Fiestas Patrias

November is a holiday. Panama separated from Spain in 1821 on the 28th. It separated from Spain in 1903 on the 3rd. Flag Day is the fourth. Bocas was founded on the 16th, Changuinola was founded on the 17th. The Uprising of Los Santos happened on the 10th. Panamanians celebrate each and every holiday, and for that reason, there is little more to do in November than attend parades, school activities, and other patriotic events.

On the 16th a parade was held in Bocas town to celebrate the province's founding. Dozens of delegrations from junior and high schools marched in the parade. Quebrada Pastor's marching band was among them. I have been hearing them practice since July, and have supported all of their various fundraising events, so I had to be there to see them make their big debut.

I woke up at 5:30 and by 6:15, boarded a bus filled with parents, students, teachers and drums. We arrived at the docks in Almirante just before 7 a.m. There are two ways to get to the island. One is the water taxi-- which costs $4 for each half-hour trip. The other is the ferry, which takes 2-and-a-half hours as it trudges across the bay, but only costs $1.

By 8, we were all aboard the ferry, where we stood for the duration of the journey until pulling past all the gringo yachts into the port on Bocas Island. For most of the kids, it was their first time there, and they all felt particularly special to be arriving for such an official purpose.

Whenever I go to the island, I get culture shock. High prices, tourists everywhere, people who speak English. Bocas Island is an international tourist destination. On the 16th, traveling with everyone from my community, I got to see it through their eyes. They are used to Almirante and Changuinola, run-down frontier towns filled with other Ngobes. Bocas is more polished-- fresh paint, nice restaurants, rich people who eat at them.

It was a hot day. No clouds, little breeze and bright, beating sun. The kids marched for three hours, dressed in breathless polyester uniforms. Parents and siblings who were lucky enough to go along followed faithfully along the parade route. Street vendors sold meat sticks, ice cream, slushes, and cold drinks. No one had any money to buy any of it. They budgeted all their money on the ferry fare, with maybe a dollar or two left over to buy a big jug of water.

That day, to me, Bocas didn't seem like a tourst destination. It looked imaginary. From my community, it's only 90 minutes, but it seems like a different world.

But we marched.

1) First-grader Deisy bravely leads the baton twirlers.

2) The tiniest drummer, a third-grader among all the junior-high drummers. Wearing a traditional sombrero and shirt

3) A seventh-grader dressed in the traditional Panamanian pollera outfit.

4) Some gringa on the ferry who met some boys from Finca 30.

Brace yourself, this is going to be a long post

Saludos, everyone. How are things? I hope this post finds you well. I am well-- currently free of parasitic infections and only battling a fungus-turned-jungle-infection on both feet. It is big, disgusting, and emitting a pus-y effluvium. It makes me limp, which earned me a discounted taxi fare this morning. Look at that poor gringa, all Tiny-Tim like wandering down the streets of David, lost and alone. Pobrecita.

That is why you come here isn´t it? Because I write about things like pus-y effluvium that happen as a result of, well, just being filthy nearly every day of my life. I am glad I can provide that for you, because really, who else would? Pus-y effluvium. You love it.

But fret not, loyal readers, I am not going to talk about bacteria, excrement, or parasites today! I am going to talk about something grander-- my vacation! Indeed, a week ago my brothers came to Panama and oh! We painted the country red. I will condense the week for you in a still-not-condensed enough summary, using James´s pictures. I lost my camera charger, so I took none. I am eternally sorry that I continue to fail in my picture taking. Probably will end up buying a new camera. Sigh.

Pre-Vacation
The night before I picked up mis hermanos at the airport, I stayed in Santa Clara with my very first host-family, with whom I stayed during training. Greysi saw me coming up the hill, ran down right away, hugged me and began filling me on school and everything that matters when you´re five. It was great to spend some time there again, and I could tell how much it meant to them that I came back. I played Bingo again with Nani and her mother-in-law. I cleaned up. For breakfast, she made me pancakes, a hot dog, and french fries. Oh, it was good to be home.

Seeing Santa Clara again after having spent time in my community was enlightening. During training, I remember thinking how there was nothing really there, it was just a small, suburban town, safe and simple. When I rolled back in this time on a Diablo Rojo, I couldn´t stop thinking about how developed it seemed. It has a health center, a playground, a library (generous assessment of a few piles of books lying aruond), a market, a town hall-ish building, latrines, an aqueduct connection at every single house. IT HAS EVERYTHING. It is a bustling metropolis.

Day 1- Saturday, Panama City- Casco Viejo.

Casco Viejo, as its names suggests is the old part of Panama City. When the Canal was built, the entire city was in this area. Today, it is filled with old churches, some delapidated, some restored, charming cafes, and is relatively free of chain restuarants, cell phone stores, and other eye sores. Lonely Planet says it´s like Old Havana. I have never been to Old or New Havana, so I cannot confirm or deny these claims, but you get the idea. It´s pretty and old and rustic and changing and filled with street markets, gelatto shops, ocean views, and historical monuments.



Where we stayed: Hospedaje Casco Viejo. Simple, clean, $10 a night with charming and patient desk people.

Sites: Iglesia de San Jose- famous for its golden altar. When Captain Henry Morgan came to Panama to pillage, plunder and shiver the timbers, he headed for this famed piece, which the priest had sneakily painted black. When Morgan came, the priest told him it had been stolen by another pirate and somehow convinced him to pay for a replacement. Morgan reportedly said, I don't know why, but I feel like you are more of a pirate than I am!¨

Panama Canal Museum- Worth a trip as admission is only $2, but only if you have a bit of Spanish. There are no signs or exhibits in English.

Plaza de Francia- a beautiful walk along the ocean, with stones paying tribute to France´s work on the Canal. They abandoned it after losing 22,000 men to yellow fever and malaria.

Eats: Cafe Coca-Cola, a charming restuarant diner-- the only diner-like establishment I´ve ever seen in Panama. Good service, good food, great coffee and cappucinos. An old neighborhood staple.

Days 2 and 3

We hiked the Cerro Punta to Boquete trail alongside Volcan Baru. It took us about 4 1/2 hours, and we weren´t hurrying. An easy hike, although we did it down hill, and next time I´d like to try it going up (I developed knee problems since arriving). The trail is famed for the resplendant quetzal bird which is abundant in the area. We heard dozens of calls, but couldn´t spot one. This part of Chiriqi is traveled by birdwatchers from around the world because of its hundreds of rare species. Bring your binoculars.


The next morning we awoke en la madrugada for a 6a.m. coffee tour. Imagine how thrilled Michael was. But it was worth the intial agony. We opted for what the hostel owner called the more rustic of two tours, and were picked up in a car at our door just after 6:30. Our guide was Feliciano, an adorable and enthusiastic chiriquano (guy from Chiriqi), who began the tour by taking us, and a German couple who joined us, to his house. He offered cups of coffee as we stood on his porch in the chilly morning, watching the fog roll over the hills and looking down at the coffee finca he inherited from his father. He grabbed us bananas for breakfast, and told us the story of his family, his plants, and how he grows, maintains and harvest them. He spoke all in English, only occasionally asking me to translate a word. This man is adorable. And tiny, which made his comments about the indigenas being too short to pick coffee awfully strange. If you come to Panama, we are going to visit him, because he does other hiking and nature tours and I am sort of in love with him in a non-threatening will-you-be-my-uncle-or-grandfather-or-wise-advice-giver kind of way. Felciano, mi corazon, my heart:

The tour continued with a visit to a small factory, where they roast the beans in batches no bigger than 50 pounds, usually much smaller. We saw where the beans are peeled, dried, and toasted. They roasted a few handfuls for us so we could taste the difference between light, medium and dark roasts. Turns out the differences is only a matter of seconds. We´d always thought it was much longer. I highly recommend searching out a smaller, more personal coffee tour if you´re interested. We were a small group of five, and loved the interaction and ability to ask questions and converse freely with our guide (no, you guys, I really love him). And it´s a better way to spend your money--supporting small farms and independent roasters. $25 for a 3-hour tour and round-trip transportation.

Then we went to Mi Jardin Es tu Jardin (my garden is your garden), a sprawling flower garden open to the public. For free:

Lodging: Hostel Gaia, $11/night, full use of kitchen and they helped us book coffee tour. Also worth mentioning- tried to book at Hostel Boquete, which was full, but the owner kindly called Gaia and drove us over there in his car. Will try his place next time-- has a restaurant, bar, and hammocks overlooking the river. DONE.

Eats: Amigos restuarant. Sat outside on the patio in the cool evening, illuminated by white Christmassy lights. Yummy food and had a glass of my favorite wine available here in Panama for $3.


Day 4: Visit to Cati´s community

You´ll have to ask the boys what they thought (comments are open), because I of course am rather jaded by all of this by now. We arrived late Tuesday night after a death-defying bus ride through intense fog on washed out roads. I messed up a batch of kettle corn, but the boys set up their mosquito nets and we settled in for a long summer´s nap. The next morning James and I headed up the hill to my first host family´s house, hung out, and drank some cacao with mom, sister, and brother. He bought a chakara made by sister Arcadia. They are always trotting out their wares when a gringo comes along! The hike up took a rapid 25 minutes instead of the usual 40ish, due to the driest trails I have every seen. Gringo fam meets Ngobe fam:

Don´t they look thrilled? Do I look like I am about to ride a horse? I think I do.

Then we bajared the loma, to return to Michael B., who had slept in. On the way, James got some awesome shots of some leaf-cutter ants:


Then we pasear´ed, and James and Michael delighted in how easy it is just to wander around from house to house. I named a baby, and they bore witness to the chorus of CATIs that follows me every where I go. Celebrity status.

Typical exchange with Ngobe chi´s, (kids):
¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!¨
I finally answer, ¨Dime mi amor!¨ Tell me, my love.
¨Hola!¨

or:

¨Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati! Cati!!¨
¨Dime, guapo!¨Tell me, handsome!
¨Buenas!¨

Bocas Island, Days 5-6.

And then we went away for our tropical island retreat. Highlights included, a beach paradise, nestled in a national park:

This visit was part of a touristy boat tour James and I went on, including a visit to Dolphin Bay, where you see dolphins. Imagine that.

And... wait for it... do you know what I did?

I went snorkeling. Because my brother James wanted to and I love him and I will make sacrifices. The first 7-10 minutes involved hyperventilating, thinking I was going to drown, die and be eaten slowly by fish and anemones and other marine creatures whose existence I prefer not to acknowledge. My heart raced, I sucked water in my snorkel and generally flapped around like, well, a fish out of water. Except, you know, I was in the water, with the fishes, and do you know the water was about four feet deep, and they were all so close, and they could touch me at any minute? Does my brother love me? I hope so, because this is horrifying. And then I calmed down. And I looked at the fishes, and the coral, which was beautiful and purple and turquoise and yellow, gold and green. Like something out of Planet Earth. They were nature´s big treasure chests hiding under the ocean for us to discover. It was lovely. And I only freaked out and splashed away from fish closing in on me a handful of times. And my heart only legitimately stopped once when I saw a menacing black fish the size of a dinner plate looking at me. Of course my heart started beating again, and I am glad I went.

Other highlights: An amazing Caribbean dinner, James with our fish, in garlic and creole sauces, respectively, and sides of coconut rice. And Michael with his.... well, just look:

Have you ever? Pescado Entero.

Boys´Beer Tour: One night we hung out on the roof deck of our hostel, and the boys sampled five of the widely-available Panama beers. I watched and classily drank wine because I do not participate in such pedestrian tomfoolery. But it was a joy to watch my brothers debate the finer points of really not fine beers.



Where we stayed: Hostel Heiki, $10 a night, super Peace-Corps-friendly with the nicest manager on the planet. Roof-deck with tables, chairs, sofas, hammocks and computers. Kitchen, free coffee all day and pancake breakfasts. Nice view of the street and park from balconies and decks. Fun to gawk at all the gringoes.

So I thought the vacation was a blast, and we did it cheaply. I spent under $300, including all lodging and transportation, and I didn´t hold back. Eleven dollars was the most we spent for lodging, and though we ate some nice meals out, we also got some heaping plates of good Panamanian food (chicken, rice, beans, salad, and Coke) for less than three dollars. So thanks for coming, boys. And to everyone else, I look forward to your visit. Look at the rest of James´ pictures here.

Gobble Gobble

I´ve been in Panama for a about three and a half months now, and it recently occured to me I´ve already seen so much more of the country than most of the people I´ve met in it. Three of the four siblings in my first host-house have never been farther than Changuinola, Bocas´s main city, which is about 80 minutes away from my site by bus. This is true for many adults in the community as well. Only a few have ever been to Panama City, and even fewer have been anywhere else.


Which make me grateful for the opportunities I´ve had to travel around during my short time here, and especially so because I was able to head to the mountains this week to a town called Cerro Punta, near Panama´s only volcano,Volcan Baru, and highest peak. It´s frequented quite regularly by tourists, as the hiking trails on and around Volcan Baru are the best the country has to offer. It´s also known for its strawberries, with farms lying around every bend in the winding roads, and street-side stores selling strawberry jams, breads, milkshakes, and everything in between. The area feels distinctly un-Panama-like however. The weather was cool. I wore a sweater both days. The homes, stores, and lodges are all vaguely-European looking. Many of us felt as if we´d somehow landed in some forgotten Swiss town, and had to keep reminding ourselves that we were in Panama.

It was a treat to see all of my Group 64 volunteers again, and also to meet dozens of other volunteers from other sectors and regions around the country. We ate delicious breakfasts, with yogurt, granola, fresh fruit, and strong, sweet coffee every day. I couldn´t believe what I was eating, after existing for a month on a diet that consists of little more than rice, boiled green bananas, canned sardines and the occasional legume.

Thanksgiving dinner was an incredible site, and an even more spectacular culinary experience. Trays of food just kept coming from the kitchen. Platters of turkey and ham were endlessly refilled. Pumpkin pies lined both sides of the table, with vats of freshed whipped cream standing by. Heaven-sent green-bean casserole, cranberry sauce, apple crisp, garlic mashed potatoes, squash, sinfully rich hot chocolate made from Panama cacao. You name it, I ate it. Absolutely no restraint was shown on the part of any volunteer. I ate so much that I was in considerable pain for hours after. This is not a complaint. I was the happiest I´ve been, belly protruding and largely immobile on the couch. Some other volunteers somehow had the energy to dance after dinner. The owner of the lodge cleared the floor, and a full-on dance party ensued, which I watched while I digested and thought about how often it feels like I live in two very different worlds. The restrained, and sometimes solemn Ngobe/volunteer life, and the other one, when I´m with other volunteers, feeling entirely human, normal and comfortable in this tiny S-shaped country that we all (some grudgingly) have come to love.

I slept in a bed, took hot showers, drank unlimited amounts of coffee from the lodge, relaxed, and took in the scenery. It was an idyllic two days, and was a great reminder of all there is to be thankful for, especially when many of us come from communities where there isn´t enough food for everyone.

I am returning to site this afternoon, and on Sunday, will be moving in with my second host family. The house if further from the road, and more isolated in the community, but it will be a great opportunity to get to know new neighbors, take in some killer ocean views, and take advantage of the fact that the señor of the house has tapped a nearby spring, and there is always water running through the pipes.