Windows and Waiting

While waiting for my guests to be returned by the Indian paddling them up a river I give you a few windows tips.

Want to explain a tech problem to someone? Search for "psr" from the windows search bar. (Windows 7 only)


Dual monitors? Can't tile your windows on the second monitor? Use Windows Key + Arrow Keys to snap the windows to each side of either monitor.


When setting up a new PC, www.ninite.com will save a big chunk of time.


Malwarebytes and Microsoft Security Essentials will get rid of just about any virus/malware on a computer.

Four Germans

Not my best but hell, you asked for an update so here you go.  Completely unedited obviously.

Friday

Time to pick up the girls. Two Germans and a Swiss girl. Found the ostensible location of the hostel at which they were staying. Yeah, we can probably find the place. Near the park... done. “First we catch a bus to David, then a bus to Almirante.” That takes us across the continental divide from the Pacific to the Caribbean. Stop at cafeteria. While waiting in line to get some food one of the girls handed me my wallet, which I had left on the bus seat. Ahh, shit, and thanks girl.

Took a water taxi to my house. Timon, my gardener, was looking dejected. Hmmm. What's up? Well it turns out that the house now had no electricity or water. First I found the batteries completely discharged,  I fired up the generator. Electricity restored while the batteries charged. Water? A tank was dry. I flipped a few valves and WTF? Water streaming out of a shower. That's how you ran the tank dry and consumed all the battery power. What next? The refrigerator, just a cleaning of the flue. Half an hour later the house was usable. McGiver? Well thanks, but I think not.

The Swiss girl who found my wallet found my cell phone in the cushions in the love seat on the deck. No more problems I hope.

What next? A broken plastic colored fish sat on the rail. Turns out Timon's daughter was captivated by it and while bestowing attention upon it, broke off a fin. No big deal. I gave the kid the fish and she was thrilled to possess something as beautiful as a tacky plastic bit of brik brak that seems like a mandatory appointment in a seaside abode.

Saturday

Now what?

Dead battery. Boat wouldn't start. Had to call a friend. Took the girls to various water front venues. The Pickled Parrot, for a taste of George, a character of the first rate. A warm embrace by Jessica was followed by a sullen greeting from George. The sign that indicates that questions are a dollar is oft enforced. They ordered one of his big burgers to be split four ways and took three extra sets of cutlery. George imposed a stiff fine for extra cutlery. Welcome to weird. Some snorkeling at Hospital Point and a dolphin encounter.

The phone rang. One more girl, Rahel, a 24 year old stunningly constructed German was on the dock in town. “Can you come pick me up?” Back to town. Well past dusk I pulled up to the dock with a boatload of desirable young women and sought her. Looking around, a German guy looked at me with disgust. “She used my phone to call you.” Chump. You go home alone and I will take the object of your desire home with me. “How do you do this?” If you think that this lead to an evening of coconut oil and vinyl sheets I am sorry to disappoint you. But, a great time was had by all and that was the point. To bed.

Holy shit. My room was illuminated with the intensity of daylight followed no time later by a bowel shaking, bed shaking, rolling thunder followed immediately by the unmistakable sounds of a massive tree splintering. Would this end in a boom? A cleavage of my roof perhaps? . What am I to do? Throw myself over one of these girls and think that if a tree crashes through my house I have any pretense of offering any isolation from damage?

Nobody screamed. Silent terror was succeeded by an immense boom as the tree crashed through the adjacent foliage and found its way to the red clay soil.

Sunday

Of course I had to convey the girls to the mandatory trip to one of the most spectacular beaches on the the Caribbean. Oh yeah, a container full of boats. A proclamation  that my house would not be rented.  Thanks, asshole.

Monday

For a finale I took the girls to go to the bat cave. One had wanted to see a sloth and I could pretty much guarantee that. Down to the end of the bay I pulled up to a rough hewn one room house. The arrival elicited the inquistitive gazes of half a dozen, nearly naked kids ranging from ages two to eight. “Donde este tu Padre? Yo quierre habla con tu padre”. Some incomprehensible gibberish. A short time later the man emerged and I managed to communicate that I desired him to take the girls up the river to the cave. He bailed out a dugout canoe, dragged it off shore and the girls boarded. One, the Schweitzer, was more than sufficient ballast. The boat had but maybe two inches of free board. Well, the waters there are calm and shallow and the caimans no threat to humans. Have fun, I will return in a couple of hours.

The girls thought that they had imposed enough and one obviously sought some of the crazy night life for which Bocas is infamous. The Schweitzer certainly needed a good service call and I was sure that somebody would be willing to take her chubby ass home and give her the scrogging she needed. I dropped them off, they secured a room at Hotel Sagittarius and were well pleased with my recommendation. The three of them shared a room for $26 with a private bath where elsewhere they would have paid more, for less security. They returned within half an hour. “Jim we really didn't want to leave.” Well, hell, I didn't want you to go. We resumed our comradery and they did their best to express their gratitude

My phone rang. The guy who managed my dock reconstruction wanted to be paid. Fair enough. “I'm at Casa Verde.” Twenty phone calls later he finally managed to find the place. I can send an email to a girl from another country and tell her to meet me there and it's little more than a couple of minutes to find the place. What the fuck is your problem? This town is what, ten streets wide and thirty long? 

Next venue...

Barco Hundido is a charming little spot the water. A cavernous facility comprised of a roof over a minimally improved piece of earth. A path here, a dance floor, a dock. Adjacent to the dance floor is a wrap around dock that overlooks crystal clear water, illuminated to reveal a ship wreck on the sea floor. It transforms from a tranquil spot to a viper pit as the night progresses. When all else closes, this is the last dance, last chance, place where all things are possible. What are the possibilities? At three in the morning the chance that you can find a woman will will allow you to take her home and have your way in at least two ways that are felonies in a large number of states is very high. Where would this deed be done? This is not an issue; a shared $8 a night room, in the presence of other revelers, some who have managed a similar circumstance is common. No romance is involved.

One morning, a conversation with a particularly cute nineteen year old from England, one of half a dozen I took snorkeling the day before revealed absolutely no ability to recall the cause of the hickeys on her neck, nor the source of the bruising that indicated that she had participated in sexual asphyxiation the previous night nor the final disposition of her clothes.

The inattentive have an equal probability of distributing their possessions to the locals. Cell phones and cameras are a common contribution although cash is always welcome. Stories abound of people being slipped mickeys and stripped of their possessions but I find it just as probable that eighteen hours of alcohol consumption render these people incapable of a competent recollection of the events that lead to lost possessions.

I  have several first hand accounts of donation solicitation in the men's room at knife point. Some locals, gringos, felt the gentle bartender impertinent for requesting that they pay their tab and responded with a beer bottle across his face and a beating by four people.

'

While chatting with these girls a strapping guy, blonde maybe 6' 3” and 200 pounds, puffed up and introduced himself thinking that these young women couldn't resist him. He talked. I looked each girl in the eye. Not a one of them wanted a thing to do with him. “You are dismissed.” “Pardon me?” “Your overtures have been unsuccessful.” The uncomprehending countenance evidenced a profound confusion. Like a deer in the headlights, he didn't seem to know which way to turn. He managed to escape the encounter with no more damage than a bruised ego.

Off to the Iguana. The place starts early on the circuit and it was hopping. Nine hours were swallowed in a gulp. The Schweitzer found her objective in the form of a tall, thin, inarticulate black native in a knit cap.

Then a report, yup the Brit had found an accepting target. “I am so going to do him.” Huh I thought she needed her junk surgicaly restored.   Who knows?   Who cares?

Hot number on phone, picked up Edward and some girl with whom I thought I might measure some success. Ended up walking in a contrary direction to get to my boat. Edward left with the girl. I drove home at three in the morning, my trip guided only by the latent images afforded by intermittent illuminations of intense lightning that strangely had no attendant thunder.

Then a descent into a sort of debauchery, decadence, and certainly nothing that I could publish with the consent of a reasonable attorney. A reasonable attorney! What a concept.

Long way to Cerro Punta

My host and hostess had a new car.  Well, it was new to them, having had it but a day.  "Want to go to Cerro Punta via the new road?"   My host, ever the dubious sort checked the forums and decided I wasn't completely full of shit.  My assertion that I had driven the road myself despite the fact that all the locals said there was no such road.  But, if it's on the Internet it must be true.  We put the half wolf dog in the back of the 4x4 and headed south out of Boquete.  Six or seven inquiries later, all advising us to drive all the way to David and back up we found the road.   Somewhere in my notes is the name of the gas station on the corner.  Not exactly a traveler's guide is this?   We got to Volcan after much more time than we expected and headed out.  Twenty two clicks to Cerro Punta?  I was in the back seat.   Forty four k later we arrived at Rio Serreno, a destination sure not favored by any non resident but the drive was pleasant enough.

Back to Volcan, up to Cerro Punte.  We stopped for lunch, I ordered the Ropa Vieja (old clothes) a Cuban pot roast.  Nope.   Hmmm, how about the seafood soup?  None?  Three or four items later I had the pork loins.   Onto Guadalupe.   We rushed through the town missing all the m.pots.  What is the rush?  Back to Boquete.  By this time it was dinnertime.  Off to Mike's their local eating establishment.  The pulled pork sandwich came highly recommended.  I ordered the pork vindaloo.  A short while later a small bowl of pork heavily seasoned with cinnamon was served.   Nothing close to the painfully hot Indian dish I ordered.  I couldn't choke it down.  Ok, I'll go with the pulled pork.  None?  Next sandwhich. None?  Well, hell. I ordered two hot dogs and got one.  They were out of hot dogs.  I was told tales of a trio terrorizing Boquette, poisoning dogs, entering houses, stealing jewelry, laptops and cameras, pistol whipping the men and raping the women.  Why is nothing in the press?  Apparently the victims know this trio and are very afraid of them.  There are some entries on a local forum available only to registered guests. 

Another quiet little mountain town gone to hell, this time in Panama.  

Off to Boquete

Bus to Santiago, bus to David, up the mountains to Boquete.   Several cups of some of the finest coffee to be had anywhere.   I guess you should expect good coffee.  Click on that link.  Really.

Got hold of a friend who is staying at another friends house.   Burgers, salad and some catching up.   To bed.  Roosters.  Ahh shit.

---

Once again, the original, written on a bus. Kind of prefer the shorter version don't you?

I gathered stock of my quarters. The walls were unchinked small timbers, the ceiling of cana blanca, a small bamboo. The hardwood floor was graced solely with two beds, adequately outfitted with comfortable mattresses and adequate linen. A cat in heat merawled incessantly provoking a large dog into continuous deep throated barking. A brief interval of rest was attained to be interrupted by hundreds of cocks. This was a far cry from my peaceful refuge. I abandoned efforts at dawn.

As I write a few girls of unknown origin prepare coffee. I guess I will breakfast, head down to David and pop up into the mountains of Chiriqui in the town of Boquete. Perhaps dinner with a friend in Calderra at his ranch. I had passed by a few friends on the way out here, Charles in El Valle, Rudy and Ralph on the Pacific Coast.

Perhaps I shall catch up with some German girls on their way to stay with me and escort them home.
It is going to be a busy weekend, I am expecting four or five visitors, all young women, all German, two that live in San Jose and three that are traveling Central America. I guess I shall have to rent a boat capable of delivering the six of us to various destinations in the remote portions of the archipelago that I call home.

What next? Take up residence in a large house on Dolphin Bay situated on 25 acres of landscaping, ride horses and solicit guests for the spacious, well appointed cabins? Head to Southeast Asia? Who will I encounter in my travels? I mentioned Boracay, a charming young couple, two women mentioned that they are moving there. I've always wanted to see Indonesia, a girl that stayed with me a few months ago replied that she would be there in November and would love to travel with me. Phuket, Thailand, Bangor Wat in Cambodia? Give me great weather, clear waters, jungle, charming companionship and I could stay anywhere. Not too picky, that's a lot of world.

I run into people I know everywhere I go. When I first visited Panama it was not surprising to meet people time and again traveling the well trod routes from the beautiful tiny islands that compose the home of the Kuna Indians in Kuna Lana, to Panama City, again in Boquette and Bocas. But I have met people in off the beaten tracks and in distant countries. A man from Machu Pichu in the remotest jungles of the Amazon in Bolivia. Walking the streets of Caye Caulker in Belize with a high school buddy who lamented the paucity of women I encountered an English girl I had met years before on yet another remote island. In the trails of an Indian village in Veraguas I happened upon a farmer from the cocaine smuggling port of Colovobera. An Indian from Rio Luis, a town not frequented by white people called out my name as I was on the way to dinner with a group of people from Montana. At an airport in Lima, Peru another chance encounter.

A Canadian I met a year ago in the mountains of Veraguas Panama recognized me in David in February and gave me an update on Sante Fe a town of Indians with but fifteen gringos that claims a resident from my hometown,, one year my senior, a half square mile spot on the shores of Lake St. Clair, a 30 mile shallow pond through which water flows from Lake Huron to Lake Erie.

I got the lowdown on most of the inhabitants of Sante Fe. The builder from Austin who was to get construction going in a big way failed miserably. Residents parted with their money to be left with half constructed houses. He now sells hamburgers, too expensive for the Indians, shunned by the gringos in a town with but 10 beds for tourists.

Why am I telling you this? I don't know. I am just killing time, drinking coffee from a traditional coffee machine made out of three pieces of wood, a wire hoop and a sock like basket.

Breakfasted with, who else? A guy from Harrison Township, Michigan a retired General Motors executive and his girlfriend, living in Maui. They asked for travel advice. Sure, I'll show you around Bocas. See you next week.

One more cup of coffee and I am descending to David and popping up to Boquete to call on a couple I know maybe crash where they are staying, in a mutual friend's house. Maybe meet up with the trio and escort them to Bocas, maybe go solo. I am a bit apprehensive about the dock construction. It should be done by now, but I have my doubts.

The Embassy and Sante Fe

Breakfast was meager.  Banana's, hot dog buns, white bread and empty peanut butter and jelly jars.   A couple of bananas later washed down with three or four cups of coffee I grabbed a cab to the embassy.

There I left the premises, down to the street to find the photo stand exactly where it had been described.   Three minutes later I had a sufficiently horrible passport photo and headed back up the hill.   My bags were secured at the guard station.

Hmmm, this is just like being in Texas immigration court.  All the signs are in Spanish.   I grabbed a number from the ticket dispenser.   Now serving 813.  My number was 38.   My appointment was at 1:30, it was not yet 11.

Now serving 847 at window 16.  927 at 7.  826 at 5.   What a system.   Now serving 38 at window 13.  The moment of truth.   I presented my forms, without the required photo Identification, signed the form and 30 seconds later was given a receipt.  Look, a chance for a national ID card for no extra charge.  Might be a handy thing to keep in my wallet. I paid my $135.  I was out the door in a couple of minutes.   Despite having paid for the same night, I just headed back to the bus terminal, shopped for a disk drive case and a cable for some guys I know and bought a ticket to Santiago.  Arriving there I headed north to Sante Fe.  The bus was crowded with Indians.  I was the only non Indian on the bus.  Back to authentic Panama.  Hmmm.  Tierre Libre was closed, I couldn't find the new location my friends were operating.   I ran into Stephanie, "Do you know where Marnix and Senat are?  There are fewer than a dozen expats in this town, only three from the U.S.  "They are not operating yet?"  "Can I stay with you?"  "Of course, Jim."

I surveyed the room in which I was to spend the night.  A wooden floor, walls of three inch branches absent chinking, some cana blanca, which looks like bamboo but is related to cane sugar, a queen sized bed with fresh linens.  This'll do.

Nope, all night a cacophony,a cat in heat, a barking large dog, three hundred roosters.

---

Yup, I had already written this, here you go the original

City noises. The loudest thing at my house at night is frogs. I am not going to sleep through this. I sat up. A half dozen cuties secure in their beds. Where is my backpack? Hmmm. Out in the hall. WTF? Maybe I was more tired than I realized. Coffee. Must have coffee. No coffee. Too early. Coffee!! I made some. A couple of hours later breakfast was ready. Hot dog buns, stale white bread, empty peanut butter jar, empty jelly jar and some bananas. Nice! A piece of bread a banana. I paid for another night, grabbed all my stuff and headed out the door.

I found a taxi in seconds. How much to the US embassy? Eight. Six. He took it. I had no idea of the fair fare I just guessed he was overcharging me. Past a jungle park in the middle of the city. One point three seven miles from nowhere were rectangular buildings scattered on spacious grounds. I hope they saved a lot of money on the architects. I was dropped off at the consulate office. I walked back to the entrance and found a permanent tent just where I was told it would be. Two minutes later I had four passport photos.

Back to the entrance, through security. I got a claim ticket and left them my back pack and contents. Sure wouldn't due to have anything to read or do with me. All the signs were in Spanish. This was like going to immigration in Texas. I found the machine that dispensed tickets and pressed the button for U.S. Citizens and took a seat. A large display indicated what number was being served at what window as the information was read out by an automated system in English. I am sure I was the only American in the room. Now serving 863 at window 5. Now serving 853 at window 17. What? There was no hint of order in the numbers. The only English on the monitor was that numbers were not served sequentially. Who thinks of this shit?

Half an hour later number 38 at window 13. That's me. Let's see what I can do. I walked up with my passport information that I had just filled in. My mother's date of birth? Oh, shit, I don't know. Let's say August 15^th. Either they know and they can correct from my other passports or they don't know. I guess I should have gotten to this earlier. Nope, no photo ID, not a damn thing. Here, have a birth certificate. No, I don't have a copy of my police report, that is still in Changuinola. Thirty seconds later I was given an email address to send a copy of the police report to and an expense form. Pay $135 at the next window. I paid with a credit card and was shocked that they didn't ask for a passport for ID when I presented payment. That's it. I'm done. Wow! That was easy.

Is there any way I can get a certificate stating that my Panamananian corporation is current on taxes and debt free without ID? No? Ok, I am outta here. Taxi! Take me to Albrook. Four bucks. Ticket to Santiago. Off at Santiago. Stopped for passport check again. Gave him the receipt from the embassy, told him I had just paid for another passport and that I had to pick it up in Santiago. That made no sense but satisfied him.

Ticket to Sante Fe. A small bus, very small. One seat left, right over the rear well, great for reduced leg room and extra bounce. Nothing but Indians on the bus. On my way to Sante Fe. Nice to have a break in the mountains. The man next to me gave up his seat to a pregnant woman. People stood in the aisles. Stop, two or three on. Stop one off. Stop two or three on. Stop one or two off. Lots of stops, net gains on nearly every stop. Finally when we were filled to capacity thirteen school boys in navy pants and blue shirts boarded. Next stop the boys got off and eighteen school girls got on. Another school another age and sex swap. Yet again.

Craggy small mountains, not sufficient to warrant the name foothill in the Rockies, rise from the north, their shape betraying their youth if not their genesis. TODO. Verdant pastures cut through by muddy rivers and bordered by post and barbed wire fences. White washed posts, living posts made from branches of trees that sprout roots and a crown when planted. We passed through San Francisco. We climbed. The greenery near brushed the windows. Hardly any rain in Bocas in May but it is the wet season n Veraguas.

I finally arrived and walked to Tierra Libre. As suspected, it was empty. Sinet and Marnix had moved to their new place. Where the hell was that? I ran into a woman I know, I know every non Indian in this town, they number less than a score. Nope, she wasn't sure exactly where they were. Stephanie, got a bed for me? Sure? Good, I'll see you in an hour, gotta go down to the Internet cafe and check my email.

Hmmm. Five German girls coming this weekend? Two from San Jose and three from Boquette. Sure, you can all stay at my place. Maybe I can get three or four to stay at a friends. Next week, Gabrielle returns with her mother. A twenty year old nursing student and her mother at the same time?  An email from a woman in the jungle, I had fixed her pump two days earlier, she was house sitting for a friend of mine, a seventy one year old sweetie. What? Really? Huh. She had grown up a mile from my house. Now I am in the mountains with hardly anything but Indians. A guy here graduated from high school a year before me in my same small town about half a square mile.

Email done. Time to visit the people I came to see. Catch you later.

Off to Panama

Well, these events are almost a week old, so fortunately for you I will keep my next entries short.

I had to go off to Panama City for a meeting with the U.S. Embassy to get a replacement passport.  First stop, Changuinola to get a police report on the missing/stolen passport then down across the country to the Pacific side to catch a bus from David to Panama City on the trans-American highway.  Timon, my gardener, showed. I gave him instructions.  Juan, my water taxi driver showed and we headed out to Bocas Town where I caught a water taxi to Almirante, the port city on the mainland.  As Taxi 25 is offering a special promotion price of $3 to drum up some business for their reopening after an extended shutdown due to political retribution the round trip fare is $5 for those in the know.

Less than half an hour later I was on the mainland, grabbed a $1 taxi fare to the bus terminal and got on a bus.   I don't often sleep while commuting but exhausted fell asleep almost right away.  I woke at a roadside cafeteria.  Oops!  The David to Changuinola bus I caught was heading to David, not the other leg.   No travelling papers. Ahh, I can probably bullshit my way through the passport controls, I've done it often enough.  Two hours later I was able to verify my confidence. David to Panama.  How much is the fare to Luna's Castle?  Five bucks?  Why?  "Cinco Dollares para uno!"  It's a holiday and night time by now, what had this been, ten hours?  I caught another for $3.

Luna's Castle wouldn't allow me to stay without a passport and sent me to Hospedeje Casco Viejo.  They cared for little more than the eight bucks for a dorm room.   "Jim!  What are you doing here?"  What's his name?   Oh, just here to go to the Embassy to apply for a passport replacement.   A little chatting, a long walk to find an open restaurant, surfing the web until two in the morning when the clerk wanted to sleep on the couch.  She suggested that I change rooms as there were a lot more women in another room.  Not sure of the benefit of a room full of sleeping women I opted out.   She told me the room was cooler.   It was a strangely comfortable day anyway.   Not worth the effort, I set up camp in the room she suggested and surprisingly, quickly found sleep.

---

Then...  I found my notes.

Water taxi guy is coming at 8, Timon at 7:30. I gave Timon instructions, rake the yard, reduce the felled trees to small pieces and make sure they are all laying on the ground so they will rot quickly. Have the wife wash every square inch of every drawer, cupboard, wall, window ledge, door frame, all furniture, put coconut oil on every bit of wood.

The boat couldn't have been more than eight feet long nor had a beam over three feet. The bathtub at my last house was bigger. The water was still and the two of us flew to town. I bought some TWC-3 oil for Timon to mix with his gas for the chainsaw, delivered it to a friend to drop off at my house on his way back from Red Frog Beach and headed to Bocas Marine Tours for my ride to Almirante.

A girl sat, inconsolable TODO, on the dock. “What's wrong girl?” “I don't want to leave.” “Find true love in three days?” “No it's just so beautiful.” “You'll be back. Where do you have to go to?” “Costa Rica.” “Puerto Viejo? C'mon, that's a nice little town.” “No, San Jose.” “I am so sorry.” Turns out her parents were paying $10,000 for her to live with a family for three months to learn Spanish. Somebody is getting screwed. You can do that in far nicer towns in Guatemala, delightful, clean, safe towns for $300 a month, room, board and instruction.

The boat pulled out at 8:44. Strange, BMT is usually very prompt every half hour on the hour and the half. Twenty five minutes later I was in Almirante, at the other station of thieves operated by Bocas Marine Tours. Three taxis were queued outside. Chelo TODO hailed me from the rear of the line. He gave me a $1 ride to the bus terminal, I gave him a twenty and didn't ask for change. Read my entry of February 14^th if you wonder why.

I nodded. I seldom sleep on buses. WTF? There is no cafeteria stop on the way to Changuinola. I was on the Changuinola to David bus. Damn. I was supposed to go to Changuinola and get some papers so that I could travel for twenty four hours without a passport. Ok, let's see if I can pull this off. “Yo quiere pollo frito, pappas frito y “ I pointed at a spring roll. “Nombre in Espanol?” “Spring Roll.” What? Yup the woman in line behind me confirmed that was the name. Why not? A translation would make as little sense. We rolled on. I paid my $8.45 and we soon stopped in David without stopping at a passport control.

Trying to buy a ticket to Panama City the woman insisted I need a passport. Ok, now what? I passed her a giant stack of papers and told her they were from the American Embassy and that they were approved pointing to a Bocatorian notary seal. The papers were in English. She had no idea what they said. I got a ticket issued to Will Schath and boarded the big bus.

Just before getting to Santiago we were stopped for passport control. I handed the officer a stack of papers from the U.S. Embassy and told him I was going to Panama to pick up my passport. I wasn't. I was going to apply for a replacement. “Tienne, manana in Panama.” He let it slide. We passed through Santiago. At 8:43 we pulled into Albrook National Bus Terminal. Hmmm, first time I ever came to Panama by bus, but I've left it often. “Quento questo para Luna's Castle?” “Cinco.” “Cinco? Para que?” “Cinco.” It's a national holiday but, no he is just being a horses ass. It should be $2.50, $3.00 on Sundays and holidays. I asked the next cabbie, he witnessed me walking away and told me the fare would be $3. I got in. I rode. I got out. I walked up the stairs. I was told I needed to have a passport. The girl was adamant. I was told I could go to Hospedeje Casco Viejo and no ID would be required. Five minutes later I arrived. All they wanted was the cash. No private rooms available.

Where to eat? Everything had closed early for the holiday. A young Dutch guy walked out of the kitchen, “Hi Jim, what are you doing here?” “What the hell, I thought you were in Colombia.” “I leave tomorrow.” I told him I had to go get something to eat and that I would catch him later. I walked three blocks, nothing. I asked the guard with the submachine gun at the entrance to the Presidential Palace, probably significantly smaller than any of the presidents actual homes. Nope, nothing is open. I wandered. I asked. I got wrong answers. I asked more. No, I don't want any weed. No, thank you. No. Everywhere I went a group of pre-teens were smoking pot and offering it for sale. Police were on every other corner. Nobody else was in the streets. I finally found a fried chicken place and at more fried food.

Back to the hotel in a roundabout manner. A quick chat and some internet time killing. By this time it was 1:30. The woman at the front desk wanted me to go to bed. I had slept on the bus and felt no need for sleep. She told me she would put me in another room, with lots of women. What? Is that some sort of incentive? I am going to go into a dorm room and entertain myself with sleeping young women? Ahh well. I could probably sleep if I try.

Pack!

BoomBoomBoomBoom.   I entered Andrea's room and woke him up at five.  "Pack everything, we need to go now! No time for a shower, go, go."   He was confused I told him we didn't need to leave until 7:30.  

Out the door, down the stairs, onto the boat.  BoomBoomBoom.  "Where are we going?"  "To the marina."  We went as fast as my boat could go.  I pulled up to a very large blue metal boat walked aboard and found no one there but a cat.   God Damn it!  Back to town.   Grab a taxi.    Necesito hospital urgencia".  I was weighed.  My blood pressure was taken.  I was asked to describe my ailment.  "Andrea, how do you say 'atrial fibrillation'?"  I am not a hypochondriac, quite the opposite, I defer medical treatment, "I'll heal."  I am not afraid of doctors, I've just been cut, cracked so many ribs, pinched nerves, my body has suffered many indignities which only time and healing could address.  Ok, I've spent my fair share of time in emergency rooms and intensive care.   But the last time I felt like this I nearly died, my blood pressure dropped unmeasurably low without detection by the emergency room staff despite being hooked up to an EKG and a blood pressure monitor.   Yup, I got paddled.  Feeling my whole body go cold as vision fades to black is not something I wanted to experience soon.  To hell with this hospital, it bites.  Could I make it to Changuinola?  Last time I was in fibrillation for three hours before my heart attack.  Off the the water taxi, over to Almirante a half hour ride.  By the time I got there I felt normal, bought breakfast and a pair of sandals.  Nothing to be done now.  I will make sure I see a cardiologist while I am in Panama City.


Back to Bocas.  "Jim are you going to the party on Red Frog Beach?"  "What party?"  "THE PARTY!"  A full moon event?  I haven't been to one, but this is right across from my house an easy commute home.  Brandy asked if should could catch a ride. Sure.


Then the postings.   This was an internationally organized event, not a few locals on a beach without sanitary facilities in the middle of the sea turtle nesting season.  People posted in forums.  People called ANAM, the
Autoridad Nacional del Ambiente, sort of like the EPA, Parks and Wildlife and the Department of the Interior in one.   They have no permit, they are selling beer without a license, etc. etc.   In the end little was done, the event was not a big deal and the beach was not left in a disaster.  We shall see if they disband today.

I asked a guy I know if he would watch my house.   A licensed boat captain and fisherman who spends his whole time in town.  In four months he hasn't ever left Isla Colon except for the $1 taxi fare away to Carenero, so close it could be readily swum were it not for some of the worst, most inconsiderate, inattentive boaters in the western hemisphere.  I told him I would show him the house.  A couple of cuties showed up.  I invited them along for the ride.  Turns out they were stuck on the dock and were waiting for the five o'clock boat to Palmar, right across from my house.   They came aboard, we introduced ourselves and headed off to my house then over to Bastimentos and I took them on the trail to the open Caribbean side.   We hung out for a bit and then headed out.  Nope, you have to go out here, now left, toward that house, now right for 200 meters then right again.   Lot's of shallow water.   Doug decided he would need a month to learn the waters before he would take anybody else's boat.   Hmmm, I guess I can leave the boat in really shallow water.  But what about the dogs?    Just leave them with 20 pounds of food and five gallons of water?

Seaside Walk

Timon, my gardener, showed, having paddled in his dugout canoe from across the bay with his wife.  I gave him the days activities and a list of things to do for his wife.   Strange having to point out, "clean the counter, clean the table, clean the refrigerator inside and out, clean the couches, mop the floor, mop the deck.

After a lazy awakening I took Andrea over to Isla Bastimentos.  We returned to Roots, a restaurant over the water and inquired about Jerry's whereabouts.  Jerry was the teen we had met the previous day.  He had left for Almirante, so much for "I am always here".  The owner of the restaurant called a kid over who was paddling in a plastic kayak We walked to the end of town, down the beach and down a trail arriving at an enormous metal gate.  The kid yelled out for Bruce, whose house was not visible.  We met no response.  I had heard of this place from a gorgeous blonde ethnobotanist and masseuse who was going to live at my house and help me with planting a garden and fruit trees.  She found an opportunity more to her liking in Costa Rica and I was left to figure it out on my own.  Nothing left to do but return on another day.

We walked to the other end of town on the main sidewalk (there are but three or four) that runs along the bay.   Restaurants, bars and hostels are one to two deep on the water side, houses and a couple of stores are likewise a coupe of lots deep up the hill away from the water.  Near the end of town we took a sidewalk that led over the island, a very short walk and hiked along the seashore.   I regretted having left my machete; there is a trail but it is a bit overgrown and needs some maintenance.

Everything I had enumerated to clean in the house had been cleaned but nothing else.   I paid Timon, he asked for four days wages but nothing for his wife.   I gave her $9 in coins and she was very grateful, as she should have been as she had received a full day's wages for half a day's work.

The trail went from an easy walk to muddy up the hillside and ended with clambering over giant basalt rocks.  We finally arrived at Wizard Beach, filthy and dehydrated.   The long stretch of white sand was populated but by a couple.  Being Italian it seemed perfectly normal to Andrea to shed his clothes and go for a dip.   Not being Italian I didn't really feel like skinny dipping with a guy and kept my shorts on.    We walked back across the island, back to town and had lunch.   Our condition mandated a good shower and a change of clothes before we could be seen in public so we went back to my house and tended to those matters and returned to Bocas where a local woman had invited me and some friends over for dinner.   Huh, second cancellation in a row.

Day on the Water

My latest guest called to tell me that he had arrived having hiked from Boquette in the highlands of Chiriqui, across a national park, to Almirante.  He, his guide and his porter walked a long cattle trail, so worn that the bottom of the trail was eight to ten feet below the grade.  The trail was muddy and he regretted not having warmed to the suggestion that rubber boots were in order.   Mud sticks to traditional hiking boots making them weigh a lot more, additionally being waterproof doesn't help when fording rivers over the top of the boots.  They had been stalked by a jaguar, found its scat and repeatedly found fresh prints.  I know I wouldn't like to be stuck in a slippery, muddy canal were the skies of Chiriqui to unleash its proverbial torrents.

We lunched at the Pickled Parrot; Adrian concurred that Bocas Town's appeal increases with distance.  Off to Isla Christobal to check on a dugout canoe for sale.  It needed work and I am not interested in additional projects at this time.  We walked next door to visit a friend of mine, sat on the deck and chatted.  A worker showed at the end of his shift and followed me to my house.  He claims that he can rebuild my dock at my house in three days.  We shall see.  I paid for the posts,which are to be cut on Saturday under the full moon.

A vine snake showed himself three times on my stairs.  I often find him in the same spot.  I am sure he lives in a little hole on the side of the hill.  I wonder if my freshly trimmed lawn has anything to do with his more frequent appearances of late.

Time for dinner, we dropped by to visit a friend.  I had dropped off some filets a couple of days earlier and we were to dine there.  He was mourning the loss of a friend who had drunk himself to death by doing the same.  We left him to stagger back and collapse on his bed at five in the evening and headed out to Roots, a Caribbeano over the water restaurant on Bastimentos.   My whole snapper was enormous and wonderful.  We were joined by a local kid who asked how my farm was coming along.  I mentioned that I was looking for fruit tree saplings.  He suggested that I drop by tomorrow and he would show me the wonderful finca just outside Bastimentos town where I could buy a wide variety of plants.   After killing some time on the dock on the point, listening to the surf we headed home.

Well, I can see Timon is half way here and another dugout approaches with a couple under power.  Hmm... they are going to the house next door.  I guess his wife won't be cleaning my house today.

Beauty and the Future

Through a slight haze I espy water so calm I can see the name of a stilled boat reflected therefrom. Parrots, doves and myriad birds flutter, flit, fly and perch. Ahhh... Bocas at its finest, viewed from my deck.

The parrots have returned, I have seen little of them for months.  On this tranquil morning I am blessed by a silent company of green parrots.  Three or four species of hummingbirds restlessly visit the red flowers that adorn the shrubs, flying up to the deck periodically to survey my activities. An Ngobe Indian paddles by silently, headed toward the watery cul-de-sac of Bahia Honda.  Were that I had my good camera, the view does not merit the insult of the result of my pocket camera.

Timon has been doing a wonderful job on the yard.  I can clearly see the dock and boat after eliminating some bushy trees that had been planted beside my long stairway.  The grass and weeds have been cut and the ornamentals trimmed.  A massive tree was felled yesterday for the sake of my house.  Towering from the ground down the hill and rising far higher than my house it presented a threat to life and property in its state.  Though with a full crown, lush and verdant, termites and ants dwelled and feasted upon the sickly giant.

A couple of water taxis cruise by, one silently and the the other with considerable announcement as Timon makes his way in his dugout canoe from his home on Isla Bastimentos, in view, across the bay.  Today logs are to be placed on the shore to provide a dry haven for my boat, to be left for an indefinite period while I explore southeast Asia.

On Sunday I hope to replace some pier pilings with salvaged cuttings.  Soon the wire, long stored in the storage building over the water, will be run to raise the voltage of the outlets there in order to allow the charging of boat batteries and run A.C. pumps on boats to be docked there.  


I am soon off to Panama City to apply for a replacement passport.  Gabrielle, a guest in April will be returning to Bocas in a couple of weeks with her mother.  I am expecting a trekker to make his way to Almirante today.  I haven't heard from him in three days.  He is hacking his way through the jungles of the provinces of Chiriqui and Bocas del Toro to get here.

Once I have my passport in hand, hopefully without having to make another trip to Panama City I will choose a destination in Southeast Asia: Philippines, Thailand, Viet Nam, Cambodia?  I don't know I have to start somewhere.

That's the morning news from paradise.  Time for another pot of coffee.