Off to Panama

Packed some clothes, took all my valuables, dropped some off at the office of a friend, walked my dog down to Casa Verde.

Several guests were sitting in the restaurant and gave me a strange look when I got a chorus of "Hey You. Hey You! Hey You, ahaaay!" from the staff. What have I got that they don't have? A dog. The dog's name is Hayu Ayaah. Flaco, who bears the title Logistics Manager for his role in gathering and delivering things all over town in the infamous camioneta roja de la muerte. Actually this little claptrap with the plastic windscreen never makes it's way down the street much faster than 10 km/hr, which is best for all concerned. It keeps the few remaining parts intact. Flaco is a hell of a guy and agreed to watch my dog while I went to Panama. He refused three times to take money from me for doing so, I was paying him as much as he earns in a labor a day to watch the dog. I explained that I don't like to impose on people and he would be doing me a favor if he took the money, then I'd feel free to ask him again. Then I advised him that the little guy is a chick magnet and to exercise his new powers wisely.

Last I heard the dog was not in his yard, but sitting on the front seat oggling the eye candy as Flaco tends to his tasks. Hayu is not fussy, any bitch will do.

I injudiciously grabbed a Snickers on the way in having failed to eat yet. One of the female staff questioned me about my wrapper. "Tu quiere un snickers?" "Claro." Well, I can't just buy her one. So I bought five and handed them out. I became King of Panama. Strange to see a woman sneak hers into the kitchen to eat in private so she didn't have to share with her five year old daughter. Out I went again.

Off to the airport. I couldn't buy a ticket earlier as the credit card machine was down. I received dubious looks from the ticket agent at the time. This time I asked her if the machine was working yet and she acknowledged that it didn't accept anybody's card. I handed her $120 dollars and she gave me $4 and a plastic slab that functions as a reusable boarding pass. Receipts and tickets? What a waste of time. Speaking of a waste of time, I had to show up at 5 for a 6:30 flight at a one gate airport. Walter showed up around 6:15. We boarded last and consequently sat near the rear of the plane. The exit is in the rear, so we exited first. Dashing to the taxi stand before people could recover their luggage, something that takes a matter of minutes and Albrook International Airport we were called over to have our luggage inspected.

Random zippers were opened, hands shoved down into compartments. I could have had a few guns and some grenades at the bottom. My replacement keyboard for my notebook was removed and crumpled on the way back in. F**k me in the a** with a sharp stick. That thing took me two months to get.

We went out to the taxi stand. "Now the adventure begins!" "Como?" I thought this was going to be a quiet night. No, Walter was talking about trying to get a long distance taxi, when all they want to do is shuttle tourists a short distance for an exorbitant price. The first guy we talked to agreed to drive us the 20 km for $12. Don't ask me. Yes, kilometers. Weigh things in pounds, sell things buy the gallon, measure short distances in feet and long distances in kilometers.

We arrived at my lodgings, I tailgated through the security gate and made my way paste the thundering boxers. I entered the palapa behind the pool and got a big hug from Ivonne, the owner. I asked where Hotto was and was informed that he was in his room. I knocked on his door and was greeted by a long string of expletives and a hearty handshake. He invited me in to see his piles of crocodile hinds and gifted me with a large swatch of prime blue tanned hide. Great, I can make a belt and become the Bocas pimp. I rolled it up and feigned appreciation. Walter, a faithful reader of this blog was not surprised by what he encountered. The shit was shot, then was I, off to retire in my same room.