P A N A M A C A L L I N G
(A
Travelogue)
Fascination, Rumination, Deliberation, Determination
I'm
not sure how old I was, but I'm guessing around five or so. My
parents and I attended a high school production of 'South Pacific'. I
think my sister had a small part in the play. The fact that I
remember this event at all has some significance because I don't
remember a lot from those days. Now that I think about it, it may
have been the music, the stage sets, and the actors that were the
delivery system of a bug that entered my little body and brought with
it a love of the tropics. Or maybe it was the other way around,
maybe it was the beauty of the fake palms and the giant cardboard
volcano called "Bali Ha'i" that enhanced the musical score. Hell, maybe it
was the popcorn – I guess it really isn't that important, but I
fell in love with the idea of the tropics fairly young in life. As I
grew older I saw the movie version of 'South Pacific' but this time I saw palm lined lagoons and the blue Pacific washing lazily onto white, sandy beaches - and in Technicolor no less! I knew then...
*
* *
I was
living in an apartment in southeast Portland with a couple of
friends. I was seventeen and living away home for the first time. I
might have been eighteen. Anyway, my room mates, Tom Sawyer Sanford
and Rob Olyer, lived in a small two bedroom apartment on Powell
boulevard in Portland, Oregon, which Rob paid for. Now that I think
about it, Rob and Tom were best friends and I probably showed up one
night with a bunch of pot and never left. Anyway, there are enough
stories from that brief period alone to fill a graphic novel, but I
want to get to the point of this dissertation – that being, 'Why I
am Moving to Panama' or 'What I did on My Summer Vacation'.
Another
one of those 'Why I remember this' moments came one evening while I
was doing something I loved to do during that period in my life,
that is smoking pot, putting on Tom's FM Radio headphones, and looking out Tom's
bedroom window at the traffic going by on Powell. On this particular
night I had just put the bulky headphones on (it was the mid
seventies – everything was bulky), over my bulky long hair when
this 'perfect' music began to seep into my mellow-yellow brain.
As a musician and songwriter raised on Dylan and Gordon Lightfoot,
my greatest joy was the sound of an acoustic guitar accompanying a
simple voice telling a good story. So, when the first chords of
Jimmy Buffett's 'Banana Republics' floated around in my head, I
closed my eyes and awaited my vaccine.
“Down
to the Banana Republics, Down to the tropical sun, Go the expatriated
Americans, Hoping to find some fun...”
As the
mellow sounds of steel drums and guitars washed over me I felt as if
I had tasted fresh, clean drinking water for the first time in my
life. I stood there, chin on my chest, drinking it in and feeling my
parched cells slowly come to life. I remember suddenly feeling that I
had found a twin brother that I never knew existed. There are
millions of 'Parrotheads' in the world, and all of them have found
common ground through the carefully crafted tales that Buffett plays,
but it was more than the music that slapped me up side the head that
night. It was as if I suddenly remembered that I was born on an
island, where long lost relatives still stood waiting for me, and it
was there that my destiny awaited. Of course being stone out of my gourd didn't hurt.
As
time went by, and I grew older, I gobbled up all things tropical. Like
so many others during the nineteen eighties, I fell under the spell
cast by Jimmy Buffett and his Coral Reefer Band. At a time when
marriage, mortgages, and menial careers take over a young man's life,
songs of Beaches, Bars, Boats, and Beer kept me dreaming of something
more. Looking back as a fifty-seven year old, however, I realize
that it was some of those very dreams that were the source of major
unrest in my life. I yearned for the sound of waves on the shore and
rum drinks served on the white sands of the Caribbean. My
restlessness grew unbearable and when an opportunity arose to
vacation in Cancun, all expenses paid, I jumped, nay - flew at the opportunity.
“It
was my first look. That's when I swallowed the hook, on my first
look around.”
I'll
never forget the moment when our plane banked to the right and I saw
the bright, blue, azure Caribbean sea. The chill ran up my spine and
spread out across my shoulders like a wave bubbling onto the beach.
I shivered.
“This
is why they call it paradise.” I said in a low, reverent tone. Then
I smiled like the cat who saw the canary. Assuming cats could smile. No, the really can't - let it go.
Indeed,
I spent ten glorious days in the man-made splendor of Cancun, Mexico.
With my good friend and brother-in-law, Steven, we soaked up the
surf, sun, and fun. In later years Cancun would become the preferred
spot for 'Spring Break', hosting thousands of hormone driven beasts
flying in from all corners of America to drink, screw and barf on the
cool, white sand (Have I mentioned the sand was white?) Just this year, however, I saw on the evening news
that so much hell is being raised each spring the folks in charge
down there are thinking about banning the annual bash. Ah, kids
these days. Well, those ten days melted into three decades of
debauchery, dependence, divorce, and of course my old buddy,
depression; all of which colluded to end me. There is no need to go
into detail – suffice to say I am lucky to here writing this
memoir.
* * * *
In
“The Book of Days”, a collection of horoscope like readings based
(scientifically no doubt) strictly on which day of the year you are
born, September the Twenty-fourth is proclaimed as 'The Day of the
Wanderer'. One might look at this as meaning something profound,
some indication that I, being lucky enough to be born on this particular day,
was predestined to travel, to explore exotic places like, oh I don't
know – Poughkeepsie or De
Moines, or even Muncie, Indiana. But wandering could also be the kind of wandering
that Moses and his folks did...as in aimlessly - through the scorching
desert. Either way I suppose you end up somewhere, and that is where
I intend to go.
I
have had a vision of moving to Mexico swimming around in my head for
many years. But it wasn't until I applied for and received Social
Security Disability that the possibility became somewhat of a
reality. My back problems started after an on-the-job injury that
occurred when I was in my Twenties and working for the Oregon Liquor
Control Commission. My neck, shoulders, and back were in constant
pain and got worse as I grew older. By the time I was in my 50's
the pain became debilitating and a wise Judge in Portland agreed.
Then about a year ago, while laying down for a nap, my back seized up
and didn't let go. I could barely move and I nearly crawled into the
emergency ward in Vancouver, Washington, where I was living at the time. After the third visit to the ER they decided to
do an MRI and found a bulging stomach - I mean a bulging disk that
was pressing on a major nerve. I had a simple surgery and my whole
life changed. I can walk without excruciating pain.
It's
funny how things that lie beneath the surface of a stormy sea cannot
be scene seen sometimes until the waters are calm. And that's how it
is with pain. Once the pain in my back got better, I was able to
feel the pain in my side, which at my moment of clarity happened to
be stupid people. Okay, maybe stupid is not the right word - Idiot then. No, stupid is better. Anyway, my forty-seven year old nephew came from Walla Walla (Yes, there is
such a place) to stay with me over the Thanksgiving holiday last
year. By the time he squealed out of my driveway two weeks later I
had made my decision to move away - Not just from Vancouver, but from the
United States all together. I would like to point out here that my a fore mentioned nephew is neither stupid nor an idiot - he's just...broken. Like soooo many people, just screwed up. So, I immediately started going to the library to research
destinations. Initially I looked into Mexico, but wasn't real
excited about the prospects of being shot dead and hacked to pieces
by some drug cartel flunky named Chewie. Don't get me wrong there
are some nice places to retire in Mexico, for instance San Miquel, and no doubt there are some guys named Chewie.
But, the government there is almost as corrupt as New Jersey and I just
wasn't picking up a good vibe.
That's
when I stumbled on a article about Panama and how it is the number
one retirement place in the world. I went on to download more
articles and travel logs written by expatriated Americans. Panama is
a democracy, uses the U.S. Dollar as its currency, has year round
warm weather, and a cost of living that would allow me to survive on
my disability stipend. They also make it easy to become a citizen. Forget
all the silly questions about its history, like which drug lord was
in control of the country on such and such a date. No, the
Panamanian officials get right to the heart of what is truly
important when it comes to accepting immigrants into their homeland.
Money. Yes, that is what you need to become a citizen of Panama, at
least one thousand dollars per month deposited directly into your
account from the United States of America (That and a certificate
that says you don't have AIDS) – then you are allowed to stay. But,
for that guaranteed thousand dollars a month and not being ravaged by
AIDS you can join a kind of 'retiree club' called the 'PENSIONADO VISA
PROGRAM'.
Once
you receive your permanent Visa and you are retired you get the
following:
THE RETIREE (OR JUBILADO) BENEFITS PROGRAM CONSISTS
OF:
|
50% OFF recreational activities (includes movies,
concerts, theater, etc.)
|
10% OFF prescription medicines
|
25% OFF restaurants (food only)
|
15% OFF dentists and optometrists
|
15% OFF franchises food purchases
|
15% OFF insurance premiums
|
50% OFF hotel rooms (Mon-Thurs) (all inclusive
resorts are excluded)
|
30% OFF hotel rooms (Fri-Sun) (all inclusive
resorts are excluded)
|
20% OFF appliances purchases
|
20% OFF plumbers, accountants, etc.
|
30% OFF bus and boat fares
|
50% OFF passports
|
25% OFF airline fares for flights originating in
Panama
|
25% OFF utilities
|
15% OFF medical services (surgery, treatments,
etc.)
|
15% OFF clinical/hospital expenses
|
50% OFF real estate closing costs with financial
institutions
|
1% OFF mortgages/home loans
|
So,
in a nutshell I sat down with the data and carefully weighed the
positives and negatives (apparently too much sun can be harmful)
about moving to Panama. I made my decision to head South as soon as I
could afford it. The first item on the list to save for was of
course air fare. Though it is entirely possible to drive to Panama
via Texas, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Costa Rica the transmission
on my '97 Explorer was beginning to slip and with just shy of 250,000
miles on her, this was not an option. As it turned out, a round trip
plane ride only cost $650.00. So I sold my two best guitars and had
my plane ticket. Next I priced lodging. Having done my research I
decided to make the town of Boquete my home base while in Panama.
Boquete is in the mountain region of Chiquiri Province and has a
moderate year round temperature of about 80 degrees in the day, of course it does drop to a chilly 70 degrees at night. There is also a large
ex-pat presence there which I thought might present less of a hassle
than say other more isolated places. It has plenty of restaurants
and western amenities, including a pizza joint and a gym (where I
will go after I sample the pizza).
I
jumped on Craig's List; Panama Edition, and got a 'lay of the land'
in terms of rental properties. While looking through the ads I came
across one ad that had a contact name along with a note
stating he could help find a place to stay while in Panama. After
corresponding with Chewie (not his real name) I found him very helpful. When I initially
contacted him he and his wife were hiking in Ecuador, another
destination I plan to visit in the future. When they returned to
Boquete Jim was nice enough to secure a casita (small house) owed by a friend
of his which will cost me $500.00 for the month of June when I'll be there. Every
few days I look on Craig's list and other sites and find places
ranging from $250.00 and up for a month's rent. My plan is to visit
a few areas while I'm there in order to get a feel for which regions
suit my personality and goals, which include drinking beer and doing
nothing. I will focus on Volcon, Bocas del Toro, Pedasi and Coronado
– the latter three being coastal. For now, it is simply waiting
for June first and that United Air bus to lift off at 6:00 AM toward
my grand adventure.
I'll
be in touch...
DP
