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.