Meeting Mr. Gruber

I believe I mentioned in my last post having acquired a bottle of Gruber's Jungle Oil, the panacea concocted from Panamanian herbs by Franklin Gruber, an FSU alumnus. It's turned out to be quite a lifesaver. When I remember to apply it, it repels the tiny no see-ums, locally called chitres, that dwell in and around vegetative areas. They don't bother us in the house or on the terrace, but the closer we get to the back of the property toward the river or to the coffee fields next door and across the street, the worse they get. And when I forget to apply the jungle oil beforehand, it does a superb job of putting a stop to the itching that ensues.

The label on the bottle reads as follows:

GRUBER'S JUNGLE OIL

Made from Panama's finest medicinal plants and soybean oil. It rapidly neutralizes poisons and allergic reactions to sand flies, chiggers, mosquitoes, tics, wasps, bees, spiders and scorpions, etc. Once on the skin disinfects bites to avoid tropical disease and also REPELS those critters for up to 4 hours per application when walking. While sleeping and thus sweating less works all night. Use this oil also to heal severe sun burns and also as an optimum sun screen. Mr. Gruber, an FSU Science Graduate, used it once to heal a mole that changed color and bleed [sic]. Applied on feet before going on muddy nature trails prevents and treats "jungle rot" fungal and bacterial infections. Use also to heal ACNE, minor and mayor [sic] cuts and bruises, prevent, cure gangrenous skin ulcers. As a massage alleviates tense muscles, lupus and arthritis pain, varicose vain [sic] inflammations. Apply 2 to 4 times daily or more. [Mr. Gruber is not a tribute to the FSU English Department.]

I badly burned my little finger on and above the cuticle last week when I removed some brown sugar from the microwave and had some of the resulting syrup dripped from a hole in the bag. After soaking the finger in cold water for a while, I applied jungle oil and, voila, a large blister formed, but I have been pain free for a week. (The blister burst yesterday and, admittedly, it's a little tender now. But I'm still applying the jungle oil, which has kept it supple and infection free.)

So it was with great anticipation that I set out for the meeting of the Love To Garden Club yesterday morning at which Franklin Gruber Himself was the scheduled speaker. After retrieving my friend Sandy from high up in Alto Jaramillo, driving back down the mountain, and then about ten miles out of town on the road to David, we finally arrived at the home of the member hosting the meeting, where other club members were huddled together on the small front terrace in folding chairs. Having no folding chairs, Sandy and I huddled together on the hard stone steps where we watched as Mr. Gruber unloaded bag after bag of plant material on a small round table and prepared to lecture. He appeared much less peculiar than I had envisioned, but not entirely without peculiarities, not the least of which was that, among the plant material, was a jar of fireants and a freely stalking scorpion. He assured us that the scorpion would be fine on the table, for us not to worry. I, for one, didn't take my eye off him for a minute, being the person most closely situated to the table.

The talk proceeded with a discourse on the extraordinary number of medicinal plants in Panama, how he had become familiar with them, and how they had served to cure innumerable people of even more innumerable ills. The stories were fascinating, the ills running the gamut from flatulence to cancer. While he couldn't be described as a dynamic speaker, Mr. Gruber was interesting and kept everyone's undivided attention until such time as a neighbor's gardener took up weedeating and a wind chime overhead began clanging in the breeze. Everyone was alternately leaning forward trying to hear and keeping a wary eye on the scorpion, which was scampering about the table trying to find a way to descend and make mischief. Finally, after about an hour and a half into his two hour allotted time period, Mr. Gruber grabbed the jar of fire ants and thrust his hand in amongst them. Amid the squeals and twitters of the audience, he left it there until what he considered to be a sufficient number of ants had bitten him, after which he removed his hand and liberally applied some jungle oil. He then demonstrated the resulting bites and reported, bit by bit, his reactions to the diminishing pain as the welts gradually, over a period of about five minutes, disappeared. This was followed by more talking about medicinal plants and their uses--still amid the whirring of the weedeater and the jangling of the wind chimes plus the stomping of the fireants that had been slung from Gruber's hand before application of the magic oil --until such time as he located the scorpion on the underside of the table and coaxed him onto a small limb for demonstration purposes. After briefly advising us of the various types of scorpions and the severity of their stings, he aggravated the scorpion into stinging him, whereupon he swallowed a small vial of jungle oil mixed with rum and spread an equal amount of the oil itself on the site of the sting. He confessed to being a little light-headed, at least partly as a result of having eaten nothing that day, he said, and even apologized for needing to sit for a bit. But in due time, ten minutes or so, evidence of the sting had disappeared and he announced that all was well.

Afterwards, I introduced myself, and we reminisced about Tallahassee. We were interrupted, however, by various participants extolling the virtues of jungle oil and narrating their own experiences of having used it. Mr. Gruber briefly took the floor once more to announce that two people present had bottles of jungle oil to sell, as well as his newly concocted salve (more a pomade, actually) for sun spots, age spots, and wrinkles. The latter sold out immediately. I have one at my elbow as I write.

The fur-faced four-legged fiends

Doc looks like walking death, pallid and perpetually stooped over. Because he acquired their three pups absent consultation with his housemates, he rightfully has been assigned their care and upbringing (and has been forbidden from ever entering Melos, the store in David where they were purchased, again). Now and then Ramon and Charly will, out of pity, step in for an hour or two to relieve him, but on the whole Raphael, Matilda, and Finnegan are his charge. He reports that they awake at various hours in the morning, sometimes as early as 12:30 a.m. and usually one at a time, and demand to go out. While he lets the demander out, he continues, the other two generally see it as a sign that they are free to relieve themselves in the house as soon as the first one disappears. So in the wee hours of morning, when he's not unlocking doors and herding dogs outdoors, he's cleaning up the floor. He claims that they sleep approximately one minute for every two hours that they are awake and troublesome, and his sleeping patterns have been adjusted accordingly.

Their yard looks like the city dump. Anything that isn't nailed down, behind closed doors, or placed on a very high shelf is fair game for pilfering and strewing about. When Doc telephones to warn us that he will be visiting on one of his dog walks, Larry and I first secure everything indoors and then rush out to the gate to witness him struggling up the road entangled in three dog leashes. Once inside our house and faced with the prospect of playing with Chyna and Trudy, the pups go into high gear, whereupon we all become entangled in dogs and leashes in an effort to free them. It's an exhausting exercise, and afterwards we usually collapse on the terrace with a drink and watch them ravage the garden. They climb up the waterfall and splash about in the shallow upper pond, they dig around in the plants in search of heaven knows what, and they chew on everything in sight. Doc and canine company usually stay for about an hour, after which Chyna and Trudy take to our bed, utterly spent, and Larry and I, dazedly and confusedly, put things back in order.

Doc called this morning to report that Matty had brought a baby rodent of some sort into the house. Like their predecessor, Gus, the two cockers have an affinity for avocados. They scour the environs and return throughout the day with dozens of them, which they savor on the porch, leaving only the pits to be stepped on later by Doc, Charly, or Ramon. Charly says they've chewed through a number of electrical cords and have shredded every dish towel in the house, as well as a number of towels. Anything can occur, she maintains, if you turn your back for even one minute. It's little wonder that Doc looks so careworn and sleep deprived.

Doc is great lover of dogs and always has referred to them affectionately as "fur faces," but these he calls the "four-legged fiends." Ever the comforter, I remind him that he can look forward to their maturing at about two years of age.

Above is a picture of the little darlings in a rare, rare moment of repose.

March in Boquete

We're neighborless again, since shortly after my last post. I'd like to be able to report tranquility at last, but I think Dan and Cindy jinxed us with their problem-laden visit. On the Sunday before their Wednesday departure, Boquete had another spay and neuter clinic which Dan participated in as a visiting vet. Dan, Cindy, and I rode in together at 7:00 a.m. to prepare for the first patients at 8:00. There weren't as many volunteers as usual, and over a hundred animals spread throughout a long, long day. I was put in charge of the recovery unit which, among many other duties, involves taking the animals' temperature and recording it every fifteen minutes. I am now thoroughly acquainted with all varieties of dog and cat butts. After being anesthetized, shaved, and spayed or neutered, each animal receives a series of injections and then is moved on to recovery, which takes place on blankets spread on the gymnasium floor, where about 15 to 20 at a time are massaged back to consciousness and carefully monitored for contraindications. That's a lot of ups and downs for a 64-year-old body. By 4:00, things were winding down in the operating area, but still lively in recovery, when Dan came over and told Cindy and me that he didn't feel well and needed to get home. He confessed on the way that he had been nauseated and in pain all day but figured it had been something he ate the day before. By 7:00 he was in the Hospital Chiriqui emergency room having a kidney stone dissolved. He was back home at 10:00. The next morning at 8:00 a.m. Dan was again seeing patients at his makeshift clinic in the garage next door, pronouncing to everyone who would listen that his medical care had been excellent, as opposed to a trip to the emergency room back in New Smryna Beach with his daughter which involved a multi-hour wait. They left on Wednesday morning, but not without one more bit of misfortune. Dan called from the Panama City airport early in the afternoon to report that he had left a wallet filled with credit cards, licenses, etc. under the mattress next door. I retrieved the wallet, Fed-Exed it to them in Florida, and silently bid them a fond farewell.

Demaris finally returned to work last Monday from her January surgery. It was a long recuperation because of the tumor on her fallopian tubes as well as the appendectomy. We were beginning to think that things were back to normal when Juvenal called early Tuesday morning, to report that his brother, who has been hospitalized off and on for months with a mysterious all-body infection, was back in the hospital. Sadly, he died the following day. Juvenal and his entire family were inconsolable, calling several times throughout the day and needing various kinds of help. We were at home, however, awaiting news of my brother, Richard, who that very day was undergoing a triple bypass in Texas. (All appears to be going well.) So, all in all, an anxiety-ridden week.

Everybody's groaning and moaning about the dry season, as dry as it has been wet for months on end. It's dry up here in Palo Alto, but not nearly so dry as most of the province. We live on what is called the "wet side" of Boquete, so we've at least had a good bit of bajareque, the fine mist that comes down from the mountains. Nevertheless, Edwin and I have been busy watering most days. It's been windy, but not nearly so bad as last year. The weather has been lovely for almost a week now, so we're getting lots of chores down in the garden. Today Larry and I spent a couple of hours in the orchid house, tidying up and mounting new orchids. My "orchid man," Jose Miranda, showed up this morning with some new species he had collected from the Volcan area, so we were inspired to pay the orchids some attention. (To allay any twittering about Larry's newfound interest in orchids, let the record reflect that his assistance was obtained under duress.)

We now have fish in the pond--nine, to be exact--but we're struggling to get everything balanced. We're being aided by a gringo named Thomas, who also supplies us with organic fertilizer and a few organic vegetables such as mustard greens, onions, and sweet potatoes. He's using a microbiotic liquid called EM in the pond which, judging by internet reports, is good for just about everything. Thomas uses it as a compost booster, household cleanser, water clarifier, septic tank cleaner, etc. I have also acquired, based on recommendations from naturally-suspicious and credible sources, some "Gruber's Jungle Oil," an herbal concoction that neutralizes a variety of poisons, most notably scorpions and insects, and also serves as a natural insect repellant. It was developed by one Franklin Gruber, the son of a Panamanian mother and American father, who is an expert in native medicinal plants, having roamed around in the jungles and studied plants and their uses by the natives for many years. Coincidentally, he holds a degree in International Affairs from Florida State. (Cue: snake oil jokes and commentary.) I haven't met Mr. Gruber yet but hope to inasmuch as he recently relocated from El Valle to nearby Caldera.

I'm finally coming to terms with available foods. Most American products are available, either here or in David, but they come with at a price. Locally grown stuff, on the other hand, is inexpensive but often isn't the same as what we're used to. The chicken is excellent, and pork okay once you figure out what to buy. Beef, on the other hand, tends to be very tough as cattle are pasture-fed rather than grain-fed and tend to move about a lot more than do the largely sedentary North American cows. But it's possible to buy a filete entero, a whole beef loin, which, when allowed to age a week or so in the refrigerator, can be cut into servicable steaks. Nearby Potrerillos is the home of a large egg-producing operation, but eggs from free-range chickens(and the chickens do range freely here--right into my garden on occasion) are easy to come by and are out-of-this-world good. Although Chiriqui is known as the bread basket of Panama, the best vegetables from the big farms are shipped to Panama City. There's a good mercado (market) in the center of town, however, where local farmers sell their produce; and there're more and more pick-your-own operations, organic farmers who sell to a limited clientele, and hydroponically grown vegetables available. Excellent fish and jumbo shrimp from the Pacific are available from fish mongers who bring them to Boquete, but are pricey, We've also bought really, really, good tuna from our fish guy, Miguel, that can be cut into tuna steaks which rival the best of beef steaks. And, of course, there are hundreds of fruits. I'm only just beginning to learn the names of them and how to use them. What we know as limes are called lemons (limons) here, and there's a fruit that looks like an orange that is, in fact, a somewhat sweet lemon. Then there are the tomatillos, the many types of avocados, the papayas, the plantains, the nances, the guayabas, fruits I've never seen or heard of. It's a bit bewildering.

I haven't written much about Edwin. He's a very unusual gardener. First of all, he's well-educated, having been schooled in accounting. He says he couldn't take office work, however, and worked for several years at Mi Jardin es Su Jardin, a world famous garden here in Boquete located on the private estate of a wealthy Panamanian family who live most of the time in Miami. Eventually, he went out on his own and, over time, has whittled his clientele down to four, of whom, he says, I am "numero uno." He has proclaimed our garden to be the best in Boquete, consistently making suggestions and engaging in long-term plans for bettering it. Edwin carefully watches out for our interests and is loyal almost to a fault. He dislikes the orchid guy, for example, and has run him off more than once when I wasn't looking. Now he, the orchid guy, only comes on weekends when he can be assured that Edwin isn't on the premises. He is also suspicious of George and Juvenal, whom he fears are taking advantage of us. Lunchtime can be a real chore as Edwin, who is intellectually curious about everything, engages me in protracted discussions (in Spanish, of course) on a wide range of topics, eliciting my beliefs and opinions on everything and offering his own carefully considered views. We discuss politics, religion, education, cultural mores, and more three times a week. Every work day he comes to the table with a a new set of questions designed to tax my intellectual and language skills, as though he lay awake the night before pondering what theme he would bring to the next day's discussion. He is more conscientious and thoughtful than the average Panamanian, as is his wife, Maria, who speaks English and works in a local bank. They dote on their only child, Denise, and Edwin regularly seeks my counsel on how best to raise her to face life's challenges. No happy-go-lucky Panamanian our Edwin.

I'm attaching a picture of the newly-created bog garden, an area by the stone wall that inexplicably stays wet. We finally gave up trying to change the soil and just put in plants that love lots of water--papyrus, horsetail reed, cannas, and calla lillies. It's coming along but still has a ways to go, as they say.

February is upon us

The waterlillies are in. Three weeks ago Charly, Ramon, and I ventured to Volcan to purchase them from Carla, who has a series of beautiful gardens there and a variety of sizes and colors of waterlillies. We settled on three: a large pink, a large purple, and a small white. The white is a juvenile and hasn't settled in yet, but the pink and purple are thriving. The pink, however, closes by noon. Ergo, attached is a picture of the purple.

I was worried about them because we had another spate of--you guessed it--bad weather. This time it was rain AND wind--strong, strong wind. Larry observed a woman being blown off the sidewalk and into the street in downtown Boquete! The electricity was out for five days throughout much of the entire province, but, miraculously, we were without only part of one day and just sporadically, for up to ten minutes at a time, the rest. So we employed the trusty generator only once this time around. All phones were out, but our Internet survived. However, the wind blew rain in around windows and through what apparently were tiny cracks in the concrete at certain spots, resulting in some rivulets down the inside walls in several places. We fared well compared to lots of folks, though. Roofs were blown off even in David, signs were down, roads were blocked by falling trees, etc. And we learned that we do not live in the windiest part of Boquete; that distinction belongs to Jaramillo, where there was widespread damage. The garden suffered badly. Many shrubs were denuded of their leaves, some were blown over, and several were blown right out of the ground. We've been in the recovery process for over a week now. As I write, Juvenal is on a 30-foot extension ladder siliconing around the upper windows in the greatroom. Now the rains have subsided and the usual February winds are here, drying things out in a matter of hours. After all the rain we've had, I spent the morning watering.

Doc/Charly/Ramon were without electricity for all five days. It came at a very inconvenient time for them because they were nearing the culmination of housetraining the two cockers. The weather was such that there was simply no going outdoors for long stretches, so that endeavor was set back. Moreover, only two days prior to the storm they had acquired a third dog, a golden retriever puppy (Finnegan). Doc reports that they went through approxiately 25 rolls of paper towels in the span of a week. When things finally settled down, we all looked and felt like refugees of the war in Bosnia.

On the heels of the storm, Dan, the American vet, and his wife Cindy arrived next door. They had had a rough flight (also weather-related, I assume) and Cindy appeared near death from prolonged air sickness. They managed to get in through the electric gate, late at night, but awoke to no electricity. The storm had brought a tree down on a power line to the house. Apparently it had hung on by a thread until they were safely behind the electronically locked gate, so they awoke trapped on the property. Mold had covered everything inside the house, and they had no gas for hot water. Being unable to locate the manual key to the gate, Larry and Dan finally broke into the controls with needle-nosed pliers and set them free. Gas was ordered, and George eventually came around to fix the electric wire connection and chop down the offending tree. Cindy, still looking pallid, set about ridding the house of mold and cleaning out the refrigerator which had gone putrid during the flood, while Larry and I departed for David to purchase new tires. On the third stop we finally found the all-terrain tires we were looking for, but--it goes without saying--they had only two of them. We bought those two and returned the next day to purchase the newly-arrived two more, mindful of the Doc/Charly/Ramon experience of having ordered bar stools and, when they arrived, having paid for them but having delayed their transport until the next day because their vehicle was filled with groceries. When they returned the next day, their barstools had been sold to someone else. Forget getting your money back. The entire process of ordering and waiting weeks for them to arrive started anew.

Over the weekend, Dan and Cindy got settled in. On Monday morning, early, his veterinary clients began showing up at the hastily-put-together clinic in the garage. The ensuing barks, yowls, and whimperings set our dogs off, so we've had a noisy week. Among the Monday afternoon patients were Raffy and Matty, the cockers, due for spaying and neutering, and Finny, whom Dan said was eligible for a general looking over. All three were headquartered at our house most of the afternoon as Dan, who was running late, took them one by one. I had forgotten how much trouble puppies can get into. At least two of us had to be tending them at all times, and, even then, they managed to dig up a substantial portion of the backyard and drag innumerable personal possessions out of the most unlikely places.

We've been operating largely on the backup water tank and pump for several days now while they overhaul the Palo Alto water system. And we can barely get in and out of our road due to construction trucks and supplies devoted to improving the horrendous road up to Doc and Charly and Ramon's. (This is a mystery. The main road to downtown has huge segments still unpaved and pot-holed from the flood, while their road leads to only a few houses. One of them must belong to a relative of the president, we decided.) Randy and Mary Ellen returned from Bocas to find that the storm had blown in around the doors of their upper patio in their bedroom, had soaked through cracks in the floor, and had destroyed the sheet rock ceiling they had installed just before leaving for the renovation of a garage below their bedroom into a greatroom. Randy was so mad that he kicked the vacuum cleaner and broke his toe.

Not a dull moment yet.

A day in the Panama bureaucratic life

I just can't resist passing on a recent blog of Doc's. It expresses exactly what it's like to try to accomplish the simplest thing here. The George in question is our electrician/friend who also doubles as a translator/facilitator for us Gringos.

Paciencia

My rule of thumb - and for those of you who don't know the origin of that phrase, it was once a law that you couldn't beat your wife with any stick thicker than your thumb - is that if you have to go to lovely and talented Daveed for more than two tasks, plan on spending the day. Paciencia, patience, is seriously required. Seriously required. Did I mention seriously required?George Brewster, a Panamanian who speaks fluent English, and I set out in his tired Chrysler Something Small with no back bumper, windows you pulled up by grabbing glass with your hands and George's own propensity for driving fast. Very fast. Our mission, which we had chosen to accept, was to rescue friend V's car from the Ministerio of Something I've Forgotten where cars that had been stolen, but recovered, were now housed. To accomplish this mission we had to do two things before hand. First, we had to renew my expired driver's license at the Bureau of Expired Driver's Licenses and then we had to buy a new battery for V's car as the old one was muerte, which is Spanish for kaput. At the License Bureau, after waiting in line, of course, we were told that my application for a new one would have to be processed in Panama City and I would have it in about a week...or so. We could, however, go around the corner to another motor vehicle office where Olga could fix me up with a one day temporary pass to drive. Alrighty then, on to Olga. We found Olga and a long line in front of her desk. When our turn came, Olga did something on her computer, determined the system was down, but no te preocupe, not to worry, she still had her phone. The line to Pan City, however, was busy. It remained busy until we said screw it and left to buy a battery. Our quest had begun at eight. It was now quarter to ten. As Pricesmart was close by, we waited in its parking lot until it opened at ten. They didn't have the right kind of battery. Twenty minutes later we found a parts store that did. We made our purchase and were off to the Ministerio. We entered and passed through the metal detector which I miraculously did not set off. I mean usually my steel corded musculature and iron will have them beeping like crazy. (They do so.) We mentioned the name of the person we needed to see at the security kiosk and were sent to room such and such a flight up. There we found a receptionist after my own heart--she was wearing a winter jacket against the chill of the air conditioner--who told us to have a seat and she would alert Mr. So and So. Some twenty minutes after that, Mr. So and So appeared. He had some paperwork in hand, looked officious, and we therefore figured all signs were go. Well wrongo, Bureauocracy Breath! He asked us where the mechanic was and our quick thinking reply was, "Huh? What mechanic?" He carefully explained that we needed a certified mechanic to examine the car for damage so that any insurance claims we had would be verified. We got on the phone to V's abogada, lawyer, who had arranged this whole pick up. She said she could get us a mechanic by two o,clock. Nevermind, we said. We could find one faster. Behind the Ministerio, but around the corner, was a huge car repair place, Pepe's. After waiting in Pepe's office awhile, he assigned a mechanic to us with a set price of $40 dollars. This was ten dollars cheaper than the lawyer had said her guy would be, so we agreed. We returned to the Ministerio, rounded up Mr. So and So and attempted to install the new battery. I don't know the Spanish for "alas,"--I'll look it up later--alas, a pause and a long sigh are always required after saying alas--the battery terminals were on the wrong side for this model car. We would have to go back and exchange it. However, on the bright side, Mr. So and So said the mechanic's five minute inspection of the non-running car would suffice and he need not return. As it was now nearing noon, when the Ministerio shuts down for two hours of almuerzo, lunch, two o'clock was our new target time. We exchanged the battery, dined leisurely at Pizza Hut, and returned to the Ministerio at twenty minutes to the hour. After watching a telenovela, soap opera, and discussing women, George's favorite topic, we hooked up once again with Mr. So and So, who led us to the Evidence Room in the basement of a parking garage where the attendant asked me if I had voted for Obama. When I replied, "Of course," he gave out with a small cheer. After that I signed several papers and then we waited as Mr. So and So went off with them to make copies. Upon his return we were taken to the car where we installed the battery and determined the car needed gas and power steering fluid. No one asked me to show my driver's license, so I drove off in search of the nearest petrol. V was in Bocas and our plan was to leave her car at the airport so it would be there to drive when she returned. I hit the first gas station between the Ministerio and the airport and put in enough gas to make the needle move off empty. The station, however, had no power steering fluid so we had to back track and find another. When we eventually made it to the airport, I left the car keys at the National Car Rental Booth, part of the plan. I then hopped back into George's jalopy and we headed home. First though, we stopped at KFC so I could take a bucket home to Woowoo Charly and RTGFKAR who are addicted to the 13 Herbs and Spices the chicken is reputed to have. This, I knew, would make me a hero; and if you can be a hero by simply going to a drive-thru, I'm all for it. We were back in Boquete at five. Eight to five, a full day. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, if you are into that, taken no more than three hours. Four at the most. Lucky for me I have paciencia. (I do so!)I knew this was an all dayer. George, on the other hand, displayed some frustration throughout the day, but always in good humor. George, I should point out is 36. At 36 was I patient? Sure I was.

Back to the Grind

Things are returning to normal here, insofar as anything is "normal" in Panama. The Christmas holidays, during which businesses were open sporadically, was followed in mid-January by the annual Coffee and Flower Fair here in Boquete, an event of countrywide importance. The town was crowded with visitors, traffic was snarled moreso than usual, and everything was made more hectic by the outage of one of the main bridges from the flood. The fairgrounds had been flooded, and there was talk of cancelling the fair. But recognizing its economic importance to the community, heroic efforts were undertaken to restore it in time for the grand opening. It closed this past weekend, leaving what appears to be an insurmountable amount of litter. We should be in for about two weeks of tranquility until Carnaval convenes, and the entire country essentially shuts down for a week, sometime around February 9th. I remember the date because it was going on when we first arrived in Panama, delaying the shipping of our cargo from Panama City to Boquete for a full week--during which time we had to pay for its storage!

We are without a housekeeper for a while as Demaris had an emergency appendectomy a little over a week ago. She had been at work that day and complained vaguely of stomach pain. The following morning Juvenal showed up to report that they had traveled by taxi to the public hospital in David early the previous evening and that the surgery had been performed about 2:00 a.m. She was released less than two days later--much too soon. I was on my way to David to visit her when I received a call that she was being discharged that day. So, after an interminable wait for medications, the payment of the bill, disconnection of her IV, etc., I transported her and her mother--plus a friend and her daughter who were visiting--back to Boquete. She has developed a subsequent infection--not surprising given the looks of the hospital--and is likely to be a while recovering. There are two excellent hospitals in David, but Hospital Regional, the public one for persons without insurance, is not one of them. We're helping with trips to the doctor, food, and some money until the family gets back on its feet.

The weather was awful for many days after the flood, so we didn't get a chance to really look around. When we did, we were horrified to discover that the river behind our house took a chunk of our property and our next-door neighbors'. What was once a tropical jungle, filled with trees and laden with orchids and bromeliads and gingers, is now a huge pile of rocks that swept down the mountains. Our plan for constructing a fancy set of of suspended stairs and platforms down to the river has been trashed, and the neighbors' lovely paths and rock stairs though a pine grove were swept away. We're just glad we hadn't gotten that far with our plans and that our property is high enough above the river that we weren't flooded. The problem of too much water was exacerbated by a landslide on the coffee farm on the opposite side of the river, but, inasmuch as the coffee farm is owned by the immediate past President of Panama, I don't anticipate any recompense.

Getting plants and fish in the newly-constructed fish pool has been on hold because of Steve and family's lengthy holiday trip to the U.S. and Canada. They've returned but have been embroiled in personal issues and in the landscaping he has been doing for Cielo Paraiso. I'm beginning to regret that I introduced him to Raideep and Colleen, the developers, as now I'm competing with them for his time. He's installing solar power at their property in Chorcha, after learning that it would cost roughly $60,000 to run electric lines and poles there. The installation of solar power equipment, of course, has presented its own set of problems about which he has been very vocal.

One bright spot in the last few weeks has been my becoming friends with Lulu, the proprietor of Lulu's Tropical Gardens in David, a plant nursery. Steve and I had purchased quite a few plants there, but I had met her only in passing. On a visit last week, though, she was at the nursery and, when I inquired about certain plants I needed, invited me to come with her to her house to see her nursery stash. She is married to the principal neurosurgeon at Hospital Chiriqui, so her house and garden was something to behold. We spent about two hours there, carefully going through the house, gardens, fish pond, and nursery, as well as meeting her dogs (a long-haired chihuahua, a weimereiner, and a great dane) cats, macaw, and son (who recently graduated from Purdue). Her enthusiasm for gardening matches mine, so it was lovely visit. THIS is a friendship I can use. As a bonus, I like her very much.

China

In addition to looking forward to visiting a new country and spending time with Derek, I was eager to get away from weather-related problems in Boquete. They seem to have followed me, however, as Derek and I drove from the New Orleans airport to Lafayette in a blinding rainstorm, turning a two-hour trip into a three-hour one. Then we woke up the next morning to snow, the first in recent memory for Lafayette. Derek's dog Scooter was unimpressed, as she had seen snow in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin, but his other dog, Posie, a native of Louisiana, seemed to be both bewildered and ecstatic simultaneously. She ran through it, rolled in it, ate it, and peed on it. During their walk later that morning, Derek and the dogs (good name for a band?) met up with a photographer for the local newspaper and consequently had their picture featured on the front page the next morning.

The flight to Newark and on to Hong Kong was Business/First Class, which had its advantages. We were served a four or five course excellent dinner, had private televisions with hundreds of movie channels, were offered lots of free booze (which we took advantage of very sparingly so as to ward off dehydration), and enjoyed large seats which reclined almost completely so as to make comfortable beds. Derek gave me a set of noise-cancelling headphones as a birthday present which, when used with ear plugs and an eye mask, afforded a reasonably comfortable night's sleep. So we weren't exhausted upon arrival and got right into the swing of things. The plane on the return trip wasn't quite so nice--no personal t.v. movie library, for example--but the seats and the service were the same.

We stayed in Peninsula hotels in both Hong Kong and Beijing, which were truly first class as well. Their hotel transportation consists of a fleet of Rolls Royces, and both have shopping arcades featuring Armani, Prada, Hermes, Chanel, Dior, etc., etc. The rooms were deluxe, with down comforters, marble baths, the deepest bathtub I've ever seen, loads of bathroom toiletries, two control centers for lights and temperature, flat screen t.v., and the list goes on and on. Breakfast came with the room, an elegant sit-down one with many choices in Hong Kong, and the most extravagant buffet I've ever experienced in Beijing. We woke up every morning talking about breakfast. In fact, the restaurants in both hotels were so good that we rarely went anywhere else to eat. The Hong Kong Peninsula was very British colonial in decor and service, as might be expected, while the one in Beijing was very contemporary. The service in both is unsurpassed. It was like staying at a luxury spa--in fact Derek took full advantage of the hotel spa in Beijing, having two massages during our stay. He also availed himself of the exercise facilities and declared them superb. (I took naps during his exercise runs, having gotten more exercise than I wanted hoofing it around town.) Derek and I had lots of laughs together. One of note was our receipt of a message delivered to our room, in an envelope on hotel stationery, reminding us to schedule a limo for our departure. It was signed "Chief Concierge, Fergus Gu." We later saw someone at the airport who might aptly have been named Fergus Gu and got the giggles all over again.

The weather was beautiful in Hong Kong. We were there only two days, and the highlight of the visit was a trip by ferry to Hong Kong Island where we took a funicular railway, the world's steepest, to Victoria Peak, which overlooks all of Hong Kong. We ignored the couture shops and instead invigorated the economy at the various markets, where you can buy most anything very cheap if you're willing to bargain. In fact, bargaining is expected. It's a way of life in China. We made no major purchases, however, limiting ourselves largely to souvenirs and small gifts.

The weather intervened again in Beijing. It was bitterly cold when we arrived and got colder. Our first day was devoted to the obligatory trip to Tinneman Square and the Forbidden City, both outside venues. And we walked both ways in the cold. I didn't think it was possible to be any colder than I was that day, but then, on our last day, we made the trip to the Great Wall. It was hovering around zero when we left Beijing with our guide and was even colder when we got to the Wall, which is in the mountains. After driving a ways up a mountain and then walking a bit uphill, we were transported to the Wall itself by cable car. We got a few pictures before all our cameras--mine, Derek's, and the guide's--quit because of the cold. I didn't realize cold affected digital cameras, but I thought it was awfully coincidental that our batteries would expire simultaneously, so I looked it up on the Internet.

We ate Peking Duck, of course, which is excellent. We went to markets in Beijing, too, where the haggling is much more intense than in Hong Kong. We also visited a number of regular stores, but the aggressiveness of the sales staff was almost unbearable.

Derek spent most of one day with some university students. He had written ahead upon the advice of a colleague in the States, asking to visit. After we arrived in Beijing and the arrangements were made, he received an e-mail asking what the subject of his seminar would be. So he obligingly gave a seminar the next morning followed by a luncheon with about 12 people which lasted well into the afternoon. He was enthusiastic about the experience and had lots of good stories. At various times during lunch, he reported, each of the participants stood to offer a toast. They also made notes of any idiomatic use of the English language, such as when Derek said, in response to whether he was comfortable with certain of the foods, "When in Rome . . . ." It was interesting to me that most educated Chinese speak virtually flawless English in terms of grammar and syntax. The differences in the languages, however, particulary the tonality of Chinese, I would guess, makes pronunciation very difficult. Without exception, we found the Chinese people to be warm and welcoming.

Everything I had read and had been told emphasized how crowded and smog-ridden Beijing would be, but we experienced neither. I don't know how to account for this. I've felt much more crowded in New York City than I did in either Hong Kong or Beijing. And one would have expected all their coal furnaces to be burning around the clock, given the weather, and yet it was not smoggy. Go figure. Beijing was extraordinarily spiffy, no doubt due to the Olympics, which, I understand, gave rise to a lot of cleaning up. All the taxicabs appeared to be new, the streets were being swept constantly, and we really had to get far off the beaten paths to find any sign of litter or junk.

We got back to Newark and then New Orleans pretty much without incident and spent the night of the 22nd there. Derek left the next morning for Lafayette, and a little later I headed for Atlanta to catch my flight back to Panama. My scheduled Atlanta flight had been pushed back in time so as to make it doubtful that I would make the Panama flight, so I went early and got on standby for an earlier flight. Everything was packed, and I was very tense when they began calling standby passengers for boarding. I was the last name called. Then, of course, the Panama flight was delayed an hour out of Atlanta, so I didn't get back to Panama City until 11:00 p.m. After negotiating immigration and customs, which took forever, I spent another half hour in baggage claim before finally admitting that one of my bags was missing. Another 45 minutes in the lost luggage line and a half hour trip into the city put me in my hotel close to 2:00 a.m. I flew out at 9:30 a.m. the next day, made it to David about 10:30, and was home in Boquete by noon. After a hassle too long and boring to explain, I finally got my bag Monday. I suppose it was asking too much that everything go smoothly.

Doc brought a turkey over Christmas morning to put in the oven, and Charly and Maryellen made the rest of the food. So we had a great Christmas with friends. Larry seems to have fared okay without me, but he reported that Demaris and family showed up unannounced on the Sunday before I came back and swept through the house making sure everything was clean and in order. I had a lot of catching up to do, but things are returning to normal.