Maddy's Travels
Gone Fishing
Panama, March 2010
the Panama Canal
Dear Margo, Frank and Rich,
I saw lots of pretty birds, Margo. As I sat in the Embera River, a light rain sprinkled and these pretty yellow ones flew hither and thither. The banana filled bird feeder at breakfast had blue ones and green ones and orange ones with black breasts with white polka dots. Sorry to tell the serious bird watchers among you that I can’t name a single one.
Rich, I really did go fishin’ and I’ll agree with what you’ve always told me - it’s pretty darn relaxing. Put the bait on the hook for me and I’ll go any time. We caught tons of Peacock Bass (corvina in Spanish) and a restaurant on the shore fried up a huge platter for us along with fried yucca and patacones (plantains). “Us” refers to my gal pal Shirley and her friends Mary and Goldie. Mary and Goldie were smart enough to retire to Panama at a ripe young age because with the special Panamanian status of “retirado” you pay zero taxes on anything and get huge (aka 30 - 50%) discounts at any any restaurant or hotel and pay about $1,000 for excellent private health care. A Panamanian school teacher with a masters makes at most $800. per month, but he and a wife with the same income can own a house. We were fishing in Lake Gatun, the giant lake that feeds the Panama Canal.
Frank, the Panama Canal is an amazing feat of engineering. I will always remember it (and not necessarily fondly) as the place where they consider 55 as the starting age to receive senior discount. I DO NOT ACCEPT IT! I will happily wait until the normal American age for said discount. Because of all the people who came to build the canal, Panama is a polyglot of colors and cultures - African, European, Chinese and Indigenous.
Some of the Indigenous people are less mixed in. Shirley and I took a tour of one of the villages of the Embera people. As we were canoed down the river the scenery was great - particularly the muscular buttocks of the men in loin cloths. The women are bare breasted and everyone is decorated with non permanent tattoos. I was reminded of a cartoon by Gary Larsen. After a car passes, the cows in the field say “OK, we can stand up now?” Did these people put their clothes on as soon as we left? ( I don’t really think they do because the women’s breasts don’t look like they’ve ever known “Victoria Secrets”.
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Visiting the Embera people
Shirley’s vacation was shorter than mine. The day she left, I had that little pang - “What am I doing here? How do I get to the next place? What is the next place? Will there be a bathroom on the bus? Will there be a cab waiting for me when the bus leaves me off at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with my suitcase?”
The cab was there and took me down the road to the beach I had chosen. The water was beautiful, the room rustic (very), the other guests, well, where were they? “Oh my, what am I doing here on this isolated stretch?” Within an hour I’d met two great Swiss gals, one of them a hairstylist like me. Unlike the USA however, she closes her salon for a month every year and travels. Hmmmmm.... is there a lesson to be learned here? We spent a few days swimming, gabbing, reading, eating ceviche and drinking margaritas.
I must say I have a love for the higher altitude towns I visited - crisp air, a breeze, warm in the day, alternating sun, clouds, sprinkles - a few downpours included (hence the green color). “Eternal primavera” it’s called (always spring). I befriended a retired doctor from Boliva. His English was minimal, hence my Spanish got really good. I enjoyed his company until he had to go ahead and kiss me. I wasn’t against the idea of a kiss, but his just didn’t do it for me. I sat in thermal hot springs, took a mud bath, rode a horse and played for several hours with Monica, the tamarine monkey. She would jump affectionately on my face, stick her tongue up my nose, jump to my arm and continue to affectionately remove arm hairs one by one. I met a man and a monkey. I liked the monkey better.
On my last day I was sitting having lunch in the patio restaurant of my hotel and heard tango music coming from the bar. I had not danced for two weeks and was longing for the tango. The waiter told me that the hotel’s owner dance tango. Their dance community consisted of about six beginners, but amazingly they had Argentine guest teachers in town. An impromptu “milonga” (tango dance) was arranged for the evening. No dance shoes available, I danced in my socks.
The story would have ended here had not bad weather in Boston stranded me in Miami. My dear friend, Luz had recently moved to Florida. She rescued me at the airport. I got an extra day on the beach and a final lunch at the restaurant “Boston”.
Panama City with Shirley
with Monica the monkey
in thermal hot springs
with Shaggy the horse
