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.

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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.