SubscribeI woke up to the chilling air of cold nostalgia that blasted through our aged villa. After the morning rituals of masking the lack of hygiene that we all seemed to adopt in Panama, I jumped into the sluggish atmosphere outside. The bus awaited my arrival with open doors and a warm embrace of cotton cushions. But I was soon jostled from the arms of my comforter by the winding roads of the ambivalent mountains. The mist hung ominously over the peaks and veiled the sleeping woman outlined by the mountain tops. She took solace in the cold blanket of dulled diamonds. Our bus speed like a Diablo Rojo around the roller coaster roads of our destiny. Fate awaited us like a patient grandmother with a Christmas card. My eyes darted from face to face of my amigos. Most of them were blessed with the peace of sweet repose where there was once the evidence of a rough evening. I lack the words to fully capture the magic of the scenery that befell us on our journey. There was a battle between different terrains, all of which stood with breathtaking beauty of a titian. The light danced like fairies upon the water that we left behind us. I am doing an injustice by continuing to try and capture a beauty that not even photography could replicate.
We arrived at El Valle’s Hot Springs where therapeutic mud was plastered on our eager faces. Some creative youngsters decided to make designs (see pictures somewhere) of facial hair and war symbols. Some even ventured to spread their “post-modern artwork” to other parts of their body. Afterwards we embarked on another rollercoaster adventure to explore a canopy. Even a blogger of my lexicon does not possess the words to describe the scenery of the hike nor waterfall that greeted us. We had been given walking sticks to accompany us like faithful companions who gave us traveler’s advice on where to safely step. They were the Virgil to our Dante. After all we had been through I was not ready to give up my stick. I implored the unwavering man, the stoic stick keeper, to allow me to keep my faithful friend. He was unflinching in his resolve and denied my multiple requests. After I had resigned my desire to keep the walking stick and whispered my farewells, I handed my stick back to the man with a half-hearted Feliz Navidad. Those two words that evoke the spirit of a miraculous season unlocked the chains that tethered his kind heart. He handed me my stick back and smiled a warm smile. My heart rejoiced.
Afterwards we rolled on to a dusty market of genuine Panamanians. The prices were cheaper than a molasses on an igloo. We voraciously bought entire pineapples, savory sausages, and myriads of knickknacks. In all our tomfoolery, I had never fathomed that my future husband waited just down the road of destiny in the oppressive heat of Panamanian fate.
But seriously… I walked over to a small display of jewelry that was manned by two obviously hippy guys who were playing guitar. A single feather earring caught my eye. As I had been collecting tribal jewelry for the past ten days, I saw this one as a jewel in my collection. It reminded me of Pocahontas. Bruno and Ricardo, the two vendors who spoke to us in broken English, were from Brazil. They have been traveling for over a year just selling their hand made jewelry. Bruno told me that he normally sold that earring for 20 dollars but he enjoyed “talking” so I bargained. Take off a zero I said as they both chuckled at what they considered to be a joke. I told them that they stole the feather from a bird so it must not have cost that much to make. They said that they do not steal anything but take the gifts that nature had given them. He told me that it was not fair for me to take the item for ten. I said that he does not steal from nature, nor should he steal from me. After many laughs and some business we arrived at a compromise. Twelve dollars and he would make me a surprise. After some tinkering behind his makeshift stand, Bruno forged a ring. He told me that I am a natural woman and that at that particular moment he loved me. He asked me to marry him. After videos were recorded and pictures were taken, we said our goodbyes. I never answer his question.
We ate on a beach whose sand contained traces of uncapturable diamond and whose waves were as fierce as the wrath of the jungle. Afterwards we stopped at El Rey, the local super market. For the entire vacation, for every ten bucks we spent, we get a sticker. The stickers were placed in booklets of 40. Each booklet could be traded for items in a knife set. I had collected the entire set except for the items the store had run out of. This El Rey was not where we usually stopped and it contained the black box that all the knives were held in. I was 38 stickers short from obtaining it. I was disheartened beyond belief. So close and yet so far away. Yet I received positive reinforcement from all my peers. “We’ll do it. Don’t worry. We’ll get it.” And sure enough, through some sort of miracle of friendship and consumerism, we got enough stickers. My set, as well as my life, was complete. Tears welled in my eyes as I recognized the accidental community that we had forged in the fires of Panama. The community we built could not be broken or dissolved. We loved each other.
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