The worst part of these long haul expeditions is getting to that part of the world that's to be the focus of attention for the next six weeks. I know that I'll experience some trauma or disappointments, major or minor, while I am here but they're unpredictable and come with the territory. These setbacks will be more than compensated by unexpected positive encounters. But what's more predicable than the Heathrow hassle, and a lot of paranoid officiousness and a certain amount of chaos at Newark International in New York which resulted in a delay of nearly four hours? I knew I would be physically and mentally knackered by the time arrived at my hostel at 1.30 am (8.30 am UK time.)
Actually the flight from New York to Panama City was quite eventful. While flying over the area popularly known as The Bermuda Triangle I thought of Ben when he was younger who had a fascination for the mysterious disappearances in this vicinity. I raised the porthole shutter after a doze in the dark to witness an amazing electrical storm. A gathering of two dimensional dormant clouds were suddenly given three dimensional life by an injection of venomous electrical energy that lit them up across the sky every few seconds like huge light bulbs with the arcing fork lightening acting as the giant filament. There was no sound and I thought that this spectacular deserved a score specially written. While we were experiencing the spectacle the fire alarm went off in the plane. After a bit of concern by the attendants (and us of course) we were informed by the captain that the continuing din was due to the electronics which had been affected by the storm. This was far from reassuring as we were about to land. Anyway we landed safely although the airfield spookily just had a few old Dakota turbo props and at the corner of the airfield I thought I spotted a flying boat with Spruce Goose written on the side. What was really peculiar was walking through Arrivals and spotting a calendar on the wall showing 1937.
When I arrived at the hostel Lunas Castle at 1.30 a.m. I found a group of young people totally rat-arsed. I enquired about the whereabouts of reception and staff and they informed after a fashion that they were the staff. Eventually one of them roused himself shuffled to the computer and attempted to key in my details. As both our brains were like melted cheese for different reasons there was a breakdown in communication. He reminded me of a young hirsute Eliot Gould: thick black hair covered everything but his eyes which were almost totally closed. His slurred speech made communication almost impossible. I was so tired that I just agreed with everything I almost heard him say. So to those at the Lunas Castle and its environs I'm known as Derek H. Crockett. If this is what they're like on Mondays what's Saturday like? In their defence I discovered it was a party for a special occasion.
The following morning still feeling a bit jet lagged and suffering from sleep deprivation I wandered around Casco Viejo, and what a tonic it proved to be. Casco Veijo is a squared jawed peninsular jutting out into the the Bay of Panama. It was a glorious day and the area has been described as being similar to old Havana with cobbled stoned streets and crumbling Spanish colonial architecture. The locals I passed all wished me "buenos dias" and as I was thinking I should get a hat to protect my head from the beating sun I ambled passed a bloke selling, amongst other things, Panama hats. So resplendent in my new acquisition I strolled on. I stopped off at a street cafe for liquid refreshment conversing with some difficulty with some locals and then moved on. As I turned towards the direction of Lunas Castle down a narrow street one of the locals whistled to me then shook his head and drew his finger across his throat and suggested I stick the the wider main drag. So it seems that my state of well being and sense of security was false and that you have to keep your wits about you at all times.
The following day I went to the Minaflores Locks just outside Panama City to see the Panama Canal. Much of the travelling I do now is inspired by my boyhood and teenage imagination. In St. David's Primary I collected chewing gum cards of national flags including basic information about each country and Panama and its Canal struck my imagination and was placed unconsciously on the back burner for fifty years. The Canal is one of the great modern man made wonders of the world and a heavy human price was paid to complete it. There is a very impressive four story visitors' centre with an elevated viewing gantry, film show, and an excellent museum. In the blazing heat I watched several container ships pass through which became hypnotic as each time I went to leave to visit the museum I kept thinking "just one more ship and then I'm off.
Ben and Jo would love the Lunas Castle Hostel. It's located in huge crumbling colonial building with cavernous rooms. Last night I was talking to a Turkish bloke now living in the US and was the only person who wasn't at least three decades younger than me. It has a hippy atmosphere (bandannas are very popular) where scores of young backpackers pass through after spending a few days chilling as part of their various Central and South American itineraries. Most are just about to go to or have just been to Bocas del Toro on the Caribbean coast where there are great beaches and to dive pirated wrecks. There is a large kitchen where we cook pancakes in the morning before plonking ourselves down on a long wooden table ladened with fresh bananas. The chill out rooms are very large with lots of settees and soft furnishing and where travellers crash out if all the beds are taken. Last night there was a great jam session. The resident guitars were plucked from the wall, a pair of maracas appeared from somewhere, and an ancient organ which I previously assumed was part of the way-out decor was skillfully put to use. It wasn't a thrash but a gentle unplugged interpretation of the songs we all know and love. Before chatting to my Turkish|American friend I sat with a beer on the long balcony which overlooks the Bay of Panama with its bobbing fishing boats with the backdrop of the silhouetted uptown Panama City across the bay looking like a scaled down Manhattan.
After being surrounded by youthful physical beauty and athleticism which was countered by their inability to string a sentence together, "Holy shit I've run out of beer man" was average articulation followed by "awesome man" when the said beer arrives, it was a heavy relief to chat with my Turkish mate. He is a software person who looked bookish and was a bit of an intellectual. We discussed the religious divides across the globe, Byzantine art, the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire, alternate energy sources until exhausted I tried to lighten the proceeding by extending the question "Britney or Kylie,.....another beer man?"
I've experienced two already of what I hope will be many firm handshakes on this trip. The first was at Newark International while waiting an inordinate time for our baggage. I had quite a long chat with a bloke of about my age from New Jersey and then Tim a young tree surgeon from Porthcawl who'd been travelling for six months around CA with his girl friend. Tim convinced me to change my itinerary by swapping Honduras for southern Mexico.
Tonight I fly to Guatemala City.