Whiteylocks 2

“Whiteylocks” continued…

I’d like to start this entry by entering my personal space; that is, a space between ‘Whitey’ and ‘Locks’.  This allows me to continue the story from yesterday without actually having to put any real effort into it.  Therefore, today’s entry is called;

"W H I T E Y   L O C K S"

As some of you are aware this reporter is currently residing in the Central American

country known by a single word, a word the locals call ‘Panama’.  The word "Panama"

itself means…well, I don’t know, but I’m sure someone does.  Panama has been around

in some form or another for centuries and used to be known

as;  "That Little Strip of Land that Connects Those other Two

Big Pieces of Land Together". 

Of course, it wasn’t until the 18th or 19th century, when "maps"

were invented, that the name of this little country was changed,

not only to protect the  names of the innocent, but because the

original name was way longer than the actual country itself.  Also, the name wouldn't fit on 

a "map".  And so, the tiny country that stands between North America and South America

officially became "El Dolor en el Culo", which translated from 

the original language means "Pain in the Ass", so called

because if it weren’t for this little, tropical country a ship full

of dirty, stinky pirates could cut their travel time from the

Caribbean sea to the Pacific ocean by roughly 2,500 years, thus

saving count-less buccaneer suicides. This also explains why

so many pirates buried their treasure among the islands of the

Caribbean. 

When Captain James T. Cook was

asked, in a 1724 "Pirates Life" interview,

why he buried his "booty" in the white sands of the Caribbean

and not the cold, gray sands of The Pacific he said

“What’s the point? We’d all be dead by the time we sailed

around South America.  Might just as well bury the stuff here

and hope we can remember where we put it."  Which they

didn't.  

      Then some other things happened and a couple of centuries later, a now 

forgotten country called "France" got tired of hearing the pirates whine and,  

putting their collective brain power to work, came up with the idea

of digging a long ditch through the jungles of ‘El Dolor en el Culo’,

a ditch big enough to walk through, while dragging gold, spices,

and long, hard loaves of bread behind them in rickety, old carts.

Well, in no time at all, France gave up digging and changed 

the name of the country to ‘Panama’.

      By the turn of the 20th century the “United States” had won its

independence from...well, I don't know, some other country - but,

my point is that the U.S. decided to pick up the challenge where

France had left off.  However, the “United States” took a different

approach to the project and decided to dig a ditch big enough to actually sail a

ship through.  They built a series of ‘floating stair steps’ which, upon entering, could

raise or lower a vessel by filling or emptying giant bathtubs full of sea water.  These

bathtubs were known as ‘locks’.  Today this series of 'locks' is called "The New Jersey

Turnpike" - no, wait...“The Panama Canal."  Yes! Its now

known as the "Panama Canal!"

      But the native Panamanians, reflecting on this steel

and concrete monstrosity that tore asunder their quiet, 

beautiful home, called it "Cerraduras Blanco" or

"Whitey Locks".  Which brings us full circle. 

I'm sorry, I don't write the news, I only report it.  Thank you, and Good Night.

Whiteylocks

     As I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning, in what can only be called a bed in the most literal sense, I began to think about what experience to write about next.  I finally got up and took some sleep aids.  One in pill form, the other brought to us by the first family of Panama – Abuelo Rum.  After a few minutes of stupid TV, I decided to try sleep again.  I sat on the edge of the slab I jokingly call a bed and began to feel

a bit like Goldilocks; with a few exceptions.  First my hair is not golden.  What’s left of it is mostly white, and secondly Goldilocks had the distinct advantage of trying three different beds until she found the one that was ‘just right’. 

The girl in the fable wanders into a house in the woods and takes a nap.  I don’t know how I did it but I think I wandered in to the Flintstones house and found Fred

and Wilma’s bed, and I KNOW damn well Goldilocks slept better than I have been.

      Now, in one case I do hold the upper hand when it comes to comparing these fairy tales.  In the children’s story you may remember that Goldilocks gets busted by the current tenants of the house which come in the form of three fairly aggressive bears.

They find her sleeping, get pissed, and chase her off.  In my story I am not caught snoozing (that would require a level of comfort not afforded to me) by three angry bears, but am greeted by three beers.  I am not making this up.  There is ‘Panama’ beer,

‘Atlas’ beer, and a beer called 'Balboa' which is named for Panama’s founder.  Instead of being chased by bears, my beers were chased with rum. 

 

I'm sorry, but I’ll have to continue the story of Whiteylocks and the Three Beers tomorrow.  Right now my back is killing me…and I need to chase some beers.

THE HUNTSMAN

     There is a story told here;  but it is not a legend, not to the locals, for they have seen him.  Still, many recent arrivals can only wish that the tales told of 'The Huntsman' are nothing more than that - legend.  I will tell you this, that when I heard of him, his description, his

movement and motives, a chill ran up my spine and I was viscerally moved.  He moves through these tropical jungles quickly and silently stalking those unlucky enough to cross his path when he 'feeds'.  He wears camouflage and is known to wait and watch his prey.  Then with a jumping-running motion he is on you.  The last thing

you are likely to see is the red stains around his hairy mouth and his eight crazy eyes bearing down on you. Yes!He has

Crazy Eight Eyes, I tell ya!  Crazy Eights!  AAHHHHhhh! 

     By now you may have figured out that the 'The Huntsman' is a knarly looking spider and not a knarly looking Chris Helmsworth. Luckily the spider is every bit as harmless to humans as the movie actor.  But I have to admit that I will scan the ceiling and corners of the room now and again, and I jump a bit when a leaf blows onto the veranda.

     But the Huntsman is more afraid of humans, than humans are afraid of it.  However, in this case, I do not fit into the 'most' category.  So I am putting out an all points bulletin to Huntsmen & Huntswomen spiders everywhere...."Please Stay Away From Me!"

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

     Sometimes, in the simplest moments, the incredible beauty of life can catch you up and show you how fortunate you are just to be a conscious, breathing being.  So it was this morning while I sat on the veranda sipping locally grown coffee and looking down on the little town of Boquete, Panama.

The sun, cresting over one of the many surrounding peaks, shot beams of light through the fast moving clouds which are urged along by the warm breezes that blow through the valley.  Below the sound of the morning church bells signal the start of a new day.

The bells are used to proclaim different events throughout the day.  The morning bells at 8:00 are almost a call to service.  The mid-day bells let you know that it is time for a break, have a meal, rest.  At 5:30 in the afternoon they signal it may be time to call an end to your toil, wash-up and head home for the day.  They are beautiful reminders, not alarms.  They suggest, not demand.

Then at 9:00 at night there comes a short blast of what sounds like an old air raid siren; just one crank of the handle as the horn wails then slowly dies down.  This is the sound that reminds school age children, up through their teens, that it is time to be home.  It is a curfew; one imposed by the town.  Not out of fear, but out of love.  Simple.  Beautiful.

Cats, Dogs, and Gummy Grins

     The bad news was - the movie was an Adam Sandler movie...overdubbed in Spanish.  It was followed by a Mark Wahlberg movie - also overdubbed in Spanish.  Argg!

     Anyway, we finally pulled into David and we were only 45 minutes late, which in Panama is pretty much right on time.  In fact everything in Panama happens right on time.  No addresses, no schedules, no problem. My landlord for the month I'm here (see Panama James in earlier post) was to have met me at the bus terminal in David and bring me to Boquete.  "I'll be wearing a blue shirt and shorts" he tells me.  I saw a lot of short people wearing blue shirts, but no white guy in a blue shirt and nobody in shorts. Luckily taxi drivers are practically humping your leg as soon as you step off the bus, so after wandering around for a while dragging a giant-dead-horse/my suitcase, looking for anything resembling someone named Jim I gave up and allowed myself to be 'guided' to a local taxi cab. 

     "Donde senior, el blah, blah, blah?" the driver smiled a toothless grin.
     I took a guess and said, "Boquete?" to which he nodded and off we went. 

     Shortly after we got on the road a few rain drops began to fall and the driver (after sizing me up and finding a level of communication befitting a dumb ass gringo) said, "Agua". In his wisdom this man knew that I knew what agua meant, and somehow I actually did, though I'm not sure what shoes had to do with the rain. Anyway, suddenly the world got dark and the sky opened up!  Let me add at this juncture that it does not rain in the Pacific Northwest. It sprinkles. As the down pour started and the paint began to peel from the car I raised my fist in defiance and said "Mas Agua!", to which he gummed a smile and laughed.  Then it started to really rain and the lightning began flashing around us with deafening thunder claps! My new friend (it's funny how quickly the person who holds your life in their hands becomes your friend) was now hunched over the steering wheel trying to see the road.  'It was that damned, crazy, gypsy woman from the bus!' I thought. 'She put a curse on me!' Then through the white sheet came police lights and ambulances rushing passed going the other way.  Soon more flashing lights and we passed an over turned van.  We had to swerve to avoid a fallen tree branch!  I chuckled nervously and softly said "No mas Agua."

     But soon the rain let up and we pulled into Boquete and everything was normal.  The driver said "Ahora aqui?" to which I guessed again and replied, "I, um,...oh...yeah...Vista Grande!"  He gums, he nods, he blah, blah, blahs, and 15 minutes later, after driving in circles in the dark I decided to give the poor man a break and let him return to his wife and family.  I gave up trying to find The Vista Grande and pointed to the closest hotel sign I could read.  Confused, but relived, my new Panamanian friend dropped me off and bid me a grateful and gracious farewell and drove off into the night.

     I checked in to the Reboqute Hotel and with the help of the young man at the desk ordered a pizza to be delivered. I got online and finally found Jim's phone number. You may be asking yourself, "What kind of idiot does not have the most important phone number in the world written down somewhere?" Well, I'll tell you - Me, that's who, and don't you forget it! Anyway I called Jim and explained what had happened.  "Sure, sure", he said (He's from Canada), "No worries, sorry we missed you. I'll pick you up tomorrow".  And he did.  He is my new friend...and hero. The pizza?  Pretty damn delicious.
 

Ah, Houston...We Have a Problem

     I landed in Houston, Texas on the first leg of my journey to Boquete in beautiful weather, not as I had feared in torrential rain and tornadoes. As my flight from Houston to Panama City (Panama, not Florida) should have been ready to board an announcement came stating that there would be a slight delay while...wait for it...we find our missing captain. Two lovely pints  and a double shot of Cuervo later and it was easier to accept the next bulletin.  The good news was that the rogue pilot had been located.  The bad news was that he was in San Antonio.  But the better news came a few minutes later when we were told that his plane had just taken off!  So, after a three hour delay we too took flight - for Panama.  I have no idea so don't even ask.

    Having taken taxis (and driven a rental car) in Manhattan did not prepare me for the ride from Tocamen International into Panama City to my hotel. They say that in near death experiences a certain calm comes over people. I suppose that is why I didn't soil myself as my dept young cabbie flew through the crowded streets into the city. I honestly do not know how any vehicle in Panama still has side view mirrors attached to its doors.  It is an honest to God miracle. But my driver was confident (or drunk) and managed to get us to my hotel with out killing a single human being.  

     There is a whole story around how to tell a Panamanian that spoke almost no english that the name of the hotel I was going to was called (and I'm not making this up) the Autograph@ Lodge. I'll spare you that story and jump to the following morning - yesterday. By divine intervention and a lot of looking confused I got on the ultra modern double decker bus to David (Da-veed), the capital of Panama.  It was tight quarters but it had A/C, a toilet, and movie screens. What it did not have on board was a man in a white jacket with a syringe full of lithium for the poor woman directly behind me who was speaking (in between fits of anger and sobbing) at the top of her lungs and at rapid fire speed to no one in particular some kind of voodoo Spanish.

     Oh, something I forgot to mention...It is an 8 hour bus ride to David.  The poor man next to me tried every which way to plug his ears to no avail. He looked at me, a total white, stranger with fear and pleading in his eyes.  I am not kidding.  In response, and with kindness I might add, I reached into my backpack and produced my Mack's silicone earplugs. It's unfortunate that I only had one pair and hey, he was a dark skinned stranger, so I put them in my own bleeding ears.  He chuckled with envy and slunk deeper in to his seat.  After to hours of this insane babble-screaming Hollywood saved the day!  A movie began on the screens and the beast was silent. That's the good news.

To be continued...