Well, we were going to go to Bocas del Toro but the roads are blocked due to an Indian uprising.

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Disembarking from the plane at Tocuman in Panama City I scurried off the plane, cleared Passport Control in three minutes, grabbed my backpack in a couple of minutes and cleared customs in a minute. I headed down to the bus stop, but couldn’t find it in the dark. To hell with it. A taxi came by and I talked him down to $20 and asked him to take me to La Jungla. He didn’t know where it was, so I gave him the intersection. He still couldn’t find it with the address so I told him where to turn.

Exhausted, I took the elevator rather than labor up five flights of stairs fully laden. I got my usual room, the attendant tried to overcharge me. I told him to call the owner in Boquette. I got the room for $30. After a very necessary shower I changed into clean clothes and headed out to the deck. A couple of strange guys were there, whose name I don’t recall, it doesn’t matter they were insignificant in the mayhem to follow.

A group of four people from Montana were well into their second bottle of seco, a cane sugar liquor that is a short cut to extreme inebriation. Tanner, a 29 year old, was in an advanced state of insobriety and spent hours telling us that he was an athlete and a famous skateboarder. He travels with a backpack designed to hold a skateboard. He showed me that he was famous, why just yesterday his friend had posted a picture of him on SkateMontana.com. All righty, then. Tanner and his girlfriend Misty live in San Diego. Tanner met Misty when she cared for him after he sustained a severe head injury while performing a stunt on a skateboard while being pulled by a car. Misty is devoted to this visitor from a parallel universe. Neither of them engage in any productive activity and support themselves on a small inheritance that Misty recently received. While Tanner boasted of his $2,000 Nike’s and lamented that as a result of the $480,000 treatment for the fist sized blood clot he incurred in his brain all of his assets were seized and he has to surrender 25% of his earnings to pay off the medical bills. 25% of nothing is nothing.

Nico was a classmate of Tanner and lives in Montana, supporting himself as a professional photographer and videographer. Nico is a good looking, buff guy who enjoys a wide range of activities including surfing. Despite being a surfer he is very articulate and not self absorbed.

The staff at La Jungla had completely turned over. This is the first time that Raymond, cousin of the owner was no longer there. Usually everybody else is new when I arrive. The preceding Thursday the place had been held up at gun point, the robbers must have passed the front door which requires a buzz in, unless somebody tailgates, up and through the open front door. One of the girls, no longer there, had claimed that she had just withdrawn $8,000 from an ATM. Uh, huh.

Tanner wanted cigarettes so I showed him the way to the store, past the guard who slept very fitfully on a chair and could not be awakened.

We returned and three from Montana were seriously inebriated, a fourth person joined them in a Montana discussion in which everybody talks non stop and nobody listens.

I agreed to show them to and around Bocas, going to bed at five we agreed to meet at nine. I had been awake 55 hours at this point.

Uneventful flight on a Boeing 777. Personal entertainment system in every seat. Hey this is almost as cool as taking a bus through the Andes. Switch from TV to music the lowest non off level is deafening. Back to TV, the shows are all twenty minutes long, but they don’t start and end at the same time. So you finish a show and cut in on another 4 to 17 minutes in. Brilliant plan. The remote control is tethered to the seat in the armrest. So I can do what? Pull it out and hang it over the armrest into the aisle? Jam it next to my ass? Use it as garrote? Every time I put my arm down it changes the volume. Who does usability tests on this crap?

Go to passport control, take an escalator, a train, an elevator, three more conveyors, people are not doing the proper stand on the right walk on the left, just march like I’m no a trek for at least half a mile. Fly through passport control in five minutes, my personal time must have been 20 seconds, this guy was a machine.

Off to get luggage. It takes a long friggin’ time to take all the luggage off a 777. The luggage stops coming, my pack is nowhere to be seen. Having a great time now. Wait half an hour it burps out one final bag. Off to customs another half mile walk. Get send to the green dots, (no inspection required, get out of jail free) first time that has happened in America for me in years.

Off to check the bags follow the yellow dots to check in my bag at least a thousand yards of meandering through lines that back track on them selves. Now where? Another frigging terminal? Hit the heat of day and walk for a quarter mile to terminal D. Walk up to check in counter. No you are already checked in, take it to TSA bag drop off. Hand them back they throw it on a conveyor.

I’m sure I missed some conveyors and elevators in the above description.

Off to security, none of the types of questions that you get in England, “Did you pack your bags yourself? Have they been in your possession? etc.” Get in queue “Take off your shoes.” Back to this again are we? Long queue get to front.

“Everything out of your pockets. Everything.” WTF? Oh, it’s a porno scan. Walk into the machine take off your belt. Step back out of the machine put belt on conveyor. My wallet, passport, tickets are in separate buckets from my computer and cameras. My shit is now through the xray machine for picking from the five people trying to get their stuff back together. Step back into the porno scanner. “Put your hands over your head.” Ok, but I’ve been 2 days without sleep, ran out of underwear and I’m going commando. Pants fall to knees I just stand there, my shirt tails affording my some level of dignity. I stand there for 10 seconds. Apparently the machine had to be recalibrated but I guess they figured they had subject me to an adequate degree of indignity and let me pass.

Finally found a damn flight display, I don’t know why they are hundreds of yards apart here. They are in every restaurant and cafe in Heathrow. Flight is delayed by a couple of hours.
It’s been a long day.

Instead of the very high velocity hand blowers that get your hands completely dry in two seconds without heat that I was using in Heathrow I encountered empty tissue dispensers in the bathroom.

Its been a long day and its not over

Would you like butter on your sausage? Ahh, no thank you. Beans on toast? I’ll give it a miss.

Walked over to the currency exchange and got sodomized. Pounds I had paid $1.84 for were bought back off me at $1.41. Through security, no shoes but I had to remove my belt and put my hands in my pockets to hold my pants up. Bag rexrayed. God, not another knife lost. Nope. It slides down a long well lubricated lamp to slam into the tray holding my notebook computer. Long trek through shops and duty frees. Another long walk, but this time I had checked my heavy bag so the going was light. Another security check, that’s my fourth one for this flight. Yet another passport control. Boarding pass taken, man immediately checks stub. No groping, no body scans.
Flight leaves in an hour. I’m sitting at the gate. Why do airports have so few electrical outlets?

A nice little cafe in terminal five and a 15 pound 24 hour internet pass and I wiled away the day. Around midnight they announced that they were closing so I was evicted from my leather lounger and deprived of my electricity. A few tables were moved to block the lounger I had previously occupied but. I looked longingly like a kid through a candy store window and assumed a spot on a metal bench to wile away seven hours. Another hour on the internet, some reading, truly WTF Darwin “Descent of Man”, tried to nap but was afraid I was so tired I would sleep through my flight. Got up at five, took an elevator down four floors and headed off the the Heathrow Express train to terminal three. Walking, more walking. Caught the train, walk, another tunnel, yet another long tunnel, another elevator walk across a terrace, terminal three.

Now the question is did I do the right thing? Around midnight I received an urgent email from Travelocity telling them my itinerary had changed. Well, that was yesterday’s news. Wait, I’m booked on two flights out of London, leaving five minutes apart from two different terminals? Is that why I was sodomized at the ticket counter, I have yet another flight I won’t be able to use?

American had my reservation so I flew my British Airways flight on American. It’s 6:30 in the morning, I haven’t slept for 26 hours, I smell like a goat in heat and I need to change the rest of my pounds to U.S. dollars. I’ll keep you posted.

I strapped on my packs and headed down Acton Town to the tube station and caught the train to Heathrow arriving at six o’clock for my 9:40 flight. After finally getting through security the agent said he didn’t have a reservation for me.

An internet cafe offered access for twenty minutes for two pounds. I went online and typed in my credit card information and was displeased to see at this rate that the screen was filled with advertisements that i couldn’t make go away. I logged into gmail, something else I loathe doing on public computers found my email, oh, it’s British Airways. Well at least I’m in the right terminal. So I got through security again by this time it was 8:40 an hour to go before an international flight. The gate agent informed me that flight 207 flies out of terminal five. This time I needed to use the London Express, I ran down the hall and bought a ticket for eighteen pounds, seems, excessive for getting between two terminals at an airport. I boarded the train and discovered that it was headed to London. Wrong direction. I was advised to get off at the next station and catch the next train back a stop, get off at that stop and take the next train.

The minutes ticked away I stood on the platform watching the count down to the next train realized that interterminal transport is free got to terminal five a half hour before departure and was advised that the flight was closed out, but had not departed next.

So I walked to reservations and was advised that a second flight that day would not make my connecting flight and was told that the flight difference was over a thousand pounds. I told her that was a pretty stiff penalty for being at the wrong terminal. She told me to wait and walked off. For 75 minutes I paced in front of her station, wondering if she was ever going to return. Finally she indicated that she found a fare with American Airlines that would be 416 pounds and a $125 ticket change fee. That’s more than another ticket I bought a couple of weeks ago, that isn’t going to be used either. Then my credit card was declined as was my debit card. Damn Chase Bank and their fraud system. I withdrew funds from an ATM using the same debit card. It’s a pin based transaction so the bank decided I could have some of my my money.

After paying the girl I was handed my itinerary, which read British Airways. What the hell, I was told I was flying American. Oh, it is American Operated, go to the American Checkin. Are you absolutely sure? That was my first stop this morning.

I turned on the computer and it had a corrupted file system and wouldn’t boot. I fixed that and tried to get onto the internet to see if could get my bank to quit dicking with me but I couldn’t get a connection on the Free Wifi, couldn’t buy a connection with my credit card, refused to use a public computer to do my banking and sighed an exasperated sigh.

Batteries running low walked a shop and bought a power adapater that I would be using after today.

This is not one of my better trips, that’s for sure.

It’s different here. A bus rolls by. No engine noise, no people screaming out the windows. No big black clouds of exhaust. People civilly queuing.

Panama, I’ll be back, soon.

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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.