“Your true traveler finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty-his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.” – Aldous Huxley

I’m currently sitting outside of an “internet café” of sorts here in the main plaza in La Villa enjoying a malt drink that used to be cold five minutes ago and listening to a couple of kids laughing and throwing a baseball around.  I walked in and this was my conversation with the lady behind the counter:

Her (smiling): "fjkdl;sanfkdls;ajrioeanfkld;sjakfldsja."
Me: "I'm sorry?"
Her: "jfkdl;sankrl;j30qjklsd;afndksl;ajfkdl;sajifd."
Me: "I’m sorry, I didn't understand..."
Her (not smiling anymore): "What do you want?"

That I understood. But the drink was only 50 cents so I’m not too crushed.

Today it’s not the heat that’s killing me because the sun is pretty much completely hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.  We had some kind of torrential downpour last night starting at about 11:45 and lasting for about 20 minutes that was just long enough to make the humidity level today skyrocket.  A few days ago, though, when the hot Panama sun was sparing no one and I had some extra time in the morning before class, I decided that it would be a “smart” idea to do some laundry. It wasn’t.  I can safely say that I will never take washing my clothes for granted again.  For starters, the machine here is unlike any I’ve ever seen before and totally, completely, 100% outside. Just to give you a rough walkthrough:

Step one: plug it in, wash it out with the hose, and drain the water

Step two: load clothes

Step three: fill completely using the hose again

Step four: guess at how much soap to throw in and pretend like you know what you’re doing

Step five: set for 15 minutes…come back. Set for 15 more minutes.

Step six: drain water and refill with hose once more

Step seven: set for 15 minutes to rinse

Step eight: transfer clothes from washer to the small dryer next to it and set for five minutes

Step nine: unload clothes from dryer, hang on the line in the back porch. Contemplate potential embarrassment of hanging underwear up for ten minutes

Step ten: (one day later) take clothes down, fold, and vow to rewear anything and everything as much as possible

Phew. We’re spoiled back in the US of A.

I think I briefly mentioned a few entries ago that I was searching for a hospital that would possibly let me join a group of nursing students for their clinicals…well, I found one.  After speaking with the director of nursing for the National University of Panama and working with USMA to coordinate paperwork, I found out a few days ago that I will officially be joining a group of third year nursing students for clinicals three days a week.  I started yesterday (unfortunately the 7AM start is the same in Panama) at a public health clinic - about a 13 minute walk from my house.  I spent the day with a group of six nursing students (which included the only guy in their program) working in the room labeled “VACUNAS” in big, bold, capital letters.  For those of you that need to dust off the Spanish a little, that translates as “VACCINATIONS.”  I spent five hours helping to give plenty of flu, pneumonia, Hep A, and MMR shots to anyone who walked through the door.  It was a great experience (especially since I haven’t had the opportunity to vaccinate anyone in the States yet) and it was neat to be able to talk to the students and compare nursing programs.  Monday and Tuesday will prove to be the real tests though.  I’ll be at the bus stop at 6AM crossing my fingers that I make all the right stops and end up at the “New Hospital” in Chitré.  I’m not sure what kinds of opportunities await me there, but I’m excited to find out!

The BEST part about joining the clinical groups, though, has definitely got to be the uniform.  Scrubs are not really heard of here (at least that I’ve found anyway) so I had to purchase a completely white blouse and pants (complete with shoulder pads and a waist line above the belly button) and white shoes that are about a size too big for me.  Nursing students also have to take out any double piercings and pull their hair back in a neat, secured bun. How nurses here manage to keep their angelically white uniforms clean and stain-free is beyond me.  And now, for your viewing pleasure:

First day of work as an official Panama nursing student

People here think for some reason think that I have an aversion to eating.  Why? When I serve myself one of the many daily helpings of rice I stop after about two or three scoops.  The norm is apparently about 15 (give or take five extra).  So when I sat down the other day extra hungry and going a little overboard with five whole scoops, the housekeeper (Clímaco...more on him later) looked at me smiling and said, “Well, we thought you didn’t eat!”

Last night I was invited by Vanessa to attend the Hora Santísima (Holy Hour) at the church right here in the Plaza.  I arrived a little early to sit in the back to avoid standing out as the only Americana…which actually didn’t end up mattering at all because all the lights in the colonial style church were soon turned off and only a few candles stood lit around monstrance on the altar.  It was a mixture of reflections and thoughts to meditate on read by the deep, gentle voice of the priest and simple songs played in between.  It was really a beautiful scene to witness and the faith of the Santeños (code for people from Los Santos) was almost tangible.  (Funny sidenote – whenever Vanessa introduces me to people, she always tells them that I go to Mass on Sunday and stresses the fact that I am “very Catholic.” So I’ve decided take a cue from her and start telling people my name is Saint Theresa when I first meet them.  No objections so far.) I’m planning on going back next week for more.

A final note to end on – I’m starting to pick up more of the Panamaisms (yes, I made it up) of Spanish here.  For example: when someone says something and you couldn’t hear or aren’t sure of what’s going on in general, you would say “qué cosa?” or literally, “what thing?” It makes me smile every time.  The little endearing things about Spanish make it so worth learning sometimes.

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” – Martin Buber

I learned a new word this week: lagartija = lizard.

And why that specific word might you ask?  Well, while opening up the curtains to let a little light in my room this past week I saw something dart quickly up toward the ceiling.  Somehow I managed to not scream, yank open my laptop, and google the word “lizard” in Spanish so I could run and tell Jose to “mátala!” (“kill it!”) for me.  Jose was kind of chuckling as he chased it away, asking “te dan miedo??” (aka: “are you really afraid of these little things???”) I wouldn’t exactly call it fear. Maybe just repulsion or disgust.  But I think, given my tolerance for crawly things, I can safely say I’ve been pretty good up to this point.  I’ve learned to keep extra paper next to my bed for emergency kills  just in case something decides to start crawling on the sheets, that the counter will ALWAYS have ants crawling all over it, and the lizards here make a really weird kissing/puckering noise (which means I avoid the area the sound comes from at all costs). Just the other day I poured myself a bowl of Cheerios in the morning and a live bug the size of my pinky fingernail plopped in with the cereal. Qué rico. But none of that means that I still don’t cringe and inwardly give a little shriek in disgust every time I have to deal with the nasty things. 

I have some good news and bad news.

Good news first, shall we?

I can finally understand about 95% of one of my classes! Probably because the room is much quieter and the teacher is actually from Salamanca, Spain.  His accent (for me anyway) is much easier to understand and kind of a breath of fresh air from the staccato Panamanian accent I’m not quite used to yet.  (Then again, I’m also a little biased because I fell in love with the dialect when I was over there sophomore year)  He also seems to be a very genuine, nice person.  He pulled me aside after class and asked me how everything was going so far, blah blah blah.  We ended up talking for 20 extra minutes about Spain, the Panamanian schedule (we both decided they just like to come and go whenever they please…class starting times don’t really mean anything to them), and how he used to be a priest in Spain but decided it wasn’t his calling when he moved to Panamá (where he is now happily married with a few kids).  He’s also very chistoso (“funny” or “joking”) as one girl put it – thanks to my gringoness, he has already become fond of picking on me in class (I have a feeling it will turn out to be my favorite).

It's okay if you're a little jealous

And the bad news of course:

I officially have my first sunburn of the summer. We all knew that it was going to happen eventually (even if the bottle says SPF 483290573920 I still think it’s inevitable).  But I have to say, it was definitely worth the pain.  I spent all day today at la Isla Iguana (“Iguana Island”…and named it for a reason. More crawly things. Great.) with Ana María, her boyfriend, Dinah (the girl from Germany) and another Panamanian friend of Ana María (Lili).  Isla Iguana was an actual island (go figure), meaning we had to take a fishing boat (una lancha as I learned it’s called) to get there.  The water was crystal clear near the coast and the sand pure white…it looked like a Sandals advertisement.  We spent the day eating fruit, climbing rocks, floating in the water, and switching back and forth between English and Spanish (Dinah speaks pretty fluent English and wanted to practice with me.  At times she would switch back to Spanish when she didn’t know how to say something properly in English. Strangely enough I barely noticed the change). Hiking around the island we ran into a Panamanian guide who knew the island like the back of his hand.  He pointed out a large hole in the ground and explained that it was created by a bomb when the gringos used the island to “practicar” during the second World War.  We’re still definitely not winning the “world’s most popular country” contest any time soon. 

And yet even more gross little crawly things on the beach

We rode back on the lancha to the mainland with four barefooted Panamanian fishermen and a few sharks they caught in the water during their successful day at sea…and the whole 20 minutes back I had to listen to Ana María next to me groaning “Ayyyyyy, voy a vomitar” ( = “I’m gonna hurl”). Not exactly what you want to hear from the person sitting next to you in a small boat where the only place she would probably do it was on my bare feet below us.  But thankfully we made it back vomit free.

The inside of the colonial-style church here in La Villa...dog not pictured

At Mass this morning there was a random dog that came and went in the church as it pleased and no one even blinked.  Everything here is pretty much completely open to outside.

I’ve had about five people tell me since I’ve been here that I’m “bien blanquita!” Which is basically an endearing way to say pale.  I’ve also had another five people tell me they are going to dress me in a pollera. If you’ve never seen one before click here: http://www.ivanhoephotographer.com/IvanhoePhotographer.com/Images/Events/PolleraNYC_2006-03.jpg and you can start laughing at the thought.

One week down, 13 more promising ones await! Buenas noches amigos.

“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.” – Dagobert D. Runes

Walking home from my second night of classes about 20 minutes ago I could see or hear every television in literally every home I passed turned on to probably the most important baseball game of the century for Los Santos.  This is the final FINAL game (thank God).  Los Santos is playing another province, Bocas de Toro, for the championship title, and people here could not be more into the competition.  Just now Bocas scored a run to tie the game and a mad fury of screaming and curse words flew at the tv from Jose, Vanessa’s cousin, and David (the other muchacho living with Vanessa).  Not that I don’t appreciate a good rivalry, but if I have to sit and watch another three hour baseball game with an announcer that shrieks “Niñas, niñas! Sabrosas*!!” every time a curvaceous woman shows up on tv (and trust me, the stadium is filled with ‘em) I’m buying a plane ticket back to KC tomorrow.

Two days of classes down…a lot more to go.  And given the way they’ve gone so far, I’m pulling a Vanessa and crossing every part of my body that they get better.  Tuesday I had my Oral Expression/Literary Culture class (aka: español) which doesn’t seem like it will be too difficult, but the problem isn’t necessarily with the work but being able to simply hear the teacher.  USMA’s building here is over 150 years old and the rooms definitely reflect it.  So with the sound of the creaky air conditioner in the back, the echo of the old room, the talking of the other students (who are all freshman too…hah), I was lucky to be able to hear and understand about 20% of what was going on.  Luckily I befriended a friendly colega eager to practice her English and, in exchange, answered my questions about what the teacher was saying.  Psychology, though,…completely different story.  There are only six of us in class (and all girls – Spanish is mostly guys) and the teacher talks very very VERY quietly.  I was brave enough to ask her to speak more loudly once during class…which she did for about two words.  So I spent the entire class straining to catch just one word she was saying and inwardly laughing at myself for the ridiculous faces I was probably making.  And when class was over and after making sure the teacher had already left, I approached one of the girls in the class telling her I had a question: “Of course! Whatever you need.”  “Uh….can you tell me what just happened?”

That’s what I wanted to ask. But I thought it might be a little overwhelming for her.  So I stuck with the simple “Do we have any homework?” question instead and am hoping that next week I’ll be able to actually hear more. 

Since I have practically all day free until my classes start (usually at 5 or 6 in the evening), I’ve been going to the “gym” Vanessa introduced me to on Monday.  Alright. Don’t picture anything similar to an American gym when you hear that word.  It’s basically a fenced in area outside with a metal roof over it, 10ish rundown weight machines, two treadmills, a set of rusty free weights, and five bikes in the back.  For only a $1.50 you gain entrance to this state of the art facility and your own personal trainer, who tells you what to do and how many times to do it.  Even though the equipment isn’t the best, thanks to the trainers and the heat I have never sweated so much in my life and practically limped home today after being forced to do too many squats.  The first time I walked in, the regulars – which consist of about 10 bulky men…sometimes a woman or two – looked absolutely shocked to see a gringa pass through the gate and even more surprised to see just how red I turned while working out.  But Pedro made sure that I was introduced to absolutely everyone in the room, so with the passing of the next few weeks I’ll be a regular too.

The game is getting exciting. In fact, even Hannah just peed all over the floor after Jose finished his jumping and screaming with the latest homerun.  I’m learning how important it is to watch where I step these days…

Today I discovered an English book in what used to be Jose’s desk.  Flipping through the pages I found a few that give a “commonly used” English phrase and an example of its use to the side.  Between the misspelled words, weird phrases, and even weirder sentence examples, it had me laughing for a while. Some of my favorites:

Easy does it – “Easy does it said them.”

Figure on – “I figured on your money.” (I had to read it in Spanish to realize they meant “count on”)

In a body – “The senator arrived in a body.” (???? What??? Maybe I’m not a dedicated enough English speaker but I have never heard this phrase before in my life.)

Jazz up – “The party was jazzed up by Jim.” 

Junky talk – “I had to listen to that junky talk.” (Definitely my favorite)

Wow. All of the above was written last night before absolute chaos set in here in Los Santos.  As soon as the left fielder for the Los Santos team caught the third out on the field sealing the win for them, the whole city erupted in celebration.  Jose and his aunt were jumping up and down screaming and setting off fireworks on the front porch. (Poor Luli was trembling in my lap the whole time.) Vanessa, who up until this point hadn’t been watching the game because it was too close, came running out of her room yelling “VAMOS A LA CARAVANA!!!!” And I had about 30 seconds to grab whatever I thought I might need for the night (I had no idea what a caravana was) and rushed outside with everyone to the car.  Vanessa was going crazy honking the horn nonstop down the street as we headed toward the center of La Villa (where USMA is actually).  THEN I started to understand what exactly it was we were doing.  “Caravana” was a caravan (duh…easy enough) and we joined a huge circle of honking cars with screaming people hanging out all kinds of windows driving in circles celebrating the victory.  It was insane.  After circling the neighborhoods of La Villa, we followed the caravana to Chitré where it continued with the honking madness. At about midnight we made it back to La Villa, pulled over in front of USMA where the caravana was still happening and joined a crowd of people celebrating in the streets.  A small truck with speakers in the back drove up, parked nearby, and started blasting all kinds of reggaeton music from the back.  The cerveza was flowing, people were dancing, and everyone was just full of pure “alegría” (joy) as Jose’s aunt explained it to me.  It was quite the spectacle.  We didn’t get home until about 1:30.  Ay dios míooooooo. I’m going to try to upload a video or two here so you all can experience the chaos too. But for now, I’m doing my best to stay cool here for another 90 degree humid day. Chao!

* Basically: “Women! Women! Delicious!”

Well, I tried for about five hours to load the video and this internet connection just doesn't want to cooperate. I might bring my laptop to school tomorrow and see if I have better luck. Buenas!

"Haz bien y no mires a quien..."

You’ll find one of my new favorite quotes above given to me by none other than Ana María (supposedly a Panamanian expression).  Loosely: “Do good and don’t pay attention to who you’re helping.”

Another tranquil night here in La Via (I learned that’s the area I officially live in: between Las Tablas where Ana María lives and Chitré...but all three are in the province of Los Santos. Phew). I’m sitting here on the back porch swatting bugs away and watching another big baseball game with Vanessa, Jose and Cécil (another muchacho who is also renting a room from Vanessa while he goes to school at a university nearby).  To give you an idea of how close the houses are here: (and how everyone here is related to everyone) when Vanessa’s niece suddenly appeared on TV at the game, she let out a high pitched yelp, leaned forward in her seat toward the house next door and shouted to her sister who lives there: “Ayyyyy!! I just saw Carmencita on TV!!!”

She gets really into the game too, yelling at the bad plays, celebrating with the good, and crossing her legs, fingers, and arms for “buena suerte”  (which reminds me a little of my own dear mother who shares the love of screaming at the referees and players during KU basketball games).

Yesterday at breakfast Jose asked me if I eat at McDonald’s and KFC everyday.  I tried my best to stifle my laughter at one of the horrible misconceptions people have here of the States.

Today turned out to be a busier day than expected, (and I’m expecting these blog entries to become more and more spaced out as classes get started mañana so don´t panic) and I spent most of it running errands with Ana María and another girl who works at the same hotel, Dinah.  Dinah is actually German and came here when she was 16 with an exchange program…without knowing a single word.  I was impressed.  I can tell she’s a little more gutsy than me – we visited a hospital today (Ana María is trying to help me find a place where I can work a little under a nurse while I’m here) and recognized a man who passed by us because he gave her a ride a few days ago when she was hitchhiking. 

I also went into USMA for the first time: one building, less than 15 rooms, and a library that would make even the worst librarian cry…but I think I like it already. 

Random thing I’ve noticed here: everyone seems to have a Blackberry.

The street where all the magic happened

By far the craziest thing that’s happened to me so far while here was this afternoon while walking through one of the streets close by USMA.  Vanessa was showing me a gym on the street (take that term lightly…I’ll explain more later after I officially experience it tomorrow) and the minute we walked in, a bulky bodybuilder comes up to greet us, first saying hi to Vanessa and then turning to me and speaking in English: “You know Mr. John Stanley?” I was in shock. A little background: my aunt has friends that hosted a Panamanian (Pedro) while he studied for four months at KU.  Those friends also have a house in Panama and have visited several times. They told Pedro that I was coming (he also lives in Los Santos) but I kind of had my doubts I would ever run into him. Well, as you probably all already guessed, the muscleman talking to me in English was the very same Pedro.  We talked a little bit about his love for Kansas (and I quote: “I have been to almost all the states and by far Kansas is my favorite…”) and he showed me half a dozen pictures on his Blackberry of the Royals and their stadium. (I didn’t tell him that the Royals no me importan para nada = don’t matter to me at all) But he apparently works there as a trainer (also in the States too) and said he would introduce me to the different places Panama has to offer if I helped him with his English.  Deal. The only words that could describe the unbelievable coincidence that had just occurred were Vanessa’s: “Qué mundo más chiquitito…” or as we know it better: “what a small world…”

Hannah the rat dog has taken a special liking to me. Jose told me it’s because we’re both “gringas” and have light eyes.  She’s also named after Hannah Montana. Did I tell you that? Pobrecita…

My last closing notes for the night:

1) Vanessa secretly cracks me up.  I don’t think she means to be a gossip queen, but she isn’t shy about telling you anyone’s business. Tidbits of our conversation while walking down the street today: “Ay Dios mío, Jose got caught holding a beer last weekend…Jose had surgery on his testicles so he can’t run much…ooooh, that man right there is gay. Is that what you say in the US too?”

2) I’ve noticed that the polite Panamanian thing is to greet people you walk by in public buildings or restaurants with a simple “buenas!” even if you don’t know the person.  Just goes to show how friendly everyone here is.

3) Jose just asked me what the word “dooo-des” meant.  I had no idea what exactly he was trying to pronounce so I had him write it: dudes.  That one was fun to explain.

“Tourists don’t know where they’ve been, travelers don’t know where they’re going.” – Paul Theroux

I’ve decided the weirdest thing about Chitré (the county I live in) so far is the rooster that has been crowing at random since 11:00 last night but doesn’t actually seem to exist because I haven’t seen him.  The fact that there are even roosters nearby kind of makes me smile.  This is definitely different.

I finally stole some time to myself for the afternoon after a busy morning of getting to know Chitré a little bit better with Vanessa and Jose.  I’m happy I even got into the country, though, because after passing under the big “Bienvenidos a Panamá” sign in the airport I had to get past the scowling customs workers who studied my passport for quite some time and asked me a few questions about “Mee-sur-ee” (Missouri if you didn’t catch that) and my reasons for being here.  They kindly didn’t slow their Spanish down one bit (better practice) and, after hearing me blubbering through my answers, they decided I wasn’t a threat.  I grabbed my two suitcases (my previous victory was short-lived…70 pounds in one suitcase just didn’t cut it for the airline employees in KC) and recognized Ana María immediately as I came out of the terminal.

*Side note – Ana María and I have been emailing back and forth since early November, and she’s been a huge help with turning in paperwork…I’m here basically because of her.

Ana María and I at the harbor

Meeting in person for the first time wasn’t strange at all, and when she introduced me to her boyfriend and his cousin I quickly learned the awkward way that in Panamá you’re supposed to give a kiss on the cheek when you greet someone…but only one.  I just saved all of you future travelers from some major potential embarrassment. You’re welcome.

The humidity was just as bad as I expected.  At one point I realized that as the two guys were graciously loading my suitcases into the tiny blue car they had driven and I was simply standing there talking to Vanessa even my legs were sweating. That’s when you know it’s bad. We drove through the streets of Panama City which can only be described as extremely confusing and chaotic (stop signs seem to be optional and apparently seat belts are too…Vanessa asked me what I was doing this morning when I sat in the back of her car and started to buckle up) and filled with a lot more poverty than I expected. We didn’t get to see much of the city or the canal, but we ate lunch at a harbor in the city, and I introduced everyone with me to the panini (why I decided to order a hot sandwich is beyond me…Ana María looked at me at one point and said, “Awww, you’re sweating!” as if she’d never seen it before. Must be the whole no sweat glands thing).  By the end of the afternoon, I was exhausted, hot, and understanding less and less with every conversation.

Some of the downpour of this morning

It rained for a lot of the four hour trip back to Chitré (another odd thing – Panamanians turn on their warning lights when it starts to downpour and continue driving like nothing is happening) and when we finally arrived at Vanessa’s house, we sat on the front porch for a while listening to the parties going on in the houses nearby until she got back.  I like her already.  She’s extremely laid back, very helpful (she told me to ask for anything I needed “con confianza”…with confidence… several times) and doesn’t speak any English.  Perfect. I met her two little babies, Luli and Hannah (the smallest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life…I’m going to spend the next three months trying not to step on them and kill them) and she led me to my room, where I currently sit typing this under a creaking fan and listening to Jose let out a scream every once in a while at the baseball game on TV. 

That’s when what I like to call the “freak out moment” of the study abroad trip happens.  Your host mom leads you to your room, closes the door to let you unpack privately, and the only thing you can do for a few minutes is stand there staring at this strange little abode in a country you barely know you where you will be living for the next 60+ days.  I guess that’s when the realization fully hits you and the only thing that keeps crossing your mind is the anxiety of “what I am doing here???” But you start to unpack, make the room yours, and the feeling slowly subsides.  And that’s exactly what happened last night.  After taking a shower in the small bathroom with one water temperature (I’ll give you a hint – it’s not hot) I felt a lot better and passed out to the sound of that stupid rooster crowing somewhere nearby. 

I met Jose this morning at breakfast.  He’s a bigger 13-year-old kid and one of the first things Vanessa told me about him (while he was in the room too) was that he had been suspended from school for the next week for fighting.  He seems completely harmless to me (maybe just a little angsty with his Nirvana and Ozzy Osbourne music) and I can already tell I’m going to have fun teasing him once we start getting more comfortable.  I’ll make the rest of this quick because I’m sure I’ve already lost half of the people who decided to read this entry anyway:

Vanessa and I went to Mass this morning at a local colonial church.  I was surprised at how many kids were there and felt all of their curious eyes on me when I went up for Communion: the only “gringa” in the church.  The three of us went to lunch after, and apparently I ate one of Panama’s most popular plates: sancocho. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/05/Barranquilla_-_Sancocho_de_mondongo.jpg (basically chicken broth and chicken. Jose asked me if I had ever eaten “ñame” which was apparently also in the mixture.  I said no…mainly because I had no idea what it was.  And held my breath as I tried some.  Turns out they’re yams.  That could have been ended up so much worse!)

Vanessa and Jose both liked the assortment of KU and Kansas goodies I brought them (the wind chime was a big success Mom) and I’m getting better at understanding their rapid-fire Spanish already. (Although about 40-50% of the time I just nod and smile. Oops.)

Hannah: dog or over-sized rat? You decide.

My first classes don’t start until Tuesday so I still have tomorrow to wander around and get lost a few times before I actually have to be somewhere.  I’m sure I’ll have plenty more to write as I spend this next week adjusting to my new life.  But for now I’m going to go chill (sweat) on the porch with Luli and Hannah. Hasta pronto!











EDIT***

Alright, I know I just updated this thing a few hours ago but I already have a few notes scribbled down I want to mention:

1) To add to the first seatbelt comment: Vanessa, her cousin, two other women from the neighborhood and I just went to the grocery store located more in the main hub of the county of Chitré.  The two other women hop in the backseat with me and Vanessa nonchalantly explains to them in an amused tone: “Theresa tried to put her seatbelt on in the backseat this morning.  It’s necessary in the United States.” 

2) I have discovered there is no Panamanian “look.”  People here are all shades of dark, ranging from light (meaning tan) to black.  Some have more African features and others look more indigenous.  The one thing they all have in common: compared to them I am practically see-through. 

3) Everybody in this town knows everybody.  And it seems like they’re all related in some way or another. We can’t drive down the street without Vanessa honking at least three or four times when she drives past houses with a few Panamanians sitting on the porch or faces she recognizes walking in the street. 

4) Just in case you were wondering, they use the American dollar here.  But the coins are different. (at least the pennies and quarters…I think they’re worth the same but are called Balboa? I haven’t figured it out just yet)

5) The main sport here is baseball.  And apparently there’s a big game going on tonight between Los Santos and another province in Panama.  I’ve been told that if I don’t root for Los Santos there will be dire consequences.

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

Let me first preface this blog by saying that I’m definitely no English major.  If you’re looking for a daily read that will satisfy your deepest literary cravings I regret to say you will be severely disappointed.  The purpose of my writing is simply because I enjoy sharing my humble, random anecdotes with anyone who might have the slightest interest in hearing about them.  And, after spending a semester in Spain almost two years ago, I’ve come to realize it as a painfully easy way to keep memories for myself.  So there you have it – set your expectations low and we’ll all have a good time.

About a year ago, I began the search for universities in Spanish-speaking countries after a nonchalant suggestion by a teacher that I take my studies to the next level and consider a major, an impossible idea at the time because of the inflexibility of my primary major, nursing (for all the good they teach you to impart in those classes, it’s got to be one of the most selfish majors offered at SLU).  Or so I thought.  With the help of a supportive advisor and Spanish teaching staff, I started taking the idea more seriously and began my research with the scholarly college student’s best friend: wikipedia.  Finally stumbling across a university with a name that probably has more letters in it than people in the town it quietly sits in, I initiated contact in May, and, after a year long period of excitement, frustration, and having to be way too patient, I sit here next to a suitcase jammed with bottles of sunscreen (notice I said “suitcase” singular…my first accomplishment of the trip) and summer clothes just a few hours before my first flight officially takes off from Kansas City… 

My home away from home for the next three months

My journey officially begins today, Friday the 13^th (for all you superstitious folks out there, this is actually a very benign day in the Hispanic world. Tuesday the 13^th is their day of mala suerte…i.e. bad luck) in a smaller province of Panama called Los Santos: http://panamabeachlife.com/pics/Los_Santos-big.png I’ll be taking three classes at La Universidad Católica Santa María la Antigua (USMA for short).  To give you an idea of the nature of this rural, quintessential Panamanian town, my class options consisted of courses in farming, religious life or psychology.  Though the first two were tempting, they didn’t quite sit well with the Spanish department back home, and I instead enrolled in Oral Expression and Literary Culture, Psychoeducational Evaluation, and Christian Ethics and Morals, a diverse enough mix of topics to keep me entertained.  I’ll be living with a woman in her forties, Vanessa, who says that I already “form part of the family,” and her 13-year-old son named Jose in a house with apparently no number (any mail to her must be addressed with her telephone number so the post office workers can call when she has a letter or package…yet another indication of just how different this little town must be).  Rumor has it I live about five minutes from the beach (tough life, I know) and the high every day is 95 degrees with close to 100% humidity.  At least I won’t stand out when I’m sweating profusely (I don’t think Hispanic people were born with sweat glands) and turning bright red from the heat.

The view from the back porch...just kidding. But a beach supposedly nearby casa

I can truthfully say that I have no expectations set for this quickly approaching adventure and am ready to embrace whatever moments of language blunders and culture shock may come my way.  The one thing I do know and fully expect to happen is to step back on American soil a little over three months from today a (hopefully) wiser, more fluent and sunburn-free person.