Monday, March 1
I woke up at 4. The three hundred roosters one hundreds yards up the road were agitated, no further sleep was possible. I strolled around town and grabbed a coffee a little after five. At dawn I returned to the hostel and quietly tapped on the doors of the private rooms. Apparently I had awakened my roommate by showering. As I exited I observed that she had laid down a yoga mat and assumed a position in which her hands and feet were on the ground, her abdomen at a right angle and her camel toe high in the air. I averted my eyes. This was not a sight I needed.
This time the crowd was ready to go. I explained about the chiva and the lack of a queuing mechanism. The next one to go was jammed to capacity so we walked across the road and had an execrable breakfast. Mine was unimaginably tough meat that had been thinly sliced and then fried so as to increase its toughness accompanied by a deep fried flour named something I hope I don’t need to recall. Watery red flavorless hot sauce was doused over everything.
We walked back across the street to the chiva stop and two of this crew headed back to the room for some reason so we missed the next chiva. I won’t go into all the details as you can probably surmise my success in herding these cats. I told them they had to wait near the terminal and when the chiva drove by we had to block the back and climb in else people would appear out of no where and fill the thing. At ten we were boarded, sitting on the padded wooden benches in the covered bed of a pickup and headed up the mountain over the continental divide to find ourselves in Guabal, the starting point of a previous adventure. TODO link. Indians lined the other bench, I took an Indian boy on my knee, Indians crowded the aisle between the two benches, the diminutive but hardy folk able to stand.
An hour later we hopped out. I walked the group over to a wooden shack and stood at the window. Curious little boys came to inspect, I teased them and they grinned. I ordered a coffee, the only thing sold at this house and paid for it with $.15. The rest of the group did the same. Some of us had seconds. Less than $2 later we had exhausted the coffee supply and went off in search of lunch. There is a restaurant in town, but I didn’t know where it was. I asked, but misunderstood. Following what I thought was the directions I walked into another wooden shack and Indian greeted us and cleared off room for all of us to sit down. He seemed very glad to see us; business must be very slow. I inquired what was available for lunch to find that this wasn’t a restaurant. Oh, so sorry. I retained the services of his seven year old son, who would function as a guide. For a buck he was to walk us to the restaurant. The man surveyed us and decided we were harmless. I handed the kid a buck which he stared at in amazement. As he walked us through the jungle trail he kept staring at the easiest dollar he would ever make in his life. A crowd gathered behind us, just watching.
Several people from the chiva showed up. I inquired about a menu, but the woman had no idea what I was talking about. Nothing new here. I inquired about our choices, she told me something that started with “Jamonina”. Well, jamon is ham but I wanted to be sure. “Puerco?” Then I made pig snorting noises. That broke everybody up and the woman nodded in confirmation. Ok, five please. In minutes we had heaping portions of beans, rice and some diced pink cubes. I understand that experiments are underway to grow meat in a laboratory. I hope it turns out better than this. It made spam seem more like food than a Monty Python act.
We crossed the bridge and started to walk in the jungle. In the morning I had removed all extraneous material from my day pack and had inadvertently removed my dry bag. Torrents of rain caused us to rush back to town to take shelter under the overhang in front of the two room clinic that serves untold thousands of Indians who walk for hours when they need treatment. Tanner unstrapped his skateboard and attempted to do tricks, but the concrete had been sealed and had a glaze to it which rendered the surface far from ideal for skateboard trickery, or so I was told; I am not a skater. Nonetheless as he performed all eyes in the village watched in amazement some coming to the edge of the deck, others from the school and other buildings. After an hour or so of this we grabbed a chiva back. Tanner expressed his appreciation for the “most awesome thing he had ever done.” Ok.
We got back and Tanner performed more tricks on the near perfect asphalt roads down the hilly slopes to the amazement and amusement of the inhabitants while Nico took videos. I went back to my room to find a very pleasant female asian face resting on a pillow. She woke up and asked what time the restaurant opened. “Which restaurant?” “There is one over there somewhere.” “Can’t help.” “Come with us, we are going to walk through town.” She got up, “I’m Jim.” “I’m Bee.” The six of us headed to walk the length of town. I told them about my trip to the coast with Rodney having walked from Guabal to Rio Luis staying with an Indian family for three days and taking a canoe to Caloveborato stay with the people involved in the transportation of a certain high value white powder. We stopped at Cafe Delight, I inquired about Elizabeth, who started the place. Seems she had moved back to the states to deliver her child and would not be returning. Stefanie’s former brother in law was running the place. On the way back to the hostel somebody called out my name. I turned around and it was Timotea, the Indian in Rio Luis with whom I had stayed. We had a big embrace in the street and talked for fifteen minutes. I told him I would try to come visit him in the next couple of weeks and he was delighted. We walked back to the hostel, more skate boarding, got hungry and walked back to Cafe Delight. I spotted a blonde head sitting at a table, the man sat with his back to me. “What’s up Mike? Where’s Gloris?” Mike turned around and a big smile crossed his face as the six of us joined him. He had been bored out of his mind.
Most of us ate nachos, without guacamole, chilis or hot sauce. Hardly a nacho then, is it? We sat around and shot the shit. “What is there to do in this town?” I suggested, “Well we could take over the pool hall.”
The pool hall is a cantina, a bastion of masculinity, the restroom has nothing but a urinal in it. Twenty guys crowded the pool room another score sat at tables in the back room. We went to the back and bought some $.50 beers. Guys sat around drinking while latin music played. I suggested we play some pool. “But there is a room full of people and both tables are full.” “No problem. When I bring you in there you two girls grab some queues and give these guys some eye candy by bending over and pretending to shoot.” Picture a hot little korean woman in hot pants bending over in a pool hall full of Panamanian and Indian men. The girls did so, I asked the guys playing if the girls could play, they cleared the table mid game and surrendered it. I told the guys that were playing to play with the girls. Every eye in the room was resting on their asses without the slightest pretense of not staring. We took over after that game, bought a round for the house, which pleased everybody no end, cost us $.50 per person to do so. Then we went into the back room and asked them to change the music. The girls started dancing with themselves. The little Korean on whose head I could rest my chin danced with a little old Indian on whose head she could rest her chin. Tanner was performing tricks on a much more suitable surface while Nico took pictures and videos. I talked with just about everybody.
I walked by a table and somebody yelled out “Jaime.” I looked. “Como?” “Colovebera.” “Edgar?” “Si.” We recounted something of him carrying Rodney home last time we were in that nearly inaccessible little coastal town. Somebody from my group said, “You do know everybody don’t you?” “I’m a little hard to forget.” “That’s an understatement.”
The girls came over and said, “I can’t drink anymore beer, where can we get some rum?” “Give me twenty bucks.” They forked over the cash and I went to the manager and said, in Spanish, “I’d like a liter of rum.” “We don’t have rum.” “Then go get some or we are leaving.” I handed him the twenty. Despite the fact that all the stores were closed a liter materialized within twenty minutes. No mixers could be obtained. I told the girls not to give shots to anybody who asked for them. Shots were consumed and given away, I refrained. Some of the Indians got a bit grabby. I told the guys not to do a thing, just have the girls tell me and I would handle it. Ten times I signalled somebody who escorted another drunken Indian out of the place. They wouldn’t object in the morning, they wouldn’t recall the incident. We left the place around four o’clock. I went to the bed, the rest of the crew headed down towards the river but abandoned that effort when they found themselves in absolute darkness.
Jonathan Allen LaFleur