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| Like two kids in a candy store - shopping for new tools |
With funds for the water system projects in hand, we now begin the hard work. Jose M and I went shopping for project tools at the hardware store - like putting two kids loose in a candy store, we overspent our tools budget by 10%, but got good quality tools that will last even beyond these projects. Orders for materials are placed at the hardware store and deliveries begin this Friday. All materials will be off-loaded from the delivery trucks and secured with tarps. After that, the communities begin the arduous task of carrying about 5 tons of materials 1.5 to 2 km up steep, muddy trails to the construction sites. Each community has a list of who from each family will provide the work, who will cook and deliver lunches and water to the workers. Then Jose and I will begin construction, with work crews of 3 or 4.
A group of PCVs invited me to join them on a pilgrimage to Carnivale in Panama City. After last year's adventure, I declined. Once was enough for me, as I was reminded by the tale from last year, reprinted below.
My Big Fat Panamanian Carnival
Let me begin by saying that I have never favored big
festivals. I relate much better to smaller groups. But, my Inner Festival Explorer,
goaded by the local buzz, decided to travel into Panama*, to see what all the
Hoo-Haw was about. *When people in Panama talk about going to Panama, what they
mean is going to Panama City.
Travelling into the Emerald City on the day of Carnival
proved to be a failure of logistical judgement on my part. The buses were all
full – I had 3 full ones pass me by and even the 4th was standing
room only for the first hour of the trip, until I finally got a seat. The
traffic inbound was HORRIFIC, unlike I’ve ever seen it. What is normally a 4
hour trip took almost 8 hours, including my wait at the bus stop. Even though
this is the dry season, it started to rain as we got into the City.
When I finally got to the terminal and headed for the Metro,
it was another mob scene. Trains were running at peak (3 minute) intervals and
still packed. The walk from the Metro to my hotel was filled with honking horns
and drizzle. And when I got there, they were full. Again, my bad for not
calling ahead. I could have stayed in their Dorm room, but I’m just too old to
enjoy sleeping in a room full of 20 year old backpackers who stay up drinking
until 3am. Luckily, my back-up hotel is only 2 blocks away and had space,
albeit in their annex, with a view of a concrete wall 4 ft away. More bad news:
I had already missed the main event downtown
along the waterfront, though there would be other celebrations later that
night. But, at least, the rain had stopped.
Things took a decided turn for the better when I went down
to the crowded little restaurant for an early dinner and was seated next to a
lovely lady from Switzerland. By sheer coincidence Genevive went to elementary
school with Bertrand Picard (first to fly a solar plane around the world) , who
I knew as a lad on Singer Island, FL. She filled me in on the big parade,
including photos from her phone. It looked like quite a spectacle. Sorry I
missed it. Of course, she grilled me about Trump. The whole world seems to
think he’s a joke, but also very dangerous to the world’s peace and economy. She
was keen to practice her Spanish and English, so we alternated language every
other line or so. We also agreed to escort each other to the celebration in the
nearby park, which everyone said was not the Big Deal, but still pretty good.
Dinner was a fixed plate, said to be “Carnival Tipico”. It
consisted of lentils, which seem to be a universal Latin good-luck food, fried
plantains, a Panama staple, small chunks of beef that had been cooked to almost
jerky texture in a BBQ sauce and a side of what I can only describe as
vegetable mush – WAY over-cooked mixed veggies – just the way Panamanians like
them. And it was all delicious, although the beef taxed my chewing stamina. And
a bargain at $4.00. Oh, and a single sardine was offered for burying on the
beach for more good luck. I passed on that.
We re-convened at 7, and headed for the park, joining in
with a small mass migration in that direction. As we arrived, a church
procession was passing the park. Lots of little girls in white lace and little
boys dressed in ill-fitting suits, with men in black carrying an icon, which I
assumed was Mother Mary, adorned with flowers.
The park is the same one I saw lit-up the night I arrived.
The Christmas ornaments were gone, leaving just the cascading white lights –
quite spectacular. In some areas, there were big flood lights. And, boy was it
packed. There was a trail of sorts that ran through the park, lined with all
manner of vendors - popcorn, sandwiches, ice cream, banana chips, kabobs, hot
dogs, big pretzels and especially beer vendors. There seemed to be a beer stand
every 100 feet or so, mostly the local Atlas. Budweiser and Miller both had
stands, so I partook of an MGD and later, a Bud. They only sold in cups, since
we later discovered that a “tradition” is to throw your cup in the air when you
finish a beer or applaud. Like throwing the champagne glasses into the
fireplace, only safer and not as romantic.
I had a little bump-up against the arm of a large black
fellow in a toga robe, who spilled his beer and looked like he wanted to fight.
So, I threw up my arms and backed away as he muttered some choice words.
“Pinche Gringo” was the only thing I recognized, along with an enraged middle finger.
Definitely got my adrenaline running.
After that, we were propelled along the midway by the animated and inebriated crowd,
eventually finding a place we could stand and watch the throng. It was quite a
mixed bag. There were older folks dressed to the nines, like they were going to
a ball. Some young men, dressed as men, but faces and hair made up like women.
At least I’m pretty sure they were men. Some rather attractive. There was also
a Kiss element – many faces and garb of that venerable rock group. LOTS of
masks of all sorts, including glittery, feathery ones, superheros and several
monsters and dragons. An absolute dearth of kids. This party is definitely “R”
rated. Quite a scene.
It turns out there was no parade of floats, as I had hoped,
at our location. Every so often the revelry was interrupted by various performing
groups. There was a bunch of guys dancing on stilts, jugglers, body builders in
very tiny bathing suits, fire-breathers, some folks with huge paper mache
heads, clowns, of course , a rather risqué dancing group and one band of
bagpipers. One of my favorites was a group of Jedis, who did a beautifully
choreographed dance with their light sabers. A gang of four Trumps seemed to
relish getting Booed and returning fire with “the finger”. (I would not suggest
the The Donald visit Panama any time soon). All groups had people collecting money
in the crowd. At least I think/hope that is what was happening. The most
popular musical numbers, by far, were the Macarena (yes, it is still alive in
Latin America) and Shaky, Shaky Shaky by the rap artist Daddy Yankee. And the
crowd joined in with Mucho Gusto !! As the groups would stop and perform , the
crowd gave them space and applauded with loud yelling, giving money and tossing
empty cups and cans in the air. Duck & Cover. As Genevive sadly discovered,
not all the cups are emptied before launch.
I have to say that the enthusiastic energy at an event like
this is absolutely contagious. I was jumping up and down and screaming and
laughing and cheering and tossing cups in the air with the best of them. It’s
like some self-cast spell that the crowd places on itself. You’d have to be near
death not to pick up the vibe and be transported by it. Maybe that’s the huge
allure of this type of event. Or maybe it’s all the beer.
After a few hours, I went for the camera in my side pants
pocket and found it missing. This caused Genevive to check her backpack slung
over her arm and discover her cell phone missing, as well. We’d been picked
clean as a whistle, though nothing else was taken. First time in my life I’ve
had something stolen. In all fairness, I’d been warned about the gangs of
pick-pockets that frequent these events. Peace Corps even sent out a timely
reminder, which I failed to heed. This brought a sudden, sullen end to Carnival
for us and we headed back to the hotel. In retrospect, it really was a perfect site
for pick-pockets – lots of bumping in the crowd and very few police, except on
the streets. I was told this morning
that the police are all in plain clothes at these events. I was awakened about
11:30 by fireworks which lasted a full hour and seemed to be right outside my
window, though they were about 1 KM away. Sound must have bounced off the
building next door. I finally got dressed and went outside to watch. Since it
was after midnight, I pretended the pyrotechnic display was for my birthday.
I’ll have to wait on my return until 10am this morning, when
the Albrook Mall opens, to replace my camera. Not a big loss, though all the
fabulous photos I took are gone. Genevive
will have to wait a couple of days for her uncle, who works for Samsung, to
send her another phone.
So, let’s see – made a nice new friend, had good food, saw
masses of drunken people dressed in wild costumes and masks, saw some very cool
entertainment, did the “Shaky, Shaky, Shaky” ( the Macarena still eludes me), was
verbally abused, was wonderfully excited, got pick-pocketed for the first time,
saw good fireworks, endured horrendous bus ride. I’d say it was a wash,
fun-wise.
I still retain my driving thirst for new experiences, places.
people and activities. But the next time my Inner Festival Explorer gets any
bright ideas about attending a huge event like this, I think I’ll just remind
it of Panama Carnival 2017. And maybe we’ll give it a second thought.
