be obtained. I told the girls not to give shots to anybody who asked for them. Shots were consumed and given away, I refrained. Some of the Indians got a bit grabby. I told the guys not to do a thing, just have the girls tell me and I would handle it. Ten times I signalled somebody who escorted another drunken Indian out of the place. They wouldn't object in the morning, they wouldn't recall the incident. We left the place around four o'clock. I went to the bed, the rest of the crew headed down towards the river but abandoned that effort when they found themselves in absolute darkness.
I woke up at 4. The three hundred roosters one hundreds yards up the road were agitated, no further sleep was possible. I strolled around town and grabbed a coffee a little after five. At dawn I returned to the hostel and quietly tapped on the doors of the private rooms. Apparently I had awakened my roommate by showering. As I exited I observed that she had laid down a yoga mat and assumed a position in which her hands and feet were on the ground, her abdomen at a right angle and her camel toe high in the air. I averted my eyes. This was not a sight I needed.
This time the crowd was ready to go. I explained about the chiva and the lack of a queuing mechanism. The next one to go was jammed to capacity so we walked across the road and had an execrable breakfast. Mine was unimaginably tough meat that had been thinly sliced and then fried so as to increase its toughness accompanied by a deep fried flour named something I hope I don't need to recall. Watery red flavorless hot sauce was doused over everything.
We walked back across the street to the chiva stop and two of this crew headed back to the room for some reason so we missed the next chiva. I won't go into all the details as you can probably surmise my success in herding these cats. I told them they had to wait near the terminal and when the chiva drove by we had to block the back and climb in else people would appear out of no where and fill the thing. At ten we were boarded, sitting on the padded wooden benches in the covered bed of a pickup and headed up the mountain over the continental divide to find ourselves in Guabal, the starting point of a previous adventure. TODO link. Indians lined the other bench, I took an Indian boy on my knee, Indians crowded the aisle between the two benches, the diminutive but hardy folk able to stand.
An hour later we hopped out. I walked the group over to a wooden shack and stood at the window. Curious little boys came to inspect, I teased them and they grinned. I ordered a coffee, the only thing sold at this house and paid for it with $.15. The rest of the group did the same. Some of us had seconds. Less than $2 later we had exhausted the coffee supply and went off in search of lunch. There is a restaurant in town, but I didn't know where it was. I asked, but misunderstood. Following what I thought was the directions I walked into another wooden shack and Indian greeted us and cleared off room for all of us to sit down. He seemed very glad to see us; business must be very slow. I inquired what was available for lunch to find that this wasn't a restaurant. Oh, so sorry. I retained the services of his seven year old son, who would function as a guide. For a buck he was to walk us to the restaurant. The man surveyed us and decided we were harmless. I handed the kid a buck which he stared at in amazement. As he walked us through the jungle trail he kept staring at the easiest dollar he would ever make in his life. A crowd gathered behind us, just watching.
Several people from the chiva showed up. I inquired about a menu, but the woman had no idea what I was talking about. Nothing new here. I inquired about our choices, she told me something that started with “Jamonina”. Well, jamon is ham but I wanted to be sure. “Puerco?” Then I made pig snorting noises. That broke everybody up and the woman nodded in confirmation. Ok, five please. In minutes we had heaping portions of beans, rice and some diced pink cubes. I understand that experiments are underway to grow meat in a laboratory. I hope it turns out better than this. It made spam seem more like food than a Monty Python act.
We crossed the bridge and started to walk in the jungle. In the morning I had removed all extraneous material from my day pack and had inadvertently removed my dry bag. Torrents of rain caused us to rush back to town to take shelter under the overhang in front of the two room clinic that serves untold thousands of Indians who walk for hours when they need treatment. Tanner unstrapped his skateboard and attempted to do tricks, but the concrete had been sealed and had a glaze to it which rendered the surface far from ideal for skateboard trickery, or so I was told; I am not a skater. Nonetheless as he performed all eyes in the village watched in amazement some coming to the edge of the deck, others from the school and other buildings. After an hour or so of this we grabbed a chiva back. Tanner expressed his appreciation for the “most awesome thing he had ever done.” Ok.
We got back and Tanner performed more tricks on the near perfect asphalt roads down the hilly slopes to the amazement and amusement of the inhabitants while Nico took videos. I went back to my room to find a very pleasant female asian face resting on a pillow. She woke up and asked what time the restaurant opened. “Which restaurant?” “There is one over there somewhere.” “Can't help.” “Come with us, we are going to walk through town.” She got up, “I'm Jim.” “I'm Bee.” The six of us headed to walk the length of town. I told them about my trip to the coast with Rodney having walked from Guabal to Rio Luis staying with an Indian family for three days and taking a canoe to Caloveborato stay with the people involved in the transportation of a certain high value white powder. We stopped at Cafe Delight, I inquired about Elizabeth, who started the place. Seems she had moved back to the states to deliver her child and would not be returning. Stefanie's former brother in law was running the place. On the way back to the hostel somebody called out my name. I turned around and it was Timotea, the Indian in Rio Luis with whom I had stayed. We had a big embrace in the street and talked for fifteen minutes. I told him I would try to come visit him in the next couple of weeks and he was delighted. We walked back to the hostel, more skate boarding, got hungry and walked back to Cafe Delight. I spotted a blonde head sitting at a table, the man sat with his back to me. “What's up Mike? Where's Gloris?” Mike turned around and a big smile crossed his face as the six of us joined him. He had been bored out of his mind.
Most of us ate nachos, without guacamole, chilis or hot sauce. Hardly a nacho then, is it? We sat around and shot the shit. “What is there to do in this town?” I suggested, “Well we could take over the pool hall.”
The pool hall is a cantina, a bastion of masculinity, the restroom has nothing but a urinal in it. Twenty guys crowded the pool room another score sat at tables in the back room. We went to the back and bought some $.50 beers. Guys sat around drinking while latin music played. I suggested we play some pool. “But there is a room full of people and both tables are full.” “No problem. When I bring you in there you two girls grab some queues and give these guys some eye candy by bending over and pretending to shoot.” Picture a hot little korean woman in hot pants bending over in a pool hall full of Panamanian and Indian men. The girls did so, I asked the guys playing if the girls could play, they cleared the table mid game and surrendered it. I told the guys that were playing to play with the girls. Every eye in the room was resting on their asses without the slightest pretense of not staring. We took over after that game, bought a round for the house, which pleased everybody no end, cost us $.50 per person to do so. Then we went into the back room and asked them to change the music. The girls started dancing with themselves. The little Korean on whose head I could rest my chin danced with a little old Indian on whose head she could rest her chin. Tanner was performing tricks on a much more suitable surface while Nico took pictures and videos. I talked with just about everybody.
I walked by a table and somebody yelled out “Jaime.” I looked. “Como?” “Colovebera.” “Edgar?” “Si.” We recounted something of him carrying Rodney home last time we were in that nearly inaccessible little coastal town. Somebody from my group said, “You do know everybody don't you?” “I'm a little hard to forget.” “That's an understatement.”
The girls came over and said, “I can't drink anymore beer, where can we get some rum?” “Give me twenty bucks.” They forked over the cash and I went to the manager and said, in Spanish, “I'd like a liter of rum.” “We don't have rum.” “Then go get some or we are leaving.” I handed him the twenty. Despite the fact that all the stores were closed a liter materialized within twenty minutes. No mixers could be obtained. I told the girls not to give shots to anybody who asked for them. Shots were consumed and given away, I refrained. Some of the Indians got a bit grabby. I told the guys not to do a thing, just have the girls tell me and I would handle it. Ten times I signalled somebody who escorted another drunken Indian out of the place. They wouldn't object in the morning, they wouldn't recall the incident. We left the place around four o'clock. I went to the bed, the rest of the crew headed down towards the river but abandoned that effort when they found themselves in absolute darkness.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Panama City to Sante Fe
Sunday, Feb 27
I woke up at 8 and caught a taxi to the Albrook bus terminal to buy a ticket for the nine P.M. direct bus to Bocas. I couldn't buy ticket because the road was closed due to Indian protests.
I returned to the hostel and told Nico it was not possible to get to Bocas for serveral days due to road closure. I told him I was heading to Santa Fe and described it to him. He got on the phone and talked with Tanner at about 10:30. Tanner said he would soon be ready. Soon is relative in Central America and they were quick learners. Misty and Tanner were dragging their respective asses in consequence of the excesses of the prior night but Misty was packing a heavy load of passive aggressive responses to being “told what to do.” At noon, Nico, Tausha and I walked over to their hotel and tried to rouse them. They finally showed their faces around 12:30 and then Misty decided to pack her bags for the minimal supplies necessary for a two day trip. She opened her suitcase and pushed things back and fourth for an interminable period while I paced. Finally she was ready. They wanted to walk a mile to the bus stop to get a $.25 ride to the bus terminal, I wanted to get going. I flagged down a taxi van and negotiated a $15 ride to Albrook for the five of us. I asked the driver how much he wanted to drive us to Santiago and was quoted $600. Yeah, right.
Stopping back at La Jungla the extra bags were put in secure storage and we went over to the mall. This group had previously purchased tickets to Bocas which could not be used. I went to the window and told the cashier that we wanted a refund. She put the tickets aside and indicated that it would be a little while. I walked down to the other end of the terminal and found that the last express ride to Santiago was at 2:00. I returned to the Bocas window to find a line of 100 people trying to refund their tickets. I wasn't going to wait in line while other orders were processed ahead of mine which had been previously submitted. I went to the front, stuck my hand through the teller slot and indicated that I wanted my refund immediately. She needed my passport number. I wrote down nine random digits, got the cash and handed it over to Nico. Now Misty and Tanner decided they needed to eat. We missed the 2:00 bus. Then they needed to hit the ATM. We missed the 2:30 bus. I told them I would go on the 3:00 with or without them. I passed out nickels, which are necessary, exact change, to get through the turnstiles, I don't know why they don't include the charge in the ticket.
We finally got on the bus. A Panamanian woman with a child got on the bus and said “Hi, Jim!” I had no idea who she was. I chatted with Nico about photography, we got together a shopping list for food. Three and half hours later we were in Santiago and headed across the street to provision. I was the only person with any Spanish whatsoever so I procured items from the meat counter. After taking a number I waited and waited while people were slowly served sliced processed meat. There was never a discussion as to thickness, everything was cut about 3 mm thick, I would have preferred it to be about a quarter of that. Finally, with shopping done we headed across the street back to the bus terminal and I walked down to the Santa Fe bay to see the tail lights of the bus, the last bus of the day.
Back out front I ran into the woman from the bus who asked if we were going to Santa Fe. I responded in the affirmative and then she asked if we were staying at La Qhia which was also affirmed. Finally I had placed her, she was a maid at the hostel. She told me that taxis to Santa Fe would be $25 if we could find one. Cab after cab refused the one hour trip. Rosa, the maid, made phone call after phone call or asked the cab driver if he knew someone who would go. Five minutes, ten minutes, somebody is coming. Another five minutes. Failure after failure. After an hour I flagged down a dual cab Hilux pickup truck and negotiated a price of $40 for all of us. I sat in the front seat, the other six sat in the back until we got out of town after which three rode in the bed with the bags. We ascended the mountain under a clear star speckled sky as the temperature dropped near continuously. Rosa called Stefanie at La Qhia and confirmed that they had five beds in the dorm. An hour later we arrived in Santa Fe, passed the hotel which appeared to have closed down and were greeted by Stefanie who informed us that she was fully booked for the week. She suggested we try Tierra Libre, the only other lodging in town besides Hotel Sante Fe, a dump without a restaurant or bar and way the hell down the hill, probably outside city limits.
Tierra Libre had but one guest, which is one more than it usually has. Seneth, the Cambodian woman who runs the place and her husband Marnix were in the restaurant chatting with a couple from England. No food was available, the kitchen was closed. No, we couldn't use their kitchen, this is a restaurant. Tausha made wraps of meat like products derived from chicken and ham with cucumber, tomato and lettuce, Monterrey Jack cheese, enhanced with a little hot sauce and wrapped in thin tortillas. Marnix looked at the food and give none too subtle hints that he was hungry. We gave him one despite his previous ingraciousness.
Tanner and Misty took one room. Nico and Tausha took the other room and I took a room in the dorm they slept platonically on the same bed. Tausha is a wife and mother of two and is married to one of Nico's best friends. There was another guest in my room, a woman from California who had been “rode hard and put up wet.” A Texas expression about horses.
I woke up at 8 and caught a taxi to the Albrook bus terminal to buy a ticket for the nine P.M. direct bus to Bocas. I couldn't buy ticket because the road was closed due to Indian protests.
I returned to the hostel and told Nico it was not possible to get to Bocas for serveral days due to road closure. I told him I was heading to Santa Fe and described it to him. He got on the phone and talked with Tanner at about 10:30. Tanner said he would soon be ready. Soon is relative in Central America and they were quick learners. Misty and Tanner were dragging their respective asses in consequence of the excesses of the prior night but Misty was packing a heavy load of passive aggressive responses to being “told what to do.” At noon, Nico, Tausha and I walked over to their hotel and tried to rouse them. They finally showed their faces around 12:30 and then Misty decided to pack her bags for the minimal supplies necessary for a two day trip. She opened her suitcase and pushed things back and fourth for an interminable period while I paced. Finally she was ready. They wanted to walk a mile to the bus stop to get a $.25 ride to the bus terminal, I wanted to get going. I flagged down a taxi van and negotiated a $15 ride to Albrook for the five of us. I asked the driver how much he wanted to drive us to Santiago and was quoted $600. Yeah, right.
Stopping back at La Jungla the extra bags were put in secure storage and we went over to the mall. This group had previously purchased tickets to Bocas which could not be used. I went to the window and told the cashier that we wanted a refund. She put the tickets aside and indicated that it would be a little while. I walked down to the other end of the terminal and found that the last express ride to Santiago was at 2:00. I returned to the Bocas window to find a line of 100 people trying to refund their tickets. I wasn't going to wait in line while other orders were processed ahead of mine which had been previously submitted. I went to the front, stuck my hand through the teller slot and indicated that I wanted my refund immediately. She needed my passport number. I wrote down nine random digits, got the cash and handed it over to Nico. Now Misty and Tanner decided they needed to eat. We missed the 2:00 bus. Then they needed to hit the ATM. We missed the 2:30 bus. I told them I would go on the 3:00 with or without them. I passed out nickels, which are necessary, exact change, to get through the turnstiles, I don't know why they don't include the charge in the ticket.
We finally got on the bus. A Panamanian woman with a child got on the bus and said “Hi, Jim!” I had no idea who she was. I chatted with Nico about photography, we got together a shopping list for food. Three and half hours later we were in Santiago and headed across the street to provision. I was the only person with any Spanish whatsoever so I procured items from the meat counter. After taking a number I waited and waited while people were slowly served sliced processed meat. There was never a discussion as to thickness, everything was cut about 3 mm thick, I would have preferred it to be about a quarter of that. Finally, with shopping done we headed across the street back to the bus terminal and I walked down to the Santa Fe bay to see the tail lights of the bus, the last bus of the day.
Back out front I ran into the woman from the bus who asked if we were going to Santa Fe. I responded in the affirmative and then she asked if we were staying at La Qhia which was also affirmed. Finally I had placed her, she was a maid at the hostel. She told me that taxis to Santa Fe would be $25 if we could find one. Cab after cab refused the one hour trip. Rosa, the maid, made phone call after phone call or asked the cab driver if he knew someone who would go. Five minutes, ten minutes, somebody is coming. Another five minutes. Failure after failure. After an hour I flagged down a dual cab Hilux pickup truck and negotiated a price of $40 for all of us. I sat in the front seat, the other six sat in the back until we got out of town after which three rode in the bed with the bags. We ascended the mountain under a clear star speckled sky as the temperature dropped near continuously. Rosa called Stefanie at La Qhia and confirmed that they had five beds in the dorm. An hour later we arrived in Santa Fe, passed the hotel which appeared to have closed down and were greeted by Stefanie who informed us that she was fully booked for the week. She suggested we try Tierra Libre, the only other lodging in town besides Hotel Sante Fe, a dump without a restaurant or bar and way the hell down the hill, probably outside city limits.
Tierra Libre had but one guest, which is one more than it usually has. Seneth, the Cambodian woman who runs the place and her husband Marnix were in the restaurant chatting with a couple from England. No food was available, the kitchen was closed. No, we couldn't use their kitchen, this is a restaurant. Tausha made wraps of meat like products derived from chicken and ham with cucumber, tomato and lettuce, Monterrey Jack cheese, enhanced with a little hot sauce and wrapped in thin tortillas. Marnix looked at the food and give none too subtle hints that he was hungry. We gave him one despite his previous ingraciousness.
Tanner and Misty took one room. Nico and Tausha took the other room and I took a room in the dorm they slept platonically on the same bed. Tausha is a wife and mother of two and is married to one of Nico's best friends. There was another guest in my room, a woman from California who had been “rode hard and put up wet.” A Texas expression about horses.
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