Peace of the Pie

In June 2010, I quit my job so I could bike around Europe for the summer. I planned to return to San Francisco in September. 'Sure the economy's rough,' I figured, 'but I'll find something.'

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Bucket shower

It has to be experienced to be believed, but here in Santa Clara, when it rains hard enough, the water stops working. This is some kind of Panamanian Riddle of the Sphinx that I am determined to crack by the time I leave. So on Sunday I found myself dipping the small bucket into the larger bucket to try to get clean. A few of us have only bucket showers, so I guess I should consider myself lucky.

After my bucket shower, I had pretty much the rest of the day free. Íran, who lives next door, convinced me to come with him to the next town to watch him play in his weekly soccer league. Earlier in the week, in a misguided moment of honesty, I had told him that I don´t have a girlfriend. I should have A) lied, or B) told him I had no interest in a girlfriend, because he proceeded to introduce me to every female that he knew in town. There were quite a few, and Íran made it clear that his friends were more interested in citizenship than getting to know the real Adam.

After we got back to Santa Clara, I went fishing with younger Íran and Gabriel like we had talked about all week. No fishing poles, just a hook and line wrapped around a wooden block, meaning the action needed to cast the hook required more coordination than I brought with me to Panama. They caught three fish between the two of them, while my role was to trick the fish into thinking that the hooks are a good and safe source of food. I caught nothing.

Later that night, I took the plunge. Despite the fact that I sat on a patio chair with a cracked rearview mirror in my hand, my haircutter (I wouldn´t say hairdresser exactly) was very professional. I felt like I was joining the army and the rest of the week I had to remind myself with every befuddled look recieved, that I looked like a completely different person. I don´t have a mirror anywhere in the house, so the biggest difference for me is that it takes less time to dry myself after showers. Sorry, no pictures yet.

It is Thursday night, and tomorrow I leave for El Valle. Everyone is visiting a volunteer at their site this weekend, and so Dave and I are catching the 5:30 bus into Panama City so we can get to El Valle by 9:30. This volunteer, Alan, wants us to be there that early for a practice tour he is giving in his town. Now, I don´t know Alan, never met him, but his request does not bode well for our future relationship. El Valle is supposed to be nice, so I´ll take some pictures.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Chaos

I'm in Chorrera right now and it is pouring rain. The people here are trying to figure out a way to get my pictures onto this ancient computer. Oh...wait...success.

To my non-existent regular readers, I apologize. I was updating my blog on an uncooperative computer, and when I tried posting, it posted only the title and I didn’t have time to retype. Hence the unintentional irony of the last post.

Right now, I’m sitting on my bed in Santa Clara, using my friend Freddie’s computer so that I can put this post up without using up much internet time. When you only have one hour of internet a week, that hour flies by, especially on an old slow computer.

I saved some pictures on Freddie’s computer too, so hopefully I’ll be able to post those as well.

Life in Santa Clara is good. Before I could put the period on that last sentence, an enormous cockroach flew in, and we waged battle. I won. Santa Clara, for those of you tracking me at home, is near Chorrera, which is west of Panama City. Despite its tranquil nature, life here in Santa Clara has been busy, which is why I haven’t responded to email or called anyone (sorry family). Santa Clara has no internet and only one public phone; it’s a ten minute walk away and we aren’t allowed to walk the streets after dark (7:00pm).

My host parents are grandparents who, unlike the host parents of some of my fellow trainees, have foregone the overprotective instincts of parents in favor of the genial apathy of old age. If I managed to post the picture of my house, mine is the door on the left. This puts me in extremely rare company: a separate entrance with a locking door. Four of their grandkids live right next door if I feel like playing soccer or watching them cheat at cards. And I do. I just played a Panamanian version of gin with the two older ones who you might be able to see in the picture of them with their mama.

I have a picture of me with them too, which will be one of the last pictures of my hair at that length. I had originally planned to go the full two years. They told me long hair arouses suspicion here. I shrugged it off. They told me long hair was equivalent to wearing a ski cap in this weather; it is. I shrugged that off too. But two mornings ago I discovered at least a half dozen ants living on my scalp. So I’m reconsidering.

My host parents’ son who lives next door said I could get my hair cut here in Santa Clara for $1.25, which seems incredible, but even this close to the equator, the adage holds about seeming too good to be true. Since every male here keeps their hair short, this haircut would consist of only clippers, a tarp, and my soon-to-be gleaming scalp. Anyone who has known me since seventh grade is familiar with how closely I resemble a primate with short hair. Future hair bulletins as events warrant.

If I managed to put more pictures, hopefully they were of my neighbors, which have thus far included a spider (killed with a machete (sweet) by my family), a cockroach (killed in battle mentioned above), and various geckos (still selling car insurance). After slaying the spider, my host mother told me not only that that type of spider, which I had found in my bed, can be as big as a hand, but also that they bite. Hard. This knowledge (not all knowledge is power) has led to a decent amount of psychosomatic itching as I lie in bed. Along with the heat and the chorus of roosters at four in the morning, sleep has become a treasured commodity. So I should get some.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Haste makes...

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Soft Corps

Hello, finally, from Panama. I should say from the get-go that this isn't going to be a journalesque blog; I'm not going to mention every day or everything I'm doing. I'm a slow writer, and I don't think I'm going to have that kind of time unfortunately. The idea is to give the gist and maybe an anecdote, but more importantly to convince my parents that everything is okay.

Today was the first assurance I've had that Peace Corps is going to be exciting and challenging. We visited a volunteer at his site, which is a small indigenous community only reachable by boat. He's helping the women market and sell bracelets and necklaces and is going to help them set up a website later. He has his own thatch-roofed house and teaches English on his front porch. What a life. I'll try to put up some pictures later.

Before today though, apropos the title, our training has been fairly ridiculous. We've had long meetings on the inner workings of the Peace Corps bureaucracy and catered meals, icebreakers and air conditioning. And it was feeling like camp. No, more like day camp, for the kids not brave enough for overnights yet. I expected to feel young and inexperienced but instead feel the opposite; at least three people brought personal DVD players. Not that that is a bad thing but certainly different from my previous conception of the Peace Corps. So the excessive hand-holding was a little trying, but I suppose it was to make sure that we all descend at the same rate into the life of a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer).

Tomorrow we descend a little further, as we head to Santa Clara for eight weeks of training. Apparently, Panama has the gall to have two Santa Claras. Unfortunately, it is not the Santa Clara that Lonely Planet describes as a 'lazy surf town' but rather one that has been described to us only as 'up in the hills.' We'll be living with a host family, having language classes for four hours a day, and eventually traveling alone to visit other volunteers. We've been told that the closest internet is in the next town, so to the one person who actually reads this, future updates might be a tad infrequent.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Donde estan los hippies?

I'm in Washington D.C., where our orientation is taking place. Today was the first day, and the first day that I met all of my fellow volunteers. I expected some spectrum of hippies: the activists, the vegans, the spiritual ones, etc.

I met just about everyone today. Not a hippie to be found. In fact, many would be right at home in the USF school of business. (Various readers, take from that what you will). There are 37 of us, divided into two groups: economic development (me) and environmental protection. The development crew consists of, from whom I've met so far, quite a few business majors and others hoping to keep their palms clean. Of course, I'm extrapolating quite a ways from one night of bonding (and hoping none of the development comrades read this blog). So far, and I emphasize so far, I like the guys on the environmental side of our group. Lots of engineering majors.

So right now, it feels like the first few weeks of freshman year of college: everyone's being really friendly, but you can see the political wheels spinning behind their eyes. 'Should I go sit over there or stay here?' Everyone sizing everyone else up. It's only a matter of time until clicks set in and everyone has been through college already and they know that 37 is too big for one group, so they know it too. I'm not claiming malice, most of these people seem like good people, but they all (myself included) want to be on whatever side of the line they want to be on when the walls of fraternization come down.

For example, sitting right behind me right now, and probably reading this email, is the guy who is sharing my room with me. So, for this time in DC, we are bros. I bet we don't hang out later, but for now, we're bros. I'll write more from Panama.