Many Buses

Today was a travel day.  I had to get from the sleepy town of Pedasi' on the Penninsula Azuero to Ciuadad Panama.  I fortified myself with another great breakfast at Dim's Hostal and cast a last, longing glance at my beautiful garden.  I will miss that spot.  It was less than 100 meters to the minvan stop and within a few minutes we were off.

I was retracing my steps today, back to the Hostel Mamallena so that I can be up at 5 AM tomorrow for the 4x4 that will transport us across the narrow waist of the isthmus to the waiting sailboat, the Corto II.

I let the rollings hills and sunny fields of corn and sugar cane drift by the window.  It is a dreamy landscape, fading off into the haze of the already building heat, a deep, stark blue overhead.  There was the rhythm of picking people up and dropping people off in tiny hamlets.  People were already sitting out on their porches, whiling away the day in the shade.  Time moves very, very slowly here.  Somewhere in each hamlet I would see the oversized paper mache' and fibreglass carnival figures.  They would be jumbled in a sideyard or leaning at crazy angles against buildings like so many cast aside demi-gods awaiting a rebirth of their importance in the cosmos.

The first minivan dropped me in Las Tablas' and this time I avoided any walking.  At a streetside table, a man was selling Panama hats.  I have been coveting one of these since I headed out into the coutryside.  You may think you know what a Panama hat looks like, but I am betting you do not.  What we know as a Panama in the USA is actually an Ecuadorean version, with a traditional fedora type flat crown and a wider brim.  These are not Panama Hats.  The Caballeros weat a hat that has a round crown, like a bowler.  The brim is moderately wide, and can be flipped up or down, front and back, depending on the sun and the whim of the wearer.  It is said that the best of these hats, woven as a single piece, are so tightly constructed that they can hold water like a bucket.  They have the look of a very small sombrero.

I had read that the best of these hats, made in this very area, cost upwards of $200.  As it turns out, Lonely Planet was a bit off on this one.  The prize hat on the table, with the traditional dark band pattern, was $500 US dollars!!  I asked the man twice to make sure my ears were hearing the correct words in Spanish.  That is some hat!!  There are cheaper versions, of course, but they are made in sections and then sewn together.  There is a very uneven seam line in the back where the patterns do not match up.  Well, at $ 500 I had to let this fish go.  Too bad, but I will save my money for an Ecudorean version.

The half bus arrived and whisked us off to Chitre', fully loaded.  From Chitre' it was the big bus and four hours to Panama City.  A bus ride is a bus ride and there is not much to tell, not until the deluge that is.  As we climbed the last hills that loom before the big bridge over the mouth of the Panama Canal, verily the skies did open up and things became biblical.  It was raining with fierce and wonderous abandonment, the heavy clouds dumping an entire load of the Pacific Ocean directly on our bus.  The bus actually started leaking!!  Cars and trucks were pulling over but our driver, either courageous or fooolhardy, plowed on.  I choose my words carefully, for we were indeed plowing through the water, throwing a rooster-tail of water to each side.  Within thirty minutes the monsoon ws spent, but not before we passed four accidents on the twisting road.

Over the canal, into the now familiar Albrook Terminal, I disembarked and headed over to the mall to stock  up on some cigars.  Then it was a metro bus and a sweaty walk to Hostel Mamallena, where I am now.  I just managed to catch my favorite street cart before they closed.  As I walked up, they greeted me like an old friend, though I have only been there twice.  Ah, friendly town, friendly country, friendly folks.  

Walking through the city market area on a sunday is to walk through a sample tape of beats, merengue, salsa, spanish techno (yes, the New Pornographers, I know).  Beats blare out of one kiosk or the other storefront, competing, blending, fading.  It is a bit disorienting to walk along being pushed this way and that by the discordanant pulses.

I have paid for my room and my transport.  Tonight I have to pack a small bag of sailing essentials.  No shoes, no flip flops, no need for most anything except a t-shirt, rash guard, toothbrush, shorts and some cigars.  Three days and nights through the San Blas Archipelago and then the open water crossing to Cartagena, Colombia.  Five days on the boat altogether.  

So, you will be spared any of my ramblings for awhile.  No phone, no internet, no nothing.

Ciao! Companeros y Companeras!