So you want to climb a volcano

I have been busy at work recently, but I also realize that my time in Panama will be quickly coming to an end. There is a lot of travel I still want to do, several destinations left on my Panama bucket list. I got to cross one of them off this weekend, as I climbed Panama's highest peak, Volcan Baru Thursday night with several friends.

We made it to the trailhead in Boquete and started hiking around 10p.m. I packed light, with a Camelbak holding only my water, snacks and several layers to stay warm as the temperatures dropped. I was a little nervous, as I had heard several horror stories from another PCV- involving hikers who turned around, threw up, cried, or even had trail side "bathroom accidents" as their bodies gave way to fatigue. I wondered if it was the best activity to undertake after 10 hours days of heavy construction and cement mixing. But, two hours in, although I felt the burn, I knew he'd overstated the difficulty. I'd be fine. Our headlamps guided us and conversation made the time pass quickly. Every now and then we stopped to refuel on peanuts, granola bars or fruit and keep ourselves hydrated. As we climbed higher, we covered our tanks and tees with long sleeves and sweatshirts. I love being cold in Panama.

The last hill was the most costly, I wove my way up it, feeling slightly dizzy from the altitude and/or five and a half hours of strenuous hiking. If we made a mistake, it was leaving as early as we did. We thought it might take longer to get there, but our 3:30 a.m. arrival made for a long wait until sunrise. Temperatures were in the 40s but felt much colder with blowing winds and sweaty bodies that were cooling down too fast. We huddled together trying to keep as warm as possible and looking for buildings to sneak into on a compound just below the peak.

By around quarter to six, strips of orange and green began to break along the horizon line and we sat there, above the clouds, waiting. On a clear day, you can see both the Pacific and Caribbean oceans from the summit. Our day was a little cloudy, but the view was still completely magnificent in its own way as the sun came up, casting colors into the fog, clouds and sky that we felt a part of. We stood at 11,398 feet looking down at clouds below, at the hills and the swirls of white, orange, pink and blue that surrounded us. Fatigue in our legs was forgotten, the hike down wasn't a concern because the breathtaking view trumped everything. The pictures below can't quite capture the natural beauty.

At about 8a.m., 10 hours after first starting, we began the descent. A lot of people say going down is harder, especially if you do the overnight hike. We hadn't slept, were already sore from the ascent, and the adrenaline was fading. It took us about four and a half hours to get down. The last 90 minutes were pretty brutal, with the impact of each step pounding into my knees and ankles, and the effects of pulling an all nighter while walking a total of 16 miles and climbing up to an 11,000 feet peak beginning to make themselves known.

But this trip will be one of my favorites in Panama. The combinaton of physical strain followed by a resplendent reward was the kind of experience I needed to relieve some in-site stress and remind myself that I am surrounded by natural beauty and fortunate to live once-in-a-lifetime experiences all the time in this beautiful country.

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.

Culture week roundup

Every time I sit down at the computer to write a blog post, I am daunted by the amount of information and stories I have to tell. Today is no different, and worse, I´ve forgotten my notepad with all of my little thoughts and notes I wanted to share.


I´ve just returned from culture week, and my first experience living with a Ngobe family. I stayed in a raised hut with with a mother and father, and two kids, 14 months and four years old on the Island of San Cristobal in the Carribean. When we arrived on Sunday, the whole town was abuzz waiting for the boat load of gringos to disembark, and while we walked through the town to the rancho, we were stunned by the number of children all around. So. many. children. Over the course of the week, they would become some of our best buddies in San Cristobal, running up to hold hands as we walked to class, lifting up their arms to be thrown in the air, and hanging on the legs and backs of the big, burly boys in our group. We spent a couple afternoons swimming in the ocean with them. Ngobe kids loaded up their dugout canoes with PC aspirantes, and we swam around among the coral in water that was still only about waist-deep(my host mom later dug out spines from my feet with a needle. So handy!). We made sure to paddle extremely far out. The environmental-health situation in Isla Cristobal is pretty poor; they do all of their business in ¨servicios¨over the water. Often in the afternoon and evening, the smell of excrement wafts from house to house, especially those whose homes are built directly over the shore.

That aside, I continue to be wowed by the jaw-dropping openness and kindness of the Ngobe people we meet. I would like to say it is my effervescent charm that endears me to everyone, but I can take no credit for how well we are treated.

My host mom was very shy and bashful, and at first. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper. But by second day, she started giggling at my jokes, making her own, and even asked to braid my hair. DISCLAIMER: Only consent to a Ngobe hair-do if you want to look like a fool. At first, I thought she was whipping up these styles purely to humiliate me, but I later found out they legitimately think they look lovely. The first style consisted of several brightly-colored pony tail holders positioned at all angles over my head. Everyone from the PC Bocas group could not look at me without laughing. The last day, my host mom said she had to braid my hair, and I tried to do a little intervention by saying that I like the braids best when they started in the back of the head and go down. You know...I was hoping for something french-braidish. I asked if she understood, and she said yes, but then she immediately began forming two gigantic Clifford-size dog-ear braids down the side of my head, with a violent part in the middle. The braiding continued, and at one point, I asked how many braids she had made, and in one of my favorite moments of the week, she sheepishly replied, ¨Varios...¨

This needs no translation. I spent all of Friday walking around with six braids with neon-colored scrunchies, hearing all the aspirantes laugh at me, barely able to mak eye contact. No Ngobes though, to them, I looked just fine.

The rest of the week consisted of culture lectures, Ngobere classes, walks on the medicinal plant trail, visits to the artisan shops, and even a visit to another volunteer´s community on the other side of the island. We paseared to a bunch of houses there, meeting one incredibly sweet, quietly intelligent older man who told us he stayed home all day from work to wait for our visit. With children tugging and grabbing you, Ngobes eager to teach you their language, and community members peering out their windows hoping you´ll stop by to talk, it´s hard not to feel incredibly optimistic about the next two years of service. Nothing comes easily in PC, but I can already see how the rewards will make it all worth it.

In other news, my Spanish is coming along. In my second language interview a couple of weeks ago, I scored advanced-low, and I am definitely shifting more easily between English and Spanish, and speaking a lot more fluidly. I am grateful that I´m well understood, and made sure this past week to spend a lot of time talking with my host family. Every night I sat out on the porch and chatted for a couple of hours, asking them questions about their life in Panama and answering some of theirs about life in the U.S. I continually found myself struggling to put words to such foreign concepts and realities in our country. For these people, the world is so small. One woman assumed everyone in the United States spoke Spanish. I told her a lot of people took it in high school, but few speak it fluently. She couldn´t figure out how they could forget. Everyone asked about my family constantly, trying to understand how I could be 22 and still without children. They were all worried about my parents, and couldn´t imagine why I would move so far away. And how could they? Most Ngobe families live within spitting distance, who could imagine moving half a world away to live with strangers?

On Thursday, my host mom snuck into the living room, where I had just finished watching Touched by an Angel dubbed in Spanish with Monica, a seven-year-old fan of mine who lived next door. (You may be interested to know, whoever dubbed for the Irish angel kept a slight brogue somehow through the Spanish. Incredibly impressive.) My host mom sat down on a bench, and all of a sudden said she didn´t want me to leave on Saturday, and why couldn´t we do tech week in San Cristobal? I told her my permanent site is close, and I could come and visit soon. She paused, a grin spread across her face, and she said, ¨Catherine, how many stories is your house in the U.S.?¨ I said it was two floors, and told her the floor plan, and she said, ¨You can visit me here, but when can I come and visit you and your family in America?¨

On Saturday, she and Toni, my four-year-old host brother, walked me to the dock to say goodbye, and I tried to thank her for everything, and to convey completely how grateful I was. They stood on the dock and waved goodbye, and I was caught off guard by how sad I was to be leaving them.

As we sped away toward Bocas Island, I realized I have two families in Panama now, in Santa Clara and now in San Cristobal. Nani, my SC-host mom was sad to hear my site was in Bocas, because it would mean visiting her, the Daiveys, and Gresyi would be difficult She hugged me as I left last week, and her concern and advice for me was so genuine. ¨Take care, Catherine,¨she said, scanning me up and down, in disbelief that the sweaty, friendly gringa was venturing out to the rough and wild Bocas province. She watched from the door as my friend and I disappeared down the hill, and again, I was surprised at how sad I felt to have to leave them for two weeks.

We are treated so well here, often times just because people, particularly Ngobes, are so honored and excited to have us as guests. We felt like rock stars walking down the paths in San Cristobal, with kids crawling out of windows and climbing onto porches to yell hello. I can´t wait to see my own community in a few weeks, and to find out what happens when my stay is more permanent, and it´s time to get real work done. The reality of living and working here for two years is starting to hit me. Food is an adjustment, there is very little privacy, and once the gringa-excitment wears off, I will undoubtedly be struggling trying to motivate, and inspire people to change how they´ve lived for years, all in a second language. As rich as some of our interactions have been, I am always wondering when other volunteers taking about having ¨friends¨in their community, how meaningful these relationships really are. How deeply can you know someone when, even though you live together, in most way you are still a world apart? Howevr, weeks like the one I just had always remind me that laughter sounds the same in every language, all kids want your attention, and people always surprise you, sometimes for the worst, but mostly for the best.

In other news, I have a cell phone! I finally called home last night, and the reception was awesome. I think you can get to me by dialing 001 for the int´line, country code 507, then 64101638. I won´t have service when I am in Santa Clara, but I will try to start texting and calling when I can. Once I am in Bocas permanently, I will always have service.

Much love to everyone. I´m off to tech week where we´ll be building a compost latrine, thermoforming PVC pipes for aqueducts, and learning how to maintain, repair and design the lines. We´ll be in the Comarca, where the food will be somewhat less plentiful, and a lot less enjoyable (think boiled bananas three times a day), so I´ll undoubtedly have more to share next week. Be good.

Commencing countdown, engine's on

I have less than a week until my departure date, and I'm trying--but failing--to remember everything: presentation deadlines, immunization records, packing lists, last-minute supplies, Spanish cramming. I have a lot to do, but after months of preparing, and hours of telling friends and family about what I'll be doing, I'm thrilled that the date is finally almost here. In many ways, it's surreal. Ninety percent of the Peace Corps application process is waiting for the next step. To have all the toe-tapping and thumb-twiddling be over with is both daunting and exhilarating. I'll be touching down on Panama soil only about four weeks after I found out where I would be going.

I'm lucky because I got to spend this last summer focusing only on PC preparations, and when I wasn't doing that, I was soaking up every minute with friends and family. I ate out a lot, treated every meal like it was my last . Think along the lines of vineyard tours, huge platters of seafood, and multiple trips to Mike's Pastry in the North End. I vacationed, worked out a lot (those cannolis have to go somewhere), and even got a real tan for the first time since high school. Oh how liberating unemployment can be! My pasty white skin never knew life could be so lovely. (I am sorry to all of my friends who have real jobs and have not caught sight of the noonday sun in months. I know this paragraph is really annoying. You will be the one laughing when I have intestinal worms.)

So on to what I'll be doing and where I'll be doing it. I leave Boston on August 11th and fly to D.C. for a staging event where we hand in lots of paperwork (more still!), do some quick and dirty safety and arrival training, and meet the volunteers we'll be with for the next 10 weeks. On August 12th, we all arrive in Panama City and go on a "retreat" for four days where we receive oodles of shots, advice about living with hosts families and cultural sensitivity, and other orientation tidbits. Training begins in earnest on August 17th in one of two towns about 35 km west of Panama City.

Training is 10 weeks long and covers language, technical and cultural aspects of my service. It is intensely rigorous, and every moment is planned out for me, but I consider this my big chance to get the most out of everything they have to teach me. I want to exceed language expectations, and absorb as much information as possible, because once training is over, it's show time.

So that's the short version. I hear there's no Internoodle access at our training site, so I'll write again at least once more here before I go. Dry your tears and leave questions and emails/addresses in the comments if you want to be on my contact list.