Homeless By Choice

I’ve been living a very sedentary existence and eating enough for two. In thirteen days I’ve managed to pack on ten pounds. Today it was time to take care of a few things.

First we went to the “sorting office” a Royal Mail letter and package sorting station bearing the notice left in Jan’s mailbox. We picked up the micro hard drive case and proceeded to the post office to send a letter, an income tax return check which I had to mail to my bank in the states. The post office was located above a book store. I glanced at a few titles and thought, “Not the business I’d want to be in, electronic books will be the end of this place soon.” At the top of the stairs a sign indicated that six stamps could be bought for two pounds forty. Christ! That’s sixty cents to mail a single letter. I have no idea what a stamp costs in the United States. I don’t mail anything.

There was no queue so I wound my way through the barriers to the waiting clerk and indicated that I wanted my letter tracked. Jan translated my English into British saying, “he wants recorded delivery.” The woman told me that it would be sent overnight and stated the amount. I pointed out that the envelope was bound for the U.S. Another option was called for. Large metallic gold stickers were affixed and a receipt with tracking information was provided in exchange for five pounds eight two, thats about $9. Better than spending $48 in Panama toward the same end.

On our way back to the parking garage Jan pointed out the location of the fitness center. No time like the present. “Parking Garage? What’s that? It’s called a car park.” We walked down the hall and up the flight of stairs. I inquired about the rate, yes monthly memberships were available for forty five pounds, about seventy bucks. Whatever. I told the girl I didn’t need to see the place, have any of the machines explained to me. Here’s the cash, just give me my membership card. Three minutes later I was heading out the door.

Time to buy some workout gear. Shorts.. yup… they’ll do. Shirt, nothing in whale size. Shirt… yup that will do. Shoes. I walked over to where the “trainers” were and found a pair of low rise leather trekkers with thick Vibram soles. Yup… they’ll do.

“You need to look at the others. Here look at these.”
“Not waterproof.”
“Look at these.”
“Soles are too thin, I’d wear them out in a month.”
“Look, there are hundreds of them.”
I thought, “There are millions of women, I didn’t try them all on. Just shush.”
I said nothing.

I found some in my size. UK 11, US 12. WTF?

Strap sandals. Nothing in my size but some with leather. Oh, what hell.

“Jan, you need a pair of shoes like these for walking through and across rivers.”
“But these are waterproof.”
“Not if you walk in water over the top, up to your knees. Or you have to portage a canoe.”
“Don’t they have any other colors?”
“Are you f**king kidding me?
I said nothing.
“What if somebody sees me in them?”
“It’s Panama, in the jungle, in the mountains, near waterfalls. It’s not a fashion parade.”
Reluctant, “Well, let me see what else they have.”
Somebody shoot me now.

Dry bags! I’m as excited as a fat labrador under a dinner table full of slobs. I have plenty of dry bags. But you can never have too many. I picked up a couple. And some extra large micro fibre towels, one in blue and one in pink. That should stop any arguments over who lost theirs.

At the checkout counter they would not accept my visa as it didn’t have a microchip in it, so I resorted to cash.

Off to the grocery store.

Instant coffee? Blech. Hey look, French Presses, here is a mini one that goes in a coffee cup, lightweight, small, all stainless steel and plastic. Ok, time for coffee. Extra Strong flavor, high caffeine. No need to look at anything else. Sage filled pork joint. I walked by the fishmongers, WTF, yellowfin tuna is twenty two pounds a kilo? About fifteen times the price of fresh yellowfin in Panama. Ok, I just came in here for coffee. Off to the self check out. Bing,, bang, out the door. Where’s Jan? I check the time and go back into the store, pickup four heads of iceberg lettuce priced at one pound fifty for two. Back to the self checkout. They rang up at a pound apiece. Pushed the help button. A minute later a clerk appeared, signed in with her card and the machine had a credit of one pound. “What did you do?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.” Oh, yeah, right
But she never did ask what my issue was.

Out to the parking lot, cars came and went of every type, BMW, Mercedes, Lexus, Ferrari, Lamborghini, MG, Cooper, Puegot, Renault, Vauxhall… ahh, here’s her SUV. Three charges in the rear seat. One was Leon, who has been formerly introduced. The other two were brothers, Jack and Joshua. One looked like a miniature of the other. Leon introduced me, “Jungle Jim, will you show them the happiest penguin?” (A youtube video).

Back to the house. The kids were amazingly well behaved. I finally met their mothers. I shouldn’t be in this flat without a script from the chief of police somewhere. Their mothers seemed to think me harmless enough. So, I posted this in about 20 minutes while she is writing a post about a trip to the museum and realizing what a pain in the ass blogging is.

Early to rise as we had a day out in London organised. Cash, card, phone, keys, camera, yes, let’s go.

A gentle walk to the train station brought us to the ticket machine.
This high tech multi-choice ticket machine was baffling to say the least. There were so many travel variations and options for the same journey. Do we take the overhead National Express Great East Anglia Line train with the required connection to the London underground train line service? Do we require an Oyster Card, or a One-Day Travel Card? Which zone 1, 2, 3 or all zones?

The queue behind us was growing by the minute…….

The necessary selections were made. The ticket came to £12.20.

We board the near empty train and after passing a few stations, the train driver announced “This train will terminate at Ilford Station, due to ongoing work being carried out on the tracks ahead. You will need to exit the station and take a bus to your destination!” What? The destination is 15 miles away! Oh well……….

To the bus stop we headed. We soon realized that the queue we were in was the wrong one and walked further ahead to the next bus stop. As we stood waiting Jim noticed an internet cafe and went in to have a look. He came out laughing and said he had photographed a sign:

The bus came and we embarked only to be told by the ever so helpful driver that there is another bus that would take us straight to Stratford Central station, where would be able to connect to the Underground Central Line that would take us to our destination – The Natural History Museum – in the West End of London.

The bus resembled a tin of sardines! Every seat was taken except for the 3 seats upstairs and every window was steamed up to the point of zero visibility.

Once at Stratford Central station we followed the crowd along to the Underground Central Line, better known as the Tube.

A little old lady in front of us was waddling along trying to balance on a high heeled pair of very impractical walking shoes, providing some light entertainment.

Once aboard the ‘Tube’ we had to stand most of the way as all the seats were taken. The multitude of different nationalities here was striking and all heading for the bright lights of London. It was an overly noisy bone-crushing journey, hanging-on for dear life in these trains is an art as we were being flung to the left, right, back and forth, ribs were elbowed, feet trodden and body blows worthy of a WWF championship title belt.

We arrived at our destination and headed up the 1/4 mile-long escalators, where etiquette – ‘standers’ to the right, walkers to the left were adhered to. Finding our way out of the labyrinth alone was an adventure. At the exit stiles our tickets were rejected. After several attempts we approached a station guard who looked at the tickets and declared they were only valid to the City (Zone 2) and not to our destination, (Zone 1) and that we had illegally travelled from the City to the West End qualifying us as penalty-worthy fare-dodgers which carried a £50.00 fine! We were advised to re-walk the miles of underground tunnels in the opposite direction to find the Ticket Office, where we could purchase a second ticket, which would allow us to exit the train station.

Off we trekked, bought the tickets, left the station.

Standing outside Knightsbridge station, we were greeted by a sea of tourists all admiring the paintwork outside the world famous Harrods. Some were seated under tree benches eating sandwiches, some where families working out where to go to next. There were couples photographing themselves outside the store whole families where exiting the store with dozens of Harrods’ bags stuffed full of January sales items………

On the pavement, was a beautiful array of cobbled stonework with circles left out for the trees. I ordered, sorry asked Jim to stand outside the famous store so that I could photograph him. He duly obliged and I snapped away. The taxi drivers carrying passengers who also wanted to visit the store, mounted the pavement with a total disregard for pedestrians, one even ‘nudging’ Jim and I out of his way, with his car!

We headed for the Natural History Museum, stumbling across an ice-skating rink full of people all skating in the same direction and a carousel in the distance.

Then we was the queue for the Museum! Several hundred metres of people just waiting to get in. It stretched from down the stairs and around the building. We headed off and found the Art Museum with no queue at all. (This should have been a sign). We wondered down the aisles admiring the various naked sculptures of male and females then found a photographic section and went in. There were very weird pictures on the walls. Very odd indeed. There was one picture of what looked like a chemical spill (just a splatter of different colours shooting off in different directions) and another of close-up dust and lint floating through the air.

Time to leave.

We headed to the Science Museum and managed to get in straight away.

We wandered around and found directions to an area called ‘Psychology; Mind Your Head’ where we saw clothes that had been made out of rubbish (trash) and a shadow on the wall of a person’s profile that was made up of modern latex penises and fingers! We looked over the balcony and saw the Victorian steam engines and headed towards them.

There was jaw dropping machinery along with black and white diagrams to show the mechanical movement. The terrible time we had trying to get into London was worth every second, for this alone.

Upstairs we saw variations of watches, clocks with their back case open so that it’s movement could be seen. Jim fondled his balls while gazing inquisitively at the technical data. There were beautifully crafted sundials and compasses too.

There were beautifully crafted sundials and compasses too.

Interestingly we saw farm equipment from times gone by, plastic replicating robots, old medical memorabilia, telephone switching stations, cray computers, atomic clocks, old composting wooden toilets and wooden vacuum cleaners.

I have forgotten how many corridors, aisles and flights of stairs we walked, but by the time we got to the wooden toilets, I removed my boots to relieve my poor aching toes and carried them over my shoulder.

Once outside, we headed up the road and saw a lovely corner pub and went in for sustenance Jim ordered an ale and I, a white wine. We went upstairs and sat down in the restaurant area and ordered our meals. I had the sirloin steak with fries and vegetables while Jim had ………………..? (a truly unmemorable meal).

Jim chatted up the waitress.

The train ride home was on a half empty (or full) carriage allowing us a comfortable journey. We were going to head straight home, but we were still hungry and headed over to the Indian Take-away Jim ordered the hottest lamb vindaloo with naan bread and a lamb korma for me.

5:00

It was a cloudy night, the eclipse was obscured. People gathered outside the window, returning from bars in the wee hours of the morning. A knock on the dorm room to admit a keyless straggler. It was a sleepless night. I checked the time. Five oh four, why did my alarm not go off? Stuffed stuff in my backpack. Went down the stairs. No receptionist to refund my key deposit. The smell of coffee. Nothing available. Cold brewed coffee sitting in a percolator, waiting to be turned on at seven. Where is my travelling companion of the day? Where is the taxi? Why is there no one here to call a taxi?

This is going to be a long trip.

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5:15

Another guest is about to hike to Albrook Mall, the bus terminal. No, I’m not crazy, first its a very long walk and its dark through the worst parts of town, twisting turning roads. I walked down to a major road grabbed a taxi, we passed him and picked him up. I got dropped off at the bus station paid my $2.50 even though he tried to charge us each $3. Took a one hour bus ride that passed the damn airport. Got off at the next stop, hailed another taxi, to the terminal.

7:30

Uneventful checkin other than the fact that American Airlines insists that my British Airways flight from Miami to London is not cancelled. It was cancelled yesterday, guys, they don’t cancel, get everybody not to show up and then fly anyway.

Dunkin’ donuts had a menu printed only in English and the woman behind the counter spoke not a word of it. So I had to try to translate the equivalent of an Egg McMuffin. “Yo quierre una pan Brittania con huevos y queso con jamon.”

Wonder of wonders, I got what I wanted.

8:20 Board commences. Uneventful flight so exhausted I slept. My head crooked over to the right on my shoulder, sore neck.

12:00 Welcome to Miami International Airport
Immigration was a breezed. Got the yellow dot trail at customs, but after quick x-ray was on my way. List of Countries since you left the US? Panama, Colombia, Brazil, Peru, Bolivia, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica. What is your occupation? “None”.

Tried to catch a bus to South Beach so I could call Travelocity from my Hotel. A bus pulls up, says “Dolphin Mall” I asked the driver, “does this go to South Beach?” “Como?” Ahhh sh.t, “Este autobús va a South Beach?” “No, necessito otro.” I need another, so I got off the bus. Turns out I needed to get a transfer from Dolphin Mall, not wait for another bus here. So I wait, and I wait and wait some friggin’ more. Three Cubans tell me that the bus comes every hour. Finally I ask a black guy, “What time is the next bus to South Beach? I’ve been sitting here for hours.” “You just missed it, city buses, across the street and down that flight of stairs. Just look for the bus that says South Beach.” Ok, I’m making progress now. Walk down the flight of stairs buses come by every 15 minutes, none say, “South Beach”. One guy tells me I need to take the “J” Bus and another says I need to take the “150”. I give up. BA has opened their “Customer Service by now.” Last time I passed they weren’t going to open for hours, despite the fact that hundreds of incoming passengers had their connecting flights cancelled. Now I was way the hell back in the line to buy tickets. Must have been 150 in line ahead of me. I saw a line 50 meters away to check in, with two people in line. That’s it. I’ll check into my cancelled flight. The woman dealt with a couple for twenty three minutes. She was putting them on standby on flight 208, the one I was trying to get on. In the mean time the line I just left was clicking along and people were getting into the queue ahead of me. These people just kept asking question after question. It took the same woman 6 minutes to put me on standby. My questions, “What is my position in queue?” “I don’t know.” Well I know why they won’t tell me. They’ll bump be down when BA frequent travellers show up. In the mean time I get an email from my gal in London who tells me that Travelocity can’t even confirm a flight for me on the 28th. That’s a week in Miami. Not that I would mind, if I wasn’t spending it at the airport.

#############
7 PM

I am one of forty three people on standby. Forty are called. I remain with two others. One decides the appropriate thing to do is bitch out the ticket agent as though she had anything to do with it. I went over to ticketing. There were only two people ahead of me. I told my tale of woe to the ticket agent. “Listen, route me any way you have to, through Frankfurt, Munich, Paris. My little girl is coming home from the Peace Corp in Namibia for 8 days. I haven’t seen her in two years.” Guy leaves, goes to back room for a minute. “I have you confirmed on flight 208 tomorrow. Give your daughter a hug from British Airways.” He handed me a voucher for a suite at the DoubleTree and $40 in travel vouchers.

I am catching a five o’clock taxi in less than four hours for a half hour ride to a three hour flight. Airports are not my friend right now. I was supposed to be in London the morning of the twenty-second after a layover in Miami. The layover is now indeterminately long. Heathrow is near shut down and more snow is coming. The American Airlines segment from Panama to Miami is non-cancellable, but the the British Airways trip from Miami to London is unavailable. I guess that means I hang in South Beach for a while. Hopefully I will get to meet my niece in Fort Lauderdale, and Jim and Pat in the Florida Keys while I bide my time. A lovely woman with some winter gear and a refrigerator filled with my favorites bemoans the fickleness of nature, looks like Christmas might not happen until January.

Tonight is the night of the Winter Equinox coinciding with the full eclipse of the moon. It is a cloudless night in Panama and the moon is directly overhead.

This weeks property loss? My iTouch. Sure it sucked. The screen was cracked, the off button broken, It wouldn’t transfer notes to my computer. But, it was better than nothing, it played music and took notes. What should I replace it with?

My friends at Casa Verde informed my that my room was reserved for the night. I had intended to take a minibus to David and a chicken bus from David to Boquette to visit some friends, but a few things got in the way. I popped next door, Walter whisked me to the airport where I purchased a ticket to Panama City and went home to pack.

I was dismayed to find that my Machu Pichu shirt and a very well worn guide shirt never made it back from the laundry. I should have checked at the time. Looking through my pile of stuff, all in ditty bags, I pulled out the hammock, the jungle survival kit and the machete among others. Nothing I could really use in London. The aforementioned goods were stuffed into a big boat bag and given to Walter for safekeeping. Now I have goods in Sante Fe, David and Bocas.

My pack is eerily light. I returned to the airport at 3:45 the designated time. Why we need to be there an hour before the flight is a bit of a mystery. This little dual prop plan can accommodate thirty passengers. After a couple of minutes we landed in Changinola, stayed for a couple of minutes and flew onto Panama City, landing at Albrook airport, a small airport inside town.

My taxi driver took two Argentines to Texas and proceeded with me to Luna’s Castle in Casco Viejo. Upon arriving I gave him twelve quarters. He insisted that the fare was $5. I insisted that he “eat me”. I have done this trip scores of times. It’s always $2.50.

Luna’s Castle was out of rooms. I told them I would sleep in the theater a room which doubles as a dorm. My third level bunk was at least 10 feet off the floor. My hips and shoulder dug into board beneath the thin mattress if I didn’t lie flat on my back. When I awoke people were scattered everywhere. Not a sound, not a breath or a snore.

I will try to rest today. It will be a sleepless night. You ask people to wake you up and they don’t taxi drivers who promise to come don’t show. Then for a long haul to the airport, a flight to Miama a long layover and a flight to Heathrow which is havoc over the snow.

Panama, I shall return, to embrace you and be embraced by you as I wander, with a spring in my steps, lost in blissful thoughts and wordless conversation through and with boundless beauty. In the meantime, I shall be finding a long lost self as I explore the depth that lies beyond those brown windows of the soul, warmed by another heart, while the frigid London air questions my sanity. It’s been a long time coming.

Hungry as hell. The band stopped playing. I went to the kitchen to cook up a little grub. What’s another chicken breast? A band member was supine on the couch. Are you hungry? “Si.” Off to the chino to buy some chicken breast.

Upon my return the cook came into the kitchen. “Do you know what you are doing?”
“Just going to make a little late night snack.”

“I’ll whip you something up.” The kitchen has been closed for three bours.

So… I got a couple of chicken burritos. But still… I have promised some grub to the band member so I am off to the kitchen to make what I was going to make. A couple of chicken burritos.

A man is only as good as his word.

The Mamaloca bar needed some limes so some of the part time helpers were sent to go collect some. I had never seen the farm so I hopped along for a ride. We took a 26 foot panga across the bay. As we rounded the point to the unsheltered waters of the Caribbean the swells neared five feet. The captain surveyed the waters and the channel concluded that it was not safe to attempt to make a landing on this side.

A “camino viejo” old trail made of sand held in place with wooden slats made for easy and scenic walking. After traversing the width of the island we headed along the beach, found another trail to climb back over a muddy trail to the other side. This walk was much muckier and I immersed my boots over the top in muck repeatedly. I was glad I had decided to wear long pants. After our second traversal we walked further along the beach on the and finally arrived a the appropriate spot in front of the farm. The view after a hundred meters of ascent was spectacular. The old farmer certainly had an appreciation for the merits of the aesthetic.

I lingered at the farmhouse, the boys continued up to pick limes by the bagful. Mamaloco goes through a hell of a lot of limes. Congratulations Chester.

The big chef treated a group of friends to sausages accompanied by vegetables. I had never had chayote before, but it will certainly not be the last. The band returned and the place started to fill up again. Half the people were locals, owners of resorts on adjacent islands and miscellaneous proprietors. This lead to the stories of Bocas. Everybody had a tale. I have several myself.

The band was the same as Wednesday night, but this time it was reggae alternated with trippy, all in all it was a wonderful performance.

Just trying to help out here, I fixed a couple of computers, a lock and the security video system in the morning. After a long walk I returned to Casa Verde and introduced myself to a very charming Dutch couple. We sat there and shot the shit for hours. It was drizzling and there was not much else to do.

It was music night at Casa Verde. The eight o’clock music started right on time, in Banana’s country, shortly after nine. The Dutch returned with a bunch more of their traveling companions. The place filled up and everybody had a wonderful time. The police showed up, better to hang out here than walk the streets. I offered my chair to the police chief. Hester, a Dutch girl that is staying here joined in to the group. She said something in Dutch and then apologized profusely for not having spoken in English. I had to laugh.

Three guys tried to throw a fourth into the ocean. He had wrapped himself around a pole. I walked over and said quietly. “Don’t do it, or you will be permanently banned from this place.” They looked at me like I was crazy. I said, “I mean it.” They let him go. Chester, the owner said, “Jim, nicely done. Great having you here.”

The show ended early and people left to go to Aqua Lounge. Walter had never been there. I decided to show him why he doesn’t go there, but I was out of cash. The police took me to the bank in the back of a paddy wagon, but the ATM was drained as people had exhausted the supply of cash and it was Mother’s Day. We went to a hotel and talked with the owner, an Italian friend of Walter’s who speaks no English. The owner lent me a $100. Walter told me I was the only American ever allowed into the hotel; I don’t think he was jerking my chain.

We walked down to the water taxi station and took a boat over to Aqua Lounge. Girls were swinging on swings, people were staggering about. Behind the bar, the baretender was standing, shirtless, his pants down to his crotch, his ass fully exposed as he was spanked by a barmaid. A girl was leaning against a stair rail, not a very happy person. Her purse had just been stolen. Never take anything to the lounge of the pirates.

People started to leave in droves, thirty people on a boat not fit for twenty. We took a later water taxi and returned Isla Colon. Walter, ever the more sane, left for home. I saw a guy sitting on his front stoop and stopped to ask him what was bothering him. Kid trouble. I listened for three hours. A few words about the fact that kids go through phases and reassurance that with love and attention it will pass and he was feeling much better.

This morning I was introduced to a very cute blonde girl by the woman who is running this place and then she said “This is Sarah, she wants to sleep in your bed tonight.” I looked Sarah up and down, looked into her face quizzically, I had never met her. Sarah gave me a big smile and then broke out laughing. “So we are moving you to a different room.” Funny way to give a guy an upgrade.

But the woman who runs this place is a Czech with non-spectacular command of English and may be devoid of a sense of humor. Sarah and I have been laughing about it all day.