The next thing I needed to attend to was the urine in my blood. I scheduled a 2:00 taxi ride to take me back to the San Fernando medical center. At about 1:50 the skies opened and thunder boomed. The type of thunder that was setting off multiple car alarms and shaking the building. The rain was torrential.

I went out front, intending to wait under cover but the cab was there. By 2:08 I was in the office for my 3:00 appointment. In half an hour I saw the doctor. We had a short interview and he gave me an exam. He pressed on my chest and abdomen and then worked on my back, when he hit my kidneys my legs kicked, my body shook and I groaned. The exam was finished, he brought into his office and ordered a UROCAT TOMOGRAFIA, a CAT scan for examining the kidneys, marked “URGENTE”.

So, off I made my way to imaging services service order in hand, paid my $240 fee, waited 10 minutes and got my exam. “Quentos tiempo pora resulta?” “Manana” “No, este urgente.” “Media hora”. I was told to have a seat in the waiting area and they would give me the results in half an hour. I have never had a cat scan result delivered to me. I waited an hour and a half and went back to the urologist. The receptionist called into the doctor who was with a patient. The doctor acknowledged that he had received the results and that I should wait there. About 5:30 I saw the doctor who advised me that although my kidney is bruised there are no hematomas present. The good doctor wrote me up a prescription for some serious pain meds and a cream to be applied over the traumatized area. I paid his $45 fee and left.

Off to the pharmacy I fulfilled my prescriptions in four minutes. The boxes were pulled off the shelf and the little plastic aluminum pill trays pulled out and scissored if a fraction were necessary. The usage labels applied to little paper bags and the packets put inside.

In the states it would take 30 to 60 minutes and little plastic bottles would be filled with loose pills. This system seems a bit better.

?? Dollars later I headed out and started to the street to catch a taxi. I spotted the McDonalds next to the hospital and thought, yeah, this is easier than doing anything else. I ordered an Angus Burger Meal. I received my fries and water and was given incomprehensible instructions. I walked off ate my fries, drank two glasses of water. No burger was delivered to me so I walked back to the counter and gave them a WTF look. They immediately surrendered a burger to me. I sat down and looked at it and thought “who the hell eats this much food?” I ate half the burger, threw the rest in the trash and caught a cab back to the hostel.

In my room my applied the cream, then I popped one of Dr Feelgood’s painkillers. Thirty minutes later, life was good.

I awoke at 11 thinking it was 5. There was next to no light coming through the frosted slatted windows of the room. How the hell could it be 11? I cranked the handle to see that the window did not really open to the out of doors but to some strange corridor.

After a quick examination of the bathroom, I decided just to wash myself from the sink.

Down two flights of stairs, my pack banging against my poor ribs.

A quick $2 taxi ride to Mamallena, a trek up the stairs. No room? I suspected so and probably won’t be for weeks. The staff is a score of clones of a really hot young woman and all friendly as hell. “Well, can I use your internet to find a place?” “Absolutely.”

So I got online, looked around and found the number three rated spot in the city had room, wrote down the address, thanked the women and headed back down the stairs and down the street to find a taxi.

I hailed a taxi who stopped in the second lane, what the hell? So I opened the door and handed him the the address to a hailed taxi. “Quento?” “Cinco.” All right, five bucks and we are off. As I crawled into the front seat the door, open into the curb side lane was about to be rammed by a bus, who wasn’t about to swerve or slow down. I managed to close the door with a half second to spare. Now the road rage, my driver took off chased the bus and the two yelled at each other for three minutes.

Then he took off to begin the most aggressive driving I have ever witnessed taking off full throttle, breaking just in time to avoid impact, swerving in and out of traffic. Panamanian intersections are generally just a game of balls no traffic signals, no stop signs no round abouts four lane roads intersect and are crossed with just a horn and a large set of testicles. Sometimes the traffic drove on the left, sometimes the right. I could never drive in this city. Corners were negotiated at a speed that peeled rubber off the tires. Half an hour later we arrived at what he thought was the destination.

Addresses are more like descriptions, there are no street numbers. He tore around and pulled next to every security booth and person standing on the road and asked for the location of our destination. At least a dozen times he followed and grew increasingly frustrated. Finally we located the place.

I rang the buzzer and a bald headed guy leaned over the landing. Despite what the web availability had said, there were no private rooms. To hell with it, I’ll take a dorm. Fortunately I secured a private room for the next three nights.

The common area was filled with scores of backpacks. Seems this place also runs a lot of tours to San Blas. Little is needed in San Blas and it is nothing but sand and salt water so a prudent person sheds everything possible. The furniture consists of three couches, a computer table, a coffee table and a TV. Using a laptop on a couch sucks, especially if one must use a detached keyboard. At least its chilly. I booked my room, sight unseen and Omar showed me around. To get to the kitchen one must merely go down a flight of stairs, around the front of the building and up the other side. It’s the rainy season. Even more special, the dorm is located 70 meters away.

I passed the time, chatting with my fellow guests, the reason I much prefer hostels over hotels. Who wants to sit in one’s hotel room alone day after day?

Intermittently I tried to catch up on my sleep. While lying in my bed an Indian walked in, threw his pack in the corner and went off to take a shower. He came back and started to go through an elaborate toilet. When he was done I opened my eyes and said, “Hi, my name is Jim.” Man this guy looked familiar. “I’m Tony.” Ahh, it was all coming together. You come from Franklin’s Island? That’s the other half.

Ok, this guy is a legend. Two different groups of Indians share an island in Kuna Lana. Tony’s half is, let’s say, pretty damn wild. He was coming to Panama City for a month to find some tranquility. This is city of honking horns and insane traffic. This guy is so crazy he lives at Aqua Lounge when he is in Bocas. This a place where you have about a 25% chance of getting robbed on any given day.

At 5:30 in the morning a flashlight was flicking about the room, I asked him just to turn on the lights. In ten minutes he was done packing and I was able to see where my stuff was. “That was a quick month. Bye” He shook my hand and headed out the door, the room filled with the smell of alcohol.

I walked to the airport and was greeted by a bud Flaco. I realized what a well endowed woman feels as everybody blatantly stared at my leg. The head of immigration walked over and said “Jim have you been bitten by something?” My right calf was swollen and discolored.

I rescheduled by morning ticket for a reschedule fee and headed out to Panama City on a fifty minute flight. This was the first time I had arrived and night and was awed by the beauty of the city from the air.

A forty minute $15 cab ride found me at San Fernando Hospital. I was admitted in about five minutes, triaged in 10 and assigned to a doctor who examined my ribs, bruised back and leg. The ribs were obviously caused by blunt force and she diagnosed me with an infection in the leg.

A few minutes later blood was drawn and urine sample delivered all sent to the lab. I was asked to wait in the waiting area for the lab results. About three hours later the doctor told me the results were back and my blood definitely reflected an infection by the high white blood counts. Urine in my blood proved some kidney damage had been inflicted.

She wrote up references to a urologist and some speciality doctor that probably doesn’t translate well that is associated with infections. Prescriptions for two types of antibiotics and a pain killer were written. I was advised to obtain and start on the antibiotics immediately.

I went to pay the bill, the emergency room services came to $60 and the lab services $28.

Securing a cab, I headed off to Rey an all night supermarket with a pharmacy. The drug order was filled in 10 minutes.

15 Keradol 10 mg $13.95 Pain Reliever
21 Clindamicina $16.59
14 Ciprofloxina $8.26

I thought I would been spending the night in the hospital so I had not arranged lodging. The mayhem in front of the store continued on into the late of the night with taxis coming and going and competing with passenger vehicles for traffic space. Not having access to the internet at the time I just grabbed a taxi and told him a hotel I wanted to go to it was full. We spent the next hour with him driving around from place to place. He ran up and inquired if there were rooms available. I think he was just enjoying driving me around running the meter although I did hear most of the people say they had no room.

Finally he found ??? Americana. I just wanted to go to bed. I walked into the small lobby and secured a room for the night from a most strikingly beautiful young woman while the taxi driver grinned at his success. I trod up a flight of stairs to encounter a very heavy stainless steel door followed by a well built door built of drilled and welded heavy stainless steel. What is this place? Struggling up the next to flights of stairs I admired the doors on the rooms large woodgrained but obviously very heavy steel doors. I found my room managed to get the key line with the cylinder through the drill plate and turned the key with a heavy thunk, retracting eight deadbolts.

This awesome security apparatus had a major flaw. There was no way to lock the door from the inside. Oh well, I just need to lie down, I’m not going down those stairs and back up again.

Looking around the room I saw a bed with a flimsy mattress, a window mounted air conditioner through the brick wall with no remote control and the front controls missing and a small shelf bolted to the wall. The bed had sheets so threadbare you see the mattress through it. Screw it, I just need to pass out. But sleep did not come easily as the pain reliever wasn’t up to the task.

I was ambushed and beaten without provocation or notice.

I wonder how many ribs are broken. Nasty blow to my shin.

Now what could have motivated that guy? Hmmm. It’s not hard for me to come up with a guess.

After being asked to leave for a huge number of incivilities Becca told me she had no place to go. I offered to buy her an airplane ticket to anywhere but despite the fact the she claimed that all sorts of men everywhere wanted her, she had no place to go.

Not a single day could go by without her yelling at me for such infractions as bringing home chicken legs on my fourth trip out for the day doing her bidding while she sat on Facebook on the back porch. “What the fuck is this? Don’t you ever bring meat into my kitchen that I didn’t ask for.” Umm, it’s my house.

Two days later she was waving a butcher knife at me in front of a friend for failing to give her a kiss when I walked in the front door.

Needless to say things were not going well and I told her she had to go. She had friends pleading on her behalf but I couldn’t live with this. She was going to contribute to the household. Her suggestion? I give her $1,000 and she would gamble on line. Ummm, no.

She was outraged that I didn’t want her companionship and yelled at me “You are an idiot, any man would want me.” Ok, then go to one.

One day she asked me for her passport, I told her I didnt’ have it, did you check the safe next to your bed?

She lived in my house for a week or so thereafter, receiving a stipend while I tried to avoid the place. When she finally secured a position, I secured some boxes for her, packed up her kitchen supplies and mailed gentle suggestions as to how she could pack her toiletries in another box, her loose clothes in the other boxes and that I would help her carry out the boxes and the clothes on hangers and take her to her hotel. I also told her to leave my MacIntosh computer, but that she could have the ipad she gave me after she broke my kindle by sitting on my backpack.

I exited my room to see she had departed in great haste, leaving many of her items behind, it turns out, her passport included, but my brand new MacBook pro was missing. She subsequently admitted to being in possession of same but had decided that the replacement for my Sony Viao was hers if she so desired in contradiction to contemporaneous documentation.

Oh shit! What time is it? I grabbed the remote control for my air conditioner. 6:47, cool. Shower, dress, grab a cup of java and head down to Stephen’s. An unknown worker killed time on a handheld game device. Pablo showed up right on time, 7:30. WTF?

We boarded the pirate boat and headed out to salvage the hull we saw three weeks ago. The hull probably originally sold for $40k, the owner was asking $2k. Stephen offered $600, take it or leave it. The glass was all in very good shape, the hatches and hinges were worthless. The glascine needed to be replaced, but it was a fine hull, A 26 foot ??? center console, walk around with a cuddy cabin. I told Stephen yesterday that there was no way in hell two people were going to unstick that boat even at high tide. The boat must weigh at least 3,000 pounds.

Twenty minutes later, or so we arrived at the boat, situated at the opening of a teak farm atop a trailer not so slowly yielding its oxidizing frame to the sea. The stern was at least a foot above the water and the boat was bow down.

I suggested we elevate the tongue of the trailer on which the boat was resting using the long planks of teak as fulcrums and moment arms of a lever. The idea was nixed and various approaches applied for an hour using such things as ropes and trying to lift the boat. Finally the man who ran the property came over. He had a proven technique that he had used.

He supervised the creation of a lever to lift the tongue of the trailer.

Huh. In any event Stephen got a hell of a hull for $600.

All the smooothie shops were closed, it is the slow season so we settled for bagels.

As we walked in Casa Verde it look like a battalion of blondes had come to storm the town.

Internet research for a friend.

Three musketeers go to Shelley and crack each other up for an hour. Various citizens are hailed as they walk or drive buy. “Don’t call Rambo! He’ll come over here.” The funky little red van with the windscreen now made of that plastic material used to make clear flexible boat screens swerves and proceeds to backup, near hitting a couple of people in the process. No wonder a bicyclist went through the front.

You know where I can find a tailor. I need some pants mended. “Yes, you need to call… there he is.” The tailor is called over, we exchange phone numbers, he lives behind my neighbor the bicycle repair person. He’ll call me at 9 tomorrow morning. Sure, we’ll see.

I’ll give it shot. But I think I’m going to need a five point harness and a sturdy helmet.

God save the Queen.

This morning I had to get a notarized document sent to the states. I received the document in my email, popped down to Bocas Realty Services and they graciously printed it off for me. A hundred yards later I entered the municipal building for Bocas Town, the capital city of Bocas del Toro, Panama. The sign on the notary’s door indicated he is only open on Tuesday and Thursday.

Back to the apartment, drop off my stuff, change into suitable gear, pack camera and various sundries in boat bag and head off for a day of kayaking. On the way I stopped by a smoothie stand, operated out of a small trailer attached to a small sport utility vehicle.

“¿cuánto cuesta un batido?” “Tres Balboa.” Three bucks for a smoothie? “¿Grandes?” “Si.” Ok, if there big, why not. “”¿Fruites?” “Mixto.” Sure, mix it up. Papaya? Yes, Banana? Yes? Mango? “Todo” Give me everything. Typically smoothies are made here by adding fruits to ice, throwing in a little condensed milk and quite a bit of ice. This guy just kept pulling out pre chopped frozen fruits and throwing them in the blender. The industrial blender was filled to the top. He reached over took my bottle of water, “Hey, that’s mine!” “Bien.” Yeah, he probably has to buy water and picks all the fruit off his property.

He stepped outside the trailer, fired up the tiny generator and blended the smoothie. He poured me an enormous glass, I took a sip and gave a satisfied shit eating grin. He was prepared for this and had whipped out a Nikon SLR digital camera and snapped a picture of another satisfied customer. After I drained my glass, he pushed the pitcher over and indicated that the entire contents were for me. Not only was this the best smoothie I’d ever had, it was enormous.

Next stop, get a kayak. I stopped by a scuba shop that rents “Ocean Kayak” kayaks, a brand I am considering buying. But he only had the low end units, he didn’t have the back support seats, I’d have to kayak through the heavy water taxi boat lanes and he was twice the price of the Cosmic Crab. So I grabbed a water taxi to the Cosmic Crab, put my boat bag and the remaining water on the dock, got out, tender a buck to the pilot and saw a whole lot of closed place. Not a person to be found anywhere, no guests, no workers, not the owners who live there. An Indian walked by but indicated he wasn’t a worker. I looked across the water that I didn’t wan’t to kayak through; no way in hell I’m swimming the half mile through that boat traffic. No way to call a water taxi. Now what?

I left a note telling my story on the bar, grabbed my boat bag and helped myself to the kayaks which sit unguarded near the shore and headed out to Playa Buff, where the surfers do what surfers do. One way I approached a green atoll. What a magnificent picture opportunity. I reached behind me, got my boat bag, unrolled the top, which had been rolled over twice more than the recommended three and found a very wet camera bag with a compact digital camera marinating in salt water. I removed the battery immediately. My water? Oh, hell, I left it at the Cosmic Crab, no way to rinse the camera with fresh water now.

Heading back to Bocas Town I pulled up to the dock of a friend and hoisted the kayak to his back porch along with the paddles and knocked on the door. His boat was there but there was no answer. The half deaf poor SOB probably couldn’t hear me, he was two rooms away. So I jumped in
the water and made my way to shore. On my way home I picked up yet another bottle of water and a five pound back of rice and made camera casserole.

First I rinsed the camera five times in fresh water, then I wrapped it in a paper towel, half filled a bowl with rice, put the camera on top, covered it with rice and covered the bowl with a sheet of plastic. Only time will tell.

I hope tomorrow turns out better.

As it was time to give my feet a few days to callous over those blisters I developed yesterday I decided to go kayaking, you probably guessed that already. I walked to the spot down near the police station where the water taxis dock. You can never get very near if you give any indication that you are actually going to be looking for a water taxi before you are jumped upon by some guy that trains the people who work in used car lots.

I asked the price of a ride to the Cosmic Crab, on the nearby island of Carenero and was told it was a buck and a half. I shouldn’t have asked. I know the price; it’s a buck. But it is Easter Sunday. The captain led me down the dock to a boat that couldn’t have been more than 10 feet long. He insisted I put on a life jacket. I can float for hours in salt water with no exertion. Maybe after a good two or three months of exercise it might require minimal exertion, but as for now I am not at fighting weight. I picked up a life jacket he indicated I should use the other, mas grande. Yeah, it’s much bigger, still it’s only fit for an Indian that would come up to my sternum.

Forty seconds later I got off at the Cosmic Crab and recognized a few people, the wife of the couple that owns the place, their two kids and a couple of locals. They tried to show me the buffet, all I could eat for $17. Looking at the food, there was not much I would eat, at any price, but it was late in the day and the pickings were slim. “I want to rent a kayak.” This threw the guy for a loop. “We don’t rent kayaks.” “Yes, you do, they are over there, they rent for $10 a day.” He pulled out a cell phone, made a call and indicated that, they do in fact rent kayaks for $10 a day. I gave him ten dollars. He wanted to write up a ticket. “Name?” “Isaac Jones.” “Where hotel are you staying at?” “I live here.” “Ok, have a nice day.”

I walked over to the kayaks, looked for and found a paddle underneath the stairs of the house, grabbed a kayak carried it over to the sea walk and trod through the exposed low tide muck, continually retrieving my crocs, which sunk in the muck and didn’t come back up with my feet.
A few minutes later I threw my boat bag into the kayak and headed off back in the direction from which I came and followed the shore line around the south of the island, past the ferry, Stephen’s house, Casa Verde, Ola’s hotel and further into territory I had not previously explored.

Mangroves lined the shore amid shacks. Outhouses that had never seen maintenance in years sat over the water. I proceeded further, I was going to follow the cove around but the foul smell of the fetid, stinking water was more than I could bear and I cut a chord over to the Marina and headed out to Bastimentos. I looked for my water bottle and remembered I left it on the water taxi. I drink a lot of water, ten to fourteen liters a day, when out in the sun and exerting myself.

I spotted an ice cream parlor and headed over, “Vende agua?” Why was I talking to a black man in Spanish? For 90% of them here, English is their first language. “Yes, do you want a big one, 1500?” Yeah, a liter and half sounds about right. I paddled over he gave me the improbable price of $2.75. Hell, you can by five liters for $1.75 half a mile from here. I have him $2.50 rather than break a twenty and headed back out.

A lovely stretch of white sand beckoned me. A couple reclined on deck chairs on the beach. I pulled up the kayak and the woman asked, “What are you doing on our beach?” “Your beach? This isn’t your beach.” “Yes it is.” “I have news for you, there are no private beaches in the whole country, it’s illegal.” After a brief swim, I got back in the kayak, got a dirty look from the woman which I returned with, “Have a great day.”

Bastimentos didn’t seem very appealing at this point. I paddled around the island and returned to the Cosmic Crab, returned the Kayak and walked over to the restaurant. “Need a drink?” “No, I’m good, thanks,” was followed by another couple of big swigs on the water. I asked the bartender to get me a water taxi and a couple of minutes later one appeared. A minute later I was back in town, gave the guy a buck without asking him the price, he didn’t squawk.

Then,the usual, home, shower, wash clothes, head out, grab notebook computer and headed down to Casa Verde to do some more research with plenty of eye candy running around. Now let’s hope the usb wifi adapter I ordered works on linux. I also ordered a replacement keyboard for my notebook.

Dinner on a dock at a hotel with a bud, long conversations on boats and motors. Thanks, that seems like the place to get the outboard, gotta have the four stroke if 2 stroke oil is fifty bucks a gallon and mixed in a 20:1 ratio. I don’t mind the extra weight of a four stroke and I like their quietness. Now to find a 22′ panga, probably have to get one delivered out of Panama City, but Costa Rica is an option.