Riding The Bus With Jesus

When heading out of the country, most people cab it to the Panama City airport. A cab ride costs something around $40, depending, and takes you on a 30 minute highway tour. Boring.

So, with more than a four hour layover and more idle time ahead, plus a fidgety kid and luggage too, we decided to kill some time and travel the slow bus through town.

The buses here are tricked out beyond the stretches of kistch, and clearly, Uncle Jesus is taking the wheel!

With Hey-Seus being so prominently displayed, including a full center fold type spread on the cieling (see left), I wondered if this might not be Panama's cheaper and improved answer to Allstate.

As the rest of traffic whizzed by at a fair clip, our driver traveled at a trickle, stopping frequently not only to let new riders board, but to allow vendors step on briefly to sell candies, sodas and the like.


Unlike the more glamorous view of Panama City's white and distant skyline, the scenes from a local bus reveal a seedier, dirtier and truer side of the city.'

After about 90 minutes, we were deposited at a stop, a quick walk to the airport, luggage in tow. Hooray for wheels, right? Total cost of our trip for the three of us? About $2.00!
Additional photos of our tour are posted at left.

We're Coming Home .... For Dinner

Yes, it's true. We are coming to Sarasota for two whole weeks. The trip, of course, is supposedly driven by our need to clean out and rent out our Sarasota house. So the story goes. But the real line is... Larry just wants a steak. Frankly, I don't think he will last another month without a tender and juicy NY Strip. And me? I'm hankering something terrible for a taste of Sushi, Egg Foo Young and Licorice... drooling for it, actually.

Truth be told, if it hadn't been for Leah & Paige sending those Tums & Tampons in their giant Walmart gift box, we might have been home by May. (Alas... Nada in the steak department.)

Yes, I know. The food here is fresh. You can't beat a giant papaya for a buck, or an ice cream cone for a whopping .30 cents. William's favorite treats, these little bagged ices from the corner store, go for a nickel. That's right. I said a nickel. Remember nickels? Well some of you might.

We've learned a lot in 5 months. We've learned that nothing gets done in a day, so relax. We've learned not to touch the fuzzy caterpillars, snakes and giant toads. But one of the hardest lessons, at least for Larry, was learning that there is such a thing as too lean meat. Not a spot of fat to be found. You can purchase a slab of beef, marinate the sucker for three days and still have to toss it to the dogs (no dirth of dogs! Bow wow wow...) because you broke a tooth on your Rib Eye. Yikes!

I believe I covered Chinese food in an earlier posting, and then there's Japanese. I'm aching right now just thinking about a fresh hot plate of Tempura with sweet and tangy dipping sauce.... sides of plump and colorful sushi... green tea ice cream... I actually can smellthe food and I think I can hear the ping ping ding of Asian Musak. Ok. I have to stop. Some people call this kind of lustful reminiscing "food sex" and this is supposed to be a family friendly site.

So we're coming home to pack things for storage, and, we hope, rent out our home. We are so excited to see family (Claire, Jon, Max, Connor, Aldona ... William's friends, heck, my friends). I can't wait to go to Redeemer for a proper down-on-your-knees, smells & bells Anglican service and then... hit the Hob Nob for a sloppy burger!)

We'll probably have our home Vonage Florida phone forwarded to a temporary cell so we can be reached. But, if you are around from July 26 - August 7, stop by 3051 53rd St. and say Hola! Hasta Luego... for now.

Costa Rica Weekend

Without a permanent visa, all visitors must leave Panama after 90 days for 72 hours. We found the quickest crossing was to drive the pleasant 2 hours to Rio Sereno, where we left our car under the promised care of local Panamanian police. Then, it's a quick walk across the border to Costa Rica, stamp in, then a 15 minute ride to the town of Sabalito ( the name, Sabalito, refers to a little fish that used to be abundant in this are of Costa Rica.)

The taxi was a rugged jeep where William and I sat in the back, Larry in the cab, stopping only to photograph a fantastic tree that rises outside of town. (Can't recall the name of it.)

Sabalito is a rinky town with few shops. Mostly local bars, a few eateries, a park. Very Ho Hum. We stayed at a Hostel (the Riviera) owned by Ana and, while I approached the edge of panic about what to do with a non-stop energetic kid. Then, Ana told us about her sort of adopted sister's Tilapia Farm nearby. S-a-v-e-d!

The farm is about a 15 minuted ride out of town, and we walked it the second day because the view was so lovely. The farm is owned by Meyer & Mary, both Costa Ricans. They've had it about four years now, when they found coffee farming was not as profitable as it was proved for them.

They have several acres where they farm Tilapia in a system of nine pools. They have to be fed frequently and sometimes burrow holes into the soft silty sides of the ponds. Meyer catches his fish by hand net (see photo) and cleans them himself. They are served two ways: filleted, or slashed and deep fried. Both come with fried plantains, salad and rice.

The family also have row boat, a family horse, a waterfall, and a swimming pool. The pool is big, shallow and adjacent to a large, open air restaurant with 11 picnic style tables and a kitchen.

Mary and Meyer, along with their children and a few helpers, do all the cooking and serving. The get away is popular with locals and they can clean, cook and serve up to 100 Tilapia on a good Sunday.

We made fast friends with Maryand Meyer and their children. So much so that we spent all three days at the farm, boating, riding the horse, trudging through jungle to the falls, sharing life stories, eating abundantly, and even dancing (that would be me, a total spectacle and embarassment to William, because Mary played all of Michael Jackon's "Thriller" album). .The photos at left illustrate our very pleasant long weekend.

Three days later, back in Boquete, Larry's permanent visa had come through, which allows William and me to move forward with processing our residency as well. Once that is secure, we won't need to make mandatory border crossings. However; we plan to visit Meyer and Mary again nonetheless.

The one challenge we seemed to face consistently during our little trip was around ordering food at local eateries. Larry said it was like watching a skit from Saturday Night Live.

Picture us in a Chinese/Costa Rican Restaurant with one of those daunting menus that has maybe six flippin' pages and over 165 selections and lucky me... because when it comes to ordering food...."Tag! I'm "It!"

So my head is spinning over maybe 20 Chow Mein recipes because William wants noodles. Just noodles, right? So I explain to our Chinese/Costa Rican server in perfectly polite and grammatical Spanish tAnd he's cranky because he's hungry. So... mom to the rescue to secure a plate of just plain noodles.

Eliz. Alright. I think we like to have one order of just the noodles?
Srv. What? Noodles? You want noodles? Chow Mein. Look (she's stabbing my menu). Number Three..... Noodles. Noodles with chicken. With Vegetables. You like that?
Eliz. Well, nooo. Just the noodles. Maybe with some sauce.
Srv. WHAT? (she's nearly shouting) SAUCE? What you want? SAUCE? No. Can't do sauce!
(She begins the stabbing again, pointing out various orders.) Chow Mein with beef. You want beef? What you want? Meet? You want Vegetables? What you want to order?
Eliz. Hmm, I see here it says you have Spagetti. Ok. Just an order oforder Spagetti. But NO sauce?
Srv. WHAT? No SAUCE? Okay. Here, number 3. Noodles. Vegetables. Chicken. You want Chicken? (William is not a fan of chicken.)
Eliz. Well, no. We ...just ...want ....some ....Noodles....on a plate.
Srv. O-Kay. You like this one (pointing again to number 3). It come with noodles.
Eliz. Alright. We'll order the Number 3 (I look pleadingly at a cranky William and practically hiss "William... Just eat the NOODLES... Oh Kay.???")
Srv. O-KAY. YOU want order number 3. Good! I get you Number 3.
Eliz. Well, Nooo. You want me to order number 3....

This exchange took maybe five exhausting minutes. By the time Larry got around to ordering, I think he just looked up at her and stabbed at any old thing that seemed to work. By then, my brain was on hold so I gave up and ordered a beer. William proceded to eat the Number 3 .... Chicken, vegetables and All.

Over the Water & Through the Graveyard, A Surfin' We Will Go!

That's right. I said through the graveyard!

William is, and has always been, a dare devil. I knew back in Florida, when I had to stop him from doing full flips off his skim board into a teeny foot of water, that we were headed for deeper water. Either that... or I was going to end up with a quadriplegic. Given the choice between neck breaking flips into shallow water, or the possiblity of crashing into reefs and sharks, I had to opt for the latter. So last weekend Larry, my personal travel agent, planned a surfing trip.

Bastimento is one of the small islands that make up the archipeligo "Bocas del Toro," off Panama coast on the Carribbean side. And it is there we headed to look for what the locals call "Wizzard Beach," known for having some decent surf.

From Bocas, where we were staying, we took a quick water taxi to Bastimento. Once on the dock, we were instructed to walk along the cement path that hugs the shore of this loud, littered shanty town.

The houses are make shift rickety, close and colorful. Reggae music blares at top volume, competing with barking dogs, crowing roosters, hollering mothers. The children play along side their houses or by the shore, on tiny patches of ground littered with filth that is tough to look at.

After about 7 minutes the cement walkway ends abruptly and we turned left as instructed, finding ourselves suddenly on a narrow, uphill dirt pathway that landed us smack in the middle of the local graveyard.

Suddenly we were standing amid heavy cement-made, above-ground burial sites, neatly and brightly tiled, and adorned with flowers, photos, etc. (See photos). We wended our way through the monuments, hunting for a break in the brush. We found a tiny path that grew larger and walked about 20 minutes through island jungle on a muddy, slippery path, grappling for vines from time to time to keep from slipping.

And then there it was. Beautiful Wizzard Beach.

The instructor, Javier, was waiting for us up the beach with 2 surf boards. After some preliminary coaching, off went Javier, into the white surf, with William in tow.

The waves further out were probably 8 or 9 feet and with a nice curl, but breaking quickly. William stayed much closer to shore as Javier pushed him gently onto his first small wave. That rascall jumped right up on that board and rode that wave nearly all the way in to the shore! Honestly, in the two hours he practiced with Javier at his side, he toppled only a few times. What a kid!