The end of a trip and the end of a summer…

Jason arrived but his bags did not. I should have known that my friend’s misfortunate happenstance would predict the remaining two weeks of my time in Central America. Rain poured, cab fairs were hiked up, and cell phones were stolen (yet again).

This may sound like a downtrodden end to my summer abroad and away, but despite all of these unlucky instances, it was by far the best summer of my life. In what other time of my life will I be able to say I visited 5 countries, hiked 4 volcanoes, played in 3 waterfalls, toured 2 coffee plantations, and was 1 very very lucky girl. I feel like I can do anything I dream.

Everything was a bit of blur those last two weeks as the clock was racing and I was trying very hard to reach Guatemala City by September 1^st. The teacher strike in Honduras did not help and left me and Jason high and dry in San Pedro Sula, a city that only merits about 6 hours (if that) of activity. During our two days there we did catch up on American cinema….

After finally leaving San Pedro Sula, we reached our real destination for Hondruas- Copan. What a lovely little town! Nevermind the number of tourists, what Copan has is beautiful Mayan Ruins that some say are better intact that those in Mexico. It was a neat experience to walk around the Mayan’s temples and their stadium.

Guatemala did not get its deserved attention as I only had just a few days in Antigua before I flew out. But, I did get acquainted with the city which is also another fun town and a hotspot on the tourist route along Central America.

Now that I’m back in the U.S. and back in my office as I write this infact, I’ve had enough time to reflect on the last three months and the many countries and communities I was incredibly lucky to have seen. Wow! A trip like this is difficult to describe in words and often when people ask me about it I kind of look dumbfounded and don’t have much exciting opinions and fascinating tales to offer. It’s not that I don’t have them or didn’t experience earth shaking moments, it’s that words are not quite adequate enough. I would be better off playing a playlist with selections from Thom Yorke, Beethoven’s 9^th, and Feist (1…2…3…4… tell me that you love me more….) I came to teach in Panama, but what I received in turn was so much more than a fun volunteer experience.

I will offer this one piece of advice to all you would be travelers, entrepreneurs, volunteers, and risk takers: do it. Just do it.

Climbing the Volcano and other lazy stories…

Nicaragua welcomed me with open arms! After 3 busses, 2 taxis, and a ferry ride over to Ometepe Island in Lake Nicaragua I landed in the world’s 10th largest lake and home to the only sweet water sharks. Nice!

It was quite different here than Panama and Costa Rica. Pigs, chickens, and dogs roamed freely across the island scurrying from house to house.

Two volcanoes comprise the center of the island, one is named Concepcion and the other Maderas. I stayed by the inactive Maderas because I had heard from friends that it was worthy of a climb and a fun place to hang out for a few days.

The projected climb up and down the Volcan Maderas is 5 to 7 hours depending on if you choose to descend into the crater where a rainwater lake formed. This is no easy climb. Unfortunately two climbers died almost three years ago on this Volcano because they went up without a guide even though it’s highly advised not to do this. Now there is a city law that prohibits guideless hikes. I later found out these two hikers stayed at the same hostel I stayed at, so I could not help but think of them as I began my own climb (with guide) up the mountain.

There were six of us: two American girls, my Canadian friend Jon, and a friendly Dutch couple. We began the walk to the volcano briskly and with uncertainty how this hike would treat us. It was a very sunny day and already 30 minutes into the hike we all were sweating. The two guides that were with us were on a mission to get us up that volcano and down before sunset, so they were fast walkers. They, in fact, never seemed tired and every break that we did get they never sat down. Incredible! The walk went on and on, and the higher we ascended the more interesting it became. Howler monkeys were screaming in the not too far distance, and we even saw some monkeys at one point hanging in the tree tops.

Some kilometers later the Volcan Maderas was not so kind to us. She increased her incline fairly steeply and required us all to grab trees and branches to continue on. We were all slipping and falling and extremely dirty by this point. I think it was at this point in the hike that I had to remind myself that this was a mental challenge and not a physical one and that I would regret it if I was the only one to wuss out of the hike.

Many perspiration drops later we made it to the top of the Volcan! How glorious! We were lucky too because normally it’s very cloudy from the top and a good glimpse down into the crater is far and few in between. Not on this day, because we could see straight down, and we did. Not only did we see straight down, but four of us (me included) went on to climb down into the crater. If I had thought that the portion leading to the top was hard, then I was surely mistaken. All of a sudden the Volcano turned into a swamp and we were hopping from tree branches to tree branches trying to avoid getting sucked into a mud abyss. After escaping the swamp, I perilously avoided by a few steps tumbling down the crater on some slick rocks. But success was to be had, and we finally made it to the bottom of the crater! Ahh….

After a short rest we had to climb down. And again, if I had thought that I had just finished the hardest part of the climb, I was surely mistaken! Who knew that the finish is sometimes harder than the start? After 5 to 6 hours of walking already, my body was pleading with me to stop but we had to climb all the way down. By this point in time, all of us were tripping and falling over little rocks and roots not because we didn’t see them, but because we were so exhausted.

After a total of 18 kilometers and 9 hours of walking (what makes up a standard work day) we stumbled back into the property of the hostel. I don’t think I’ve ever been as tired and smelly in my entire existence, but now that I’ve had several days to recover from such a hike I would say it was worth it-- blisters, corns, bruises and all!

From one side of the Mountain to the other

My first big trip out of Panama City, I decided to head North… or West… or whatever direction it is to the Chiriqui Highlands from Panama.

I had spent over two months in the bustling, large capitol of Panama. This capitol is growing rapidly; skyscrapers and condominiums are sprouting like weeds. Expats emigrate here to avoid taxes and make their retirement dream homes come true, and Peace Corp. volunteers use the trip to the big city to get all their vices out of their system. You name it, Panama City just about has it (except for Bikram yoga… still upset about that). I suppose this is why Panama is often referred to as the Hong Kong of Central America or another Miami. I think it’s just Panama, a city in its own rite.

Having said all this, I was yearning for a little r&r, a little nature, a little something more remote and out of the way. I soon found myself in the beautiful mountain country side of Cerro Punta. The trip alone was an experience. I ended up on the wrong bus after even asking the bus attendee if it would carry me to Cerro Punta. He said yes, I suppose not listening, and I was carried to the border of Costa Rica instead. Several hours later I finally made it to my desired destination – Cerro Punta. I’m glad I turned around, almost didn’t after the mix up.

My time in Cerro Punta was just what I needed! I spent the first night in a cabin by myself. All the luxuries and American chains (Dominos, Dunkin Donuts, McDonald’s etc) that existed in Panama City were totally absent in Guadalupe where I stayed. Not even a bank or a supermercado! Instead there were rows and rows of fincas, Ngobe Indians living in the fertile mountainside, and the freshest air I’ve probably ever breathed. I spent my time hiking in the mountain and biking. Ahhh… I already miss that place!

Not quite ready to leave the mountain totally yet, I headed for the other side to a town called Boquete, which I’ve heard from other travelers is named one of the top 5 places to retire in the world. I immediately thought that my ability to sew, knit, and appreciation for gin and tonics would help me fit in with the older folk. However, I haven’t found their hangout yet. There are indeed a lot more English speakers here; there were practically none in the tiny village in Cerro Punta. And there are several banks here. I can see why one would want to retire here. It’s a happy little mountain town, but just between you and me I would opt for retirement in Cerro Punta instead and grow cabbage or something.

What’s great about Boquete and probably the sole reason I came here is that it is famous for its coffee plantations. Some of Panama’s best coffee is grown here, as well as oranges. Because of that, there are coffee shops just about every 10 feet. Pretty cool for a coffee addicted girl like myself. In my city, the great city of Austin there are tons of coffee houses and generally I can find nothing to rival. them on my travels. Boquete has some cool places to hang out and enjoy a good cup of joe.

I took a coffee tour of the Ruiz plantation and learned a TON of information about coffee that I never knew. In fact, I normally don’t think about the long journey that coffee beans take from the plant to the cup and what a great amount of energy, care, and time is needed for a good cup of coffee. Of the many facts I learned, definitely the most useful piece of information was about how coffee plantations test the beans at the beginning of the process.

Coffee beans come from fruit. When the fruit is red, that means they are ready for picking. However these fruits are susceptible to damage from bugs and mold. A desirable cup of coffee would not be made up of these damaged beans, so in order to separate the good beans from the bad Café Ruiz dunks the fruits in water. The good ones sink, but the damaged ones float because there is less weight with the insect damage and whatnot. These damaged ones are called floaters. (Sounds like a joke, but I’m not kidding.) So what happens to the floater beans? Good question. I wondered the same things as well. The floater beans go through the same process as the good ones, being seeded, washed, roasted, rested, and bagged. Café Ruiz does not waste anything when it comes to their plantation which is great! They supply beans for Starbucks, Illy, Maxwell, and as you may have guessed by now… Nescafe and Folgers. The latter two companies are the sole purchasers for floater beans from Café Ruiz. Gross! So now that you know your coffee is damaged as well as protein enriched you may think twice when grabbing a cheap cup of coffee.

Seems you really do pay for what you get even in the world of coffee.

Next up Costa Rica!

Echo de menos de la ciudad de Panama!

Phew! What a summer it has been, and already classes have come to a close. No more teaching basic English in the lively and colorful neighborhood of San Felipe. No more 25 cent snow cones shaved by hand from the street vendor, and no more mysterious yelling from the man down the street who is selling something… I am definitely going to miss it-- the good and the bad, and especially all of my students.

Last Thursday Tim and I held a little end of class celebration for the students on the balcony of our hostel. We presented them with diplomas, and a few lucky students went home with their very own laptops! These were donated to us by various friends from the states, and the students could not believe it. The look of shock and amazement on their faces alone was worth the entire trip here.

Little Carlos at first asked Tim to write a note to his mother saying it was his laptop so that his mother wouldn’t think he stole it. Anastacio was boisterous and loud, overjoyed and excited about his new acquisition. Ricardo quietly but proudly modeled his laptop bag for us, and said “thank you very much”.

The fiestasita which originally was planned for 2 hours turned into a 6 hour affair, but it was great hanging out with the students one last time. They asked each of us teachers our plans for the future. Tim has decided to stay in Panama and open up a business with some new Panamanian friends. Knowing them there is no doubt it will be successful and a worthwhile adventure. In his spare time he will continue to tutor the residents of Casco Viejo. I explained to the students, “Me gusta Panama muchissimo. No quiero que ir, pero tengo que ir, chicos. Voy a viajer en Central America y despues regraso a mi otro trabajo en Estados Unidos.” I enjoyed their replies, not if I was coming back, but an adamant WHEN are you coming back, maestra?

On my last day in the barrio, I took my last lap around the block soaking up the views of the downtown skyline, the Pacific Ocean, the brightly colored Kuna Indians, and the various neighborhood locals. What I will remember forever about this celebratory lap around Casco Viejo is the encounter I had with Lobo, the self proclaimed bully of the neighborhood. He’s a big guy, stern, strong a bit scary looking who commands lots of respect from his neighbors. As is customary he said “hola maestra.” I said hello in reply. Normally this is the extent of our dialogue, but today was different. When I told him I was leaving soon, he said in Spanish that he wanted me to know that he has lots of respect for me, and that he wants me to one day teach him English as well. And that was the best souvenir of my time in Panama!

Being a teacher in this neighborhood is at times difficult, but the people here and around are very gracious for someone who spends their time teaching people who normally never get the type of attention and respect they deserve as human beings. Respect is admired greatly here, probably more than money. If you earn respect in Casco Viejo, then you’re golden. I too respect teachers much more now. It’s not an easy task to motivate others to learn, particularly when there is a lot going on at home, but everyone should be allowed a good education.

At the start of the AT program there were originally planned two 6-week back to back English courses. However, the second group of students are not ready for their English course just yet. Everything takes forever in Panama. So, now that I suddenly have all this time on my hands, I’ve decided to back pack my way to Guatemala City from Panama City.

I’ll write from the road to keep you all updated.

Nos vemos pronto!

Another update from Panamania

This has been another exciting week in Panama! Have good news and bad news. First the bad news.

Read in the paper today that the Panamanian government just changed the law covering tourists in Panama. Under the former law, tourists were able to stay in Panama for 90 days with the possibility of extending their time here twice. However, under the new (and improved?) law, tourists are only allowed here 30 days with one possibility of extending their stay. Yesterday I went to bed believing I was a law abiding tourist, today I woke up as an illegal alien. And tomorrow? Who knows.

The thought of a volunteer teacher being deported back to the United States does strike me as funny. Maybe my Mom will get her wish granted of her long lost daughter finding her way back to Texas sooner rather than later… but I doubt it. The majority of people I hang out with here are illegals too from all parts of the world.

On to the good news! Last Sunday I took a trip to Veracruz with my friend and anthropologist student Andrés who is contributing to a project about the effects of globalization on indigenous groups in Latin America. From what I hear about the project, should be some really interesting finds. More specifically Andrés is focusing on the Kuna Indians who live and work in and around Panama City. After the Kunas heard about the project that I am involved with here in the city, they wanted to meet me and learn more.

It was such an honor to be invited and welcomed into the Kuna community in Veracruz. Though Veracruz is easily found by a short bus ride from Panama, tourists are not welcomed into their neighborhood without the recommendation of someone who knows them. I actually got to attend a meeting with the head Kuna leader of the area, Manuel. Once he discovered I was an English teacher, he was super excited to practice what English he knew.

Manuel told me many things about their community and desire for change. Currently there are no English classes for the three hundred plus children who attend school. No computer lab exists there either. Worst of all, the youth of Veracruz has fallen into drug addiction and gang involvement.
My students in the AT program that I teach in Panama have been involved in a sketchy path as well, but have been able to successfully turn their lives around by becoming tour guides for the San Felipe area. The possibility of beginning such a program in Veracruz seems like a natural next step according to the elder Kunas.

In other news, two friends from Portland- Andrea and David passed through Panama this week and we had great fun playing around the city. I was excited to show them around the neighborhood, and last Friday we went to the local club Platea and enjoyed live salsa music. I always have a lot of fun watching the salsa dancers swing each other around, and as Andrea put it going there is like being in a movie. Definitely, I have to agree. There’s nothing like being in a smoky dark room, and watching a real live Panamanian salsa band perform!

A typical day in class

For those of you who are interested in knowing more about the students enrolled in the AT program of MIDES and IPAT, I took a few photos today at class.

Anastacio Campoyano and Carlos Pitti work relentlessly in the Plaza Francia selling Panama hats and jewelry. (You might see my father sporting such a hat in an earlier blog entry.) Carlos the young boy pictured on right was not originally a student of our program. However, after he attended class religiously with Anastacio we adopted him into the program.

Below is Ricardo Montenegro. If you were to take a stroll in the neighborhood, you would most likely be greeted by Ricardo. He's always walking the streets of Casco Viejo, poised to give tours of the neighborhood.

Come to class at the San Felipe Fundacion and you'd be a little surprised how different this school building looks from the typical American school building. This perhaps is because the school building is a converted nun convent.

Below is a picture of Tim Schnippert, English teacher extraordinaire and Michel Bolivae. Michel lives in the neighborhood as a well, and is the proud mother of two beautiful children.

Rear Ventana del Hospedaje

Living in the Hospedaje Casco Viejo is like living on the set of a reality show (minus the cameras). I think I laugh on a daily basis, and because of the eclectic assortment of people coming in and out of this place it is certainly a fascinating subject for any person in need of entertainment. Perhaps I will install cameras around the place, and export the little hubbub of life here to America.

Just the other night I was making a cup of chai when I entered the commons area to meet two nomadic jugglers. They were kind enough to show us their act and dazzled us with gravity defying magic tricks. It was lovely, and now I expect to see juggling acts every time I sip a cup of authentic chai.

Then there’s Clyde-- the 71 year old expat from San Diego who just got a visa to live here. Clyde has a big silver beard, blue eyes, and a great laugh… he reminds me a little of Ernest Hemingway (not that I’ve ever met him). Last Wednesday was Clyde’s birthday and we went out to dinner. Luckily I got to pick the place, and of course I picked none other than my favorite cuisine, an Indian restaurant called Taj Mahal. Indian food was not something I expected to find here in Panama, but now that I have, I think I’m set for life. Fortunately, it was his first time trying Indian food, and the birthday boy enjoyed it.

If you were to come here late in the evening, you would probably be greeted by Elise who works nightshifts at the desk. Elise has the most mischievous looking eyes I think I’ve ever seen and a great smile to go with it. She’s always watching out for me.

This place is run and operated by Ricardo, a Colombian who studied Business in London (I believe). He’s had it for two years, and I’m convinced is the nicest pension owner in the city. Not only does he hang out with the residents here, he checks up on everyone and makes sure they’re doing okay. He constantly reminds me to remind them when I want clean sheets. And one day when I clumsily locked myself out of my room and they had to break in, he didn’t even get upset. I suppose you see lots of things when you own a boarding house of expats and nomads though.

If you were to come to room 11, you’d find me probably on the balcony making doodles and squiggles of the church, the Iglesia Merced that is approximately 12 feet across the street. This historic church was built in 1531 and survived an attack by famous pirate Captain Morgan, and even a fire. Later it was moved stone by stone by slaves in 1673 to its current residence. No wonder people call it the luckiest church in the entire world!

In room 11 you might also see my roommate, comrade, and co teacher Tim. I have not given a proper introduction of this young chap, and I feel it’s about time I did. Tim hails from the great state of Tennessee. I like Tennessee for three reasons so Tim was already up high in my book before I even got to know him. Those three things are: Graceland, Bonnaroo, and Meg my childhood friend who lives in Murfreesboro. Every person I’ve ever met from Tennessee has been fun, friendly, and not to mention a handful. Tim’s a diehard Steelers fan and a Gemini. He’s the kind of guy that gets into a place through the backdoor not because he can’t afford or talk his way through the front door, but because he finds it more adventurous taking the other route. Ladies, he’s single, so better hurry up before some cute Panamanian steals him away from you.

You’re likely to run into a lot of interesting people here: anthropologists, Germans, backpackers, architect students, Americans who only have $3 in their pocket and no way home… that was a good laugh… for me not so much for him…, Scots, Panamanians, surfers, French sailors, ants and so forth.

One of my favorite films is Hitchcock’s Rear Window. I think it’s because of the combination of suspense and the fact that the film centers on voyeurism. Hitchcock hit on a real appropriate theme there, way beyond it’s time. As a culture, Americans are obsessed with knowing the nitty gritty details of others, and that is why awful reality shows go over so well. I am guilty too of watching these, so I’m not passing judgment, folks. When I meet someone for the first time, I find myself asking them 20 billion questions, because I’m curious of their story. Everyone has a story, and everyone wants to tell it.

Funny, I find it we care more about knowing strangers’ dramas on television or Paris Hilton’s life in jail, yet many of us don’t know our neighbors. Would Hitchcock make Rear Window differently today? I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, I think I’m going to catch my real dose of Rear Window right now and head to the kitchen for some food. Stay tuned to see what excitement ensues…

*quick update, the kitchen was packed with Cubans so could not cook anything. They offered to help me practice my Spanish though, which was nice. Came back to the room to make a sandwich and spilt organic peanut butter all over myself. Aye! Jimmy Stewart, if you’re out there watching, I hope you had a great laugh. I also hope your leg is feeling better. =)

A trip from Watts Mom and Watts Dad

This week my folks came to Panama for a visit. My dad particularly had always wanted to see the Canal so this was an important trip!

When I gave them a tour of my barrio, I could see the terror in my Mom’s eyes. Not that my neighborhood is really that terrible, but I suppose the cops who were arresting some guy, the naked kid screaming from the balcony of a nearby run down residence, and the homeless pan handlers would spark a chord with any parent. However, I tried my best to assure the folks that Casco Viejo is a lively and safe neighborhood if you are careful.

Later that day my parents took the two poor teachers of MIDES (myself and Tim) out for dinner at a nice restaurant. Tim was bombarded with questions from Watts Mom and Watts Dad, but everyone got along pretty well. As Tim and I regaled my parents with stories of daily life, it finally dawned on me how strange things must sound to visitors and how normal life has become for two expats like us. Oh let’s see… there is the story of how we sought refuge in the highly chilled Marriot when it got too hot at our second hostel, the dirty backpacker place that had 3 bunkbeds in one room with a/c running from only 9 pm to 9 am, and the fact that neither of us have had hot showers since we left the states (I managed to sneak one or two at some swank places). There are plenty more stories, but I won’t bore you with them here.

Of course no visit from the parents would be complete without my Mom asking a friend of mine if they have any cute friends to introduce to me. Except that now this request has been amended to any friends in the U.S. to introduce to me. Now that my brother is married, I am the last child to be married off, and the older I get the more dismal the situation appears. This matter is not helped by the fact that I keep traveling and have somewhat of an independent streak. “Please don’t let Judy marry a Panamanian!” I think were the last few words my Mom said to Tim. Don’t worry Mom; you have nothing to worry about: I am a giant, lumbering, tie-dye wearing, vegetarian weirdo here. No proposals yet.

All in all, I think my folks had a great time! My father finally received his long-last wish of seeing the canal and we saw a giant embargo ship pass through. We had dinner another night on the Amador Causeway which was accompanied by live music—an accordion and three percussionists. The owner made friends quickly with my mother, and after finding out she was from Mexico ordered the band to play a famous Mexican song. I think she would have gotten up and danced all around that patio except that her injured knee and lack of a dance partner prevented such an outburst. (My mom is apparently who I got my dancing genes from.)

It was so nice having the parents here and sharing this time in my life with them. It makes me look forward to my return home to see the rest of my family (especially little Emma Watts) and my friends.

I hope this bloggage reaches everyone well. And should I decide to get married here, don’t worry I’ll send you an invitation. ;)

From trash to treasure – a trek through Taboga

Last Saturday I decided enough with the city, time for a little r&r on an island! So, I hopped a ferry to Taboga an island just off the Pacific Coast of Panama City, and reachable in one hour by a leisurely ferry ride.

It was by no accident I ended up in Taboga; I had read much about it in the local newspaper and guidebooks. Often referred to as “the island of flowers” Taboga has a population of less than 1,000 and is home to the second oldest church in the Western Hemisphere. It also has about the same number of restaurants as cars I noticed, which is to my best judgment a total of 3.

When I arrived on the island I immediately felt tranquil and calm. The pristine island was beautiful and quite clean. In fact, signs were posted everywhere reminding people to use the trash cans located about every 10 feet. “With your help, keep Taboga clean” is what the signs read. What a magical place I thought!

Sunday as I was walking around town I decided to walk to the mouth of the hiking trails and just take a peek. However, when I arrived at the trails and saw nothing but greenery and a tall and daunting climb I knew that my peek at the trail would have to be satiated with a full out hike up to the top of the island whose pinnacle is a 10 foot cross the Spaniards left in the 1500’s. I saw three men coming out of the hike sporting hats, sunglasses, and comfortable walking shows. I immediately looked down at my own attire— choco sandals, a sundress, and a measly bottle of water. Ill prepared to say the least, but I said to myself something which I often find myself saying lately: well kiddo, you only live once, unless you believe in reincarnation. And in that case you might come back as a flower, and you can’t very well climb up a remote island as a flower can you?

I happily commenced my hike! True to form of ill-preparedness I also neglected to read the sign that pointed in the direction of where the cross and ultimate destination lay. What I saw instead was a fork in the path, I could go left which seemingly looked downhill or I could go right which looked more adventurous to my eyes. I picked the pathway which went right (and away from the cross).

The trail started off a little muddy, but I was still deep in excitement from being surrounded by lush trees and greenery. Not a single person in sight, too! However, half way up the trail I notice a peculiar and somewhat familiar odor. Then I notice the flies. A few feet later I come across a small patch of trash. How awful! Remembering all those signs I saw when I stepped onto the island, I think “I wonder if the people of Taboga know that trash has landed here?” Even further on the trail I see an even larger trash site, complete with thrown out fridges, plastic bottles galore, and decaying food. As if weren’t apparent before, it had finally dawned on me that this is where all the trash of the city winds up, and that I, in fact, was walking along the trail that is the trash dump and probably not intended for public excursions. The trash sites only got bigger and smellier the further I walked. By the time I reached the final trash dump, I was thoroughly depressed and annoyed that this is the product of tourism on the small and beautiful island of Taboga. It also reminded me how when I was a kid my idea of cleaning my room was throwing all my junk in my closet and under my bed. This offered the false view of a clean and well kempt room. Good short term fix for a polished looking area.


Not to worry, I finished my tour of the trash, walked back down the path and took the left fork this time. This journey was much different and rewarding. No trash littered this trail and the incline was pretty high and posed lovely little challenges for my choco sandaled feet.

I eventually (pouring down sweat) made it to the top of that island and touched the cross. By far the best view of the island and Panama City was seen from atop Taboga island. It was as green and blue as far as the eye could see. Funny that I witnessed the worst and best view in such a short time span.

Despite the massive trash dump Taboga generates, I would still recommend traveling to Taboga if one found themselves in this part of the world and were looking for a quiet and peaceful weekend. In what other trip can you visit what I would deem as a mullet personified as an island? Clean cut in the front and messy in the back. I, too, would recommend taking the right fork first, then the left. That way you can truly appreciate the view from the top.

The best part of this little community are the residents who are quite friendly. On my walks around the island everyone (and I mean everyone) takes a moment to acknowledge you, nodding their head and saying “buenas” or “hola”.

And with that, I will bid my buenas tardes to you all!

Yo no soy conga!

In my constant housing move here in Panama, I took a cab a couple of days ago to move to the Hospedaje Casco Viejo. What at first seemed like a nice cab driver who was very interested in learning about the work that I and my fellow co teacher were doing this summer…. turned out to be quite different.

When we arrived to the hotel in Casco Viejo, he asked us if we knew they had openings or not. Of course we did not know for sure, so he said you go and see and I’ll wait here (in the event that we needed driving to a new place). Thinking oh what a thoughtful cab driver, let me go and check and see, I left the driver with my bags to talk to the lady who worked at the desk. They had a room and all was happy!

He carried our bags inside for us and left. Later that evening we get a call at our lodgings asking us if either of us had lost a cell phone. We immediately checked our pockets and we’re like no, we did not. The lady who answered the call and was talking to us and the man on the phone said, I think one of you has a red phone and dropped it in the cab. “The guy says it’s an expensive looking phone and will return it to you for $10. He says it would sell for a lot here.”

Oh no! I have a red cell phone from the U.S. How did it hop out of my bag which was completely zipped up? Interesting…

Though I wouldn’t call my cell phone expensive, I do want it back because it has every single number of everyone I know from back home, and I don’t want to buy another phone when I return home. A new phone would cost way more than $10 I think, so I begrudgingly agree.

When the cab driver returned the next day, the price suddenly went up to $20 on the grounds that he had driven out to Casco Viejo (which is a short drive from the center of town, normally a $3-5 cab ride) several times and I was not around to receive him and the cell phone. How could inflation sky rocket like this over night, I think.

In my best broken Spanish I tell him that there was no way my cell phone could have fallen out of my bag and attempted to explain that I’m volunteering this summer here, as in NOT making money. I offered a wrinkled ten dollar bill and said “solo tengo diez” He insisted he could sale it for 100 or more (who would pay this much for a phone that is not a palm pilot or a razor or anything fancy, I don’t really know…) He then also said that he wasn’t lying and pulled out a police badge to prove to me that I guess he’s a cab driver and policeman? I’m not sure, but I wonder if that police badge “fell” in the cab as well. Some poor policeman is probably walking around badgeless.

The cabbie was not thrilled about his sale of ten dollars of an object to which I already owned in the first place, however, he took the 10 bucks and left. I closed the door and immediately started thinking of things I should have said to him in Spanish. How things might have gone differently if I would have flat out called him a liar, but then I thought oh, let me turn this cell phone and see if it still works.

There were over 10 attempted calls made locally and to the U.S.! My service was temporarily cut off before I left, so luckily the guy was not able to scam me anymore than the 10 dollars, but still – how awful! Plus he somehow locked me out of viewing my contact numbers, which was my entire reasoning for rebuying the stupid phone in the first place.

There is a saying here in Panama that goes, “Yo no soy conga,” which loosely translates into I’m not an idiot. You can’t scam me. I would say that I’m probably not quite there, an easy target, a foreigner learning a language in another country that probably looks like she has more money than she has. But, if I ever see this cab driver again I’m going straight up to him and telling him “Yo no soy conga!!!”

Be careful and watch your cell phones.

Panama City – the road less traveled ®

After my first week in my new dwellings for the summer, I have come up with three observations of the city: 1) street signs do not really exist, when getting directions you will receive something like “take Avenida Espana, go down 5 blocks, and by the church take a right” This is fine, except in Latin America a church is just about as common as a Starbucks in any major U.S. city 2) plantains (a delicacy in my opinion) are freely common and available in just about any form. In fact I just had sushi wrapped in plantains for dinner the other night. If you don’t believe me, I’ve included a photo below. Best sushi I’ve had in my life! No joke. 3) mailmen in Panama are just as elusive as the tooth fairy or the Lochness monster. I have neither seen a single mailbox nor mail couriers in the city. This has lead me of course to believe that once young Panamanians turn a certain important age in their lives, they will be visited by a winged mailmen in their sleep who tuck letters under their pillow.

Class was conducted for the first time this week, and it was exciting to begin! The guys seem just as enthusiastic to begin learning, and I see a lot of hard work in preparation and instructing this summer. Tim Schnippert is my co teacher and together we will lead a 2 hour class 3 times a week where the first hour is in English and the second hour is about computers. Some of these guys have never touched a computer before, and their eyes are about to be open to the wide world web and all the possibilities that can come with it!

I'm off now to explore some more of the city.

Bienvenidos a Panama!

I arrived in Panama just three days ago and was rudely awakened to the fact that it’s winter here (a fact that I very well knew, just forgot about). Though that does not mean it’s cold, it does mean that the sun sets rather early between 6 and 7.

I was immediately greeted by Chris and Tim, the other people involved with Alacridad and the nonprofit that brought me to this adventure in Panama to begin with. We are staying momentarily in the Hostel Clayton which is on the edge of the city and literally right outside of a jungle. Also near our housing is the Panama Canal, so all the buildings in this area are converted houses that once served as U.S. military housing.

The U.S. does not occupy the canal anymore, but a strong presence remains. The most common question I have gotten here is “where are you from?” followed by “how is George?” as if the President and I are on a first name basis. My first thought of reply is to point the inquirer in the direction of George Bush’s daughter who is also in Panama right now working for UNICEF and apparently living right down the street from me. Then, I think to myself she probably already fills her quota of answering questions about her dad often.

December 31, 1999 is the day America finally left the canal. I remember this day vividly because it is not just a holiday. It was my 18th birthday and I was throwing a costume party for all of my friends in Longview with the theme “dress as your alter ego.” Any guesses as to what I was? In my little bubble in northeast Texas, the Panama Canal was furthest on my mind. If someone were to have told me that I would later be teaching English in Panama City, I probably would have said that I’m not the biggest fan of Florida. Instead, I was enjoying the turning over of another year by lighting sparklers and eating cake…

I have only been here a few days, but I can already tell Panama is a country rich in history and culture. These next few months are going to be exciting!

Take care everyone!