The Decisive Week

This I hope is the week our much awaited brake module will arrive in Panama and with any luck will be shipped to Boquete and who knows, might even fit and solve our over heating brake problems. If it doesn’t…well I don’t want to think about that.

Life goes on of course, ten pounds of laundry washed dried and folded for $14, a sum so large the purser of the expedition grumbled about the bill all the way back to GANNET2.

The infernal music festival with all the crowds pushed on into Sunday night, one final effort to keep us awake before Boquete relapses into its normal weekday torpor. The number of residents at the Topas Pension has produced quite a few visitors fascinated by our camper van lifestyle. Layne the purser has been kept busy giving tours. 

My sister in Italy called me yesterday wondering where we were and what we were doing. That we were still in Panama came as a surprise, as the last she had heard was that we were going to ship before Christmas. Yup, stuff happens. And if you see a milk crate on the edge of the road, don’t ignore it or you might well fall in: 

As evening falls the flow of festival goers increases to a flood right past our van. The other night I was sitting up in the doorway (we put our camp chairs away at dusk to avoid loss by theft) and a figure loomed up over the fence. “Do you live in your van?” a drunken voice asked in Spanish full of harmless curiosity. I was not in the mood at three in the morning to satisfy his understandable curiosity and I fear I was a tad bit curt. By way of punishment the thumping music went on well past four am. 

We had an idea Saturday to go into town, away from the festival across the river, and try out the craft brewery in town. We strolled several blocks navigating traffic with Rusty taking the lead on his leash but we just had to give up. 

Downtown was a crush of cars trucks and buses and crowds of people were surging up the sidewalks in the manner of a football crowd released from the stadium. It was too much so we ducked out onto the side streets and weaved our way home. 

On Sunday we hoped things might be calmer and we tried again this time leaving Rusty home in the van. 

We made it to the Tap Out a restaurant listed on Google Maps with a long list of barbecue dishes all in English. Kansas City ribs and brisket danced before our eyes. 

Well I think the place must have got sold because the menu was a rather undistinguished sports bar listing of fried food and rather uninspired. My pulled pork plate showed up with a weird green slime of a shade never seen in nature and the barbecue sauce tasted straight from the bottle. 

Chalk that up as another revolting meal in Panama. 

Time to go home and get a nap before the nighttime entertainment blankets the town. 

A Dog’s Life

Rusty loves Boquete and he tells me so several times a day licking my face energetically in his canine expression of gratitude.

We are enjoying the cool breezes offsetting the hot sunshine at 3500 feet, and the gourmet food stores selling stuff we haven’t seen since the US. Dan, an Israeli who has lived in room at the pension here for three years was telling Layne about the Kosher bakery in town, so we get bagels now and bialys for example. 

Rusty’s routine is developing into an early morning walk, sometimes when I wake at four well before dawn we wander a few blocks together but later he has taken to leading me around town for an hour or more. Quite the change from the other countries we have visited. 

Panama is one of the wealthier countries, similar to Costa Rica, and in Boquete a town of 25,000 with 5,000 resident foreigners there is even more than average wealth. Which in turn means more cars, fewer motorcycles and bicycles and almost no street dogs. And that means Rusty has figured out he can wander without facing packs of locals on the streets. 

His favorite spot is the city park built along the lines of a vast municipal park in the US with clean public bathrooms, regular maintenance of the broad wheel chair accessible paths and a bunch of Americans who operate a friends of the park non profit to add even more value to this remarkable open space. 

Our $12 a night camp spot is somewhat park-like at the Topas Pension where you can rent a room and lots of people do during the flower festival this week in Boquete. 

Happily Rusty doesn’t chase squirrels especially as there are resident very rare black squirrels of a kind I haven’t seen since I was in Pennsylvania many years ago on the grounds of State College. 

Rainy season really is over and we get cloud filled blue skies with some threatening evening fog rolling down the mountains into town. Our days pass with a few chores, some meal planning and trying to curb our impatience as we wait for our spare part to show up. 

Boquete isn’t an architectural marvel and has none of the flair it colonial towns you might see further north, communities centered around churches and plazas with magnificent architecture and historic Spanish buildings scattered everywhere. Like Costa Rica Panana is modern and dull in an effort to be efficient. 

Rusty doesn't care and I am getting used to Panamanians and their rather brusque demeanor, something that matters less and less as I read of blizzards and freezing winters Up North. This is t-shirt weather all winter long. 

Early morning bus passengers to the big city of Davíd 40 minutes down the mountain to jobs and industry and economic activity. 

Want to rent a place (“se alquila”)? The national strike last year shut down the entire country for six weeks to force the closure of a huge copper mine. They succeeded while strangling commerce and making life extremely difficult for small businesses, so there is room to spare now. 

We’ve noticed a change in Rusty these days. He seems to be finally getting used to life in the van, and he carries himself with more confidence. He stands up to the dogs he does meet on the street so much so I don’t rate him as terribly friendly any more at least not when he’s on a leash. It’s inconvenient but I’m glad he doesn’t turn tail at the sight of a strange dog. 

The can used to worry him but these days he seems to have found his happy space. He doesn’t cower any more when rain hits the tin roof, and strong winds don’t bother him anymore. I guess he had to get used to that in ever windy Boquete. 

I have greatly enjoyed walking Rusty around town as it reminds me of the walks we used to take in Key West and even though he’s getting gray and clearly time is passing for him as much as, if not more than for me, he has tapped into a fountain of youth in Boquete. 

Layne figures we might be shipping in three weeks if all goes well with the repair and we do want to tour some parts of Panama before we load GANNET2 onto a flat rack container for Colombia. In any event I expect Rusty gets ten more days in Boquete at least and I think he will enjoy every minute. 

Strawberry town. At this altitude you can grow berries easily as if we weren’t in the tropics and they are for sale all around town. Layne insists strawberries and condensed milk (a local favorite) would be bad for me. I’m not convinced but fresh berries by themselves aren’t at all bad. Just like most of Boquete. 

Standing And Waiting

We made some friends at the campground with residents of the rooms for rent. Scott and Yee from Cleveland walked by astonished to see a van in all respects like their own parked on the grass. “How did you get here?” And I wished I could answer something less prosaic than simply saying we drove. 

They cracked us up as She is the driving force to go south in their van while He puts the brakes on expecting Mexico to rise up and swallow them whole. Hands up anyone in the room who is still convinced the PanAmerican is VN lined with banditos and federales ready to skin us alive? Well as you might imagine we fix our best to assure them they will be fine if they didn’t winter in their Promaster in Mexico. I hope we didn’t overdo it. 

I failed hopelessly to record Andrea and Carmen’ portraits, they who lived in a roof top tent next door which picture is all I have to remember both of them by. They discovered the joys of cool breezy Boquete, so different from their home in Panana City which is a heat sink on the Pacific Coast. Andrea the Italian harbors a desire to cruise by motorcycle while Carmen the Panamanian is aiming squarely at a traveling van. Guess whose side I would take if asked?  

It is a source of wonder to me that I function as normally as I do five years on from the catastrophe and as much as I enjoy looking at bikes I doubt I will ride again.  You can only tempt fate so far and I would feel stupid, not unfortunate, were I to find myself on my back once again feeling life slipping away from me. 

As it is I am testing my patience waiting for the ABS module to make it’s meandering way to us. Last word on Thursday is that it is somewhere between Miami and Panama City with a possible ETA of next Wednesday. Webb Chiles sent me a useful reminder that standing and waiting is part of the process. 

The nightly music fest cranked up yesterday with noise until four in the morning. I gave up trying to sleep and read and emptied our toilet discretely when no one was around and then Rusty sat and stared at me so I ventured outside of GANNET2’s comfortably insulated cabin and took the hound for a stroll. 

A car cane barreling down the street hooting its horn as I flashed my light to announce our presence. He gave me the bird as he passed and I asked myself how drunk he was. He stopped down the street though to intimidate me with the prospect of him coming out to fight me. I was mildly surprised but he thought better of it and I suppose Rusty on his leash standing and staring didn’t hurt. Shortly thereafter  police car came by so I suppose I would have been saved in any case. 

I like Boquete for the climate and the eateries and the parks and the greenery and our resident black squirrel: 

The walks and the restaurants are greatly enjoyable but I don’t much like the touron economy, the displacement of locals by outsiders that seems to produce an anger or resentment, understandable perhaps but misplaced. As much as we try to tread lightly I find it hard not to feel like an interloper in someone else’s drama. The fence that separates us from the street…

…is starting to feel like it’s separating us from life. I stand, I wait, I gird my loins  with patience but I don’t know who or what I serve in Panama.  

Dinner Out

With a title like that you might get the idea nothing much is happening with the GANNET2 expedition to South America but there is some good news with the likelihood of forward progress increasing. 

The brakes are okay. That news was a relief when Marco checked and said everything is okay, and I gave him every opportunity to stick me with another bill but he inspected the pads and rotors and sent us on our way in an hour at no charge. On another note I hate phone cameras. The lens on my iPhone mini is constantly smearing like this shot of Rusty walking lover’s lane in Boquete with the Christmas tree that won’t come down. I should have had my little Panasonic GX85 for a clean shot…

So now we wait for the electronic module to arrive from Miami. Fingers crossed we’ll have it installed in a week though I won’t be surprised if there is more drama in the delivery chain. We’re still thanking Wayne for redirecting it to us after an unexpected detour to Key West. Anyway that’s our status but Sunday night we anticipated Layne’s Monday birthday with dinner out.

Layne picked Ngädri from among online reviews and they did a solid job of delivering a pleasant night out. 

I had a Guachito (“whaa-heat-oh”) which is a rice dish resembling risotto with seafood. It’s the second time I’ve had it, a national dish designed to deliver fish flavors inexpensively and of course in this upscale version it was very good.  

Layne had whole smoked fish of what type I forgot to ask which was done perfectly  of course but I really liked sneaking bites of her coconut rice as a palate cleanser. 

We walked there and back leaving Rusty at home on his bed and very glad to see us when we got back at dusk. 

The flower festival continues unabated but we are learning to sleep through the early evening music. It usually dies down before midnight with no more nights of thumping bass till four am.

After Layne had an exciting birthday morning waiting at the mechanic’s shop to get the good news on the brakes she decided to pop into the supermarket to pick up a few things. I’m generally banned from these trips as I want to add useless things to the cart (Chocolate? Useless?) and she finds them more relaxing on her own so when she came back out in a fury to join Rusty and I we were perplexed. 

“I hate Panamanians” was the opening salvo.  What happened was the new Rey Supermarket in Boquete had but one cashier and while in line Layne stepped out to add something that caught her eye. As she did that the couple behind her shoved her cart aside and took her place. It’s the sort of snub we are getting used to  in this place.

The good news is we pay $12 a day at the campsite and we have a nice shady spot with hot showers and the ability to plug in and charge our batteries while we wait to be released back on the road. Perhaps it’s the wisdom of old age but I am actually coping quite well with the forced delay. I keep reminding myself that we have time and monthly pension checks on our side after a lifetime of our travels being limited by a shortage of both. 

I girded my loins and went back to the flower festival to get Layne some of the best falafel we have tasted (apologies to Falafel King on Fitzpatrick Street in Key West) even though the cook is a grumpy sod who reminds me of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi. I was too scared to ask him for a portrait. Here’s a second picture of the source of the trouble, the stage whence emanates all the nightly noise: look at it and weep for us:

A funny thing happened as I left the festival and it went like this. I saw a very long line of people waiting for tickets at the first booth. This being my second visit I knew they also sold tickets further up the road so I walked up and there was no line so I quickly paid my buck and a quarter for a senior ticket and in I went. After I got my food I asked the ticket takers if there was something special about the tickets at the booth with the immense line. No she said, they just don’t know. Of course when I got to the line still waiting I mentioned to the people at the back that they could get tickets without waiting. They turned their backs to me.  So here’s a picture from my discard pile to celebrate my abject failure to communicate. Panamanians really are ill mannered humorless turds. 

Then there was the guy who wanted to check out our van as we were doing our chores. Layne had an empty box of baking soda in her hand (we use it as a non toxic toilet chemical) and he offered to throw it away which seemed an odd offer but hard to refuse. Later we found the box thrown on the ground with his crushed cigarette butt inside. Not a criminal offense or anything but weird. 

I find Panama a challenge to love. The country faces hard times as they have forced mining operations to shut down, the Panana Canal is failing and and they want to pin their economic hopes on eco-tourism. Personally I don’t see how they can peel tourists away from Costa Rica which has a solid reputation for safety and service, wildlife second to none and a long history of knowing how to treat tourists. This lot have a long way to go to get close and they need to start figuring that out. 

And on another cheerful note Ecuador has a state of emergency going on as the government has decided to take on the drug cartels. We plan to spend some time in Colombia first so hopefully everything will have died down by the time we go south but we are thinking about getting visas for Venezuela which is now slowly opening to tourism and talking to the US again, as an alternative route south. 2024 may be as complicated as ever it seems here there and everywhere. Today though it’s back to the community market for bagels and yoghurt.