On Being Sick Guy

So, I stayed home from work today because I had a bout of food poisoning last night and I feel guilty about it because I almost failed the sixth grade.

It's okay, you can take a moment to re-read that first sentence. It's perhaps not the exact definition of a non sequitor, but I think it comes close. So let me explain.

Junior high school was tough for me. I'm not exactly sure why. It probably had something to do with puberty and all that jazz, but for whatever reason, when I was in the sixth grade I developed a psychosomatic disorder. Every morning when my mother would get me up to go to school, I would feel okay. Of course, no kid wants to get up and go to school, but that's normal. I would bathe, get dressed, eat breakfast and then my mother would take me to school. That's when the problem started.

As we got close to the school, I would begin to have stomach cramps. The closer we got, the worse they would get, until I was doubled over in pain in the back seat of the car. Mom would try to get me to get out and go to school, but I would finally complain enough that she would give up and take me home.

This caused lots of problems. It often made my mother late for work. It made her angry with me, even though she would do her best not to yell at me, because she could see that I was really in pain. But it got really bad. I would stay home from school, and feel better, but the next morning, the cramps would come back. I was missing days and days of school.

So my parents started taking me to doctors. I went through all sorts of tests. They tested my appendix, did all kinds of x-rays and other even less pleasant tests, but they never came up with any reason why I should be having these stomach pains. Looking back on it now, I suppose that my parents must have been really worried about me.

Finally, one of the doctors must have come to the conclusion that the problem was that I was suffering from severe stress whenever the thought of school came up. So I was prescribed with some meds that would relax me and calm me down. My mother also finally told me that if I missed any more school they were going to fail me and I was going to be held back a grade.

Finally, I snapped out of it. I got my shit together, started going back to school and didn't have any more problems with the cramps. In fact, from the time I started going back to school until I graduated high school, I only ever missed about 5 or 6 days of school. That's out of six or seven years. Funny thing is, even now, when I get really stressed, I start to have stomach cramps. But I've learned to take a deep breath and ignore them.

The whole point of this story is that I am really paranoid now about "staying home sick." I'm always afraid of what people are secretly saying about me, if they secretly think that I'm just at home faking it. And I'm secretly afraid that I'm going to fall back into that old habit and that it's all just in my head.

So even though I spent about three hours last night in the bathroom, puking up my toenails and every last bit of food and bile that was in my stomach, I still felt really guilty about calling in sick to work this morning.

Plus, it doesn't help that for the last couple of years, I've felt like "Sick Guy." It seems like I'm always going to the doctor for something, or being hospitalized for something. And I'm on so many meds now that I feel like a really old man. And I always worry that everyone thinks I'm just doing it for sympathy or something.

I know, it's kind of screwed up. I guess everyone has to have something screwed up about them, right?

Just call me Sick Guy.

Panama, Part 8: Full Circle

Author's note: This is the final handwritten entry I made in my journal while in Panama. We'll see if it sums up my experience. If not, I'll do one more post. Hopefully you're not all sick of reading about it by now. Thanks for sticking it out through the whole journey.

This is going to be a combined entry. Once, because not alot happened on Friday, and two, because Friday night I was kind of drunk and didn't feel like forming a coherent sentence.

So here's the synopsis of Friday and Saturday, the last two days of the trip. We woke up at a reasonable hour Friday morning, since we were in no hurry to check out. Playa Blanca is a great place; nice rooms, great food, and they don't water down the drinks. Michelle wants to go back, and I think that's a great idea. Since they also have ATV tours, jet skis, para-sailing, snorkeling and diving. So there would be as much or as little as you wanted to do.

So, we had a leisurely breakfast, then lounged around until noon, checked out of our rooms, and then were allowed to stick around for lunch as well. Then there was a fun little trip into Panama City. What made it fun was that all I had to do was sit in the back seat. Bill was driving, Michelle was navigating, and they were trying to make their way through a city with very few road signs and roads appear to have been designed by a big fan of M.C. Escher. On top of that, they were navigating with a combination of a Hertz rent-a-car map and the instructions on the back of a post-card sized ad for the hotel. So, I just sat in the back seat and enjoyed an extensive tour of Panama City while the Meehans snapped at each other in the front.

But we finally made it, and I have to say, the Hotel Milan was a nice little place.

Friday night was nice and laid back. We had dinner at a little Italian joint down the street and then Bill took us to a brew pub near the hotel. They have some great beers, and we all got a bit stoned and listened to Bill tell stories about drunk football coaches. At the end of the evening, we stumbled back to our hotel room and crashed.

And the rest is pretty much standard. I woke up this morning really hung over, but I powered through it, as did Michelle. Then breakfast, airport, lines, lines, and more lines. The flight back to Houston was uneventful, and once again, the asshole in front of me slammed his seat back and left it there for the entire four-hour flight.

So that's it. Bill said it felt like we just got there when we had to leave. To me, the trip felt like two weeks instead of only once, but it was still a good trip. And for all the frustration she had with her dad, Michelle was sad when we parted with him at the airport.

And there you have it. All written down as it happened. When I'm done posting this, I'll summarize my thoughts about the whole trip. For now, I'm totally tuckered out. So I'll see you later.

Ciao.

That's all folks. I've transcribed my entire journal from the Panama trip. I've been very lucky in my life to get to travel and see the places that I have. Panama is a beautiful country, full of wonderful people. I hope that as you read these entries, you saw sort of an arc to the story. I think this was a real growth opportunity for me. And now I'll stop boring you all with Panama.

Ciao,
The Storyteller

Panama, Part 7: Vacation Time

Author's note: Because I started the post for part 6 and then came back later and finished it, it actually shows up on the blog below the post about my first hate mail. So be careful not to miss it. It's got some great pics at the end of it.

This entry won't take long, because it's late and I'm very tired; However, today was what I really like to think of as a vacation.

I didn't sleep at all last night. It was simply impossible. It was way too hot, the mattress was so thin that it was impossible to find a comfortable position, the bed wasn't big enough for both of us, the mosquito net wouldn't stay closed . . .

If it weren't for my MP3 player and Harry Potter, I'd have never made it through the night. So, I was up before dawn, which was only cool because I got to watch the sun come up over the beach. After breakfast, we packed up and go out of there without delay. We didn't even take showers.

Anyway, we got on the road again, and that was an adventure in and of itself. The road between Las Lajas and Santiago was baaaaaad. But once we pulled up past Santiago, it smoothed out and I dozed all the way to Playa Blanca.

When we turned in the gateway, and I saw all the gleaming white stucco, I knew the whole trip had been worth it. We had hit paydirt. Michelle was very pleased as well. So here we are, happy as clams. Buffets, free drinks, a great shower, clean sheets, big soft beds, huge swimming pools and ocean views. Sadly, we only get to spend one night here, but it's one night closer to home.

I knew from the beginning that this trip would be an adventure, and not a restful vacation. But for one night, at least, we can set adventure aside and enjoy all the amenities of civilization. And soon we will be homeward bound with some great stories to tell.

My First Hate Mail

Wow.

I must really be moving up in the world. I finally got my first hate mail, or hate comment, I guess. I hate to admit it, but it upset me a little. That sucks, because I generally don't like to give people who post anonymously on the web the satisfaction of knowing they got my goat. But I just have to share this.

For all of your talk of how this country runs interesting people away, you seem to be pretty shallow and inconsiderate. If you don't like your free trip you might try spending your own money and planning your own trip. I hope that your Father In Law never finds your blog. And from your other posts I hope your family doesn't either. I will probably keep reading your blog because I really like your writing, but you really need to do a self examination. You seem to want to be this free bohemian writer but it sounds like you are bitter and self indulgent. Get a life.

I really was surprised to find this in my inbox this morning. I mean, I'm not sure exactly what in my posts could have inspired such venom. The question is, now, do I respond point by point? Oh, what the hell.

First, it wasn't a free trip. Michelle and I laid out almost two grand for this trip. It also cost me a week of my very limited time off from work. So forgive me if I wanted to really enjoy at least a little of it.

Second, some members of my family have read my posts. In fact, this whole blog has helped me be more open and honest with them about my feelings. And you've never met my father-in-law. If you had, you'd know why I wrote why I wrote. My wife has read all of these entries already and it didn't bother her in the least.

Third, I'm glad you're reading my blog, but you need to read back a little further. If you had, you'd realize that this blog is all about self examination. That's why I ended the last post with the line "I'm a horrible person... ." I wasn't being facetious. I really did and do feel bad about having those feelings about the trip. But I had them and I can't deny them, so I write about them as a way to explore my feelings and perhaps grow a little as a person. I agree, alot of the time I am bitter and self-indulgent. It's one of my major character flaws. But doesn't every great character have to have flaws. It's what makes them interesting, and it provides a vehicle for conflict in the narrative. In the end, it's the conquering of these flaws that allows the character to grow and develop beyond two dimensions. You've got to read to the end of the story before you jump to conclusions. I hope that you keep reading my posts about Panama. You may see a little less bitterness and self-indulgence. At least I hope so.

Finally, I really want to keep you as a reader, Anonymous. I can handle criticism. I'd never make it as a writer if I couldn't. But I would like you to do me one courtesy. In our system of justice, the accused has the right to confront his accuser before having judgment passed on him. So the next time you feel the need to post a comment criticizing me and judging me, please do me the courtesy of posting as someone other than Anonymous.

I don't know if you live in Austin, but if you do, I'd like to get together with you and have a beer. We can chat and you can get to know me. Maybe you can help me be a bit less bitter.

Thanks.

Panama, Part 6: A Bit Surreal

Well, okay. After a short intermission to deal with some other business, we are back on track in Panama. I hope you enjoy the last couple of posts on the subject.

We finally left Boquete today. After driving once again up to Baja Mono--which means "the lower monkey" in Spanish, I think. It was very beautiful in the clear daylight, but at the same time, it was still a little annoying to have to ride all the way up there again.

After that, we drove out to the Boquete Country Club to meet with Rujillio. This is the guy that owns the BCC and according to Bill, he is a multi-millionaire. I can believe this, but I was still amazed that he was willing to take time out of what was obviously a busy schedule just to talk with us. After that, we headed out for Playa Las Lajas.

First, let me talk about the Panamanian countryside. The highlands, where Boquete is, are undeniably beautiful. At about 3,400 feet above sea level, they are cool and lovely. Coming down out of the highlands is also interesting, but in a different way. As we drove from Boquete to Las Lajas, what I noticed is that Panama in January isn't all that different from Central Texas in April or May. Hilly and lush, the only thing that indicates a difference is the occasional palm tree or Panamanian hut.

Anyway, about Las Lajas. Bill mentioned that they don't have any air-conditioning. So I was at least prepared for that. What I wasn't prepared for is that the cabanas are pretty primitive. Check that; VERY primitive. At least as far as I'm concerned. There are no screens on the windows; in fact, there is no glass in half the windows, just grates. Because of this, the bed, which is in a little loft upstairs, has a mosquito net around it. Well, bed isn't entirely accurate. It's a thin little mattress barely big enough to fit two people.

The only thing that makes up for this is that the beach here is awesome. And it's almost completely deserted. Michelle and Bill and I split a big plate of slightly unidentifiable meats with fried plantains and papas fritas, then I spent hours walking along the beach, playing in the surf and picking up interesting shells and such. Then we sat and watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. It is one of those things that I will remember forever.

And so I sit here writing this in the "bar". I'm pretty mellow, after a few beers. And so I'm realizing that his is one of the tings that life is all about. Sure, I'm not a big fan of roughing it, but I have one more beautiful sunset to remember and one more great story to tell. And of course, as always, the people here are wonderful. They are so friendly. And you can't beat the prices. Michelle and I drank about a dozen Panamanian beers for only about 5 bucks. Yep, this is what life is all about.

But I's still a little afraid of what may be lurking in my cabana...

Just so you don't think I'm making it up, here are some pictures of Playa Las Lajas.

This is the cabana we stayed in. Halway through the afternoon, the toilet broke but they go it fixed eventually.Here's the downstairs. Notice the concrete window grates sans glass or screens.

These are the stairs leading to the loft. I had to turn sideways to get up them. Lots of fun in the middle of the night with only a flashlight to see by.

Here's the upstairs. Notice the daylight peeking through the gaps in the tile roof. The lamp did work until about 11 o'clock when they shut off the generator.

This is what made up for everything. One of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. The camara simply can't do it justice.

Panama, Part 5: Not the Best

Sometimes I think that I am a really horrible person. When something doesn't go exactly the way I want it to, especially when I think I'm missing something really great, I have a tendency to get really crabby and mean-spirited. I mostly keep this to myself, because I really don't like to hurt people's feelings, but still, I get really foul-tempered, and that makes me fell guilty.

Bill worked really hard to plan this trip for us. All we had to pay for was the airfare. And I know he really wants to show off this area that has become his home...BUT...

As I sit here for one more night in the Kalima suites, Boquete, I can't help feeling like we could be doing something more fun. I mean, we saw the coffee factory, we saw Baja Mono, we went to Volcancito and drove all over the mountains for hours yesterday. And while the scenery is beautiful, there are only so many angles I can see it from before I start to get really bored.

I mean, it would be one thing if we were staying in a cabin way up in the hills with sweeping vistas on all sides. I could stay there for a week just soaking it in and never want to go home. But we're not. We're sitting here in a 3-star (at best) joint in the middle of this pissant little village listening to the old-ass cars and trucks rumble down the streets.

There are things that are obviously important to Bill. Today, he dragged us into David. It may be the third largest city in Panama, but from what I saw, it was a shit hole. Dirty, smelly, noisy, crowded; not my kind of place at all. And we stayed there all afternoon while Bill took us to the bank, then to meet his lawyer. All so that Michelle can understand the crazy machinations he is going through to ensure that nobody but his kids get any of his money when he dies. And of course, Michelle doesn't wan to think about any of this. And I sure as hell don't care. But it's very important to him, so we humored him.

When it was all said and done, he drove us up yet another horrible mountain road to show us yet another housing development from yet another angle that we'd already seen. By this time, I wanted to hurt someone, but I had to grit my teeth and make small talk with my FIL because my wife had completely dropped out in the backseat. Finally, I just had to call it. So we had an early dinner and Bill dropped us off at the hotel.

The thing that annoys me about it is what we're missing. Yesterday, we saw pretty much everything that Boquete had to offer. We could have checked out this morning, done the business in David, and been on to Las Lajas and the beach by now. Then, we could have headed on from there on Thursday and had a whole extra day to spend in Playa Blanca.

THAT is what pisses me off. Playa Blanca was one of the main reasons I cam on this trip. An all-inclusive beach resort on the Pacific ocean. Sun, sand, bikini-clad bodies, and, from all reports, really great food. And all we're going to get is one. single. night. That's all. Just thinking about it now pisses me off even more.

So I have to just not think about it. Maybe it won't be so great. Maybe I'll hate it. I should be happy and excited that I got such an in depth tour of Boquete.

Yeah, I know. It's all bullshit.

I'm a horrible person...

Panama, Part 4: The Salty Crew

Author's note: This is more of an addendum to the previous post.

I love to meet new and interesting people. It's one of the things that really makes life worthwhile. Well, last night I got to meet some. If there is one thing that Bill is good at, it's meeting and making friends with the most interesting characters.

Last night for supper, he took us to his favorite hangout here in Boquete. Granted, it's an expat bar, but I'd like to point out that it often takes going to a foreign country to meet a few of your countrymen that you would otherwise never have encountered. Well, we met Bill's crew and they were quite a collection. Let me introduce them:

First, there was the ex-Las Vegas CSI. That's right, just like the TV show. It's trite, but I just had to ask him and he was only too willing to explain what fantasy that show is. You can tell this guy has seen things that haunt him, and that's the reason, I suppose, that he was none too sober that night. In his own words, he had spent his career stepping over other people's broken lives and at some point, he just couldn't do it anymore.

Next, there was the old stoner from Canada. This guy is straight out of a Jimmy Buffett song. In fact, I got the impression that he was a bit of a parrot-head. It was all good to him. He just rolled with whatever came his way. He was the kind of laid back, stone-cold groovy dude that you only find in a little bar in a foreign port.

Then, there was the guy from Michigan. On the surface, he seemed pretty average. But when you talk to him, you find out he is a Vietnam vet, who managed to get to that country just in time for the Tet offensive and all its horror. Back from the war, he had been on the corporate executive fast track when he decided to chuck it all, bought a one-way ticket to Europe and spent the rest of his twenties there going from place to place and seeing it all. Apparently, he'd finally ended up back in the states as a building contractor. Oh, and he doesn't believe in paying income taxes and told a long story about fighting the IRS and winning.

And finally, there was Earnest. OK, his real name was Jim, but my first impression of him was Earnest Hemingway. A stout fellow of advanced years, with big strong hands, a deeply tanned face and a snowy white beard. he was clear of eye and strongly opinionated, but they all were. Jim had been a merchant mariner, a ship's navigator and captain, and must have seen plenty. He was old school, very ready to let you know where he stood on anything and everything. He's the kind of guy that will rub you the wrong way if you get easily offended by the older generation's more conservative aspects, but who you can still really respect, if you know you can disagree with someone and still find them interesting. Michelle didn't like him at all. I have to admit that I did.

Add to this collection a retired football coach with long-ago shattered dreams of playing pro ball and you have an assortment that any novelist would dream about. I swear, one year in Panama with these guys and I would have myself a best-seller. It could be mystery, action, comedy, drama...

But let me finish with a couple of final thoughts.

First, it seems to be that there are a couple kinds of folks who gravitate to this place. The first are American retirees who come down here for cheap land and beautiful views, but they don't really seem to appreciate the place for what it is. They are clearing huge swaths of land to put in housing developments not dissimilar to any you might find in the states. Soon, they are going to turn Boquete in to South Florida.

But then, there are the ones I like to call the Misfits. These are people who come here looking for something, but perhaps not knowing exactly what. Or perhaps they are running away from something. Or perhaps both. For whatever reason, they no longer feel at home in the country of their birth. This is not to say they are not patriotic. These folks, Americans and Canadians both, love their country very much. And many have shed blood in its defense. But for all that, they don't feel welcome there, or they simply cannot find what it is they seek back in their old lives.

I don't pity them. I feel some sadness, though. Sadness for these people that must go so far to find a home, yes. But also sadness for us back home. Sadness for us because we are supposed to live in a society that is free and open enough for everyone to find a place.

I feel sad for us because we have lost out on having these characters as part of our fabric and our story. They are part of another story now . . . the story of Panama.

Panama, Part 3: Coffee School and Endless Paths

Well, we're about two thirds of the way through our third day here in Panama, and our second day, or first full day, in Boquete. The place looks a little better in the light of day. I guess I'm just too suburban. I'll talk more about my feelings of the beauty of this place later.

But first, let me talk about what has been another highlight of this trip. I like to call it Coffee School, or Escuela de Cafe. Our day began early, with breakfast at a little Panamanian cafeteria a few 'streets' over from our hotel.

Breakfast: Beef empanada; familiar, but good.
Hard-boiled egg; I'm really getting to like them.
Un bollo; this is a very dense cylinder of cornbread made from corn masa. Pretty bland, but filling. About the size of an ear of corn.

Anyway, after breakfast, we headed up to the Kotowa coffee farm and factory. Now I thought this would be just a quick show around, looking at some coffee plants, a view of the equipment, and then some coffee tasting. Boy, was I wrong.

First, we got to meet Ricardo, the factory owner. He is the grandson of the Scotsman who started the factory back in the 1920's. Then we met Hans. Hans is Dutch. Hans is cool. Hans owns another farm that sells to Kotowa, and I think he manages the factory for Ricardo. I wasn't quite sure. What I am sure about is that Hans knows a couple things about coffee. Little did I know that we were in store for an intensive course in coffee appreciation.

On the tour with us--us being me, Michelle and Bill--was a very nice couple from Tel Av iv. That's right, Israel. Well, Hans started by taking us out to the coffee fields behind the factory and explaining to us about different kinds of coffee plants. And then began what turned into a three-hour long explanation of exactly why most coffee sucks, and what exactly makes the world's best cup of coffee.

Hans started with a history of modern coffee plants, explained how to get the best beans--and how not to--and even how to keep good native workers on your farm. Then he found out that the Israeli guy was an engineer and that I myself work in a pretty technical field. That was when the fun really began.

Hans took us into the coffee factory and took us step by step through the entire process, showing in detail how the machines worked and how each step gradually improved the ultimate quality of the coffee. When it was all over, he showed us the old, original, water-powered factory, currently the oldest existing one in Panama.

It was like being right inside a TLC documentary or something. But the piece de resistance was yet to come: tasting the coffee.

Hans took us all into the factory's little coffee bar and brewed us up four different kinds of coffee. Then he showed us how to evaluate the coffee the way a cupper does. A cupper is like a sommelier, but with coffee instead of wine. I don't have room to explain it all here, but I think I have discovered what is my favorite cup of coffee:

100% arabica beans, picked when exactly ripe, from the tallest and oldest type of coffee plant--which is tree-sized--and then roasted to a medium roast and espresso brewed with just a dash of unrefined sugar.

Now, like wine, once you have achieved a certain level of quality, the grind, roast and additions will change according to a person's individual taste. But I would like to note that the coffee I liked, as opposed to what everyone else liked, was given the highest rating by the International Coffee Association compared to the other coffees we tried.

See, I have good taste. Just not in movies or clothes.

Hans was even good enough to explain to me how to brew an excellent cup of coffee with as little caffeine as possible, without having to resort to decaf, which really hurts the flavor of the coffee.

Well, I am forever changed. As soon as I get home, I'm throwing out all my Folgers and Maxwell House, buying a coffee grinder, whipping out my espresso machine and finally figuring out how to use it. I was so taken with the whole tour that I barely took any photos. Sorry about that.

As for the rest of the day, it was very nice, but not great. Bill insisted on driving us farther up into the mountains. And there was definitely some really beautiful scenery. In fact, I took about fifty pics. I'll post some of them, and alot of them will make wonderful desktops. But after the second hour of bouncing around the terrible mountain roads, all the coffee farms and valley overlooks started to look the same. And it dragged on until four in the afternoon. I mean, I like seeing pretty views as much as anyone, but at some point, on a vacation, one must have a break.


Well at last, we finally got one. Right now, Michelle is napping. I'm journaling and we're just resting before supper. But Bill has many more things planned, so there will be plenty more to write about. Stay tuned.

Panama, Part 2: The Canal

Day 2 was very long, but also very interesting. Breakfast was a little odd. Hard-boiled eggs instead of scrambled. Little pastries filled with meat (not empanadas, but similar) and really runny oatmeal. I had to endure another long-winded lecture from Bill explaining all the ins and outs of Panamanians. Oh yeah, he's lived here just over a year, but can explain every little idiosyncrasy of the local culture.

After breakfast, we were treated to one of the man-made wonders of the world; a look at the Panama Canal. We visited the Miraflores Locks, one of two systems of locks along the canal. I have to say, I was super psyched about this. I mean, you study about these kinds of things, but you never expect to see them. At least, I never expected it. Who ever thought I would be visiting Panama?

But there it was, in all its glory. OK, granted, it doesn't really look all that special. It just looks like any other canal or river. But when you stop to think about all the effort that went into building it, and the fact that they did all of that almost 100 years ago...well, it's pretty amazing.
And the Panamanians are really proud of it. As they should be. It is a huge part of their national income.

After touring the locks and the museum, we got Willie to take us to the Casca Viejo, the old Spanish city. This was the original heart of the city, and although it is run down, it has some really beautiful architecture. We even drove right past the President's house. That's right, the President of Panama.

Then it was off to the airport to catch our flight to David. Now, I thought the regional airport in Fishkill was small, but this place looked like a bus terminal. They actually called roll before we boarded the plane, to see who was there. But for all that, the flight was fine. The turboprop aircraft was surprisingly smooth, and no more uncomfortable than the 737.

But the really great part was the David "International" Airport. We got off the plan and out on the tarmac, went into a terminal the size of my house, and then waited while the luggage handler called out the claim numbers one by one. When we went outside, I swear, I thought we were in somebody's back yard. We were surrounded by cow pastures. It was the most pastoral flight I've ever taken.

The drive from David to Boquete was pretty uneventful. In fact, the whole place reminded me of the small towns I grew up around in Texas. Just replace the rednecks with Panamanians, and you're pretty much there.

I'll talk more about Boquete tomorrow. I've only seen it in the dark at this point, and my first impression isn't great. We'll see what it looks like in the light of day.

The high point so far has been dinner.

Restaurant: Machupichu
Type: Peruvian
Food: Excellent
Drinks: Real sangria. It was the best I've ever had. Made with good wine and fresh juice with chunks of apple in. It was like nectar of the Gods.
Appetizer: Anticuchos de corazon. For you Spanish speakers, you're not mistaken. I've always wanted to try this. Marinated and grilled slices of beef heart. It was so good. The flavor is much like any other cut of beef, but very lean. A little tough, but that's why it's well tenderized.
Main Course: Aji de Gallina. Shredded chicken served in a yellow pepper sauce. Not sure what was in the sauce, but it was rich and creamy. Very savory, but not as spicy as I thought it would be. Paired with freshly mashed potatoes, it was a very homey meal that left me fully satisfied.

So far, the trip has been interesting, but with some annoyances and disappointments. We'll see what tomorrow holds.

PS. We did finally get the monkey off Michelle's back.

Panama, Part 1: No Seatbelts

As I sit here in a small regional airport in Panama City, I realize it has already been an interesting trip, and well worth the effort to get here.

We left Austin early on Saturday morning, flying to Houston and then on to Panama City. Continental airlines isn't bad, and they put us on a 737, which is a bit newer and larger than your average MD-80.

The problem, as with all commercial air travel, is not really the airlines themselves, it's your fellow passengers that are problem. They really packed us in, and packing in is something that I am not very good at at all, probably because you can pack a couple of people in the space that it takes to pack me. But still, it could all be made a bit better if other folks were a touch more considerate.

In fact, here's an idea. Maybe you don't agree with this, but I say let's start a petition. I think they should completely disable the reclining function on any flight shorter than 8 hours. Because of course, 10 minutes after takeoff from Houston, the steer in front of me decided to slam his seat into the fully reclined position and then wiggle back and forth until he had managed to wallow his bulk into a position that left me with about six inches of breathing space. Add to this the fact that we spent three solid hours riding out some of the worst turbulence I've ever experienced, and you can see that I did not at all enjoy this first installment of my "vacation."

At long last, we touched down at the international airport in Panama City, and I thanked the maker for that. I don't do well with turbulence.

After touchdown, things improved mightily. Getting through immigration and customs was far easier than returning to the U.S. And Bill, Michelle's dad, was actually on time. This saved us a whole lot of worry, since neither Michell nor I speak very much Spanish, despite our extensive training in the language.

Bill, in turn, introduced us to Willie, our cab driver, who is buena gente (good people), and who seems to act as our chauffeur. We got everything loaded into Willie's taxi with a bit of effort. This was for two reasons. One, Willie's taxi isn't very big, and two, Michelle and I are chronic over-packers. I try so hard to bring only the essentials, but, like a boy scout, I always want to be prepared. Thus, I always end up dragging around a huge suitcase, or two, and feeling like a giant fool.

Anyway, we got all loaded up and Michelle and I hopped into the backseat. Willie took off like a shot into some crazy Panamanian traffic, and so naturally we reached for our seat belts; only to find out a very disturbing fact: Panamanian taxis DON'T HAVE SEAT BELTS!!

At least, not in the back seats. Now coming from the U.S, we've all gotten used to strapping in, no matter where we are in the car. But not in Panama. Oh no. While huge buses thundered out of side streets, and Willie fearlessly whipped around slower cars, Michelle and I just did our best to relax and stare out at the sights.
And there is plenty to see in Panama City. It's just like the things you see on TV. We drove through the banking and shopping districts, with lots of nice cars, shining glass and tall buildings, and then we passed by what must have been public housing. A large neighborhood crammed with people, living in high-rise apartments that looked like they had been through multiple hurricanes. Just like any city, there are the very wealthy, evidenced by the yachts moored in the harbours, and the very poor, evidence by the ill-maintained buildings and the laundry lines full of clothes hanging out everywhere.



But it's not as bad as all that. It appears that Panama has a vibrant and growing middle-class. On Saturday night, when we went out to dinner, the restaurant we went to was crowded with people, primarily Panamanians, all dressed well in fashions that I suspect would not have been out of place in Miami or any other major city in a warm climate. The restaurant was good, an Italian joint called Alberto's. And what's really great are the prices. Michelle chose a really delectable lasagna made with shrimp, salmon and a cream sauce. The kicker? It only cost $9.95. It would easily have cost twice that much at a restaurant back home.

Oh, and the money situation is good, too. Because there has been such a substantial American presence here for the last 100 years or so, everyone transacts their business in American dollars. So, no need for exchange rates or any of that jazz. I mean, I don't mind immersing myself in another culture, but it's hella nice to have a little convenience occasionally.

Stay tuned for Part 2...

The Panama Chronicles

I'm putting this post in here as a quick intro to the next few posts.

I just want to explain a couple of things. The posts that follow are being transcribed directly from my handwritten journal. I wrote these entries at the end of each day or morning, so they were written in the heat of the moment, as it were. I've decided not to really edit them, or add anything to them, other than to correct spelling and such.

I want you guys to experience these things the way the came into my brain and flowed out through my pen as I was in country. If you have any questions about the posts, or if you want more details about certain things, I'll be happy to fill those in later.

I'll do my best to keep posting these all week. I may even get motivated and put in more than one a day, but don't get your hopes up. You know how I am.

So, I hope that you will all come along with me as I relive my journey to this far away land. Somebody cue the Van Halen...

We're Baaaaaack

Hola, amigos!

Michelle and I have returned from the land of the Great Canal. We are hale and hardy, so far showing no signs of exotic disease, or any other ailment except exhaustion. It was one heck of an adventure, especially for two people who are as spoiled to the ammenties as Michelle and I are.

I'm not going to get into the details just yet, mainly because it's late, I'm very tired, and I actually have to get up and go to work in the morning. That's going to be real fun. At least Panama was an hour ahead, so I'm still working slightly ahead of schedule. Maybe that will work to my benefit tomorrow.

At any rate, it was a great trip. There were some things that were amazing and awsome. Some things that were truly sucky and annoying, but on the whole, no great dissappointments. This may be because my expectations were not very high. But we've got lots of stories to tell and lots of pictures to show.

My next few posts are going to be all about Panama. Let me explain why: As rarely as I seem to do it while I'm here in the civilized part of the world, I realized after one night in Panama that I really missed the opportunity to blog about it. And I didn't want to forget any of the cool stuff I was experiencing. So, I fell back on a tried and true combination: pen and paper. That's write, I actually wrote stuff down by hand.

I purchased a journal the first day we were there and proceed to write down my thoughts each night and sometimes in the morning. I decided that when I got back, I would transfer these journal entries into blog posts, just as I had written them. I think this will give you all a good idea of what I saw and felt and experience in country. It will also be interesting for me to reread what I wrote down in the heat of the moment.

So stay tuned. I'm going to do my best to add a post every night this week, as well as throwing in some pictures. Hopefully, by the end of the week, I'll have caught up on all the journal entries and have the pics organized and posted to one of the major picture hosting websites.

For now, I'm going to go to bed and try not to think about tech writing for at least six more hours.

Hasta pronto, mis amigos.