“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.” – Lin Yutang

I’ve always thought that the best stories have unexpected endings.

And this story is no exception.

A mixture of homesickness and an itch to surprise a few people brought me back to the US about ten days earlier than planned, and I couldn’t be happier sitting at my kitchen table typing this last blog entry listening to my brother David’s ridiculous questions (aka: “Theresa, so what do you know about….you know…stuff?”) while he chows down on his American pizza next to me. 

I have to be honest…I don’t really know how to close the door on the three month experience I just had on my own.  The ending would have come abruptly even if I were still sitting in my little blue room in Los Santos until next Monday.  I’ve never really been that good at goodbyes so it might take me a few months to do it. 

So I thought about maybe reflecting on what I learned while I was there. I mean, I did live in a purely Spanish-speaking world on my own in small town about 2200 miles away from my house in bustling Overland Park, Kansas.  I’m bound to have learned something. But I think that might take even longer to figure out than it will take me to say goodbye. 

Don’t get me wrong - I’m so thankful for everything I’ve had, everything I’ve experienced, and everything I’ve learned (that I WILL eventually discover).  But even the most exotic beaches, satisfying Spanish conversations and important successes seem nothing right now compared to being close to the people I love. 

A famous Kansan once said: “There's no place like home.” I’ll never forget what I’ve lived these past 89 days, but I have no doubt where I belong. So for my final adiós, I’ll leave you with a few photos I snapped just before flying back onto American soil…

So long taxi drivers that always hung out in the middle of the street...thanks for always being friendly and excited to drive around a gringa

I never really knew her name, but this woman was always at the gym every morning to greet me with a friendly "Hola Teresita!"....interesting sidenote - she has no left hand (didn't figure that out until mid-July), cares for her sick and bedridden husband alone and still manages to be one of the happiest people I've met.

You have no idea how sorry I felt for this guy sometimes. Every morning there would be a loud "WILLIAM - VAMOS. ARRIBA. LET'S GO" from the trainers and poor, sweaty and tired William (his real name was Ulyses... so obviously William is the logical nickname) would be forced to get up and bench press another never-ending set.

My favorite Mini-Super. Like I (hopefully) mentioned before, these things were EVERYWHERE and run strictly by Chinese people.  I liked to give this one my business even though it was a little farther from casa because the people were nicer. Pays to smile and say thank you, doesn't it?

Pedro...my "fellow Kansan." He mentioned several times how he's planning on coming back to his favorite state, so maybe this wasn't an official goodbye after all.

I will never figure out why the signs said "Una Vía" but ALL of the Panamanian people still said "One Way" in English...

More of the morning gym crew + the trainer Jorge

The kitchen I woke up to every morning. I will miss its quaintness but not the nasty little bugs crawling all over. I'll get my protein somewhere else.

The park that sat right in front of USMA. I spent many an afternoon there waiting for classes to start and "echando cuento" with classmates.

I finally got a picture of the inside of the gym. It's not much to look at, but if you think that it's not possible to get an insane workout, think again.

Hiding behind those trees is the University. It had its own little charm, but I'm itching to get back to the beautiful St. Louis campus I know.

The face of Panamanian public transportation. Wasn't hard to say goodbye to those hot, crowded, sweaty little buses.

The Mini-Super closest to our house...and that happens to be Vanessa's car rolling in front of me.

A flag representing a country rich in history and culture. Red, white and blue are three colors I've never appreciated more.

I once read an interesting quote in book written by an American man living in England: "In a funny way nothing makes you feel more like a native of your own country than to live where nearly everyone is not."

That's exactly how I've felt.

So coming home was no culture shock...nothing had changed, things weren't all of a sudden strange and new to me.  The only thing that is different is the way I see everything now. And it's much much more beautiful.

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” – John Steinbeck

Today I was sitting peacefully in the house on my bed doing the usual homework and planning on leaving for USMA in about 30 minutes when Jose came running in the house shouting, “Theresa! We have to get out of the house…NOW!” Having no idea what he was talking about, I grabbed everything I thought I might need for class later on and followed him out the door just in time to see a guy wearing a gas mask and carrying what looked like a leaf blower leaking some kind of foggy chemical substance walking toward the front door.  Turns out he’s going around the neighborhood fumigating the houses for mosquitoes…something about a dengue epidemic going around. Great. Wanna know my latest bug bite count is as of this morning?

50.

But the good news is, Vanessa thinks that they aren’t mosquito bites (which means the dengue scare factor just dropped) but bites from something she called a “chitra.”  After doing some research and looking at some pretty nasty but familiar pictures, I am 99% confident she’s right. Chitras or sand flies are apparently less than one-eighth of an inch long…which explains why I’ve never seen the stupid things. Found this too: “Bites from chitras can leave anything from swollen bumps to angry rashes. The discomfort of each bite lasts far longer than that of a mosquito and the more one scratches, the more one itches. Scratching the bites can lead to sores that last weeks or years and may leave permanent scarring.” Should have bought more toothpaste.

The nasty little culprit: http://www.skyscanner.net/news/sandfly.jpg  Thanks to them it kind of looks like my legs have leprosy right now.

As promised, I have a few quick updates about the family vay-kay in Chiriquí, but first I think I should finally introduce you to the Panamanian “fam”:

Vanessa

The best host mom I could ask for…minus her really annoying Blackberry ringtone that sounds like a midget sneezing.

Jose

The fairly annoying at times but overall entertaining host brother that is obsessed with death metal music and speaks about 500 miles an hour.

Clímaco

I mentioned him before briefly, but he’s the soft-spoken, timid cook that lives a six minute walk away.  I’ve eaten his rice and beans every day for lunch and dinner and listened to his Nokia ring tone go off every five minutes (are you starting to see that phones = life here?) for almost three months

Annie (aka: masculine aunt or “hombrecito”)

I risked my life snapping this picture. She had no idea it was being taken and still looks like she wants to kill me.

As I said before, we stayed in the mayor’s house and I made some more friends:

Viki, the five-year-old daughter I bonded with while making clay snowmen and playing fashion games on her laptop

And this little guy:

Bron. He may look adorable, but I swear he smelled worse than the room I had to share with Jose during the trip.

Together we ventured up into the mountainous region of Chiriquí, passed the volcán (that’s volcano if you didn’t catch that) and reached the topish area called Cerro Punta.  Remember how I was complaining last post about still being hot? Well I spoke too soon. The temperatures up in Cerro Punta were probably in the low 60’s and 50’s…aka: perfect. Of course everyone in the car was dying of cold and kept asking me with amazed eyes “is this what the US is like?!”

We ate some of the best hamburgers I’ve ever had near the top, served piping hot by a bubbly Panamanian woman who cheerfully responded “a la orden!” to every “thank you” that was thrown out.

The beaches here have been beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But there’s something about the mountains that will always win me over. 

I ended up heading back to La Villa a day before everyone else to finish a psychology project (ask my brother Mark how much fun it was – he got to be my interviewee) and last minute “tarea” (aka: homework) in casa.  I’ve already said goodbye to Geology and Spanish classes (finals start next week) and am definitely mentally ready to touch back down once again in the good ol’ US of A. 

But one thing I will definitely miss here: the Panamanian taco stand my friend Jose (yes, there are about 10,000 guys named Jose in La Villa alone I think) introduced me too. Panamanians don’t tolerate spicy foods so don’t picture anything resembling Mexican, but they are sooooooooo good. I’m not ashamed to admit I went two days in a row last weekend.

Hasta ahora…

I miss the cool temperatures already

Short n' sweet...For now.

I’m on a “family vacation” with Vanessa, Jose, Clímaco (the cook if you forgot) and Annie (Vanessa’s cousin…I call her “masculine aunt” because she is literally one of the manliest women I have ever met. Even Vanessa described her as an “hombrecito” or “little man” on day to me…) in a province called Chiriquí right next to the border of Costa Rica. They told me before coming that I would love it here because it’s “fresco” (aka: cool) “just like the US!”

Not. Exactly.

I guess I’m not sweating as much. We also happen to be staying in the mayor’s house, a wealthier Panamanian casa complete with air conditioning throughout the house (but only at night) and cameras in every room. More to come…

Sorry for lack of pictures. And updates. I’ve got a few last minute projects, tests, and presentations to prepare for before I wrap things up here.

Miren esto: http://www.panamarealestatepros.com/images/map_province.jpg

Happy August!

Woman vs. Wild

This picture doesn't do it justice

This is what I woke up to this morning.  Actually, I woke up at 3AM itching my legs like crazy and having no idea why. 

Now I do.

I have about 20 new bug bites on just my right leg.  I know, I know – I’ve already spent a previous blog entry complaining about how the mosquitoes were getting me.  But this is a whole new level of bug bite I’ve never seen or itched before, and it makes it all the more complicated that Panamanian mosquitoes are apparently invisible…because I’ve yet to catch one in the act. 

Lotion and just plain ol’ scratching do NOT work.  So, I turned to trusty google and researched some interesting home remedies that have strangely taken some effect. 

Step 1: take your thumbnail and, pressing as hard as possible to almost break the skin, carve a sort of “X” over the bug bite.

Step 2: dab a glob of spit over it

Step 3: cover it in toothpaste

Step 4: use all of your possible mind power not to touch the nasty things

Step 5: cover yourself in bug spray before leaving the house

Sounds ridiculous but it has actually seemed to work wonders so far.  The swelling (because these were seriously welts this morning) has gone down and I no longer feel the urge to itch my legs every five seconds.  The price: my legs smell like peppermint and look like some sort of treasure map of self-mutilation.  Not to mention the bug spray I bought was super cheap and leaves this kind of white powdery residue behind. Que prity. 

“I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” – Mark Twain

Just pulled out the tub of chocolate ice cream a friend bought for me today from the freezer. But first I had to move the giant cow tongue sitting on top of it.

It’s been way too long. I know. But things here are finally quiet for the night in La Villa and I figured I’d steal away a few minutes to write while I sit here eating my already melted ice cream and doing laundry (okay, make that a lot of minutes then).

Before I get to the crazy adventures of Theresa Nelson and Abby Hannifan (and just a small preface: all pictures are courtesy of Abby's much more professional camera) I want to first share my newfound appreciation for American movie theaters.  Or my newfound despisal of Panamanian ones. (And yes, “despisal” is actually a word. I looked it up por si acaso.) When the last Harry Potter movie came out a few weeks ago on the 14^th, I dragged my host bro along with me to see it at the local theater in Chitré.  Ticket: $3.50. Popcorn: $2.00…which adds up to a grand total of a small soda back in the US.  (So I guess there is one thing the Panamanians got us beat on.)  But walking into the movie theater you would have thought you were entering an igloo.  Everyone was wearing their heaviest sweatshirts and coats (including some with their hoods on) and still complaining of how cold it was.  I had put on jeans for the first time in a while just to conform (basically because Vanessa and Jose both looked shocked when I told them I was, in fact, planning on wearing my usual shorts and short-sleeved shirt. “You’re going to die of cold!” Vanessa warned me…eh. There may be a little exaggeration going on there).  Next come the seats – which was the point where I realized that we are spoiled with those big comfy recliner-like chairs we have back in the US. No personal space and zero seat cushion made it a loooooooong two hour movie.  But the real fun began when the movie started.  The sound quality of the first 15 minutes was so bad the whole theater began screaming, whooping, hollering, and whistling at the poor guy working in the projector room above.  I just sat back, ate my popcorn and watched the riot unfold. 

The sound finally evened out before anyone started throwing food at the employee, and I thought that the people would settle down and enjoy the movie in peace.  

Silly me. 

Cell phones were going off, people would clap and cheer any time a “good guy” did something, well, “good” which would quickly be accompanied by a chorus of even more obnoxious shushing.  I’ve never been a shusher myself so I had to sit there the whole time quietly brooding in my anger thinking “this would NEVER fly in the US.” Then came the girls sitting behind me.  Probably some of the most emotionally unstable people I’ve ever encountered in a public place.  One minute Ron and Hermione were holding hands and they would be sighing “Ooooh, qué lindo!” behind me.  The next, a sad memory from Professor Snape was being relived by Harry and I heard loud sniffles and choked sobbing behind me.  This was the last straw.  I turned to Jose: “Are they…crying??” “Yep.”  We looked at each other for a few seconds and both started laughing.  They were too busy cooing again at another onscreen kiss to notice. 

Oh yeah, and what did I think of the movie?  Well first of all, it was dubbed (which I could write a whole separate blog entry about. I swear dubbing films and tv shows here is an art). And second of all, when I wasn’t being distracted by crying Panamanian teens or loud Blackberrys, I was too conscious of the guy next to me invading my personal armrest space to pay attention.  So I have no idea if it was any good.  But don’t worry, I’m already making the fam see it with me when I get back. In English this time. 

I shouldn’t have eaten that second bowl of ice cream.  Ughhhhhhh.

So my beautiful bestest friend from high school, Abby Hannifan (who was working in Guatemala this summer…check out her blog: http://guatemoleinguacamala.tumblr.com/ and then don’t compare it to mine. Because she is a much better, dedicated blogger and more creative than I will ever hope to be) flew into Panama City this past Monday to spend a few days conociendo (“getting to know”) her neighbor to the south.  I picked her up along with our Couch Surfing host, David.  And ¿qué demonios is Couch Surfing? you might be asking yourself. Here is the official website: http://www.couchsurfing.org/ But to summarize: basically it’s an organization that lets you get in touch with people around the world that live in places you want to visit.  Then, if all goes well, they agree to let you spend a night or two at their place for free.  Try explaining that one to your mom: “Hey mom! Just wanted to let you know that I found a stranger in Panama City that is going to pick me up from the bus station and let me stay a few nights at his house. But don’t worry, it’s completely safe!” (It really is though: http://www.couchsurfing.org/safety.html) My Mom is probably the biggest worry wart on the face of the earth (love you Mom) so I actually didn’t end up mentioning it to her until about 10 minutes before my host was going to pick me up. 

Text from Liz Nelson: “Who are you staying with tonight in Panama City?”

….a few minutes of contemplation about how to put it gently…

Response: “We’re staying with someone from the Couch Surfers organization. It’s a program online where you can search for people in the place you want to go and get in touch with them to stay for free.” (Relatively mild explanation, don’t you think?)

Text from Liz Nelson: “Sorry I asked.”

Balbina Herrera and her publicist were way to happy to take pictures with some gringas

A quick shot of our host and the amazing ice cream shop I made us visit twice

But see Mom?  I’m still alive enough to type this blog entry and scratch my mosquito bites at the same time.  David turned out to be a great host (we got a tour of the city and canal completamente gratis, ate some of the best ice cream I’ve ever had and ran into an apparently famous politician here that took pictures with us…can’t beat that) with near perfect English.  So good, in fact, he convinced us to stay one extra night to go to salsa dancing lessons with him on Tuesday.  So the next night we headed to the casino downtown where the lessons took place (which also happened to be our first time ever in an actual casino) and immediately headed to the very back row of the beginner section.  I’ve never had a real salsa lesson before - minus learning the basic steps and a few turns -so it was pretty new to me.  The good news: Abby and I could actually keep time a lot better than some of the Panamanians in our group.  We mastered the steps they taught us quickly and weren’t fumbling for the beat like a lot of people.  The bad news: no matter what we did, we still looked like two awkward gringas dancing.  Being able to shuffle with the music does nothing for you if your arms move like blocks of wood and your hips can only stay in one place.  Unfortunately when it comes to dancing there is not one drop of Latino blood in me.    

We headed back on the four hour bus to La Villa early morning Wednesday.  First stop: the Seco factory tour.  Panamanians have basically two alcoholic drinks to choose from – a watered down, mediocre beer or Seco, a “bebida fuerte” (stronger drink) similar to vodka.  They pride themselves on this product which is made right here in Pesé, a city close to Chitré, so I thought it would be a good thing to check off on my “to-do” list before I leave.  The plantationesque (and that’s not a word) factory was beautiful with its sprawling fields of sugar cane used to make the Seco drink (which are cut with machetes by about 200-300 workers during growing season).  The tour proved to be pretty interesting and we got to sample a tiny bit of the other drink the company sells called Ron Abuelo, a rum that will cost you just over $150 for a bottle. First and last taste of that stuff. 

Last one on the right is the expensive one...and no, we didn't drink all of that rum

We spent the rest of the day goofing off in Vanessa’s house (I think she likes it when she has a full house of people, especially crazy giggling girls) and prepared for the next day, which we spent at the beach soaking up the…clouds. (Abby still got her souvenir sunburn though. Don’t worry) I finally figured out the buses we needed to take to get there on our own, and the second bus we rode on was just us two and the cutest old couple sitting up front I have ever seen. Abby quickly dubbed the situation as “grandma and grandpa taking us to the beach” and when we finally got closer to the actual city, I asked grandpa if he knew of a place where we could rent bikes.

Me: “Excuse me, would you happen to know if there are any stores we can rent bikes at for the day?”

Gramps: “Eh.”

Silence.

I quickly looked at Abby at this unexpected…lack of response and we both had to stifle a mad fit of laughter. We somehow ended up at the bike place after all (so he did understand me) and we rented two cute, matching red and blue bikes complete with baskets on the front for only $7.  We explored the beach, drank a banana smoothie, and hunted down a place to eat patacones: http://www.laylita.com/recipes/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/patacones-1.jpg aka: fried and salted plantains that have the consistency of French fries. Abby’s obsessed.  I might be too.  We already have plans to make them ourselves when we reunite once again in the States. 

I chose the red one. Obviously.

The last night was spent watching a movie and eating popcorn on my bed (the American side came out of us) before waking up early the next morning to say goodbye.  It’s hard to believe she’s already back in KC at this very moment loving on the Hannifan clan and getting ready for her next adventure: biking across Utah with the family. I’m so happy I could have her here to share my Panamanian life for a few days and not have to be the only gringa wandering around the pueblo. 

Guess what? 

I only have four weeks here left. 

When did that happen?

“The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.” – Rudyard Kipling

Invasion of the gringas

I think it’s kind of ironic that the hottest days the Midwest has seen this summer (hot enough to make the Spanish version of CNN here on tv) are happening during some of the coolest, rainiest days I’ve been here.  I’m not laughing at you guys…but then again, I definitely don’t feel sorry for you either.

I realized after reading some of the notes I scribbled down quickly to remember from when Mom and Coleen were here have already been mentioned.  Oops. So how about some of the more random blurbs from the jumbled mind of Tere Nelson*?  

1) Just for the record, the two Nelson women adjusted well to a week of stifling temperatures, little air conditioning, and pretty much zero English. They ate their very first bowls of sancocho, suffered their first Panamanian sunburns, (which, oddly enough, appeared on all of us after a day of clouds and rain. Thanks European ancestry.) and made it through the Panamanian customs at the airport alone. I only had to threaten revoking my translating services once or twice. So I’d say it was a successful week.

2) Being in La Villa de Los Santos during that week of Corpus Christi was WEIRD. Why? Because I have never seen so many white people here before.  There were at least 10 to 15 other tourists there besides us.

3)  None of the other tourists proved to be as popular  though.  While sitting down in the park during the celebrations, a man with a large microphone sat down next to me, asked if I spoke Spanish, and, upon hearing my affirmative response, stuck a big camera in our faces and began to interview us.  Strangely enough, on our very last day (keep in mind we were at a hotel in Panama City and NOT in La Villa), I was randomly flipping through the channels on the tv in the morning for about five minutes before having to leave for the airport and stumbled on a program featuring the priest from the church in La Villa.  What appears next? Our short, 30 second interview of course.  What are the odds? And coming home later the next day, a friend of Vanessa, a woman at the gym, and a fellow classmate all told me they had seen the footage.  So yes, I am now famous (never mind that I only said about two sentences and caught a grammatical error or two while watching myself again).

4) And you know who else is more famous than I thought? The Royals. That mediocre baseball team I’ve never cared about somehow made its way to Panama because during that week I saw a kid wearing a blue cap with the big, white “KC” plastered in the middle.  I started walking after him, gesturing toward his hat and telling my Mom and sister to look when I noticed he was giving me a weird stare and slowly moving in the other direction.  I guess it’s not really a good idea to point at a stranger while talking in another language.  Now that I think about it, it might weird me out too.

5) Speaking of hometown memoirs, we also passed a guy wearing a K-State shirt. Disgusting.

6) Something else disgusting – while sitting in Pedasí (the town you hit right before all of the beaches) waiting for a certain festival that was happening that weekend to start, I noticed the sudden appearance of a nasty stench coming from the general direction of my sister…or so I thought.  I looked over at her, immediately accusing her of tirándose un pedo (you can all guess what that means), but then noticed there was a group of giggling kids about five feet away from me looking at something that had just exploded on the ground.  When one of them passed by, I asked what they had popped and a boy responded simply: “biochemical.” Hmmm. Well that sounds awfully safe.  About fifteen minutes later, they were back with another one.  They gathered around, threw it on the ground and this time a little girl proceeded to step on it.  We heard a loud popping sound and some kind of fizzing chemical leaked out of the aluminum bag.  The girl picked it up excitedly and ran over to us. She squealed, “Here, smell this!” and then proceeded to shove the thing right underneath my nose so I could take a whiff.  People around us laughed as she ran next to my Mom and sister doing the same.  I picked it up after she ran away, read the front and saw that my initial suspicions were somewhat right: “FART BOMB.” 

Before you even ask, I didn’t bring any home with me.  My four younger brothers don’t need the help of any biochemical in our house.

7) I’m just going to admit right here that I have no idea when the word “Mom” should be capitalized. And I’m too lazy to look it up.  Pretend like you haven’t noticed…

8) Moving on, I rented my first car in a foreign country.  Well, my mom rented it and I drove it illegally.  And what’s a car rental without getting stopped by the Panamanian police at least once? Don’t worry, they were checking everyone’s ID’s on that road. I think I even had a leg-up on everyone else because mine was in English. The cop tried to decipher the writing for about 10 seconds before handing it back to me and telling me to enjoy the rest of my vacation in Panama. Pays to be a gringa sometimes.

9) except when you’re in Panama City and get ripped off by Chinese people.  Let me explain: here in Panama the Chinese immigrant population is surprisingly huge.  They run these little stores called “Mini Supers” that are literally EVERYWHERE. We walked into one in Panama City to buy a phone card for me and a bag of Hershey Kisses to split.  I placed the candy on the counter, asked how much, and got “cinco dólares” back as an answer. Woah woah woah. Espera un momentito. FIVE DOLLARS???  I was so baffled by the price for the bag of Kisses that seemed to be growing smaller and smaller every second that I pulled out the money and paid instead of doing what I should have done: turn around and march to the shelf to put them back.  Thanks for being so kind fellow foreigners.   

I think that about does it for my mental checklist.  Sorry to end on an angry note.  It still fires me up just thinking about it. But next week I have the joy of playing host again to one of my best friends from high school Señorita Abby Hannifan.  Plenty of adventures to come…

Not a bad view to wake up to, eh?

*It’s kind of weird to hear people call me by my full name “Teresa” (Spanish spelling…I’ve just accepted the fact that no matter how many times I insist that my name has an “h” in it, no one here will ever spell it that way).  I’m known to everyone here as “Tere” instead.  (Or “Teresita” to the woman I see during the week at the gym) It’s sort of endearing and I’ve come to like it.  But if anyone back in the US ever calls me “Terri” I will explode a Fart Bo, er, Biochemical bag under his or her nose.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain

Damas y caballeros (ladies and gentlemen), I have bad news: my accent is officially changing. 

When I first got here, it was all about trying not to talk with the admittedly sometimes comical Spanish ceceo (Spaniards pronounce some of their c’s and z’s as th’s…por ejemplo: “graTHias” instead of “gracias”…After four months abroad and a year of watching too much Spanish television, I accidentally fell in love with the dialect…which, unfortunately to a lot of Americans, sounds an awful lot like a speech impediment) and instead develop a more neutral and inconspicuous accent. Newsflash to me: Panamanians don’t have a neutral accent. At least here in La Villa anyway.  Instead, I’ve started noticing that when a lot of them speak, they drag out their sentences with this looooong whineyyyyyy tone. At first it was funny.  But starting just a week or so ago, I began noticing that I was doing it too. Now, no matter how much I consciously tell myself before I even open my mouth up to say something, the ending sentence will inevitably come out as a drawn out whimper of some sorts. So.  In my life as a Spanish speaker I’ve gone from talking with a lisp to sounding like a bratty two-year-old.

I’m finally here to give you your history lesson on the tradition and two week party that is Corpus Christi here in La Villa de Los Santos. I’ve never really been big on history so I’ll try to include everything and keep it short n’ sweet.

Believe it or not, this fiesta dates all the way back to the year 1246, when the now beatified Juliana de Mont-Cornillon had a series of religious visions about the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.  It was quickly extended throughout the Church by Pope Urban the IV.  Here in La Villa, the celebrations officially start on the day of La Santísima Trinidad (Holy Trinity) which is actually a week before Corpus Christi.  At approximately noon on that Sunday, we meet these guys for the first time:

The dreaded Diablicos Sucios (“Dirty Devils”…no Dad, not the vacuum cleaner. I’m stopping you before you can make that corny joke you probably had prepared).  With their elaborate masks and cool castanet playing, they easily became my favorites of all the Corpus characters.  So the Diablicos come running through the streets as the church bell in the square goes crazy, setting off fireworks and coming together for the first official danza (“dance”): evil has been released. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tx6RK5h3cU&feature=related

Fast forward to the following Thursday (Mom and Coleen’s first day) – the festivities all start with Mass in the church.  Before the priests and bishop enter, ALL of the characters of Corpus Christi come in first…a grand total of seven separate, elaborate processions down the center aisle before the poor, sweaty altar boys can even start choking on the billowing incense they have to hold in the extremely crowded church. 

One of the processions entering

 

 After the loooooooooooooooong Mass, the procession passes through the beautifully adorned streets of the plaza square. The Santeños work for hours creating these alfombras with petals and seeds and make some of the most impressive designs I’ve ever seen:

It’s almost kind of a shame to see it all destroyed by the procession that walks around the plaza. The priests and bishop, accompanied by the many dances, carry the Eucharist around the park to all four corners, stopping at each one to pray and venerate the Blessed Sacrament at an altar placed there. 

Let’s go through some of the characters, shall we? First, it’s important (and interesting) to note that this part of Corpus, the “folkloric” part consisting of the different dances and characters, started as a way to convert the indigenous people of Panama to Catholicism. They somehow managed to stick around even up until today.

1) Danza del Gran Diablo y los Diablicos Limpios (“Dance of the Great Devil and the Clean Devils)

Before entering the church in the procession, these devils first ask St. Michael the Archangel for permission and, after receiving the go ahead, turn their masks to the side while they dance down the aisle as a sign of reverence and respect for the Blessed Sacrament. 

 

2) Los Diablicos Sucios

You’re all acquainted with these dudes by now, whose main objective in the celebration is to scare the faithful and remind them of the presence of evil. The masks they wear are sold for a LOT of money and, according to some friendly Panamanian woman explaining things to me in the church, win “all kinds of prizes.”

I know it’s weird, but my heart melted seeing little kids dressed in the elaborate devil costumes come by dancing.  

3) Danza de la Montezuma Española (Dance of the Spanish Montezuma)

This was the part in the procession where I looked at my sister and we immediately started giggling at the same time. Why? A procession of Spanish conquistadors and indigenous women marches in together…EXCEPT they aren’t actually women, just Panamanian men all dressed in the same bright red dresses, makeup and long brown wig.  And trust me, these were some of the ugliest women I have ever seen (my favorites were the ones brave enough to keep their mustaches. It was kind of like they were saying to the rest of the world, “Look, I may be wearing this awful baina (code for “thing”) but I’m still manly enough to grow facial hair.”)

This dance relives the happenings of the Spanish conquest and provides ample opportunities for wisecracks. 

Unfortunately I didn't get a great picture of them coming in...

Side shot...why am I in a dress again?

4) Danza de la Montezuma Cabezona (Dance of the Big-Headed Montezuma)

If that sounds like a horrible translation...it’s because it is. My other two choices were “pig-headed” or “bull-headed.” So I’ll let you pick your favorite. I didn’t really get this dance.  Another long procession of men dressed in women’s clothes but this time accompanied by guitar players in more traditional Panamanian outfits. All I know is that they are called “big headed” because of the fat crowns they wear on their heads.

5) Danza del Torito Santeño (Dance of the Bull)

**I didn't get a picture of this, only video. This is the best I could find: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3_l7t9zFUNuHDQRZKm8Cz6HcSvmL5tjxs4QgwI5pOg5cH5VnsnRXeWoDZw_cuJGUxdfF72HIWjkSw348aMS5TCUODPXLw_7N2DoqPKjCVAXA0DIZm5P7s3uFk_2wQj8oQA7WOIb3_8E/s320/EL+TORITO_jpg.jpg

Supposedly the purpose of this dance is to demonstrate the work of the local farmers.  I just discovered that the bull in this dance always has a local or national “problem” written on its side (different every Corpus Christi).  This year’s word? El goloso.  In Spain it meant a sweet-toothed person, but here someone described it to me as meaning gluttony.  And on that note, I’m going to go take a break to eat an avocado…

Okay back. Moving on…

6) Danza de las Enanas (Dance of the Dwarves)

This was another dance that made me giggle. Apparently it was started after a tribe of African Pigmy people that first arrived in the area looking for gold and, because of their small size, could enter places normal people couldn’t. How it works: the person inside the costume wears suspenders with the dwarf costume attached that reaches approximately up to his belly button.  He then covers the rest of his body with a colorful cone complete with two eye slits cut out on top.

7) last but not least, Danza de los Gallotes (Dance of the Vultures…more or less)

Thank goodness for the internet because I had no idea what this dance was either.  According to my trusty website find, the men in this dance dress up as vultures and parade around a donkey they assume to be dead.  When they swoop in to take the first bite, the donkey, who is only sleeping, gets up and gives them an endless butt-whipping.  

 

Phew. I’m pooped.  Needless to say, it was a lot of tradition to absorb and comprehend in a few weeks.  I’m definitely thankful I got to witness it all though. Soon to come: part two of the adventures of the Nelson women in La Villa de Los Santos…

I’ll leave you with this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSlaLx-fnnk&feature=related a great summary of the sounds and sights of Corpus Christi.  ¡Que lo disfruten! Enjoy!

I'm not dead.

Happy Fourth to everyone!

If you’re feeling sorry for me for having to miss out on all of the fireworks and hot dogs, don’t get too emotional just yet.  The Panamanians just finished celebrating Corpus Christi last night, and I got to sit in the plaza square with my host mom for a few hours watching fireworks, eating chorizo on a stick (aka – a spiral cut hot dog) and listening to the música típica of Panama.

Fireworks: Good – but a little excessive, starting in the afternoon and going until 5 or 6 in the morning…for pretty much two straight weeks.

Música típica: BAD. VERY VERY BAD. I think I’ve realized by now that it’s obvious I don’t have Panamanian blood in me because I cannot stand the traditional music of this country. It’s a nightmarish combination of shrill accordion and this weird wailing sound Panamanian women can make. I can’t describe it. You’ll just have to find out for yourselves: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yqz0ANWZuY8&feature=view_all&list=PL0F7343FF1F83B5B8&index=13 …scroll to about 1:50 to get a small taste of the yelping and tell me it doesn’t sound like that woman is in pain.

The ONLY song of música típica I’ve come to tolerate is this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os-cISyDbzE (the lyrics: “si me quiere que aguante, si no que vaya pa’ lante”….. or loosely in English “if he loves me, he better put up with me. If he won’t, I’ll let him go”….if you listen carefully, you can catch some more wailing in the background)

Seeing as I’ve got my first presentation in psychology class on Wednesday and some other homework to make up (class on Friday was cancelled due to partying so now we have a four and a half hour ethics class this week. Olé. Not.) I’m going to end it here. Expect that IOU coming your way sometime this week.

Invasion of the gringos at the international surfing competition this past week on the beach. Just in time for the 4th!

“Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.” – Benjamin Disraeli

After almost seven years of Spanish classes, I have learned one very important lesson: YOU have to be the one to make it fun.  If I hadn’t figured this out pretty quickly, I think I would have dropped out before I had to learn the dreadful subjunctive tense (which doesn’t really exist in English…making it all the more weird and complicated sometimes).  So throughout the many made-up dialogues, practice sentences, and long essays required from various courses, I learned that there’s nothing more fun than adding in a little surprise humor for your compañeros or unexpecting teacher.  Which brings me to tonight: another regular, ol’ boring night stuck in Spanish class.  Our profesora was teaching us how to write a memorandum using the proper technique and proceeded to explain that we would each be writing one to read out loud within the class period.  My mind started buzzing right away for creative topics, and I finally decided on taunting my fellow Panamanians a little…(as written and translated by yours truly)

*Note – for all of you non-soccer fans (myself included), there’s another game between Panama and the USA tomorrow…and to give you an idea of how important it is to people here, a boy in my class told me he skipped the geology test I had yesterday to have a beer and watch Panama defeat El Salvador.

“Date: June 21, 2011

To: The faculty and students of USMA

Subject: Free day tomorrow

The president of USMA wishes to communicate to the students of USMA that tomorrow, the 22 of June, there will be no night classes due to the fact that La Villa will be celebrating the victory of the United States over Panama.

Every United States citizen that lives here will receive a golden crown, and it is expected that all Panamanians will celebrate them eagerly until the early hours of the morning.”

The teacher laughed out loud when she proofread it for me (brownie point for me), and I got some more laughs and playful boos from the other students.  It made the two and a half hours go by a lot faster tonight.

This past Saturday marked the beginning of one of the biggest celebrations here in La Villa: Corpus Christi.  My experience was a whirlwind of loud drumming music, men dancing in strange devil costumes, fireworks going off starting at two in the morning, and one giant question bubble in my head reading “what the heck is going on???” Thanks to my first round of tests, presentations, and preparing to be a tour guide for mom and Coleen, I had very little time to do my homework on the weeklong celebration.  So take this as an “IOU” note and enjoy the pictures in the meantime. 

All I know is that this thing is called a "Diablo Sucio"...or "Dirty Devil." Good potential Halloween costume.

A few quick anecdotes I want to share:

I like to go to the Mass they offer in the village church during the week in the evening when I can, which is usually said by the more soft-spoken priest of the parish.  Last week when it was my turn to receive Communion, he looked at me and smiling bashfully said: “um, dee Body of Christ?” in English.  It came out as more of a question but I appreciated it all the same. 

Last Thursday while working at the clinic once again, a man who always waves to me on the street when I pass by came in (I think he works there) and gave all of us students and nurses a small piece of candy…or so I thought.  Turns out it was a cough drop which they sell here for 5cents as pieces of candy.

One of my favorite things about Panama is seeing the old men in the streets wearing their traditional Panamanian hats: http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/5090595329_9b6f6c4897.jpg.  And trust me, they LOVE their hats.  Rain or shine, they’re wearin’ em’.  All they do is put a plastic trash bag over it when it’s drizzling and they go on about their day.  At first I thought they wore the rims of their hats flipped up just because, but a friend from school later on explained the old tradition to me - if a guy has the front and back end of his hat flipped up it means he has a girlfriend or wife. But if he walks around with only the front up, he’s soltero and looking. Watch out ladies.  Unfortunately the tradition died out over the years, and the men just wear their hats however they please…which I guess is a good thing, otherwise there would be a lot of old, single Panamanian hombres I’d have to be avoiding.

Countdown until mom and Coleen get here: less than 24 hours! Forgive my absence and lack of blogging while I entertain them.  Hopefully I’ll have some good stories from their visit (I warned them that if they’re not nice to me I won’t translate anything…muahahaha). Ciao!

The crowded plaza square watching the diablos sucios dance...which will be even more crowded this week when the celebration is in full swing