Peenie Wallie

When I said, "Que es mas mejor?" one of my standard go-to lines, he tells me that it's just "Que es mejor?" The "mas" is apparently redundant? Who knew. So, it's great to be down here, working on my Spanish, around people that are interested in helping me to improve.

Juan is very nice, and I feel bad that he can't go back to his home, possibly forever.

It's not Juna's hostel. Only he helps out here, but he handles the coffee and offers to make

In the morning, he makes me coffe and a specialty breakfast, common in his home country. While he's preparing my breakfast, one of the guys from France is going to go take photos in the jungle. So, I follow him up into the jungle above the hillside shanty we're staying in.

I'm wearing a pair of flip-flops that were either given or loaned to me by Juan. (I'm not clear on the exact status of them.) But they're pretty much a worn pair of 3rd world fliplfops that fit me pretty well.

We climb up into the jungle above the shanty-town we're staying in - Portobelo. I take a few photos, but all of my camera gear is just seriously fucked up. It wasn't really designed for this sort of abuse....riding in the rain for days at a time in some third world jungle is not the abuse that a Canon EOS 50D was designed to take. This is not a professional-grade camera. It's a consumer-grade camera. And I've broken plenty of cameras, don't get me wrong. That's not the problem. I no regrets over this issue....my only regret is that I only have 1 functioning camera at this point. So, I have to keep switching lenses in the jungle which is just maddening.

Finally, I turn back and start walking back down the hill, at which point I realize that I've climbed a nearly suicidal path through the jungle and am now descending in muddy, wet, slippery flip-flops.

As I'm descending down the wet muddy rain forsest jungle trail in borrowed flipflops, they're setting off bombs in the village below. Presumably this is due to the upcoming holidays? I dunno for certain. But I'm a little bit more in tune now with my surroundings, or I try to be anyway. So, they're setting off these bombs all day long, and I don't like this after going through Honduras. Honduras has forever changed me, I'm afraid. Now, when I see a line of 18 wheelers stopped, I go into this unbelievable panic. I think that I'm about to die when I see vehicles stopped on the shoulder. And when bombs are going off.

How I made it down alive without falling I will never know.

But finally, I do make it down. Juan is making me another breakfast. So I walk down the street to the store. Walking to the store, I pass a dog that's chained to the front a little 3-world shanty with a rusted chain around its neck.

This is one of the hardest parts of passing through these little 3rd world towns. The stray animals wandering the streets, and the way they treat them, is hard to come to grips with. In the U.S., you seldom see stray dogs, and you'll never see man keeping a dog with 2 broken legs.

At the bottom of the hill, I buy a quart of OJ for a dollar.

I finally figured out why I like the OJ down here so much better than in the U.S. It's because they're adding sugar to it. Lots of sure. Way more than in the USA, so it's sweeter. That's why I love Jumex. Duh.

I return and eat my breakfast at the hostel. I can't finish it all, so Juan gives the remains to the stray cat that hangs out at the hotel.

In the hostel, one of the girls from France pulls out a guitar and starts playing and singing and, this is the part that you miss if you're not staying in hostels. And, don't get me wrong, I'm not really advocating hostels. There's so much that's wrong with them that there's no time to go into it, but it does sort of force you into being social, for good or for ill.

Now, one of the guys from Argentina comes down and says my cameras are upstairs and it's very humid and he's concerned about them. So I go up and bring my cameras downstairs. Only one of them works anyway. I need to go into Panama City and buy a new camera. Maybe that's what I'll do tomorrow.

Marco tells me that his friend will be here soon with the boat, and he'll ask if they can take my motorcycle on their sailboat. Like...how crazy is that? To ask a guy if he's got room on his sailboat for a 500 pound motorcycle? Yeah...sure...we'll just stick it over here in this drawer with the meat cleavers and the q-tips.

And now, I'm not really sure what to do. That's the Paradox of choice. Should I go back to Panama City and buy a new camera? Should I go to Puerto Lindo and look for a boat? Should I go to Colon and tour the locks of the canal? This is the Paradox of Choice. The more choices we have...the more freedom we have....the harder it is to make a decision. analysis paralysis.

Vultures Over the Purple Cathedral

At some point, the rain lets up somewhat. Buzzards circle over the purple cathedral that anchors the town.

I decide it would be a good idea to walk one block to see what the restaurant on the corner serves for dinner. The restaurant I am in is called the Parrillada Latino (I think).

I found out today that it's illegal to walk down the street without a shirt on in Panama. And illegal to ride a motorcycle without a shirt on. Who knew?

As soon as I order my meal, the skies open up. Even though I'm under a protective awning, i move indoors.

Fish are swimmng in the streets. It's raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

Tomorrow, I have to try to get out of this place. I have to put snorkel in my mouth, get on the bike, and ride into Panama City and buy a Canon Digital Rebel. And a t-shirt.

Marco Polo comes in to my room and tells me that the boat that was supposed to sail today didn't go because the seas were too rough. I tell him that I'm taking the San Blas Cat to Colombia on Monday, and here is my deposit. Like...I'm not going to fuck this up twice.