The Panamanian history of me

Let me begin with ‘fuck.’ Oh, and ‘pain.’ Ánd for the record, let’s add ‘fuck pain’ too. To those who don’t agree: you are either a sado masochist or you take this to literally. Either way, this is about me, not about you.
So I ‘ll start at the beginning. The border. Which could be the end too, you’re right, thank you. On second thought, let’s not start at the border. I will start before the start. What is that called: a prestart?
Or a preloge?
The fuck comes later, first the pain. Tooth, ache, horrible. And so: a horrible tootache. It was really bad and I mean: Really bad, with a capital R. A hammer was nabging inside my tooth (luckily not as bad as an MC Hammer). Tossing and turning at night. Sleep was no option, there wasn’t any. I told you, the pain was bad. Food was hard to take and the less I ate, the less hungry I got. Also water was lacking in my body. A stupid thing. The pain didn’t go away after a few painkillers, so in a short periode, I took 14. of the 14 I took 7 in one go. I cannot recommend to do this on an empty stomach and hardly any water. Maybe not un unimportant fact: it was in the middle of Summer in Costa Rica. Sun blazing on my body. Humidity was about 96%, it was terribly hot and so I sweated all over. And Panamá would be even worse. The pain was still there.
Next morning my bus would depart from San Jose to David, in Panamá. I woke up and soon discovered that my hearing had gone down by approximately 40%. Also my head was not on my body. Or my brains not in my head (whatever suits me). Or so I thought. The pills had done their work (well, half that is) and gave me something extra too! A 40% deafness and a state of mind in which I didn’t care about anything in this world. I was off this planet. Completely away. I checked out, hoping the guy wouldn’t start a conversation. Went to a shop to buy some water and worked my way through all the traffic, faint noises and confused to the bus station. A complete different world when one can hardly hear. At the bus station I just sat and sat, hoping I would take the right bus. Half panicking, because would this last forever? What can you think in such a situation? I waited for quite a while there. Perhaps two hours or so, I think. Yeah, must be.
So there I was, sitting in the bus. Headache (migraine), bit of a toothache, small seats (after I was chased away by the bus driver, because that was his seat) and in a world far away.
And here comes Panamá. Closer and closer. Closer comes the border and closer comes the fuck. But! Panamá probably also is my life-saver. At the border Costa Rica-Panamá, you first must go to the Costa Rican border, then to the Panamanian border. I took my passport, a pen (oh no,
I forgot about that), some cash (they always want to see money at the borders) and that’s it. The Costa Rica border was not really a problem. Well, system wise, I am talking about. Mentally and physically I was sweating all over, no clue what to do, thinking I will get caught by the state police, because I look like a frantic drug dealer and might faint every second of the hour in this bloody heat. But I got through. Yippikayee.
It didn’t take too long to meet the guy behind the window at the Panamanian (what a word) border. Bit surprised by that. Also by the fact that he was wearing sunglasses while it was around 22.00h at night and pitch dark. And inside a light was on of the sort which if you put that in your solarium, you get more brown sooner from the dust while waiting than from the light itself. I didn’t tell him that. One must take utmost precaution at these places. Not that I entirely inclined to oblige to that, though. I stood there with my wet face (again thinking and feeling the same). This, that, bla bla bla. Aqui, aqa, este, esta, you name it. Turns out he wanted to see $500,- to prove I can live it out in Panamá for a while. Perdona? I don’t carry this much money around, really… I don’t have it…
Fuck, now what. Luckily a guy behind me suggested to show him my credit card. That would do too. Ok, so I have to walk all the back to the bus, get my stuff, find the bus driver first, go back, oh fuck it all. A few meters away from the sunglassed man, I yelled a few Dutch insulting words, hoping he didn’t understand them. But I am sure he did. Got to the bus, found the driver, found my bag, went back with it (bloody heavy in terrible heat) and showed him the long awaited credit card. No, I first needed to buy a stamp somewhere else. FUCK IT! I am not Amercian, I kept on thinking. I am Netherlandic. A tiny country, sweet and dear. Always cooperating with everybody. You all like us. Well except Vatican City then. And now Panamá.
I got the stamp, went back in line and lo and behole, he called me and I could jump the queue. Yippikayay. ‘Welcome to Panamá, you’ve got a stamp. Good hey!’ he said with a smile (what a service). Sure, great, thanks.
Back in the bus again. Nice and cool, dark and alone, not being disturbed. Except by our driver, who told me that I had to come outside. Absolutely no idea why. What the fuck, I remember thinking.
Outside lay my big backpack on the ground. I won’t write what I thought at the moment. But it was ‘what the fuck.’ Still absolutely no idea what to do. I took it away around a corner where this other guy was waiting. He talked to me, not that I was interested or could hear a thing. Nobody was there to check the bags (that’s what’s supposed to happen by customs, I thought), so after a few minutes I took it back to the bus. It all worked out perfectly, so the pack back in the bus and me back to my two seats.
The bus driver was so friendly to inform us afterwards that we didn’t need to pay the $5,- administration fee. ‘YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKER!’ I thought. What a dickhead. I didn’t really care though, I hadn’t paid any $5,-anyway.
Lovely. I could dream away again.
To my opinion not long enough. I heard this voice saying something. I was pretty sure it contained the word David, the place where I had to get off. Someone else will get off too, so no worries. Then the same guy with the suggested credit card came up to me, saying that I had to get off here. Told you.
So I put on my shoes, stood up, took my little nag and went outside (where I was the only one). Pointed my big backpack out and looked for the receipt. Nowhere. Looked again. Nowhere. Now you might think Central America is tranquilo. Wrong! At least not concerning public transport. While traveling we missed an 11 o’clock bus once because we arrived literally 2 past 11 (and it was a long-distance bus!). They run here to the bus and the bus guys yelling where the bus is heading for, scream all the time ‘move it, move it,’ slapping with their fingers (a thing I really envy). The driver really got impatient and walked around me all the time at the end saying that if I couldn’t show him the receipt, I don’t get the bag. Me saying that we weren't in Europe, so tranquilo,’ didn’t help much. Proving what stuff is in the pack didn’t do much either. The second guy was a bit friendlier. He told me to stand in the headlight of the bus. Good thinking; we liked that. Then he looked with me (after a lot of complaining from the driver – fuck off, you stupid git, is what I thought) and picked out the receipt.
My normal pattern is to sort out the bags, find a place to sit down, relax, take my guidebook and read about accommodation. I could do the first couple of handlings, but it was dark (23.00h) and there was no light. So I sorted the bags, sat down and relaxed. Normally in such a case you light a cigarette, but I don’t smoke, so I couldn’t light one. After having enough energy, I decided I should walk to this building where there was a light outside and perhaps was even a little hotel. Ha, was I wrong. Out came a man telling me it was an office of college (right…). Together with the man came the dog. And with the dog came the barks. Many. Fuck off, fucking dog, I wanted to think. Which I actually did.
The man with the dog was friendly. The dog with the man was not so friendly. And I suspect that the dog without the man was not so friendly either. Maybe even worse. Good for the dog he didn’t bite me. Later I realised I was the lucky one of us too and felt good by not being bitten. Stupid dog.
Anyway, the friendly man with the not so friendly dog called a cab and gave the cabbie an address. Yes, the place was still there. Yes, it was still open (at 23.30h) and yes, they have a room. Available. And yes, the temperature inside the room was even higher than outside. I changed beds (one was even smaller than the other one), because of course I chose the wobbly one. But then again, the other was not any better. Not to say, even wobblier.
I was able to sleep through half the night. Next morning I wondered if check out time was really at 14.00h. Sure it was. I even asked it after I read it last night. Good, so I could lie down for another hour. And another one. Ring Jaime 13.30h, see what he does or wants (perhaps more important), get back, pack my stuff and wait outside or just book another night. It was 12.00h. I had been told told by myself to look for the internet café at 12.15h. Use it for an hour, get his phone number from my email account and ring him at, indeed 13.30h.
At every hour I woke up and at every hour I only lived half. The rest (the mind, the energy, the body, the spirit, strength, sense, well everything actually) was gone. So at 12.00h I could still lie down for 15 minutes. At 12:15h it was too late and I thought I’ll look for it at 12:30h. At 12:30h I thought the best thing in life is lying here in this wobbly bed in this overheated room, lying in my own sweat; let’s go at 12:45h. At 12:45h I had exactly the same feeling when it was 12:30h, therefor I could stay in bed a bit longer.
Amazing how somebody can wake up every 15 minutes, I kept on thinking. At 13.00h I still was not ready, but my need was such, that I actually stood on my two feet. Victory! Remember that I am Dutch. The only reason for getting up was that otherwise I probably had had to pay for another night, which might turn out not exactly necessary. And so I went outside my room in this slow motion movement. Pretty cool actually. They were all looking at me and I moved as in a movie. Must have made a fool out of myself.
After a conversation in Spanish with an old man, I figured out that the internet café was first left, then right. Sure I know it, but was I able to reach it?
Yes, I was. ‘Buenas,’ I said to the two guys. “Hola,” they replied. I waited for them to say anything. They kept on looking at me. After staring for a few minutes at each other they told me they didn’t work there, the counter was behind my back. Ok, right, thanks (fuckers). Did some reading, writing and looked up the number. Aah, what a nice little sight. And that only for a number. Penned it down, paid, asked for a phone where you can pay with coins (“outside”) and went outside to call. At least, that was the plan. Which was ok. I stood in front of the phone (“outside”) to come to the conclusion that the phone (“outside”) only accepted cards! Fucking…whatever. Now what. At least two phone cards lay on the phone. And there they are not too heavy to carry I took them with me, which would mean I am the favorite nephew of my uncle again, who collects them. Need to find another phone. Back at the hotel, the same old guy pointed me one. ‘Are you sure you can pay with coins?’ “Yes.” ‘Yes?’ “Yes, go.” Thou be warned, I thought. No little slots for cards, so must be okay then. Threw a few coins in the machine and dialed the number. Nothing. Dialed again. Nothing again. Dialed again again. Nothing again again. Fucking phones. Hey, there comes the phoneman. Coincidence all over. ‘Oye, phone work not.’ This is my level of Spanish. “Buy card.” ‘No, is only coins.’ “Go.” Fuck it, what is this with that word: go. Go and fuck yourself, I though.
Back to the hotel. ‘No phone work.’ “Yes, there. Go.” “No, was there, no work. Is possible call here?’ “What’s the number?” ‘This, go’ (when in Panama, act like the Panamanians). An eyebrow was raised and a stare was fixed. Now what. ‘Go go go go go!’ I thought (when in Panama, don’t upset the Panamanians). Number was from far away, they said. Give me a fucking break, I am sick, ill, don’t feel well, am hot, am dry, am dehydrating and disorientated. Now go, I thought. They kept foot. But they remained helpful. This time an old lady (probably the wife of…) explained me where a public phone was and that it would cost about 30 cents a minute to speak to somebody with a mobile phone. It took grandma about 14 minutes to explain me the massively complicated directions to the phone. So I crossed the street where the phone was located, put in the 30 centavos and dialed (again). “Hey hey hey, mi amigo. I will pick you up in 20 minutes” (first he said half an hour and at the end it took him 45 minutes. Panama he!).
Amazingly I remembered the complicated directions to get back to the hostel. And so I crossed the street again, went to my room, packed my backpack, put it on, staggered to the reception, checked out and positioned myself on the porch under the roof on the floor, with a view to kiss, namely the road Jaime will use with his car to pick me up.
So I thought.
And so I was right.
He arrived too late, but I was happy. In a way I had been happy the whole trip from Costa Rica to Panama with 20-25 pills in my stomach, but this time I could see a dentist rolling in front of my eyes, which made me happy. We shook hands and hugged (old friends always hug). We picked up his sister. We also had to do some groceries. On the way we went to the supermarket and later (closer to his parent’s house) we stopped to buy two big bags of ice cubes. The motherfucker parks right in front of the freezer, so the guy had huge difficulties getting the 2 bags out.
What a country. Fuck.
Anyway, here is where the fuck ends and where the happiness starts. The lifesaving part as I called it earlier.
I have met the friendliest people in the world. They are friendly and heloful beyonf belief. That day I was lucky enough to meet two more: his father and his mother. Well shoot, his whole bloody family should be counted among them. All the things they have done for me are just incredible. I had brought them a bottle of rum and a bottle of wine. Which probably did it, I don’t know.
His father gave me a hat from Peru. I liked that, because when I was in Peru, I looked for it all over the place. But these little men, have little heads (why?). and his father had a big one. Hat. So now I’ve got one.
I also met the biggest beetle of the world. It was right on my shoulder blade under my t-shirt. The monster had on his head a pair of scissors, antenna’s, knives, blades, sticks. Looked like a big Swiss pocketknife to me unfolded on his big head. And old man who was presented at the time told me the animal doesn’t sting. Yeah, fucking right! I have never taken off my t-shirt so rapidly. Well, exept the times my girlfriend was in the mood.
But you can say that after the beetle, a grasshopper as big as our dog on my pants, encounting the big, black wolf of the neighbours (a hugh black dog with scary fangs) and 1000’s of creeping animals in my bedroom, Panama was a pleasant experience and I hope to come back very soon.