¿Me Recuerdas?
A year ago, upon returning back to Cali from summer vacation, I had just finished a trip to the grocery store. After getting into a taxi and greeting the driver, he turned around and asked, "¿El Ingenio?" which was the neighborhood I had lived in during my first year here. I thought it odd, but plausible, that, of all the taxis in Cali, I had gotten some guy twice to drive me somewhere. It was also conceivable that he remembered this freckly red-headed gringo; there're aren't a lot of us running around these parts. What I found weird was that he remembered where I lived! He looked a little disappointed when I told him that, no, I had moved.
Later that month I was riding in the elevator in my apartment building and a girl who also lived in the building got on and asked me if I had been at Tin Tin Deo, a well known Salsateca in Cali. I had been and was a little embarrassed to be that easily spotted. It made me wonder if I've got some name the locals that see me out and about have for me. "Look! It's the pink one!" I can hear it now.
Well, this week I went to the bank to pay my very truant cell phone bill. At banks in Colombia there are usually two lines; one is for people who hold accounts at the bank and the other is for those who do not. The thing is that there are usually several tellers for the non-clients and one or possibly two for those belonging to said financial institution. Unless there is an enormous caravan of customers in the line for those who are not clients, it doesn't really matter which one you go to. Also, although I'm a client at my bank, if I'm there to pay a bill in cash to a third party, I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go. That and I'm paranoid of waiting twenty minutes to be kicked out of line and have to start again so I usually bring a book and err on the side of caution.
As I entered the snaking line for "non-members," the [very attractive] teller calls out to me to get in the other line. So, as the rest of the tellers, guards, and scores of customers turn to look, I did an about face, followed the zig-zagging path out of one line and into the much straighter "member" line.
When I got to the front of the line and was called forward my face was still a nice shade of red; the teller told me so. I asked her if she remembered me and she said yes and looked at me like that was a silly question as if I had asked if there was a big safe in the back room. I suppose it was a little silly. I'm in the bank probably once a month and in June of last year, this same teller was very helpful in helping me deal with another bank over a computer problem and she was the same one who deposited my last paycheck last year. I guess it's not too unbelievable, I mean, I remembered her...
Regardless, in a city of 2 million people, I still find it strange to be recognized by relative strangers. Nice, but strange.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Dusting Off
Every time I fly back into Cali, I feel I have to mentally prepare myself. Are my passport, Colombian ID, and customs forms ready and together? Where is my baggage claim slip? Do I still remember Spanish?
Before I left for the summer last June I moved into a new apartment. It is the upstairs of a house near to where I lived last year. I had only spent two nights there before starting my summer vacation so I had tried to get as much of the place "together" as possible so that I wouldn't walk into a sea of boxes in August (now) after a long day of traveling. I knew there was still plenty to do once I returned: find a new maid, get a washing machine, hang up curtain rods, find someone with a drill so I would be able to hang up the curtain rods, and on and on.
It takes me five keys, two doors and two gates to finally reach the inside of my home. After using three keys and opening a gate and a door, my landlady, who lives downstairs with her husband, noses out to greet me and tell me something about not using the gas. I didn't really catch why but if she doesn't tell me any differently in a few days, I'll ask again. There is a cord running through my kitchen that wasn't there before and, although I'm pretty sure gas does not flow through electric cords, I'm going to assume there is some relation and not touch that for now either.
The apartment is very dusty right now, surprising since it was pretty well closed up the whole time I was gone. This is why I need a maid. The dust here from the streets and air can get a little out of control very quickly and I do not wish to be spending two nights a week dusting off every surface in sight. Also, I was not pleased to find a dead cockroach in the middle of my bedroom floor. Happy, though, in a strange way, that it was a dead cockroach.
There were a couple good surprises though. The aforementioned curtain rods, which I was convinced would become part of the Great Window Covering Saga of August 2009 were miraculously installed! I can only assume the landlords had something to do with this. If I have apartment elves that do nice little favors, I would have appreciated them cleaning the inside of my refrigerator as well. Another fantastic surprise was that I have internet! More accurately, one of my neighbors has really good internet and I am able to "co-op" it...as long as I'm in the bedroom or out on the patio. (This is actually a relief because I had no idea how long getting internet hooked up would take.) I hope this lasts!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some cleaning to do.
Before I left for the summer last June I moved into a new apartment. It is the upstairs of a house near to where I lived last year. I had only spent two nights there before starting my summer vacation so I had tried to get as much of the place "together" as possible so that I wouldn't walk into a sea of boxes in August (now) after a long day of traveling. I knew there was still plenty to do once I returned: find a new maid, get a washing machine, hang up curtain rods, find someone with a drill so I would be able to hang up the curtain rods, and on and on.
It takes me five keys, two doors and two gates to finally reach the inside of my home. After using three keys and opening a gate and a door, my landlady, who lives downstairs with her husband, noses out to greet me and tell me something about not using the gas. I didn't really catch why but if she doesn't tell me any differently in a few days, I'll ask again. There is a cord running through my kitchen that wasn't there before and, although I'm pretty sure gas does not flow through electric cords, I'm going to assume there is some relation and not touch that for now either.
The apartment is very dusty right now, surprising since it was pretty well closed up the whole time I was gone. This is why I need a maid. The dust here from the streets and air can get a little out of control very quickly and I do not wish to be spending two nights a week dusting off every surface in sight. Also, I was not pleased to find a dead cockroach in the middle of my bedroom floor. Happy, though, in a strange way, that it was a dead cockroach.
There were a couple good surprises though. The aforementioned curtain rods, which I was convinced would become part of the Great Window Covering Saga of August 2009 were miraculously installed! I can only assume the landlords had something to do with this. If I have apartment elves that do nice little favors, I would have appreciated them cleaning the inside of my refrigerator as well. Another fantastic surprise was that I have internet! More accurately, one of my neighbors has really good internet and I am able to "co-op" it...as long as I'm in the bedroom or out on the patio. (This is actually a relief because I had no idea how long getting internet hooked up would take.) I hope this lasts!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some cleaning to do.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Pomp & Circumstance
Congratulations to the graduating Class of 2009!
This morning I attended the graduation ceremony for the seniors at Colegio Bolívar and I decided that I like graduation ceremonies. Other major life events and celebrations I can take or leave, pick or choose. But graduation ceremonies, I decided, are something special.
I think I like them because of the hopeful and determined energy of those in the mortarboards and their parents coupled with my own nostalgia. I like listening to the speakers talk of the future, where they as a collective group have come from, and where they are independently going. I like hearing about these coming aspirations, recollections of friendships, and important memories.
I like hearing these things because I picture, not only my own high school graduation ("double O!"), but also where my life has indeed taken me in the past nine years since then. Looking back, I don't recall a lot of the things I'm guessing one is supposed to be able to remember about graduating from high school.
The few things I can recall about my own ceremony was that I was at the end of my row and my name was written on a large piece of paper in the staging area to let everyone in my row know this is where they needed to be, lest I not show up to indicate it with my presence. I remember one of my best friends, Annie Taff, gave one of the commencement speeches. I remember thinking it was good and being proud of her, but most of all I remember she ended it with her trademark "have fun, kids" line. I also remember being terrified of tripping on my robe in front of the 500 people I was graduating with as I descended the stairs. Fortunately, I also remembered how to walk. There are other tiny things too but those are the main memories, the lasting ones.
One of my other best friends from high school, Laura Hammer, had made her own memory book with all of our senior pictures in it and a survey next to each one. Over the course of the summer following graduation she made us answer the survey, which consisted of future predictions and various favorite this or thats. I only remember that I had said that I wanted to become a teacher and work in either an inner-city school or abroad. (Part of me wants to see that book again now to see what else my optimistic 18 year old self thought to document.)
At 18 I am not sure what I thought, or if I even cared, what being 27 meant. I probably thought it wasn't young but I don't think I thought it was old either. I know I didn't see myself as being married yet and definitely without children. But I do remember being ambitious and wanting to get out, spread out, and find out...about everything. I still feel that way.
I saw that today in the eyes of the graduates and heard it in the words of the speakers. The valedictorian, a guy I got to know through the musical this year, is going to London for school next fall. I went 90 minutes into Wisconsin. But dreams are dreams and I think it's good to be reminded of them. It's good to be reminded of how you felt when you wanted them.
This year is also special for me personally because the freshmen that I started my fledgling teaching career off with back in the fall of 2005 at Washington Junior High in Manitowoc, Wisconsin are also graduating. Four years goes by quickly! I still remember standing in front of my first hour class on the first day of school holding the syllabus in my hands and all 27 of them silently staring back at me, questioning my very existence. I can actually still picture where some of them sat and, if you gave me a list, I could probably put each and every one of them in their respective periods.
I have a special place in my heart for everyone I had that first year; they taught me more about how to be a teacher than I have learned in any one year since then. Some of them have stayed in contact with me since I left for Colombia through random emails and I love knowing what they are doing. I was definitely thinking about all of them today as well, thousands of miles away and almost a week early.
It is my hope that these graduates, both in Cali and Manitowoc, and everywhere else this spring, remember years from now not the words that were said, but the feeling that was created from those words. I think the real reason I like graduations is because, despite the excitement of graduating - the speeches, the college acceptance letters, the tears, and the tossing of the hats - it is what you do afterward, consistently, that leads to the circumstance. I'm now far enough away from the pomp to see that.
¡Felicitaciones a todos del año 2009!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Whip it! Whip it good!
"An iguana's tail can cut you like whip. It is extremely dangerous when provoked."
With these words the lady from the zoo who visited my class in elementary school terrified me forever of those spiky gray-green lizards. Ever since then, every time I've seen an iguana, and up to two years ago that was primarily in captivity, I've pictured that woman and her giant glove holding this grumpy-looking reptile with it's potentially dangerous tail dangling toward the floor, ready to leap into action and slash gaping wounds into all of our flesh at any moment.
Dramatic enough? I was eight. Some things stay with you.
The track at school where I log much of my running time is usually a place I can space out. I don't run with music but I'm used to the circular monotony from years of going up and back in the pool for swimming. The biggest hazards I have to be aware of are errant soccer balls and the ugly little territorial dive-bombing birds when they have eggs or chicks to protect.
The evil chick spawn have flown the coup and soccer season is over, so I was mentally prepared for an obstacle-free run when I rounded the corner and two (plural, mind you) very large iguanas darted across the track in front of me. They had been sunbathing on the side of the track and conveniently camouflaged right into the gravel and grass. I know my adrenaline kicked in, I'm pretty sure I jumped, and there is speculation that the security guard near the gate heard me yelp. (The later is all hearsay and gossip, of course.)
On my running routes in Minnesota and Wisconsin the only thing I had to worry about looking out for were cars and leashless dogs. I suppose this is a good reminder to start preparing again for random attacks from, well, anything.
Next year I'll ask the guards to start shooting at me if I start looking bored maybe...
With these words the lady from the zoo who visited my class in elementary school terrified me forever of those spiky gray-green lizards. Ever since then, every time I've seen an iguana, and up to two years ago that was primarily in captivity, I've pictured that woman and her giant glove holding this grumpy-looking reptile with it's potentially dangerous tail dangling toward the floor, ready to leap into action and slash gaping wounds into all of our flesh at any moment.
Dramatic enough? I was eight. Some things stay with you.
The track at school where I log much of my running time is usually a place I can space out. I don't run with music but I'm used to the circular monotony from years of going up and back in the pool for swimming. The biggest hazards I have to be aware of are errant soccer balls and the ugly little territorial dive-bombing birds when they have eggs or chicks to protect.
The evil chick spawn have flown the coup and soccer season is over, so I was mentally prepared for an obstacle-free run when I rounded the corner and two (plural, mind you) very large iguanas darted across the track in front of me. They had been sunbathing on the side of the track and conveniently camouflaged right into the gravel and grass. I know my adrenaline kicked in, I'm pretty sure I jumped, and there is speculation that the security guard near the gate heard me yelp. (The later is all hearsay and gossip, of course.)
On my running routes in Minnesota and Wisconsin the only thing I had to worry about looking out for were cars and leashless dogs. I suppose this is a good reminder to start preparing again for random attacks from, well, anything.
Next year I'll ask the guards to start shooting at me if I start looking bored maybe...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Second Chances
As proud as I was about the poetic nature of my "I'm leaving" post back in January, it pains me slightly to have to renege on it now. (I mean, there were songs lyrics involved!!!)
Regardless, circumstances have changed slightly and I have been given an opportunity which I feel I need to take. Before anything even occurred locally, it was clear the openings for biology teachers were scarce at best (or very rural and also involved chemistry or something I am not interesting/certified in teaching). Secondly, and coincidentally, the person the school hired at the recruiting fair in February decided not to come. Suddenly my position was open again. To sweeten the deal, the school is partnering with a graduate school program and hopefully forming a cohort of faculty members to work toward it together from Colombia, while covering part of the cost.
In the end, I enjoying living here and wasn't exactly ready ready to leave after only two years. Professional practices and policies that I don't agree with can be dealt with; I can be a "yes man" for a couple years if that's what it takes. Most importantly, I adore the kids. There are definitely tough days, not everyone is a studious and interested angel, but in the end they are wonderful people who will be the leaders of their city, country, and beyond. I love them for who they will become and what potential they have.
If those don't factor into a reason for re-signing my contract, I'm worse at proverbial math than I thought! Either way, I'll be in Colombia for a couple more years so if you were snapping your fingers because you thought you missed your chance to visit, well, it's your second chance too!
Regardless, circumstances have changed slightly and I have been given an opportunity which I feel I need to take. Before anything even occurred locally, it was clear the openings for biology teachers were scarce at best (or very rural and also involved chemistry or something I am not interesting/certified in teaching). Secondly, and coincidentally, the person the school hired at the recruiting fair in February decided not to come. Suddenly my position was open again. To sweeten the deal, the school is partnering with a graduate school program and hopefully forming a cohort of faculty members to work toward it together from Colombia, while covering part of the cost.
In the end, I enjoying living here and wasn't exactly ready ready to leave after only two years. Professional practices and policies that I don't agree with can be dealt with; I can be a "yes man" for a couple years if that's what it takes. Most importantly, I adore the kids. There are definitely tough days, not everyone is a studious and interested angel, but in the end they are wonderful people who will be the leaders of their city, country, and beyond. I love them for who they will become and what potential they have.
If those don't factor into a reason for re-signing my contract, I'm worse at proverbial math than I thought! Either way, I'll be in Colombia for a couple more years so if you were snapping your fingers because you thought you missed your chance to visit, well, it's your second chance too!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Runways & Running
What do fashion models, children living in poverty, river bathing, and getting body-checked have in common? They were all part of my abnormally entertaining weekend!
Starting Saturday, my roommate, Nira, and I went to an event to benefit CreeSer, a foundation aimed to help children living in areas of Cali below the poverty line with schooling and getting a good diet. It was started by a recent graduate of Colegio Bolívar, Mariana Cobo, who now attends the University of Virginia and continues her work with the organization from afar.
The event turned out to be a fashion show with collections from three Colombian designers: Hugo Puentes, Lulu Borrero, and Jhon Mesias. I've never been to a runway show before, so I didn't what to expect, other than the fact that Tyra Banks would be judging the models afterward and one of them would "no longer be in the running for America's Next Top Model." What I did not expect was to see some of my current and former students in the show! Sitting there on the side of the catwalk looking down it's length, the first one emerged from behind the wall and I thought, "Wow, that looks a lot like...is it?...it is!!!" Fortunately, none of them were hired to model the barely-there "beach-wear." Some of them were really nervous but no one fell and they all looked great! Also, note to self, everyone looks taller on a runway.
On Sunday, in the wee hours of the morning (try 3:30am) I got a cab and headed to the house of my friend and counselor at school, Adriana, to head to the small city of Pereira to run a 1/2 Marathon with her brother and a few students. Two of the students, Camilo and Juan Sebastian, both seniors, were already in Pereira. The other two, Diana and Manuela, both juniors, rode from Cali with us. I ran the full marathon in Calima with Adriana and the boys back in October, but this was the first road race for the girls who are basketball and soccer players, respectively. Oh, and there were the three body guards too; one was driving our car and the other two followed in another.
The course was all through the city, across the famous Viaducto César Gaviria Trujillo (the longest cable-stayed bridge in Colombia), into the neighboring village of Dosquebradas, and back to Pereira. Traversing the bridge (at right - I stole this from Wikipedia) was by far the best part of the run, with the exception of the exhaust from the buses passing by. Unlike the marathon in Calima, this one was not through the country-side so there were plenty of spectators along the entire route; since running is not a popular sport here in Colombia they could be considered "gawkers" as well. Because of this, I lost count of the number of times I got called "mono" or "gringo" along the way. As my eyes were fixed to the road ahead, I would undoubtedly hear "Aye! Mira! Es un gringo! Vamo' mono! Vamo'!" I kept thinking how weird that would be in the States if an Asian man was running down the street and someone started yelling "Look at the guy from China! Go Asian man! Go!" I just can't see it!
I finished in 35th place with a time of 1 hour 28 minutes 22 seconds. The course was quite hilly and the elevation higher than that of Cali by about 400m. Also, this guy that I had passed about 2 km from the end came sprinting back right as we rounded the corner for the finish and completely body-checked me! Running is not a contact sport last time I checked and, if you are going to pass someone, the proper way to do it is to go around the outside, not squeeze in between the curb and the runner, shoving them in the process. Regardless, it was a personal best by over seven minutes; I'm looking forward to the full marathon in Duluth, MN, when I get back Stateside at the end of June!
In the end, everyone finished, including one of the body guards, in one piece, and we all had stories to tell. The crazy drunk lady, the black dog that tried to attack everyone, the lady who cheated by cutting a block, the "spitter," etc. After the run, we went and found a spot in one of the many mountain rivers to wash off in and then headed back to Cali, completely spent!
Starting Saturday, my roommate, Nira, and I went to an event to benefit CreeSer, a foundation aimed to help children living in areas of Cali below the poverty line with schooling and getting a good diet. It was started by a recent graduate of Colegio Bolívar, Mariana Cobo, who now attends the University of Virginia and continues her work with the organization from afar.
The event turned out to be a fashion show with collections from three Colombian designers: Hugo Puentes, Lulu Borrero, and Jhon Mesias. I've never been to a runway show before, so I didn't what to expect, other than the fact that Tyra Banks would be judging the models afterward and one of them would "no longer be in the running for America's Next Top Model." What I did not expect was to see some of my current and former students in the show! Sitting there on the side of the catwalk looking down it's length, the first one emerged from behind the wall and I thought, "Wow, that looks a lot like...is it?...it is!!!" Fortunately, none of them were hired to model the barely-there "beach-wear." Some of them were really nervous but no one fell and they all looked great! Also, note to self, everyone looks taller on a runway.
On Sunday, in the wee hours of the morning (try 3:30am) I got a cab and headed to the house of my friend and counselor at school, Adriana, to head to the small city of Pereira to run a 1/2 Marathon with her brother and a few students. Two of the students, Camilo and Juan Sebastian, both seniors, were already in Pereira. The other two, Diana and Manuela, both juniors, rode from Cali with us. I ran the full marathon in Calima with Adriana and the boys back in October, but this was the first road race for the girls who are basketball and soccer players, respectively. Oh, and there were the three body guards too; one was driving our car and the other two followed in another.
The course was all through the city, across the famous Viaducto César Gaviria Trujillo (the longest cable-stayed bridge in Colombia), into the neighboring village of Dosquebradas, and back to Pereira. Traversing the bridge (at right - I stole this from Wikipedia) was by far the best part of the run, with the exception of the exhaust from the buses passing by. Unlike the marathon in Calima, this one was not through the country-side so there were plenty of spectators along the entire route; since running is not a popular sport here in Colombia they could be considered "gawkers" as well. Because of this, I lost count of the number of times I got called "mono" or "gringo" along the way. As my eyes were fixed to the road ahead, I would undoubtedly hear "Aye! Mira! Es un gringo! Vamo' mono! Vamo'!" I kept thinking how weird that would be in the States if an Asian man was running down the street and someone started yelling "Look at the guy from China! Go Asian man! Go!" I just can't see it!I finished in 35th place with a time of 1 hour 28 minutes 22 seconds. The course was quite hilly and the elevation higher than that of Cali by about 400m. Also, this guy that I had passed about 2 km from the end came sprinting back right as we rounded the corner for the finish and completely body-checked me! Running is not a contact sport last time I checked and, if you are going to pass someone, the proper way to do it is to go around the outside, not squeeze in between the curb and the runner, shoving them in the process. Regardless, it was a personal best by over seven minutes; I'm looking forward to the full marathon in Duluth, MN, when I get back Stateside at the end of June!
In the end, everyone finished, including one of the body guards, in one piece, and we all had stories to tell. The crazy drunk lady, the black dog that tried to attack everyone, the lady who cheated by cutting a block, the "spitter," etc. After the run, we went and found a spot in one of the many mountain rivers to wash off in and then headed back to Cali, completely spent!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Say What?
One of the fun things about living in a place where English is not the primary language, other than learning the new one, is discovering words that do not exist in English. Most of these discoveries occur organically through incidental conversation. Other time it happens when a student is attempting to translate something and asks what the English word is, in Spanish. This second option usually results in a round of charades followed by a polling of the class. Eventually, I figure out what they are talking about, but still can not answer their question.
A few examples off the top of my head:
Pequeca In English, we just say "stinky feet smell" or "foot odor." In Spanish (or at least Colombian Spanish) there is a word to describe this particular odor. Since learning it, I have heard it used to describe anything that stinks, but it always stinks "like pequeca."
Estrenar This verb is a fun one since it is very limited in it's use. It means literally, "to wear for the first time." I guess in English we ask a similar question: Are those new shoes? Clearly though, we do not have a verb explicitly for such an occasion.
Vaso Sometimes when I run, I get a "side cramp" or a "side stitch." In reality, this is not very specific for this pain could be anywhere on my side. This word, I learned during our recent Anatomy Unit, refers specifically to the type of side cramp one gets in the lower side of the abdomen, nearish to the spleen. Incidentally, spleen in Spanish is "bazo" which, as one of my brighter students pointed out to me, is a "homophone not by coincidence."
You have to love the things you "learn" from your students...
A few examples off the top of my head:
Pequeca In English, we just say "stinky feet smell" or "foot odor." In Spanish (or at least Colombian Spanish) there is a word to describe this particular odor. Since learning it, I have heard it used to describe anything that stinks, but it always stinks "like pequeca."
Estrenar This verb is a fun one since it is very limited in it's use. It means literally, "to wear for the first time." I guess in English we ask a similar question: Are those new shoes? Clearly though, we do not have a verb explicitly for such an occasion.
Vaso Sometimes when I run, I get a "side cramp" or a "side stitch." In reality, this is not very specific for this pain could be anywhere on my side. This word, I learned during our recent Anatomy Unit, refers specifically to the type of side cramp one gets in the lower side of the abdomen, nearish to the spleen. Incidentally, spleen in Spanish is "bazo" which, as one of my brighter students pointed out to me, is a "homophone not by coincidence."
You have to love the things you "learn" from your students...
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Lions and Tigers and Bears!
This might come as a bit of shocking news. I've lived in Cali for coming up on two years now, I have had an unhealthy fascination with nature since birth, and I've yet to visit what is considered one of the best zoos in all of South America right here in Cali. I'm still trying to figure out how I allowed that to transgress as long as it had!
Last weekend a few friends from school and I decided that now was the time to go! Sarah and Justin, along with their seven month old, Claire, and my roommate, Nira, all headed to the far western side of the city to the Zoológico de Cali. The beautiful facility is nestled along the mountainside and traversed by several tributaries of the Rio Cali, adding not only a beautiful backdrop to visit the zoo's creatures, but also a constant and pleasant background noise to accompany your walk along the winding paths.
The zoo had quite the selection of animals, including a few that I'd never seen in person before, such as a giant anteater, which, even when curled up in a sleeping ball, is impressive. We saw a strange "sitting bird" (at right) and some scarlet ibises in the bird aviary as well as a plethora of stunning butterflies and a chrysalis or two that would have made some jewelry jealous in the butterfly atrium.
And, yes, there were lions, tigers, and bears there. In fact, the bears came from as far north as Alaska! Grizzlies in South America, not something you see every day!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Panamania!
I realize the title and theme of this blog is to inform everyone about my "Aventuras en Colombia" but did you know that once upon a time, a man named Simón Bolívar created a great big country called Gran Colombia which included the modern day nations of Bolívia, Ecuador, Perú, Colombia, Venezuela, and Panamá? So technically visiting and discussing here the country that connects South America to the rest of the Americas is staying within the parameters of the title.
For Semana Santa (Holy Week)/Spring Break three good friends from Minnesota met me in Panamá for a week-long adventure of traversing the country and testing my translating ability. While planning, several precedents were set: I wanted to see as much of the country as I could in a week without driving too much while still staying in a few places at least two nights and incorporating the ultimate travel wishes of my companions. Maggie wanted to fulfill her dream of zip-lining through a rainforest. Kim wanted some sun and beach time. Eric wanted to try some Panamanian food "Anthony Bourdain-style" (Travel Channel food guy). Let's see what we can do...
I was able to meet my friends at their gate at the airport outside of Panama City since my short flight from Cali got in before theirs did. We went through customs, got luggage, and proceeded to the car rental where we were introduced to our chariot for the week, a 2009 Toyota Prado. Next challenge? How about navigating the mess of signless streets and dead-ending highways called Ciudad Panamá. I've never driven in Cali but I must have picked up a little aggressiveness via passenger osmosis from careening around in so many Caleño taxis. With several maps and three navigators we only got "lost" four or five times before finding the one road out of the city going west over the Puente de las Americas (Bridge of the Americas). We all breathed a sigh of relief knowing the trip could now officially begin! I breathed a second sigh knowing that that moment would be the longest amount of time before I would have to tackle Panama City traffic and roads again.
The entire week was to be spent in four different locations, all along the Pacific coast of the country. We were to drive through six of the nine Panamanian provinces and visit places in five of them. Of the remaining three, two are on the Caribbean coast and the other is mostly jungle, borders Colombia, and is mostly indigenous communities and some Colombian para-military groups in hiding.
Coclé Province
The first stop was to the sleepy ocean town of Santa Clara and, more importantly, the Playa Santa Clara. Long stretches of white sand beaches and steady waves kept us company under some thatch huts in front of our lodging at Restaurante y Cabañas de Veraneras. I ate a lot of seafood on this trip but the best may have been the corvina (white fish) the first night; it was melt in your mouth fantastic.
One afternoon we headed north into the mountains to the small town of El Valle. From a point near here it is possible, on a clear day, to see both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts. On a very clear day, however. In the cloud forest 3KM outside of town is a breath-taking hike and canopying adventure. Our guide, Andriano, showed us lost of different insects and flowers on the hike up to the first zip-line, but the coolest thing we saw was a sloth! (In Spanish a sloth is called a "perezosa" which literally means "lazy." I laughed when Adriano told us this; I use this word plenty at Parent/Teacher Conferences.) Of the four canopy lines, the third was the most impressive. It started out so steep that one had to be lowered by another rope attached to your belt or too much speed would be picked up. This one passed in front of an incredible waterfall.
Maggie had a blast. Dream fulfilled: Check!
Veraguas Province
This is the one province we never did anything in, save for stopping for gas, a bathroom break, and a snack at a roadside super-mercado. Oh, and getting pulled over and bribing a police officer.
First off, Veraguas Province is much like driving through parts of heavily wooded Texas with a lot of hills; there is a lot of vegetation, its very dry and not necessarily lush, but its not a desert either. The poor signage continued from Panama City, as well, and at times the speed limits would change suddenly from 100KM/HR to 60 KM/HR. It is not a good thing when the 60 KM/HR sign is missing/obscured/not seen right before a police officer with a radar gun on the other side of a hill. The policeman actually pulled me and a semi-truck over at the same time which impressed me.
After exiting the vehicle and going over to his car, the conversation went like this:
(Somehow all in Spanish)
Officer Panama: Look, you were going 92 in a 60.
Stetson: OK. I believe you.
OP: The fine is $50.00 You have to pay it before you will be allowed to leave the country.
S: OK. Can I pay it now?
OP: No, because I don't have any receipts. You can pay it at the airport, the border with Costa Rica, or at any [something] government office.
S: OK. Fine.
OP: I need to keep your license, though.
S: Seriously?
OP: You can get it back after you pay the fine.
S: So you will send it to me?
OP: What do you mean?
S: I live in Colombia but the address on the license is in the USA. Will you send it somewhere?
OP: No, you can pick it up in David. (largest city in Chiriqui Province - but not anywhere near where we were going)
S: Oh. So, it is necessary that we go to David?
OP: Where are you going?
S: Isla Boca Brava. And then back to Panama City.
OP: I'm from near Isla Boca Brava. It's beautiful.
S: ---
OP: Look, if you pay the fine with me I'll file the report and write a receipt later. Then you can keep your license.
S: Yes?!?
I guarantee there is no record of me getting pulled over in Panamá on file in any police office. However, the last year and eight months of learning Spanish suddenly all became worth it in that one moment. Also, 92 KM is not that fast. Most of you probably drive faster than that on your way to work.
Chiriquí Province
The reason we got a 4WD vehicle was in order to get to our next destination, the Isla Boca Brava, an island just off the coast of a tiny town called Boca Chica. After turning off the Interamericana Hwy onto a sometimes paved road, we drove for about an hour south toward the Pacific and the Gulf of Chiriquí. Once there, we disembarked at the town dock, hired a water taxi to take us for a five minute ride across the way to the Isla Boca Brava, where one finds the Hotel y Restaurante Boca Brava. (You don't need a creative or unique name when you are literally the only establishment on the island.) The "hotel" doesn't take reservations and, in the chance there is no vacancy in the various rooms, the staff will put you up somewhere in a hammock; we got lodging.
After settling in, we headed for one of the beaches, Playa Piedrita, on the southern side of the island. After a 30 minute hike, we came to a beautiful rocky and secluded beach. It didn't stay secluded for long though, as we were greeted by a large troop of monkeys, some with tiny little babies clinging to their mothers' backs. They really paid us no mind as they traversed the branches of the trees from one side of the beach to the other, disappearing back into the forest. The next morning I went for a trail run and came across the troop again. Some of them were just waking up and one, that I couldn't quite locate, was howling very loudly as I got closer so I opted to turn around.
After breakfast we chartered a pontoon boat out to one of the further islands, Isla Bolaños, for a day of snorkeling, coral sand beaches, and sparkling waters. The snorkeling was interesting and I saw my first wild octopus, as well as some brilliantly colored fish and a neon-blue starfish. The beach was also filled with wildlife including thousands of hermit crabs and some sort of iguana-like lizard that may or may not have been hunting the crabs. We spent the afternoon floating in our private bay, reading on the beach, having lunch, and just enjoying the sun and the view of mainland Panamá off in the distance. On the way back to Isla Boca Brava our pontoon was joined by a school of dolphins who swam alongside and leaped into the air in front of our craft for about ten minutes.
Kim's pristine beach and glowing sun: Check.
Back at the lodge, we enjoyed another dinner of good food and drinks, as well as a liberal helping of aloe to pretty much everywhere. We talked with one of the managers of the establishment, a German guy, who told us the owner and his wife, also German, are trying to sell it as it is becoming "too commercial" and they feel guests are expecting too much - more than a rustic hotel and restaurant might be willing to offer, anyway. So, if you have $30 Million laying around, it's all yours! If not, and you are in the area, make this a part of your itinerary before someone else buys it and turns it into a great big luxury resort.
Los Santos Province
The turn-off of the Interamericana for Boca Chica was our westernmost point in the journey, especially now that a trip to David to reclaim my license was no longer necessary, so we jumped back on the highway and head east toward Panama City again. I was very careful this time in Veraguas Province and Eric, as my chief navigator, helped me look for the sometimes elusive speed limit signs.
When we got to the end of the province we headed south again, this time into the Azuero Peninsula to a town in Los Santos Province called, appropriately, Villa de los Santos. It is here that Panamá officially declared it's independence and the people of the entire peninsula are very proud people to be living in the birthplace of their country. There are many festivals throughout the year in the scattered towns throughout this region, including the Semana Santa festivities held in Villa de los Santos.
We found and checked into our hotel, hung out by the pool for awhile, and then headed into town for dinner and some people-watching. Dinner was had at a small tienda across from the main plaza near the church, were the night's service was being held. I love stumbling upon restaurants where there is no menu - just a plate that they serve. Eat it, or don't. It's like dinner at home as a kid. You don't like what Momma's cooking? Fine! Go hungry. This particular establishment served grilled chicken. You could get it by the quarter: 1/4 bird, 1/2 bird, or whole bird. All grilled and seasoned to perfection by the old lady with the scarf around her head and hips that could move a mountain who has probably been doing this her entire life.
Shortly after dinner two things happened: the stomach ache that was most likely a little amoebic friend in Maggie's intestine decided it didn't like the chicken and she needed to go back to the hotel, and the church service ended to allow the Wednesday night festivities to begin.
A year ago, after crawling out of the Amazon jungle, I happened upon a Semana Santa parade in the town of Leticía. I was excited about making this a two-year tradition. The procession in Villa de los Santos was a little different that the one I saw last year. First of all, this one was at night and there were no Stations of the Cross to visit along the parade route, just three bed-sized floats with flowers, lights, and statues depicting Christ and a couple saints being hoisted and carried through the streets. The crowd still moved as one and there was still a member of the church clergy on a megaphone telling the Easter story. This time however, it was nearly impossible to hear as the drone of the generators used to power the lights on the floats drowned out the voice of the speaker. I'm not Catholic, but it was a moving experience to watch and walk with this age-old tradition move through streets that have seen probably over 250 of these ceremonies.
Herrera Province
The next day, Maggie's amoeba having calmed down, we again headed back to the Interamericana, leaving behind Los Santos Province and passing through Herrera Province. It is here that one of the first Panamanian towns, Parita, is found. Located just off the main route into the Azuero Peninsula, Parita is tiny grid of cobbled and gravel streets with modest brightly colored houses book-ended next to each other. In the town center there is a surprisingly large church with the bell tower positioned untraditionally over the entrance and not one of the front corners. The guidebook told us that this is the only church in Panamá, and much of Central America, to have such a feature. It also mentioned that church-goers do not linger near the entrance as they are still skeptical of it's structural integrity.
Panamá Province
On the way back into Panamá Province, we stopped at a notorious roadside diner that many Panama City residents stop at on their way to their fincas or beach resorts. The establishment was a few steps above a shack or some temporary building one might find at a State Fair so it was funny to see BMW's and Lexus's parked in the gravel parking lot. But that also told us we would not be disappointed. The restaurant is known for it's bollos (cornbread-like rolls with different flavors like chili, cheese, chicken, coconut, etc.) and chicheme (drink made of milk, corn, and cinnamon). Well, when in Rome! I actually have had a version of the bollo back in Colombia, though I believe it is called something else, and while I wouldn't drink them all the time, the chicheme wasn't as gross as it's list of ingredients leads one to believe, just a little chunky.
Eric's roadside culinary attraction that Anthony Bourdain would love to visit? Check!
Putting off the inevitable, the dreaded return to the city of few driving rules and fewer signs finally came. Fortunately for us, it seems that the last part of Semana Santa, Panama City residents leave town so traffic was significantly reduced. This did not make it any easier to find out hotel; after making three loops around the same neighborhood, mostly because the location of the hotel was marked incorrectly in the guidebook by a block and was in the crack in both maps, we found the elusive Hotel Costa Azul - which was neither blue nor on the coast, but I digress.
We settled in, then headed out for a nice dinner at Palms restaurant for both Kim and Maggie's birthdays. The chef at Palms was incredible. She had managed to create some delicious and inventive meals that made you savor each bite. I had a plate with pork wrapped in bacon on top on a stack that included a tiny crepe, and apple slice, and a portabella mushroom. This was all topped with candied shredded carrots. At the end of the meal the chef came out to meet us and it turns out she is from Barranquilla, Colombia. Small world!
The next couple days were filled with more delicious food, including a fantastic sushi dinner (Maggie and Kim wanted to try sushi with plantains since I had talked about how much I loved getting that here in Cali) and a great Lebanese restaurant (which, incidentally was the only thing open on Good Friday).
On our last full day in Panama City, we ventured to an area called Casco Viejo, or the "old compound." This area was, essentially, the city's second try after the original settlement, Panamá Viejo, was destroyed by the infamous pirate Captain Morgan. Panamá Viejo was the first European settlement on the Pacific side of the Americas (north and south) so Casco Viejo is still one of the first. It reminded me a lot of Cartagena in terms of it's architecture and sea-side location; it has a very enchanted European feeling to it.
It is here that we encountered many vendors selling various souvenirs, including pieces of fabric called "molas" which are crafted by the Kuna people of the Kuna Yala Province along the Caribbean coast. The women selling the molas were dressed in traditional attire and seemed out of place in this old city setting. According to the guidebook, the Kuna do not like to have their picture taken, in their province anyway, so I respected that wish, but their skills with creating these pieces of layered fabric are incredible! Kim bought four small molas to frame for her nephew.
Last but not least, though a tad out of sequence, on the list of things to do when one visits Panamá, is to see the Canal. Before we returned our Prado, we drove the half hour north of the city to the Miraflores Locks, the only set of locks on the Pacific side. (There are two sets on the Caribbean, but this is the most accessible and tourist-friendly.) I've been to some internationally known landmarks and been disappointed, such as the Statue of Liberty and the Mona Lisa, but the Panama Canal does not make that list. It really is an engineering marvel. Every ship constructed today is designed with the dimensions of the Canal in mind. Some of the enormous ships that passed through the series of locks while we were there had literally inches to spare on each side as they passed slowly to the ocean. It takes about eight hours for a ship to get from one coast to the other and can cost upwards of $200,000 depending on the size of the vessel.
The most interesting thing I found about the Canal system was that, while a boat is in the Canal, if it is a huge ocean-liner, it has to have a Panamanian captain. For this reason, all of the large ships flew the Panamanian flag as they passed though, as the original captain has to temporarily give up command. We ate lunch on the terrace of the museum's restaurant and watched several ships of impressive size from all over the world exit toward the Pacific, saving countless hours of travel.
People were skeptical of the Canal's future success when the U.S. handed over complete control of it to the Panamanian government in 1999 but it has continued to run successfully and there is actually an expansion project underway due to be completed in 2014, which will increase the number of crossings and decrease the amount of water needed to move a ship through the locks.
All in all, I really liked Panamá and I loved traveling around with some good old friends and practicing my Spanish. If I have trouble finding a job as a teacher I might have to considered the travel agent/personal tour guide gig!
I kept inadvertently comparing everything to Colombia in my head and I have to say that by the end of the trip, I really missed it. Panamá is nice...but it's no Colombia. I know they used to be the same country, but I think it is okay that they gave this part up; Colombia still has all the good stuff!
For Semana Santa (Holy Week)/Spring Break three good friends from Minnesota met me in Panamá for a week-long adventure of traversing the country and testing my translating ability. While planning, several precedents were set: I wanted to see as much of the country as I could in a week without driving too much while still staying in a few places at least two nights and incorporating the ultimate travel wishes of my companions. Maggie wanted to fulfill her dream of zip-lining through a rainforest. Kim wanted some sun and beach time. Eric wanted to try some Panamanian food "Anthony Bourdain-style" (Travel Channel food guy). Let's see what we can do...
I was able to meet my friends at their gate at the airport outside of Panama City since my short flight from Cali got in before theirs did. We went through customs, got luggage, and proceeded to the car rental where we were introduced to our chariot for the week, a 2009 Toyota Prado. Next challenge? How about navigating the mess of signless streets and dead-ending highways called Ciudad Panamá. I've never driven in Cali but I must have picked up a little aggressiveness via passenger osmosis from careening around in so many Caleño taxis. With several maps and three navigators we only got "lost" four or five times before finding the one road out of the city going west over the Puente de las Americas (Bridge of the Americas). We all breathed a sigh of relief knowing the trip could now officially begin! I breathed a second sigh knowing that that moment would be the longest amount of time before I would have to tackle Panama City traffic and roads again.
The entire week was to be spent in four different locations, all along the Pacific coast of the country. We were to drive through six of the nine Panamanian provinces and visit places in five of them. Of the remaining three, two are on the Caribbean coast and the other is mostly jungle, borders Colombia, and is mostly indigenous communities and some Colombian para-military groups in hiding.
Coclé Province
The first stop was to the sleepy ocean town of Santa Clara and, more importantly, the Playa Santa Clara. Long stretches of white sand beaches and steady waves kept us company under some thatch huts in front of our lodging at Restaurante y Cabañas de Veraneras. I ate a lot of seafood on this trip but the best may have been the corvina (white fish) the first night; it was melt in your mouth fantastic. One afternoon we headed north into the mountains to the small town of El Valle. From a point near here it is possible, on a clear day, to see both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts. On a very clear day, however. In the cloud forest 3KM outside of town is a breath-taking hike and canopying adventure. Our guide, Andriano, showed us lost of different insects and flowers on the hike up to the first zip-line, but the coolest thing we saw was a sloth! (In Spanish a sloth is called a "perezosa" which literally means "lazy." I laughed when Adriano told us this; I use this word plenty at Parent/Teacher Conferences.) Of the four canopy lines, the third was the most impressive. It started out so steep that one had to be lowered by another rope attached to your belt or too much speed would be picked up. This one passed in front of an incredible waterfall.
Maggie had a blast. Dream fulfilled: Check!
Veraguas Province
This is the one province we never did anything in, save for stopping for gas, a bathroom break, and a snack at a roadside super-mercado. Oh, and getting pulled over and bribing a police officer.
First off, Veraguas Province is much like driving through parts of heavily wooded Texas with a lot of hills; there is a lot of vegetation, its very dry and not necessarily lush, but its not a desert either. The poor signage continued from Panama City, as well, and at times the speed limits would change suddenly from 100KM/HR to 60 KM/HR. It is not a good thing when the 60 KM/HR sign is missing/obscured/not seen right before a police officer with a radar gun on the other side of a hill. The policeman actually pulled me and a semi-truck over at the same time which impressed me.
After exiting the vehicle and going over to his car, the conversation went like this:
(Somehow all in Spanish)
Officer Panama: Look, you were going 92 in a 60.
Stetson: OK. I believe you.
OP: The fine is $50.00 You have to pay it before you will be allowed to leave the country.
S: OK. Can I pay it now?
OP: No, because I don't have any receipts. You can pay it at the airport, the border with Costa Rica, or at any [something] government office.
S: OK. Fine.
OP: I need to keep your license, though.
S: Seriously?
OP: You can get it back after you pay the fine.
S: So you will send it to me?
OP: What do you mean?
S: I live in Colombia but the address on the license is in the USA. Will you send it somewhere?
OP: No, you can pick it up in David. (largest city in Chiriqui Province - but not anywhere near where we were going)
S: Oh. So, it is necessary that we go to David?
OP: Where are you going?
S: Isla Boca Brava. And then back to Panama City.
OP: I'm from near Isla Boca Brava. It's beautiful.
S: ---
OP: Look, if you pay the fine with me I'll file the report and write a receipt later. Then you can keep your license.
S: Yes?!?
I guarantee there is no record of me getting pulled over in Panamá on file in any police office. However, the last year and eight months of learning Spanish suddenly all became worth it in that one moment. Also, 92 KM is not that fast. Most of you probably drive faster than that on your way to work.
Chiriquí Province
The reason we got a 4WD vehicle was in order to get to our next destination, the Isla Boca Brava, an island just off the coast of a tiny town called Boca Chica. After turning off the Interamericana Hwy onto a sometimes paved road, we drove for about an hour south toward the Pacific and the Gulf of Chiriquí. Once there, we disembarked at the town dock, hired a water taxi to take us for a five minute ride across the way to the Isla Boca Brava, where one finds the Hotel y Restaurante Boca Brava. (You don't need a creative or unique name when you are literally the only establishment on the island.) The "hotel" doesn't take reservations and, in the chance there is no vacancy in the various rooms, the staff will put you up somewhere in a hammock; we got lodging.
After settling in, we headed for one of the beaches, Playa Piedrita, on the southern side of the island. After a 30 minute hike, we came to a beautiful rocky and secluded beach. It didn't stay secluded for long though, as we were greeted by a large troop of monkeys, some with tiny little babies clinging to their mothers' backs. They really paid us no mind as they traversed the branches of the trees from one side of the beach to the other, disappearing back into the forest. The next morning I went for a trail run and came across the troop again. Some of them were just waking up and one, that I couldn't quite locate, was howling very loudly as I got closer so I opted to turn around.
After breakfast we chartered a pontoon boat out to one of the further islands, Isla Bolaños, for a day of snorkeling, coral sand beaches, and sparkling waters. The snorkeling was interesting and I saw my first wild octopus, as well as some brilliantly colored fish and a neon-blue starfish. The beach was also filled with wildlife including thousands of hermit crabs and some sort of iguana-like lizard that may or may not have been hunting the crabs. We spent the afternoon floating in our private bay, reading on the beach, having lunch, and just enjoying the sun and the view of mainland Panamá off in the distance. On the way back to Isla Boca Brava our pontoon was joined by a school of dolphins who swam alongside and leaped into the air in front of our craft for about ten minutes. Kim's pristine beach and glowing sun: Check.
Back at the lodge, we enjoyed another dinner of good food and drinks, as well as a liberal helping of aloe to pretty much everywhere. We talked with one of the managers of the establishment, a German guy, who told us the owner and his wife, also German, are trying to sell it as it is becoming "too commercial" and they feel guests are expecting too much - more than a rustic hotel and restaurant might be willing to offer, anyway. So, if you have $30 Million laying around, it's all yours! If not, and you are in the area, make this a part of your itinerary before someone else buys it and turns it into a great big luxury resort.
Los Santos Province
The turn-off of the Interamericana for Boca Chica was our westernmost point in the journey, especially now that a trip to David to reclaim my license was no longer necessary, so we jumped back on the highway and head east toward Panama City again. I was very careful this time in Veraguas Province and Eric, as my chief navigator, helped me look for the sometimes elusive speed limit signs.
When we got to the end of the province we headed south again, this time into the Azuero Peninsula to a town in Los Santos Province called, appropriately, Villa de los Santos. It is here that Panamá officially declared it's independence and the people of the entire peninsula are very proud people to be living in the birthplace of their country. There are many festivals throughout the year in the scattered towns throughout this region, including the Semana Santa festivities held in Villa de los Santos.
We found and checked into our hotel, hung out by the pool for awhile, and then headed into town for dinner and some people-watching. Dinner was had at a small tienda across from the main plaza near the church, were the night's service was being held. I love stumbling upon restaurants where there is no menu - just a plate that they serve. Eat it, or don't. It's like dinner at home as a kid. You don't like what Momma's cooking? Fine! Go hungry. This particular establishment served grilled chicken. You could get it by the quarter: 1/4 bird, 1/2 bird, or whole bird. All grilled and seasoned to perfection by the old lady with the scarf around her head and hips that could move a mountain who has probably been doing this her entire life.
Shortly after dinner two things happened: the stomach ache that was most likely a little amoebic friend in Maggie's intestine decided it didn't like the chicken and she needed to go back to the hotel, and the church service ended to allow the Wednesday night festivities to begin.
A year ago, after crawling out of the Amazon jungle, I happened upon a Semana Santa parade in the town of Leticía. I was excited about making this a two-year tradition. The procession in Villa de los Santos was a little different that the one I saw last year. First of all, this one was at night and there were no Stations of the Cross to visit along the parade route, just three bed-sized floats with flowers, lights, and statues depicting Christ and a couple saints being hoisted and carried through the streets. The crowd still moved as one and there was still a member of the church clergy on a megaphone telling the Easter story. This time however, it was nearly impossible to hear as the drone of the generators used to power the lights on the floats drowned out the voice of the speaker. I'm not Catholic, but it was a moving experience to watch and walk with this age-old tradition move through streets that have seen probably over 250 of these ceremonies. Herrera Province
The next day, Maggie's amoeba having calmed down, we again headed back to the Interamericana, leaving behind Los Santos Province and passing through Herrera Province. It is here that one of the first Panamanian towns, Parita, is found. Located just off the main route into the Azuero Peninsula, Parita is tiny grid of cobbled and gravel streets with modest brightly colored houses book-ended next to each other. In the town center there is a surprisingly large church with the bell tower positioned untraditionally over the entrance and not one of the front corners. The guidebook told us that this is the only church in Panamá, and much of Central America, to have such a feature. It also mentioned that church-goers do not linger near the entrance as they are still skeptical of it's structural integrity.
Panamá Province
On the way back into Panamá Province, we stopped at a notorious roadside diner that many Panama City residents stop at on their way to their fincas or beach resorts. The establishment was a few steps above a shack or some temporary building one might find at a State Fair so it was funny to see BMW's and Lexus's parked in the gravel parking lot. But that also told us we would not be disappointed. The restaurant is known for it's bollos (cornbread-like rolls with different flavors like chili, cheese, chicken, coconut, etc.) and chicheme (drink made of milk, corn, and cinnamon). Well, when in Rome! I actually have had a version of the bollo back in Colombia, though I believe it is called something else, and while I wouldn't drink them all the time, the chicheme wasn't as gross as it's list of ingredients leads one to believe, just a little chunky.Eric's roadside culinary attraction that Anthony Bourdain would love to visit? Check!
Putting off the inevitable, the dreaded return to the city of few driving rules and fewer signs finally came. Fortunately for us, it seems that the last part of Semana Santa, Panama City residents leave town so traffic was significantly reduced. This did not make it any easier to find out hotel; after making three loops around the same neighborhood, mostly because the location of the hotel was marked incorrectly in the guidebook by a block and was in the crack in both maps, we found the elusive Hotel Costa Azul - which was neither blue nor on the coast, but I digress.
We settled in, then headed out for a nice dinner at Palms restaurant for both Kim and Maggie's birthdays. The chef at Palms was incredible. She had managed to create some delicious and inventive meals that made you savor each bite. I had a plate with pork wrapped in bacon on top on a stack that included a tiny crepe, and apple slice, and a portabella mushroom. This was all topped with candied shredded carrots. At the end of the meal the chef came out to meet us and it turns out she is from Barranquilla, Colombia. Small world!
The next couple days were filled with more delicious food, including a fantastic sushi dinner (Maggie and Kim wanted to try sushi with plantains since I had talked about how much I loved getting that here in Cali) and a great Lebanese restaurant (which, incidentally was the only thing open on Good Friday).
On our last full day in Panama City, we ventured to an area called Casco Viejo, or the "old compound." This area was, essentially, the city's second try after the original settlement, Panamá Viejo, was destroyed by the infamous pirate Captain Morgan. Panamá Viejo was the first European settlement on the Pacific side of the Americas (north and south) so Casco Viejo is still one of the first. It reminded me a lot of Cartagena in terms of it's architecture and sea-side location; it has a very enchanted European feeling to it.
It is here that we encountered many vendors selling various souvenirs, including pieces of fabric called "molas" which are crafted by the Kuna people of the Kuna Yala Province along the Caribbean coast. The women selling the molas were dressed in traditional attire and seemed out of place in this old city setting. According to the guidebook, the Kuna do not like to have their picture taken, in their province anyway, so I respected that wish, but their skills with creating these pieces of layered fabric are incredible! Kim bought four small molas to frame for her nephew.Last but not least, though a tad out of sequence, on the list of things to do when one visits Panamá, is to see the Canal. Before we returned our Prado, we drove the half hour north of the city to the Miraflores Locks, the only set of locks on the Pacific side. (There are two sets on the Caribbean, but this is the most accessible and tourist-friendly.) I've been to some internationally known landmarks and been disappointed, such as the Statue of Liberty and the Mona Lisa, but the Panama Canal does not make that list. It really is an engineering marvel. Every ship constructed today is designed with the dimensions of the Canal in mind. Some of the enormous ships that passed through the series of locks while we were there had literally inches to spare on each side as they passed slowly to the ocean. It takes about eight hours for a ship to get from one coast to the other and can cost upwards of $200,000 depending on the size of the vessel.
The most interesting thing I found about the Canal system was that, while a boat is in the Canal, if it is a huge ocean-liner, it has to have a Panamanian captain. For this reason, all of the large ships flew the Panamanian flag as they passed though, as the original captain has to temporarily give up command. We ate lunch on the terrace of the museum's restaurant and watched several ships of impressive size from all over the world exit toward the Pacific, saving countless hours of travel.People were skeptical of the Canal's future success when the U.S. handed over complete control of it to the Panamanian government in 1999 but it has continued to run successfully and there is actually an expansion project underway due to be completed in 2014, which will increase the number of crossings and decrease the amount of water needed to move a ship through the locks.
All in all, I really liked Panamá and I loved traveling around with some good old friends and practicing my Spanish. If I have trouble finding a job as a teacher I might have to considered the travel agent/personal tour guide gig!
I kept inadvertently comparing everything to Colombia in my head and I have to say that by the end of the trip, I really missed it. Panamá is nice...but it's no Colombia. I know they used to be the same country, but I think it is okay that they gave this part up; Colombia still has all the good stuff!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Calling A Spade A Spade
One of the refreshing and at the same time shocking aspects of Latin American culture and Spanish is the use of adjectives as nouns to describe a person. More accurately, to call a person. This is only shocking to those, like me, who have been raised in a hypersensitive "politically correct" culture where certain words are better and more polite than others.
It is not uncommon to hear someone referred to here as "el gordo" (the fat guy) or "la negra" (the black girl). I imagine people in the northern half of the Americas clumsily tripping over themselves trying to point out "the big-boned gentleman" or "the woman of African ancestry," respectively. If they were to identify someone as "fat" they may get slapped or, at the very least, a disapproving look.
I've been called "gringo" and "mono" as proper nouns enough times that I really should capitalize them. My maid, I'm sure, thinks my name is "joven" (young) and once one of my students referred to me as "el rosadito" (the little pink guy).
With all the blunt name-calling, I've learned to not be offended by being called what I am. However, I was taken aback the other day in the grocery store when the checkout girl, who was all of 20 years old herself, called to get my attention (I was momentarily looking at something else - most likely a shiny object). "Chico!" she yelled. I looked up to find her looking at me. Chico? Really? "Joven," sure. "Muchacho," okay. But "chico"?
I always joke that I look the same age as my students. Maybe 15 years old is a little too generous. Is five better? I guess I'm just be thankful she didn't say "niño."
It is not uncommon to hear someone referred to here as "el gordo" (the fat guy) or "la negra" (the black girl). I imagine people in the northern half of the Americas clumsily tripping over themselves trying to point out "the big-boned gentleman" or "the woman of African ancestry," respectively. If they were to identify someone as "fat" they may get slapped or, at the very least, a disapproving look.
I've been called "gringo" and "mono" as proper nouns enough times that I really should capitalize them. My maid, I'm sure, thinks my name is "joven" (young) and once one of my students referred to me as "el rosadito" (the little pink guy).
With all the blunt name-calling, I've learned to not be offended by being called what I am. However, I was taken aback the other day in the grocery store when the checkout girl, who was all of 20 years old herself, called to get my attention (I was momentarily looking at something else - most likely a shiny object). "Chico!" she yelled. I looked up to find her looking at me. Chico? Really? "Joven," sure. "Muchacho," okay. But "chico"?
I always joke that I look the same age as my students. Maybe 15 years old is a little too generous. Is five better? I guess I'm just be thankful she didn't say "niño."
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