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.

La Inundata (The Flood)

Most of you know about the floods here as a result of e-mails and/or phone calls, but, primarily because I'm bored and suffering from near-terminal cabin fever, I'll spend a little time summarizing the situation and bringing everyone up to date.

According to locals, this is the worst flood to hit Chiriqui and Bocas del Toro in over 40 years. Although we routinely get very heavy rains here, most of it comes from the Pacific in short-lived torrents which wash quickly down the rivers and out to the ocean. This front, however, was in the Caribbean and has lingered well over a week. The Telemanca Mountains, behind our house, lie between the Province of Chiriqui and the Province of Bocas del Toro, a series of islands in the Caribbean off Panama's north coast. (Remember, Panama runs east to west, not north to south like most Latin American countries.) Prolonged rains in the moutains resulted in catastrophic amounts of water running downhill, into the rivers of Chiriqui. Thus, the flooding.

The Caldera River flows out of the mountains and through the Town of Boquete. The northernmost bridge over the Caldera is the one just north of the historic Panamonte Hotel and is on the main route to Palo Alto, where we live. When the Panamonte Bridge (barely a year old) collapsed from flood waters and rocks, it formed a semi-dam which flooded the roadway to its east, which leads to our house, and completely undermined a brand new hotel there, La Ladera, prominently featured in the flood photos. Had only the bridge been destroyed, we would have had access to the new bridge next to the fairgrounds, accessed by the same road. Fortuitously, that bridge, which has been under construction for over a year, opened the day before the flood. Otherwise, all of north Boquete would have been completely cut off because the only other bridge serving our area, which lies at the other side of the Palo Alto/Alto Lino loop, also was so badly damaged as to prevent vehicular traffic. To get to the new Fairgrounds Bridge, however, involves a long trip in four-wheel drive up through Jaramillo, over a very rough dirt road made even rougher by the rain, and down a disintegrating paved road which forms part of the Jaramillo loop. It is this harrowing, treacherous trip that Larry has made several times over the last five days to get food for us (from dwindling supplies) and gasoline for the generator.

We have a reserve water tank, but the pump requires electricity. We have a generator, but the generator requires gasoline. So our principal source of stress has been access to town to acquire gasoline. That stress has been alleviated. The good news is that water was restored late Tuesday and electricity late yesterday morning. While it clearly will take a long time to replace the Panamonte Bridge, heavy equipment is on site redirecting the flow of the Caldera River and clearing the roadway to the Fairgrounds Bridge. And we just received news within the last hour from friends Jane and Barry that Los Naranjos Bridge, at the other end of the Palo Alto/Alto Lino loop, has been sufficiently repaired to allow cars to cross.

We felt much better, of course, once water and then power were restored, but then cabin fever set in. Our house suffered no damage, but the garden is a wreck. But with the continued rains and intermittent winds, there's nothing we can do. Because the authorities are limiting access to the area to residents, Demaris and Juvenal haven't been with us this week, and Edwin, although he lives in our area, wouldn't have been able to get much done with unceasing rain. (He did make the trip up to check on us, however, which we appreciated, and has called every day--even though he and his family were experiencing the same deprivations.) Having been busy almost constantly since we moved into the house, this situation has left us totally unprepared to do nothing. I told Larry today that I feel "retired" for the first time; and I don't like it much.

There are so many people displaced and so much charity work going on, but it's been headed up by persons in parts of town not so stranded. Luckily, many gringos live in areas of Boquete that didn't suffer significantly, and, judging from e-mail accounts, have done heroic work with all the people in shelters. We did manage to donate food and pillows and blankets on one of Larry's trips to town, but we haven't been able to be in the thick of things because of fears that we wouldn't be able to get back home. Bocas del Toro has had even more severe problems because the long road between David and Almirante, by which all their supplies are delivered, was heavily damaged by floods and landslides and may take up to three months to repair. The latest news is that fuel and food are being brought in via helicopter.

We had sausage and bean soup for Thanksgiving today, and I'm going to put up the Christmas tree over the weekend just to have something to do. By the first of the week, surely the rain will have stopped and we can get down to the business of cleaning up and seeing what we can do to help others.

Terremoto and more

I've been reading a novel, Company of Liars, set in the middle ages which contains, at the end, a glossary of medieval terms used in the book. Among them is "hue and cry," which is explained as follows: "The first person to discover a robbery or a body was legally obliged to raise the hue and cry--in other words, sound the alarm and rouse his neighbors. On hearing this, all able-bodied men had to start hunting down the perpetrator. Failure to comply with this law meant heavy fines for the individual and often the whole community."

There was quite a hue and cry when we experienced a terremoto night before last. Although it sounds like a monster in a Japanese horror flick, it is, in fact, an earthquake. It was our first since moving here (although we did experience a tremor on a visit), and it was a good one: 6.3 on the Richter scale. The four of us, including the dogs, were sleeping peacefully when, at 1:10 a.m., we were awakened by a bodacious noise and the violent shaking of the house. I knew immediately what it was, but Larry, easily disoriented at any time and especially so when yanked from sleep, managed to stub his toe and bang his hand against something as he first ran in circles and then to the front door, suspecting an attempted break-in. Not that I was the cool head of reason, mind you. I, too, leapt out of bed and ran a few circles, not knowing anything else to do. Just as during the real attempted break-in right after we moved in, the dogs never emerged from under the covers. They raise a great hue and cry at any and every little thing out of the ordinary during the day, but sleep apparently is sacrosanct. I'm convinced we could be murdered in our beds without so much as a peep out of them.

In any event, it lasted a purported 20 seconds, with a 4.7 aftershock of a few seconds, but it seemed more like five or ten minutes. And it was at least 30 minutes before we calmed down and ascertained that the house was still standing and that we both were alive and relatively unscathed, but for Larry's hand and toe. There appears to have been no damage, and we surely would know since it's been raining steadily for the past 48 hours. A gringo friends who has lived here for six years says it was by far the worst she has experienced.

On a happier note, the waterfall and fish pool are finally done. We have begun planting around it but will wait a while for it to settle before adding plants and fish to the water. It'll be lovely once its draped in vegetation, and the sound of the waterfall is lovely even now.

Doc, Charly, and Ramon have filled the holes in their hearts with TWO puppies, a black female and blonde male, cocker spaniels. Rafael and Mathilda are precious and have put smiles back on their faces.

Randy and Maryellen have returned. We celebrated Saturday night with a big dinner here, preceded and followed by football on t.v. My visa for China finally came through, and I've made all the necessary reservations--hotel in New Orleans, dinner in New Orleans, airport parking, airport pickup in China, etc. We'll be doing Thanksgiving here next week, after which Larry insists that I put up the Christmas tree before taking off. Charly and Maryellen are in charge of Christmas dinner inasmuch as I don't return to Boquete until Christmas eve.

Although the fish pond and waterfall are coming along admirably, we've had a lot rain and sorrow the last week and a half. Doc and Charly lost Gustavo, their beloved red cocker spaniel, last week. Doc says it best in his own blog:

Gustavo was a serious little guy. He went about his job of being the family dog with purpose and intent. He was not, you know, just some silly puppy. He was a real dog, he seemed to say, and he wanted to be treated with the respect a real, meaning, big, dog would get. From the time I opened the door in the morning to let him out until he and I "walked the perimeter" at night to chase away whatever needed chasing away, he was all business. There was serious dog stuff to do everyday and he was just the dog to do it. Even playtime, when he would bring his stuffed Garfield and drop it at the feet of whichever of us he decided should play tug-of-war was done with a kind of "this is important stuff" attitude on his part. It was as if he were consciously entertaining us and not the other way around. He was loyal and dedicated to our little "pack" and was most content when we were all together. He could relax then, hang out and not worry about an absent member. Gus was, though, almost from the beginning, my dog. Whether he designated me "alpha", as dog trainers like to put it, or whether it was because I took him for long walks and frequent car rides, his favorite things in life and, with him along, a couple of my favorites as well, he became my second shadow. I grew, over his four short years, very accustomed to having him close at hand and always felt vaguely uncomfortable when he was not. I think Charly felt the same. For that reason, she and I made it a practise to take Gus with us whenever and wherever dogs were allowed. Nothing would put more sparkle in his eyes and move his stumpy tail to wag then hearing Charly say "you gedda go, you gedda go" as we walked to the car. And conversely, nothing would make his whole body sag and droop more than when we told him he had to stay home. At those times, we drooped a little ourselves. When he did "gedda go" Gus would prop himself happily on the back seat with his fore paws on the console between the front seats. This gave him a windshield view and enabled him to get to the serious business of warning other critters away. We were never able to cure him of growling ferociously at whatever beast we happened to drive by. After awhile we just quit trying. What the heck, it only lasted a couple of seconds and it seemed to make him so happy. With Gus, serious and happy went hand in hand. I have written several blogs about Gus, mostly humorous accounts of dog and man that I'm sure Gus would take issue with had he been able to read. Silliness, he would no doubt point out, is a human trait, and he was a dog. Dogs he would say, are serious creatures. Then he would roll on his back and wait for the tummy rub. Gus passed away a couple of night's ago at veterinary hospital in David where we had taken him for treatment of an undetermined illness. The vet said he died of a heart attack related to a heart ailment, probably an inherited condition. There is nothing wrong with my own ticker that I know of, despite the ache of loss that surrounds it. It is where Gus lives now, and always will.

And, in a later blog:

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR (Ramon, the Gringo Formerly Known As Raymond) and Yers Trewly are going about the business of getting used to being Gusless. It's a slow business. We keep seeing him in our minds eye in all those day to day moments when we would interact. Play time, feed time, walk time, treat time, bed time, spontaneous mess with the dog time. He's everywhere. But, of course, he's not. We are getting better though. We are able to talk a little about him now without breaking into sobs. We are even making plans to do this and that instead of just mope-ing around the house. Today we were going to play golf if it hadn't rained. It's October though. Rain is a regular feature. Our back up plan is movie rentals. I'm thinking something loud and heroic. Batman maybe, or Indiana Jones. Certainly nothing sad or soppy. It's a process, this grieving thing. We know that. And we know that grief will eventually fade and be replaced by something better. Good memories of happy times. It's a process. A damned, fucking, slow process.

Gus was dear to us, too, and we really miss him. He was, as Doc said, a very special dog. In fact, we came to meet Doc and Charly on a visit here prior to our move because of Gus. We were having lunch at a restaurant by the river when Doc and Charly arrived with Gus, only a puppy then. I got up and began playing with him, and a lasting friendship was born.

I'll write something more upbeat soon. As Doc says, we'll get through this--and the rainy season.

Steve is back!

We're in the middle of the third week of construction on the waterfall and fish pool. This time Cesar has deigned to have a helper (his brother, as it turns out, whom he can and does harangue mercilessly for not performing up to Cesar's exacting standards), so things are moving along at a somewhat brisker pace than did the Great Wall of Palo Alto. Once again, they are largely unhampered by the daily rainfall (October is the rainiest month here), devising ingenious if primitive methods of covering themselves and the cement work. Today Joel, the brother, was observed sitting on the ground beneath a sheet of corrugated tin propped up by sticks, while Cesar was clad in an oversize garbage bag. Steve was on site, too, erecting and welding a large trellis on the side of the garage to support a flowering vine (petrea volubilis). While he was here, we spotted a couple of other places on the house crying out for trellises and flowering vines, much to Larry's consternation. He confessed his fear that we're never to be without a surround of workmen, tramping over his beloved sod. It could be. One things leads to another, you know.

We celebrated Larry's and Charly's birthdays Saturday night with a food and drink fiesta. We hosted, in addition to the usual cast of characters, a number of Panamanian friends, new and old, mostly neighbors and service providers. We reasoned that it's always wise to stay on the best side of the water administrator, the liquor store salesclerk, the plumber, the electrician, and, most of all, the TV man. The latter is a regular fixture at our house inasmuch as the touching of just one incorrect button on the remote control throws everything out of whack in a way that is correctible only by a 15- to 18-step process that neither of us--or any of our friends--have mastered. Luis, the TV man, paid us back by drinking and eating copiously, as did his assistant, Fernando, when he wasn't putting the moves on Michelle, the liquor store clerk. The dogs played so long and hard with Jose and Dharma, the daughter of one of my Panamanian students of English, that they slept past their feeding time Sunday morning.

I never got back to Paradise Gardens for pictures, but I found three on The Boquete Guide, an internet news organ developed by a local ex-pat, which I have pirated and am including.

I'll post pictures of the water feature when it's completed. It's off to bed now because Steve and I set out early in the morning for an all day plant-hunting expedition.

News from Boquete

I have involuntarily embarked on a new undertaking: teaching English. A couple of weeks ago Graciela, the girlfriend of Dexter (who, you may remember from my earliest e-mails is the Carmel, California surfer/carpenter who lives in the casita behind the house we rented while waiting for our house to be built), telephoned and asked whether I would be willing to conduct classes in English for her and a girlfriend or two. I wasn't keen on the idea, particularly inasmuch as teaching English as a second language is a whole discipline in and of itself and with which I have not a whit of familiarity, but, not knowing how to say "no" without appearing uncaring, reluctantly agreed to give it a try. She and Kelly, the wife of another gringo whom we know, Peter, came for the first lesson today. (Another girlfriend joined us on Friday for an organizational meeting, but she knows much less English than Graciela and Kelly and apparently has dropped out as she was a no-show today.) They were eager to make it a several-times-a-week undertaking, but I explained that preparation for classes would take several hours and that I therefore could commit to only one day a week. They agreed to Tuesdays from 1:30 to 3:00 but stayed today until 3:30 and left then only because Dexter telephoned Graciela to report that his van had broken down somewhere about two hours distant.

I spent about six hours preparing: writing out "lessons" and running downtown to have them copied. Anxiety-ridden, I dreaded their arrival. But everything went exceedingly well. Because they have a very personal interest in learning how to better communicate with their partners, they are eager learners and have lots of questions. Both are very personable, so we had fun as well as accomplishing a great deal. It goes without saying that I'm improving my Spanish as well.

The big news on the home front is that Derek and I are going to China in December, Hong Kong and Beijing to be exact. Last summer Derek and Jill attended a conference in the northeast where a number of trips were offered for auction by a travel agent benefactor of the organization. As somewhat of a lark, they bid $5000 on a one-week China trip, and won. In the meantime, Derek and Jill have parted ways, amicably, and Derek was left with a trip and no companion. I'm flattered that he asked me to stand in (although there may have been ulterior motives related to extra money which likely will be required). So I've been deeply involved in making airline reservations to the States and back, to Panama City and back, for hotels in New Orleans and Panama City, and for obtaining a Chinese visa (problematic because there's no Chinese embassy in Panama). I'm slowly getting it all worked out with the help of Anavilma, a very warm (she kissed me both upon my entering and leaving her office) and resourceful travel agent here in Boquete. I leave on December 10th for a couple of days in Lafayette with Derek and the dogs, we leave for China on the 14th from New Orleans, we return to New Orleans on the 22nd, and I'll be back in Boquete on Christmas Eve. My main concern is that I have NO clothes that fit and insufficient funds and inclination to purchase a new wardrobe.

Work has yet to begin on the waterfall and fish pond. Steve is up to his you-know-what in alligators (and fer de lances and other nuisances) at their place in Chorcha. George, the electrician, who has been working with him there, dropped by this morning to report that the road is virtually impassable because of rain, that the only electricity they have is a generator because it will cost a prohibitive $60,000 to run wires, that they managed to get a pump for running water installed barely a week ago, that they're all living and sleeping in one room, etc., etc. Workers are abandoning them right and left because of the oppressive conditions. That being the case, I certainly haven't been aggravating him with any of my quotidian demands.

I took a couple of hours off and went to Paradise Gardens Sunday a week ago. In addition to the two ocelot kittens, Paul and Jenny have now acquired, from some local indigenous persons, i.e., Ngobe Bugle indians, a baby sloth which is absolutely, without a doubt the cutest animal I have ever seen. (I didn't think anything could be cuter than a baby kinkajou.) I neglected to take my camera this time, and lost some great pictures of the ocelot kittens and other animals when my computer crashed, but I'm determined to return later this week for whatever photo opportunities might avail themselves. I'll send them on.

Further adventures: getting a haircut in Boquete

I was bragging only last week about not having been sick since arriving in Panama a year and a half ago. That brought on, upon awakening Saturday morning, the mother of all colds. My chest is congested, my head is congested, the area between my nose and upper lip is raw, the house sounds like a tuberculosis ward; you get the picture. So this morning, instead of greeting the day with my usual good humor and high expectations, I have been ruminating, in my debilitated state, on things that have gone wrong. I've mentioned many of them, I know, the petty frustrations in particular, but I haven't related a particular ongoing one: getting a haircut.

When we arrived, it was windy season, and my long, offswept bangs were more offswept than desirable. I turned first to my good friends Charly and Jane, who enthusiastically recommended Roxanne, conveniently located on the main street downtown. I went to see her (no appointment necessary, I was told) and found her engaged in a protracted coloring job. Having nothing in particular to do, I waited in a room filled with magazines in Spanish and eventually received a haircut. It was nothing to write home about, but it was serviceable, and Roxanne, though harried and not particularly amiable, seemed okay. So, I returned three or four weeks later to find her too engaged to fit me in. Returning the next day, she was similarly occupied and, without so much as a hello, pushed me off on a male haircutter in her shop. He scalped me. Larry teased me all week, as did various friends.

I heard from someone that there was an excellent haircutter at the more upscale salon in the new Los Establos Plaza. I dropped in and was told, although everyone was sitting around twiddling their thumbs, that an appointment would be necessary. I made an appointment and returned the next day to see Ronnie, a Scot married to a Panamanian woman. He was very chatty, but I understood less of what he said than I generally understand the locals. Neverthless, the haircut was pretty good, so I returned. A couple of times he didn't show up at my appointment time, allegedly having had to do some work on their farm (this information was relayed without apology), and on other occasions his cell phone didn't work, making appointments a chore in itself. But I stuck with him until he abruptly decided to return to Scotland for a year (to make some money).

Adrift again, I consulted my neighbor, Penny Ripple, who always looks like she dropped into Boquete off Fifth Avenue, and she recommended an American, John Marks. (She mentioned that he charges $15 as opposed to Panamanian $4, but she assured me that he was worth it, noting that she had been pleased with Ronnie for a while but that her style had "fallen off" after a while.) I called John and found him to be in Bocas housesitting for a friend. At the time he was to return, he decided instead to return to the U.S. to call on his ailing mother.

Keep in mind that I never started searching for a stylist before my hair was so far gone as to be embarrassing, so all the delays were giving me a positively feral look.

So I went back to Los Establos, where I made an appointment with Miriam, who was doing absolutely nothing at the time but insisted on gazing at her appointment book, largely blank, and "fitting me in" three days hence. The first cutting was fine--hell, anything was an improvement at that point--so I stopped by again in several weeks to make a second appointment, their telephone being consistently busy. When I arrived at the appointed time of 9:00 a.m., the shop wasn't open. I sat outside over a cup of coffee for twenty minutes or so until another of the stylists arrived, unapologetically, and went to open the door. Alas, she had left her keys at home. A second stylist arrived shortly thereafter, also without keys. One of them left for home and keys, apparently a long trip inasmuch as it took 45 minutes. Eventually, I received a haircut.

The third time I visited Miriam, she announced that they were closing the shop because the rent was too high in Los Establos. She didn't know where they would be relocating, but she took my phone number and said she would call with the information. When no call was forthcoming, I once again turned to Penny Ripple, who enthusiastically recommended Flory, on the second floor of the Don Andres building.

I dropped by the next day and, after some searching and questioning, finally came upon Flory's unmarked shop. She was very friendly and gave me a decent (not to say good) haircut, so I had the foresight to make another appointment in three weeks. When I arrived, she wasn't there, but her assistant, who was busy sweeping the floor, called her on her cell phone and she arrived within half an hour. I was not so lucky on my third visit, however. This time she was nowhere to be found, and the assistant explained, without apology, that she was attending a funeral. I waited a while, but Panamanian funerals involve a long church service and then a procession through town to the cemetery (tying up traffic for an eternity), so it was in vain. I decided that I had been pushed around enough and wasn't going to take it anymore.

A few days later Steve's wife Michelle showed up with a stunningly flattering haircut. Upon questioning, she said she had dropped into a barber shop up from Melo's, the feed and fertilizer store, and had seen the younger of the two men there. Filled with new hope, I ventured there myself days later, was swept into a chair, and, without any fuss or conversation, was given a haircut no better or worse than others I had received. Charge: $2.50. I've been going there ever since without incident. I'm just waiting for him, whatever his name is, to fall victim to the plague or be run over by a taxi. (Larry's first barber, Jaime, to whom he was inexplicably attached, dropped dead within a few months of Larry's first visit.)

My computer's hard drive crashed last week and I lost all my pictures. I feel too bad to go outdoors to take some, so this missive will be photograph free.

Bonnie