 |
A Peruvian roof dog
see Legend of Santo Goyo below |
A Night Next Door
My neighbors invited me to a birthday party for Nana Linda
last night. I attended a LOT of birthday parties in Peru, but this was my first
in Panama. The two share only the similarity of name.
Apparently, Linda is not her real name, but everyone calls
her that because in her youth she was very pretty, though time has certainly
taken its toll. Nor was I able to determine exactly who’s Nana she is. That superficiality
aside, it was a novel party, much more solemn than a US or Peruvian
counterpart. I especially enjoyed the absence of professional clowns and the
Hora Loca, though they have their place and function.
We began with drinking and chit-chat. I mean serious
drinking. The “punch” was just about straight alcohol, which was provided by
Tomas’ father. He makes “moonshine” Cana, which years ago was made from cane
juice, but now is just fermented sugar water, crudely distilled. This brew was
tainted with some lime juice and a little sugar to help it go down. The rest of
the guests were already clearly ahead of me when I arrived. Every time my small
glass was seen empty, a sweet (but insidious) young lady came ‘round to fill
it. I surreptitiously dumped 4 or 5 glasses, but still could not avoid about 3
of those things.
WOOF !!!
There were also constant trips to the 3 fires, which were
roasting various parts of a freshly killed member of their pig herd. This makes
much more sense to me than trying to roast the whole pig. Inserted into the
meat chucks were potatoes and carrots, held on by long skewers. The melting fat
rolling off made for a smoky, greasy, delicious smelling scene.
What a feast it was !! Large chunks of pork, dripping with fat and
roasted potato and carrot, crisp and savory with an unknown spice(s), topped
off with beautifully ripe papaya. Decorum was not in fashion, as hands were
used to rather savagely tear at the meat and veggies. Napkins were in short
supply, so shirt sleeves were employed. Thankfully, there appeared a
non-alcoholic citrusy beverage just in time to save my stomach from total rebellion
and chaos.
After the gorging had settled down, it was story time.
Pretty much everyone got up and told a story or sang a song. And they were
quite good. My favorite was about the great Battle of Darien that “won” the war
of independence from Columbia. According to the teller, whose grandfather was
there, the brave Panamanians stood up to a much larger force of Colombians.
Insults were hurled, shots were fired and the Colombians ran away. He
conveniently failed to mention the 5,000 US troops that were there , with
artillary !! Another was about a bear, told by one of the teens. At least I
think it was about a bear – the alcohol, food and his slurred enunciation
combined for poor reception on my part. But, he told it with such passion and
excitement and theater, that I and the whole group was enthralled.
When it came time for me to tell a story, I chose my Legend
of Goyo, the great silver dog who stood on two legs and freed the roof dogs of
Peru from their miserable lives. (Full text at end) Let’s say it was a tough
audience. Every few lines, a woman – certainly a teacher or grammar Nazi –
would interrupt and correct my awful Spanish grammar. I did my best in spite of
her and other heckling when I got to the part about golden bones and
butt-sniffing. And when I did the mighty “Goyo bark”, all the nearby dogs
started in barking and howling much to everyone’s delight. When I finished, one
(rather drunk) fellow got up and said it was a stupid story – how could dogs
eat bones of gold? And why would dogs live on a roof? Stupid story. He passed
out in his chair a few minutes later, much to my delight.
When Tomas announced that I have been working to help some
Kuna villages, I had to suffer through some pretty negative talk about the
Kuna. The only interesting topic was their form of birth control. Three
theories were put forward : 1) They kill any babies after the second. 2) They
have an herb which causes abortion and 3) They only have oral and anal sex
after the 2nd child. (all equally horrible acts to these “nominal”
Catholics). I’m betting on #2. Or even #3.
After that party, I was almost wishing for clowns and Hora
Loca.
Legend of “Santo Goyo”
A long time ago, a strange dog came to Peru. He stood
tall on two legs and had hair of silver. He was known in other lands as Santo
Goyo, friend and liberator of all dogs. He saw the dogs of Peru were held
prisoner on the roof. He proclaimed in a single mighty bark, that they should
all be free to run and roll in the grass and chase small animals. The dogs all
came down from the roofs. The moment their feet touched the earth, Santa
Yessica appeared in the sky and caused a great rain of bones of gold. There was
much barking, butt sniffing and other dog celebrations in the streets of Peru.
After a time, Santo Goyo moved on to other countries and
another dog appeared. His name was “Butch”, the devil dog, with hair black as
the night and long, sharp teeth. He ordered that the dogs return to the roofs,
where they remain to this day. But, the dogs all know in their hearts that one
day Santo Goyo will return and set them free once again. As you walk the
streets of Peru,
the dogs will come to the edge of the roof and bark. If you listen carefully,
you will hear them say “Viva Santo Goyo. Viva Freedom. Viva Bones”.
La
leyenda de "Santo Goyo"
Hace mucho tiempo, un perro extraño
llegó al Perú. Él era alto en dos piernas y tenía el pelo de plata. Él era conocido en otros países como Santo Goyo,
amigo y liberador de todos los perros. Él vio a los perros del Perú fueron
hechos prisioneros en el techo. Proclamó
en un ladrido único y poderoso,
que todos ellos deben ser libres para
correr y rodar en
el pasto y caza de pequeños
animales. Los perros todos
descendió del los tejados. En el momento en sus pies tocaron la tierra, Santa Yessica apareció en el cielo y causó una gran lluvia de huesos de oro. Había mucho ladrar,
oliendo a tope y
otras celebraciones de perros en las
calles de Perú.
Después de un tiempo, Santo Goyo pasó a otros países y apareció
otro perro. Su nombre era "Butch", el perro del diablo,
con el pelo negro como la noche y los dientes largos y afilados. Ordenó que los perros regresar
a los tejados, donde permanecen hasta
nuestros días. Sin embargo, todos
los perros saben en sus corazones que un día Santo Goyo
volverá y liberarlos una vez más. Mientras caminas por las calles de Perú, los
perros llegan al borde del techo
y la corteza. Si usted escucha con cuidado, se les oye decir: "¡ Viva la Libertad. Viva los
huesos. Viva El Goyo”
+++++
Grocery Shopping
As my days in Panama dwindle down, my mind jumps ahead,
considering some of the changes that await my return. A grocery shopping trip
to Torti this morning brought some of that change into focus.
To begin with, there are no shopping carts, just plastic
baskets. The aisles are not wide enough to accommodate even a single cart and
few people shop for more than two bags of groceries. Folks don’t shop for a
week, they shop for one or two days. Shopping is constrained by lack of
refrigeration and how much you can reasonably carry on the bus and the walk to
your house.
The selection of most products is slim. While a US store
might have 12 different brands and types of peanut butter, here there is just
one. Or none. The big exception, of course, is rice. In one market, there is an
entire aisle of rice – a vast selection of brands and sizes – including the
ever popular 50 lb sack.
Package sizes, in general, tend to be smaller than in the
US, to avoid spoilage and loss. Many condiments and sauces come in 4 oz squeeze
packs. Stark contrast to the mega packaging of Costco or WalMart.
Produce an entirely different animal here. There is no
pre-packed produce in nice cello-wrapped, Styrofoam trays. Everything is loose.
You select your items and take them to be weighed. No slick bar-coded stickers,
just the price written in magic marker. Potatoes come with lots of dirt, as
does the yucca and yams. Cucumbers are never waxed and still have the little
pointy things on them. They might be a little dirty, too. Fruits are always
sold at or very near ripe. Some vegetables, like celery or parsley, just can’t
make it in this environment. And all the produce sold is local or at least from
in-country. Meaning you only eat what is in season.
Eggs are not washed or refrigerated, as is the custom in
many other parts of the world. Nor are they sorted by size. One tray can
contain anything from medium to X-Large. You select the ones you want and
either place them in a plastic bag or ask for a carton. Cartons are the old paper
kind, as they are excellent fire-starters.
Most of the tuna cans are “tuna plus”. They either have
added vegetables or smoked flavor, even jalapeños. Canned meat, like Spam, are
popular for their shelf life quality. There are a few refrigerated items, for
those lucky folks, like me, with a fridge. Mostly dairy products, yogurt being
my favorite. The butter here is quite good – produced in Panama. And beer.
Much of the packaged food is from China. Breakfast cereal,
chips, tuna especially. All are packaged to look like a US product – analog
Cheerios, Pringles and “Buddy Bee” tuna.
At check out, no moving conveyor belt or bar code scanner.
Just a hand calculator. Prices are marked on each item in magic marker. No
credit card scanner, no cash back option.
The truth is – I enjoy both types of shopping. Each has its
advantages and disadvantages. Either way, I know I will eat well.
