I was supposed to close on my house on Friday but my real estate agent and attorney decided that I should make payments to them due by the seller but couldn’t come up with a number by the end of the day. The closing papers were in Panama City and were supposed to have been sent to Bocas, but never made it.

Hola Jim. I sent my assistant on friday to send the original documents to aeropelas but instead of taking it to the airport, he drop it off at the aeroperlas offices at Crown Plaza Hotel since it is located in the city closer to were he was. Unfortunately the aeroperlas driver or Messenger that was supposed to take this package to the airport missed our envelope and the Crown plaza offices are closed today. The package was supposed to arrive yesterday (Sat) in Bocas. I just called their offices and they said that they would arrive tomorrow afternoon …sorry to bother you on a Sunday

It is banana’s country.

I feel almost an obligation to write, despite the fact that I have nothing good to report on the house front. If I had bought the boat I might take my real estate agent on a trip and leave him on an island. Maybe I’ll feel more like writing this afternoon.

On the lighter side of life, I think it would be easier for an English speaking person to learn Spanish than vice versa. Consider the following, sent from a buddy in Los Santos this morning.

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce .

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

Let’s face it – English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant,
nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.

English muffins weren’t invented in England or French fries in France .
Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t sweet, are meat. We
take English for granted.

But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly,
boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a
pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t
groce and hammers don’t ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the
plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One
index, 2 indices?

Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you
have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do
you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats
vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum
for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and
play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run
and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a
wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a
language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill
in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the
creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That
is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are
out, they are invisible.

PS. – Why doesn’t ‘Buick’ rhyme with ‘quick’ ?

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

,

A diversion

The survey of the lot I am trying to acquire lacked geographical coordinates, everything being relative to everything else. Furthermore I was unable to reach any of the monuments, the concrete markers placed at reference points. Today the man who made the original survey was to conduct a second survey. I negotiated a ten dollar fare for a water taxi, hardly a profitable venture for the operator. I inquired about boats for sale and he indicated that he had a large one at his house on Bastimentos so we went to check it out. His house was on the water in Bastimentos Town. The boat in question had been lifted up onto a pier and was partially under the house. My inquiries on how this was effected was met with the response, “a lot of man power”. Mulling it over I couldn’t imagine how one would pull this off, the water is four feet deep, the dock is three feet over the water and the boat must weigh near 2,000 pounds. I snapped a few pictures of this abused beast for a friend of mine who is one a junker boat accumulation spree.

A large pig restlessly paced, to the extent possible, in a very small sty, an extension of the dock, over the water. I hoped this was but temporary quarters but the lack of grounds hinted at the improbability of my hope. I am not in the habit of carrying pig food but I did fill up a five gallon bucket with water and place it in the sty. Other boats were similarly situated notably an 18 foot center console panga with an 85 HP Yamaha outboard. Apparently it doesn’t get much use as the effort to do so would be extraordinary, so I snapped a picture of this for Stephen too. I got the drivers name and number and told him I’d give him a call if anybody was interested in his boats, but indicated that the price he wanted was not going to We headed off to the house. Upon arrival the boat operator had no change. He suggested I give him the twenty and that he would give me ten when he saw me next. I suggested I pay him ten dollars when I saw him next. “I don’t know when I’ll see you next.” Exactly. He hailed a passing boat, a local on his way back from a provisioning run and we recieved the required change.

The Survey

The surveyors were to be there but there was no boat at the dock. If I got dropped off, without my cell phone or a scheduled pickup I could be stranded for a while. I spotted an Indian in the water, chest deep, scraping barnacles off the boat that is/was to come with the house. Maybe I could use the boat for parts, maybe I could fix it up. The Indian indicated that Maria, my real estate agent’s girl friend was up at the house with some other people. Ok, they must have gotten dropped off. Up the stairs, 100 of ’em. I found a few workers behind the house but as they were Indians the I walked down to the first marker, up to the second. The third marker was within a foot of the outbuilding, not that anybody is going to build within a hundred meters of the house anyway and with the dense jungle, I’d never know if they did. I could see the trail that had been slashed through the jungle, it dropped off precipitously. Standing at the summit I looked down the trail. Saplings half an inch to an inch in diameter had been cut throw with a single blow of a machete at a sixty degree angles leaving thirty inch pointed spears the length of the trail. Stumble, fall forward and be impaled. I nearly grabbed a tree to steady myself, a palm that caused much misery in Bolivia bearing a dozen needle sized and equally sharp pins that break off in the flesh and rather than fall forward to certain death fell backwards. The workers behind the house must have been laughing but suppressed it completely.

Up the next hill I encountered more workers, one with a Leica digital transit. I guess I underestimated my surveyor, he was using top notch gear. “Donde este Walter?” “Está en la casa rascándose las pelotas.” My Spanish might not have been up to the task but his gesture conveyed that Walter was up in the house scratching his balls. We all had a good laugh at that. They asked the name of my dog and new enough to be confused. They didn’t comprehend that someone would call his dog something that sounds exactly like “Hey You.” This was as far as I could go. “Tu perro este macho?” “Por que?” “Él tiene grandes bolas.” Well, that one I got, and yes, he swings a prominent pair. Gotta like these guys. Back to the house, around the grounds, back to the house, sitting on the deck observing the view. Back down the trail, a big Indian thrashing a large machete with abandon, sundering the foliage in a three foot wide path, branches, vines, ferns, saplings, fibrous trees three inches in diameter, switch hands, keep on walking, never slow down, slash, slash, slash.
I spied a few tiny red frogs and several tiny lizards but the fauna was amazingly scarce. Just across the bay sits Isla Bastimentos. While examining a parcel there the chorus of toads was thunderous near the shore, in the jungle birds flitted, Montezuma Oropendola PICTURE filled the air with their characteristic cries and hermit crabs scurried about. Why the difference over such a short distance? I shall have to work these jungles, cutting vines and thinning things out, allowing for floral diversity, the foundation of a habitat for varied wildlife. I have many months of hot machete work to look forward to.

I made another return to house, sit on porch and return trip to find they’d reached the end of the back line of the property and were heading back toward the shore. Walter, the surveyor, not my running mate has a differential GPS accurate to 2cm. !!!! Watching the spot get centered on the rebar, yes centering a laser beam on a half inch rod. Again forgive my former expectations. Using the range finding feature the operator was yelling instructions to the laborer plowing and slashing his way through the junge. “Vente metros mas… un meter medio.” Digging around the guy found the former mark, located 80 meters away right where he was instructed. In the meantime Walter scratched his balls, told me to stay still as a statue so I didn’t shake the soft earth as I swatted mosquitoes. After they found the final marker I made my way back parallel to the shore but not on the property line which cut through mangroves. Twenty minutes later my dog found his way back to the house.

Inspection

The task of the day having been completed my real estate agent showed up to convey the team back to Isla Colon. During my inspection of the house, which had been delayed forty some days as previously documented I noted some matters that needed to be addressed.

Ceiling Fan

The first was easily dismissed; the lights in the guest bedroom don’t work. No, I don’t want a credit. I’ve had sufficient experience to grasp the scope of effecting such a simple repair.

In a former life I would have driven seven minutes to Home Depot, looked at hundreds of ceiling fans then crossed the street, looked at hundreds of ceiling fans at Lowes and purchased one. Returning home I would choose the most appropriate ladder from a choice of seven, an electrical supplies bucket and one of the many tool boxes filled with every conceivable tool that could be employed in a simple electrical repair. Installation would take about 15 minutes.

In Bocas I would have to ride a boat from Solarte to Colon, about ten minutes, walk to the water taxi, wait for the next one, take a boat to Almirante, on the main land, walk around for an hour or two to find one of the grand total of five I would likely find after visiting near a dozen stores, grab a taxi back to the water taxi with some wholely unsatisfactory fixture and make the return trip. Returning to the house I would find nothing but an extension ladder, completely unfit for the job and then spend a day improvising or trying to secure a tall folding ladder for a day, effect the repair then return the ladder.

Water Heater

My real estate agent had put a D cell battery in the water heater. Down here everybody uses heaters that heat on demand. This is far better than a large tank which wastes seventy percent of its energy consumption keeping the water warm in a house that needed to be cooled eight months of the year. On demand water heaters are less than two feet square and less than a foot thick. When water is needed they turn on, providing hot water as long as desired and then shut off.

This hot water heater is located in the outbuilding. Turning on the kitchen faucet I waited for several minutes and stated that the heater was not working. My agent went out to the outbuilding and turned up the temperature on the heater and told me to try again. After several more minutes of observing a poor water flow it started to flow out warm. Really, I don’t want to wait five minutes to get water adequate for washing dishes while depleting my water supply which is filled by rain catchment unless it isn’t. Weeks can goo by with minimal rainfall.Back to the outbuilding. Hot water gurgled from the tap. “There is still no water pressure.” “What’s wrong with that?” I turned on the cold water. Water gushed out. “That is water pressure.” This was a replay of a couple of weeks ago, when the cold water was gurgling and I was told that this was adequate pressure. Upon inspection the water filters were near completely clogged; replacing the filter element remedied the situation.

It is obvious to the casual observer not suffering from rectal-cranial inversion that a water heater must be obtained, placed in an optimal location in the house and be plumbed in. It’s possible that the water heater in the outbuilding could be reused, but Mr. Murphy dictates that the more effort that goes into relocating it the more likely the existing heater is irredeemably clogged.

Back to the apartment

Smelling like a buck goat in rut I made my way down to the boat and road back with the laborers, my feet atop tripods, poles and other surveying equipment. A few people wanted to socialize but as as my pants were covered in mud and my shirt was drying to a salty funk I felt it inappropriate to linger. I made my way back across town and stood at the front gate to the small complex. Somewhere in my fanny pack was my key. Last Sunday, at the chili cookoff I lost a set of keys. The cargo pants I was wearing at the time dumped contents every time I sat down, leaving a trail worth of those famous Grimm travellers, so I kept them in the capacious pack. They settled as they will at the bottom of the pack. My neighbor observed me. “Lost your key again?” Everybody knows what’s up in Bocas. My dog wandered over to the bushes, compelled to mark what little he hasn’t sprayed on my daily route while I emptied my fanny pack and dug out the keys. After opening the gate I looked for Hayu, who had departed for parts unknown. Great! “Hayu, Hayu, come!” No response. “HAYU! HAYU!” A little girl sat by the side of the road, she indicated that the dog had entered the gates of the rectory directly across the road. The rectory is probably the finest house in Bocas. When the priests take home the underaged girls I guess the luxury helps close the deal. I walked up the drive way and around the spacious grounds calling for my dog. After a few minutes a priest came out and approached me. I started explaining that I lived across the street and that my little chocolate dog had been spotted in his yard availing himself of the opportunity to play with the young alsation that usually assumes a position by the drive gate. Nope, nobody had seen my dog. I started back to put my groceries away before I started scouring the town. My little mutt, seeing that I was abandoning him sauntered out from beneath a high priced car, the priest alerted me and I took the little peckerhead home.

The gracious hostess at my Panama City lodgings called the computer technician, he wanted $45 to install my replacement keyboard. Yeah, right. I decided to go to the Super 99 (a huge supermarket chain owned by President Martinelli) in San Francisco and call on a technician with a small stall. I walked three blocks to an area near the well known Waikiki restaurant to catch a taxi. Traffic was at a standstill, a big problem in Panama City and it’s only going to be worse for the next two years. After 15 minutes I got a taxi and I arrived at my destination in short order. The technician said he could install the replacement keyboard in my laptop in an hour for $15, giving a grimace after viewing the abuse to which the keyboard had been subjected at the airport. We’ll see what happens.

A couple blocks down the street I found a restaurant. It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch but they were open. I asked for the key for the WiFi and was advised that they had none. After pointing out a WiFi connection with maximum signal strength with a network name “Antonio’s Pizza” he went out back and asked the owner and promptly returned with a key. Almost out of power on my netbook, (doesn’t everybody walk around with a backpack with two computers in it?) he ran an extension cord across the floor and up to the ceiling. Very accommodating. Now I wait for my sopa marisco to finish.

I returned to inspect the computer work. The keys all worked but the surface undulated in consequence of the the abuse suffered in the hands of airport personnel, but this is merely an aesthetic deficiency. I found no difficulty securing a cab to my dentist and was quickly accommodated there. Leaving I stood on the street and tried in vain to hail a taxi to Albrook Mall. First I stood in front of traffic that didn’t move for five minutes. When cars started moving I couldn’t get a taxi to stop. I walked down to the corner, with the hope that doubling the traffic would result in some interest. Taxis on the larger street stopped but I failed time and again to find someone interested in transporting me. Apparently taxi drivers in Panama take a course in gestures as each request was met with a wagging of the right index finger to reinforce the verbal expressions which all conveyed an adamant refusal to consider the request as worthy of merit. A junker of a car stopped and two enormous men asked me where I was going. These people looked like something out of a missing persons show in the states. Where would I end up? Just bloodied on the side of the road, in the canal, or were they more imaginative and would find some wild pigs to which my corpse could be fed? “No thanks, I’ll wait for a taxi.” Asking passers by I was advised with the usual certainty that I was on the wrong side of the street and that I would have better luck on the other as taxis would be heading toward my destination. After that failed I returned to the original side of the street. Text messages kept arriving from someone who was expressing interest in a particularly odd boat I had seen the day before, a massive aluminum hull catamaran. Time was running short, no way I could shop for a smoker or a grill, I just needed to get to the airport.

Finally I spotted a diablo rojo (red devil) the notorious colorful buses of Panama City. I believe these buses are remnants from a vehicular spinoff of “Night of the Living Dead.” After buses are seen unfit to transport school children in the U.S. the zombified version is brightly painted in a rainbow of colors, half the windshield is obscured with the destination and other graphics. Seemingly mandatory signs of Christianity are affixed, possibly to remind passengers to prepare for the ultimate destination of the good. I paid my quarter and made my way to the back of the bus in the only seat available and started playing a game on my netbook. After a while a youth approached me and said something I didn’t understand. I looked up and said “No comprende.” wishing that he would sell his wares or do his begging elsewhere, but he was adamant. I finally understood, looked up and realized that I was in an empty bus at the mall. “Hey, dickhead, get off now or take another trip around the city.” I got off and quickly grabbed a taxi to the nearby airport. When asked the fare the driver replied “What do you want to pay?” It’s a very short ride, necessitated by the fact that the route is nothing but narrow ramps with no walkways. I handed him two bucks and he was pleased.

Having purchased my ticket online I was left to merely get my boarding pass which took but a minute. Rather than the plastic slabs used in Bocas, this was a bookmarker sized piece of flexible plastic. Taking a seat I availed myself of the free WiFi, No reply from the guy who brings boats down from Florida. I had been advised that if he responds too quickly to my email, it must be a scam as it means he has nothing else to do. Either my contact knew the game or he actually was working on other deals.

Immediately after purchasing a couple of coffees the waiting room started emptying out as people filed through security. We finished our coffees as people were boarding the plane. The X-ray attendant noticed a cigarette lighter in my day pack but couldn’t find it and started digging through my bag. Great! Now she’ll get to the bottom and find the roll of crocodile hide I didn’t really want and I would find myself in high demand as the recipient of some unwanted attention in a urine soaked hell hole. Well, I guess I had pissed her off. She insisted on xraying my hat and shoes a bit of attention no one else warranted. Finally she found a lighter and I was on my way, sans my boarding pass. Looking out the window I saw but one person left to climb the stairs and board the plane. Just not my day. I managed to get an airline employee to assist me, he counted the boarding passes that had been gathered and found that he was one short, checked my passport and escorted me to the plane. The woman who had given me my boarding pass having communicated via two way radio stood at the bottom of the ramp and allowed me to board without my pass.

My daypack was overloaded and couldn’t fit under the seat in front of me so my right leg stuck out into the aisle. After we took off the man across the aisle asked me “Are you Jungle Jim?” “Many people call me that, but I don’t recall your name.” Actually I had no idea who he was but this seemed a little less dismissive. It turns out that he was kidding, he was just commenting on my attire. He turned out to be an amiable guy who had grown up in Colon and was coming to see Bocas for the first time. We talked about our favorite westerns for most of the flight, Rawhide, Have Gun Will Travel, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Rifleman. American black and white broadcasts were a staple of his childhood. After disembarking, the woman who gave me my boarding pass on my outbound trip advised me that I had to return the boarding pass or pay $5. “Do you know where I live?” “No.” “Then I guess I need do neither.” was tendered with a smile. “I”ll check my luggage, but if it doesn’t show up in Panama, I’ll come by and pay you.”

After arriving, Walter waited for his luggage, which held four shock absorbers for the infamous red minivan while I walked back to my apartment. I don’t think any of the shock absorbers that remained on the van were secured on each end. Walter and Flaco found me on the street on my way to town and picked me up, my little dog in the back seat, who greeted me with a “mehh, I’ve got other friends, I’m not pissed but don’t expect back flips.” We headed to our usual venue where I was greeted immediately with something close to “Our notebook is dead, can you work some magic on it?” while my second foot was hitting the street. What horrible things have been inflicted on this aged piece of hardware now? Believe it or not I don’t always walk around with CD’s, screwdrivers, cables and drive cases. As a spare was in place this was not urgent I replied with an inscrutable, “I’ll get to it right after my meeting with the president.”

The restaurant started to fill up, people were coming from other provinces for the Saturday pig roast and Friday Fish Taco night was an apparent success in strong contrast to the nearly vacant night on Wednesday. Yet another quiet and peaceful night on the dock with the usual suspects.

Ruth, my attorney agreed to meet me at Villa Michelle, my preferred play to stay in Panama City. I didn’t want to go to her office at 3 in the afternoon. I’ve had the fun of trying to catch a taxi in Panama at 5; they are all reserved, every weekday. That was a nice accommodation, she is working at a fix price on this house closing. This place is in an upscale neighborhood near where she lives. She showed up promptly, we exchanged civilities and proceed to go down a list from the sales contract through all of the documents that she had, reviewing them and checking them off.

I noted several documents that I expected that had not yet been retrieved. Ostensibly it was my fault that I wanted a signoff on the property boundaries with the owners or custodians of any property adjoining this property. Gringos might not understand this, but this is Right of Possession property. There is no title to the land, one gets a right to live there or use the land for other purposes, ownership is not as clear as it is with titled property. Only recently have these ocean front properties become eligible for title. It is a long process, when one is done the land becomes more desirable to people who are spooked by non titled property. This is not to say that there aren’t a great many risks associated with ownership of Right of Possession property, I won’t bother trying to educate you here, if you have reason to care, drop me a line.

I was told I should have the land resurveyed. The original surveyor says it will be $850. Now he plans to use a GPS. Interesting, with no geo coordinates on the original survey I’d like to know what that means. If he is not using a differential GPS reproducibility might put the same coordinates as far as 8 meters away. This is a circle jerk. I advised my attorney that the fence my real estate agent said is in place does not and never has existed. One has to question the value of a survey that gives a different result every time it is conducted. Trust me, on these slopes, in this jungle and in bananas country no transits, compasses, verniers or tape measures were employed.

The discussion of the boat was very short. I don’t want it. I don’t think it’s registered in Panama, no registration fees have ever been paid, the hull is filled with water and can’t be drained, the console and the floor would have to come up, the gas tank needs to be replaced as does the tilt bar and the engine. My real estate agent thinks he was slick telling me for 45 days that the house sitter, “Geoffery says there is nothing wrong with the boat.” When I inspected the boat and then had it surveyed this duplicitous worthless specimen of humanity said, “Oh, I knew it had no value all along. I said ‘Geoffery says there is nothing wrong with the boat'”. Bite me.

In any event progress is being made. It would have been nice if the real estate agent (he who shall not be named) would have started executing the tasks for which he was responsible in time to get this deal done in the time he allotted for its completion.

Walter and I traveled to Panama yesterday, for different reasons. He was had to sign some documents for Casa Verde’s water concession and I have a list of things to do including shop for a boat as the boat that was to come with the house I am trying hard to buy is less than worthless, I found out even more today about that but let’s cut to the chase as I have too many things to write about today.

I was sitting poolside at Villa Michelle, killing time and Walter called to tell me that he was out front. I’ve known the guy for two years and I didn’t know he had a personal car that he kept in Panama City. Walter’s mother was riding shotgun and I took the back seat. The first order of business was for him to go to the National Maritime Authority and meet with his attorney. We arrived at the designated time but his attorney hadn’t shown yet so we started the boat search. First we headed off to Diablo, a part of town near the canal formerly serving as housing for the U.S. Army. On the way we passed near Albrook Airport, now an international airport, formerly a U.S. Air Base. After escaping stop an go traffic we entered a road which bisected a huge urban park of raw jungle giving way to well kept, three story houses, with one residence per floor situated on fair sized lots. Office buildings in the neighborhood that at one time housed military administrative personnel were being used for a variety of purposes including university school rooms.
Walter was surprised that there were so few boats for sale near the residences. Presently we entered a large lot beside the canal and saw a lot of junk and a few boats of which one could be proud. At one location a man manufactured pangas, a type of boat extremely common in the entirety of Central America. He was in a 40′ x 40′ enclosure laying fiberglass in a mold, in the process of manufacturing a 23′ panga, a boat frequently used to transport 21 to 30 people between the islands on bench seats. A canopy was $800, he read my raised eyebrows and said, “the canvas is $16 a yard” I looked at the boat and said to Walter, “6 yards, that’s 96 bucks, 14 poles, there’s another $140 dollars, I guess it costs a hell of a lot to sew.” The man kindly explained that 16′ to 23′ boats are all made using the same mold. A false transom is slid in the mold at the appropriate spot to vary the length of the boat. Foam filled bench seats could be added at a cost of $400. The benefit of these seats is that they take up room, displacing water. in the event of a hull breach, heavy rain or a rogue wave the boat ostensibly won’t sink. The physics of this is something any reasonably intelligent grade schooler could handle. Compute the (volume of the seats * the density of water) – (weight of boat + engine + accessories). Any positive number indicates positive bouyancy. Somehow I feel in the ad hoc configuration of these boats this is never computed and many a boat has been dispatched with an erroneously confidant boat captain.

Having killed enough time we returned to the Maritime Authority and took a seat in a pizzeria. After we all ordered Walter received a phone call indicating that his attorney had shown up and disappeared for about 10 minutes to sign the document. He was as clueless as I as to why this couldn’t have been handled by power of attorney. For this he flew halfway across the country, granted it’s only 300 km or so, but it takes time and money. While he was gone I tried to engage his mother in small talk but we encountered fatal communication problems that made it more trouble than it was worth. We finished lunch and I bought a couple of coffees from the cafe next door. I really just wanted to use their WiFi. I had almost guess their wifi password, I just had the capitalization wrong.

I digress…Next we headed off to Centro Marino a place highly recommended by my landlord. I was told this was the most dangerous neighborhood in Panama. It looked like a good part of Detroit. The store looked like a typical boat supply store, disheveled and crammed with sundry, but lacking variety both in types and choices. At the back counter a man proudly offered his business card. Matias Alvarado Asesor de Ventes, a friggin’ sales consultant. Excellent, I was told these guys could really help configure a boat. “Can I see where the boats are made?” We went into the back room. I have a feeling that the boat manufacturing shops in Japan were in far better shape immediately following the hurricane. Outboard motors in every stage of disassembly were stacked up to ten feet high. A sullen man sat on the gunwhale of a mold in which he was manufacturing a panga. Other molds were buried under piles of rubble. It is difficult to imagine how much debris must be shuffled every time a different mold is used. I inquired about an 18′ panga. My consultant glanced at the sullen man who was inhaling massive quantities of petroleum distillates the man replied with a “No.” No, what? I looked at Walter, Walter looked at me, we both looked at our consultant and I said, “Ok, well, I guess there’s nothing here then.” Now Senior Sullen gave a curt statement in Spanish and it appeared as though the third item on their standard offerings was again available. The prices for accessories and options was far less here than the previous location but questions of engine power and prop pitch were beyond the ken of this consultant. Having started in the job a mere seven years earlier I guess it’s not his fault that he didn’t know if the boat was provided with anti-fouling paint standard, or if running and anchor lights were provided. Actually he didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.

LITTLE GIRL ON A PLANE

An atheist was seated next to a little girl on an airplane and he turned to her and said, “Do you want to talk? Flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger.”

The little girl, who had just started to read her book, replied to the total stranger, “What would you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the atheist, “How about why there is no God, or no Heaven or Hell, or no life after death?” as he smiled smugly.

“OK,” she said. “Those could be interesting topics but let me ask you a question first. A horse, a cow and a deer all eat the same stuff – grass. Yet a deer excretes little pellets, while a cow turns out a flat patty, but a horse produces clumps. Why do you suppose that is?”

The atheist, visibly surprised by the little girl’s intelligence, thinks about it and says, “Hmmm, I have no idea.”

To which the little girl replies, “Do you really feel qualified to discuss why there is no God, or no Heaven or Hell, or no life after death, when you don’t know shit?”

And then she went back to reading her book

This guy didn’t know shit either. Does it come with a gas tank? A battery? A battery holder? Cleats?

Next I wanted pictures of boats in different configurations. I was shown a picture of the wallpaper on a clerks computer screen. That’s a boat, not anything to do with what I’m looking for but it’s a boat. Then the girl flicked through photo album after another at extreme speed, never heading my requests to stop. She started deleting pictures I wanted to see. A hot woman in a bikini on a beach. “Mi gusta, que su vende?” Nope, not an accessory. Once again, you can say stuff like that in Latino land and no one takes offence, hell they’d wonder about your masculinity if you didn’t.
So she emailed me a few random pictures

Can I have a captain’s chair instead of a bench? Oh, you don’t carry chairs? How about a different brand than Mercury? WOW he knew the answer to that one, I could buy another brand elsewhere and they would install it. How much would that cost? Well, the cup of knowledge was empty. We left, I had to go meet with my attorney about my property acquisition anyway.

Packed some clothes, took all my valuables, dropped some off at the office of a friend, walked my dog down to Casa Verde.

Several guests were sitting in the restaurant and gave me a strange look when I got a chorus of “Hey You. Hey You! Hey You, ahaaay!” from the staff. What have I got that they don’t have? A dog. The dog’s name is Hayu Ayaah. Flaco, who bears the title Logistics Manager for his role in gathering and delivering things all over town in the infamous camioneta roja de la muerte. Actually this little claptrap with the plastic windscreen never makes it’s way down the street much faster than 10 km/hr, which is best for all concerned. It keeps the few remaining parts intact. Flaco is a hell of a guy and agreed to watch my dog while I went to Panama. He refused three times to take money from me for doing so, I was paying him as much as he earns in a labor a day to watch the dog. I explained that I don’t like to impose on people and he would be doing me a favor if he took the money, then I’d feel free to ask him again. Then I advised him that the little guy is a chick magnet and to exercise his new powers wisely.

Last I heard the dog was not in his yard, but sitting on the front seat oggling the eye candy as Flaco tends to his tasks. Hayu is not fussy, any bitch will do.

I injudiciously grabbed a Snickers on the way in having failed to eat yet. One of the female staff questioned me about my wrapper. “Tu quiere un snickers?” “Claro.” Well, I can’t just buy her one. So I bought five and handed them out. I became King of Panama. Strange to see a woman sneak hers into the kitchen to eat in private so she didn’t have to share with her five year old daughter. Out I went again.

Off to the airport. I couldn’t buy a ticket earlier as the credit card machine was down. I received dubious looks from the ticket agent at the time. This time I asked her if the machine was working yet and she acknowledged that it didn’t accept anybody’s card. I handed her $120 dollars and she gave me $4 and a plastic slab that functions as a reusable boarding pass. Receipts and tickets? What a waste of time. Speaking of a waste of time, I had to show up at 5 for a 6:30 flight at a one gate airport. Walter showed up around 6:15. We boarded last and consequently sat near the rear of the plane. The exit is in the rear, so we exited first. Dashing to the taxi stand before people could recover their luggage, something that takes a matter of minutes and Albrook International Airport we were called over to have our luggage inspected.

Random zippers were opened, hands shoved down into compartments. I could have had a few guns and some grenades at the bottom. My replacement keyboard for my notebook was removed and crumpled on the way back in. F**k me in the a** with a sharp stick. That thing took me two months to get.

We went out to the taxi stand. “Now the adventure begins!” “Como?” I thought this was going to be a quiet night. No, Walter was talking about trying to get a long distance taxi, when all they want to do is shuttle tourists a short distance for an exorbitant price. The first guy we talked to agreed to drive us the 20 km for $12. Don’t ask me. Yes, kilometers. Weigh things in pounds, sell things buy the gallon, measure short distances in feet and long distances in kilometers.

We arrived at my lodgings, I tailgated through the security gate and made my way paste the thundering boxers. I entered the palapa behind the pool and got a big hug from Ivonne, the owner. I asked where Hotto was and was informed that he was in his room. I knocked on his door and was greeted by a long string of expletives and a hearty handshake. He invited me in to see his piles of crocodile hinds and gifted me with a large swatch of prime blue tanned hide. Great, I can make a belt and become the Bocas pimp. I rolled it up and feigned appreciation. Walter, a faithful reader of this blog was not surprised by what he encountered. The shit was shot, then was I, off to retire in my same room.

Erwin, the only boat engine mechanic left in town is closing shop. He says he can’t make any money because it is impossible to get parts. Great! Now what?