The heat of the day doesn’t fade completely during the night, but 100 feet from the ocean as I am, the evening is quite palatable. Fresco, as the locals say. The howls of the street have dwindled to almost nothing and in the far corner of the hostel away from the others, I can almost imagine that anything about my life is normal right now. Almost.
Sleep is broken. I feel a little funny. I think it has something to do with the barista that was sneezing and wiping her nose repeatedly while giving me coffee and change from a $20 bill. Panama’s official currency is the US Dollar. They mint their own coins, but there are exactly the same as US coins, just different pictures. I think they are called Balboas, after a fuzzy wuzzy who magicked the religiousity of the public transportation or something.
It’s not long after taking out my earplugs I am prone to sleeping with that the howls, jeers, and inarticulate guttural belching of the locals wafts up to my window along with the scent of urine from the street. Funny thing about Panamanian Spanish. Everyone seems to have completely lost the letter “S” from their vocabulary. Odd thing to lose in a language whose name begins with that sound.
I just saw a guy with a Tarheels shirt walk by.
I’ve taken up trying to do a video diary once a day. Keep up on things… have a record of just how disreputable I look. I won’t be doing it this morning as, even though the light from the window is decent, the noise of the men whose full time job is seems is standing, shouting, and urinating in the street below, is a bit too loud for me to hear myself on the recording.
Onward! I have a full day planned. Today is to be my last day in the United States of Panama. I need to go procure some westernized goodies at the oversized mall/bus terminal before I head down to the uncivilized aboriginal South America; such as it is. I should probably stock up on toilet paper. The more I look around, the more I realize I have become too dependent on Target to operate effectively in the outside world.
First things first; I need to mail some things back to the States since I won’t need it in South America and I don’t feel like lugging it around. The front desk girl at my hotel doesn’t speak (or even like) English, so I get my big bag packed, grab my day bag and head out.
I wander up to Luna’s Castle, the reigning hostel in this region of the world for good reason. I swing in and ask the front desk girl where the nearest post office is to mail some things and she obligingly writes the address down on a piece of scratch paper. Walking outside, I find an equally obliging cab driver who agrees to drive me there. He does so, I pay him, I get out, he drives away.
Today is Saturday.
The mail is not open in this, or any other Central American, country. I have to assume that this is common knowledge to the front desk girl who simply forgot. I have to assume that this is common knowledge to the cab driver who was only too happy to take my money. The day starts off at a $6 deficit for round trip cab fares.
Ok, time for breakfast. Café Coca-Cola provides yet again lackluster food, but quickly and for a low price. Quite dependable, really.
Upon return to Luna’s Castle the same girl is running the front desk. I smile.
“Well, that was fun, but perhaps I should have been more specific. Now, is there a post office that is actually open today where I can mail this stuff?”
Her eyes get very wide and she suddenly sits up very straight; her game of Farmville temporarily forgotten.
“Oh, no! I forgot it was Saturday!” and I know she is telling the truth. She is kind enough to look up another shipping place and verify that it is open this morning.
DHL, here I come. Only DHL is not in the place that she told me it would be. A couple more cab rides and I arrive at the DHL office to be told that I can ship these few books back to the states for the low low price of $123.83 USD. Eh, no thanks.
$13 in cab rides so far, with nothing accomplished. I’m not having much luck with the public transportation in Panama City. I have a nerve pinched in my back to the left of the spine and in between my shoulder blades. This is a recurring thing, I need someone to crack my back. The chiropractor once fulfilled this need. There are none to be had, but there is an ad for massages on the counter at Luna’s. I am informed Laura, the massage therapist, will be in around noon so I settle in to wait; researching hostels and housing in Cartagena, Colombia as I do.
I made a dozen or so inquiries into couchsurfing in Cartagena yesterday with no success. I did get one reply, however, directing me to inquire with a hostel named San Roque. Luckily, they have a room ready for me and are awaiting my arrival at all hours. Honorable mention for my round of phone calls goes to Casa Viena who despite not having any room told me I could show up and they would help me find a place. That is what a backpacker hostel is all about; that tiny little feeling that even though you are a million miles from home and anyone you know, you are not alone.
When researching hostels in another country, I have found two somewhat unpredictable sources of information that have been a big help. Couchsurfers, and TripAdvisor.com user reviews. You are never guaranteed a hit, but often there is detailed, solid information to be had. The grain of salt to take with the trip advisor reviews is that when some people hit a hostel for the first time without knowing what to expect, they will give a big negative review, but they are easy to spot. Just look for a line akin to: “They didn’t even give me soap” or “I had to pay to rent a towel.”
I have three pairs of earbuds now after a recent trip to the mall. They cost $1, $5, and $12 respectively. They are each worth about what I paid for them. Amazon.com doesn’t ship to Colombia, so it appears I may be without any good headphones for some time. Oh, that reminds me. Go Craigslist.
Last night I jumped on Craigslist, after the disappointing smashed camera incident, and found someone selling a spare canon lens for $20. It’s not new or beautiful, but it works and will certainly do in a pinch. I’m still not going to use the Rebel as a daily picture taker, but it’s good to know I have it if I need it.
In my search for a daily camera I have come across the Olympus Stylus-Tough. Anyone who knows me knows that I am extremely hard on cameras. In my heyday I went through 7 cameras in about 12 months. Not good. I figure if I drop a little extra money on a camera that is designed to take a lickin and keep on tickin, I may be well rewarded.
Still no Laura.
The front desk attendant, hilarious though I never catch her name, calls Laura to find out what happened. Then puts me on the phone with her. This is unprecedented customer service. Laura won’t be in until after 1 p.m. so I have some time to kill. Time to catch a cab to the mall to purchase the Stylus-Tough. A quick check of my finances reveals that I am good, but not great.
Upon arriving at the mall, I head straight for a shop I bought earbuds at, Multimax! They have the camera in stock, though it is a bit overpriced. I decide to go for it, but notice one thing. It doesn’t use the memory I have. I would need to buy all new memory cards to go with it as well. That’s a deal breaker. I spend a few more minutes walking around to other stores and cannot find a suitable substitute, so I head back to Luna’s to get my back cracked.
Laura is great! One of the most genuinely friendly and warm people I have met. She knows all manner of tricks and really enjoys her massage. I learn she is from Texas, is the General Manager for Luna’s and also the barber… barbera… barbaria… she cuts hair. My muscles are in heaven by the time she is done. Unfortunately, she just doesn’t put enough muscle in to crack my back, and the pinch is still there. Ah well, it’s getting on in the day and I need to do some more shopping.
Walking the Albrook Mall quickly turns into just walking. I never find a suitable camera or anything else on my list for that matter. Panama City is a small place for taxi drivers. I saw the taxi driver who took me to the closed post office this morning later in the day. He even had the balls to ask me if I got my stuff mailed. Also, after bargaining with a certain cabbie in a red hat, he called me something like “duro de piedro” hard as a rock since I wouldn’t take his crappy prices. I saw him and negotiated three more cheap rides from him today. Eventually, arranging for him to pick me up and take me to the airport.
The whole ride to Tocumen International Airport, my cabbie was singing whatever song came across the radio at the top of his lungs, stopping only to ask me questions I couldn’t understand and to hit on the girls at the tollbooths. The evening air is lovely and it feels good to be leaving Panama.
Cool thing about Panama City airport, you can take water through security with you. Even open water bottles, as I did today.
I did see some interesting things today. Ghetto Santa. One legged man jumping around in circles in traffic looking for tips; perhaps that’s how he lost the first one. Lookalike to my playmate ex-girlfriend. Some beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean. A duty free store that charges more than the regular stores by a rather LARGE margin. The effects of crack on Panamanians. Even star shaped fried bananas.
I have to give a big shout out to Aromas café in Casco Viejo. That restaurant consistently served up fantastic food fixins for decent prices and stellar customer service. Try the Pollo a la criolla and you will not be disappointed. You may even sing the cooks praises, like I did. But you may just want to leave that up to me. I am quite the praise singer.
The trip to Colombia is nowhere near as difficult as everything I have read made it out to be. A little patience and a little smile combined with a lot of money will get you into the country. I paid over $230 for my ticket. Somewhere over $60 of that was just fees. One of our traveling partners was able to purchase his ticket online (I received a message saying I had to go to the airport) for around $150. There is a rule somewhere that governs this sort of thing but I don’t know what it is.
You can carry a total of 20 kilos or 44 pounds in your checked baggage. You are allowed 10 kilos, or 22 pounds in your carryon. In most modern planes, I don’t think this is an issue. As our plane from Panama to Colombia was an old propeller style plane, I think this whole weight thing may have come in to play.
Immigration is cool once again, as long as I best guess everything, they skate me through. Customs official takes one look at me and doesn’t even touch my bag, he simply waves me on through. Getting into Colombia was one of the easiest border crossings I have done.
The heat and humidity are amazing. It’s 11:30 at night and I am sweating. The ride to the hotel unveils that the taxi drivers here are the same as everywhere else. Prostitutes are plentiful and Colombian women seem to be much fatter than their Panamanian neighbors. As the Film Festival is just ending, there are a number of foreigners out mingling.
Wandering around Getsemani at night is technically a no-no. The guy at the hotel says as long as I don’t go down a certain street then I will be ok, but he doesn’t clearly define what that street is. I’m pretty sure I’ll be ok. I wander from club to club and manage to talk to a couple of Europeans, but everyone else is either dancing or otherwise engaged. I understand why everyone stays up until 3,4, even 6 a.m. Because that is the only part of the day that is enjoyable. Even the late evening is just too stupid hot.
It’s quite pleasant around 3 a.m. by the time I tuck myself into bed. I don’t get up until after 11 the following morning.
Two years and two weeks ago a person very close to me was killed. Today is his birthday. I spend the next couple hours just thinking about what this means and will spend the remainder of the day in contemplation. This doesn’t mean I should stay in, though.
Today is a day of experimentation. As I have had woes with cameras and would still like to figure out a way to preserve some visual record of these travels, I have decided to see what I can do with my dive camera and a mini tripod. The rest of the pictures from today are from that setup. Let me know what you think.
One thing I saw on the way into town last night was a big castle on the hill outside town; lit up like a Christmas tree. I’ve decided to go up there today and take a look.
This castle was built a while ago and has a wild tunnel system running through it. It is cramped and ugly, and the deeper you go, the more slick the floors get. There are sections of the tunnels that have lights, and there are large sections that are unlit. If you have a flashlight in your pack (thanks, Joe) like me, this is not a problem. It is super creepy though.
Walking around town, I am reminded of Pamplona. One can tell this city was built on Spanish influence. Strange that a few blocks after thinking that, I came across three hombres dressed like runners! Also, note how unccomfortable this photographer looks.
After weighing in on a long running chess match, I decided to go get some food. Only problem is that 90% of the restaurants are not open on Sunday. I really need to start paying more attention. If you are ever in Getsemani, Cartagena, give the coffee at Hostel media Luna a pass, twice today it seems to have fueled a headache for me. But definitely go down calle triplita y media and go to Restaurante Coroncoro. They make a fantastic horse steak. Yeah… horse.
Jasper is a guy of unknown origin who I met this afternoon while eating breakfast before the castle. Jasper has come up from southern chile and argentina over the last 6 months going in reverse up the same route I will be going down. He and I rapped for a good length of time and I decided to catch the overnight bus to Merellin with him tonight and save the cost of a hotel and save myself the 12 hours of sunlight that the day bus would eat up. Here goes.