A Day Like No Other

The suddenly familiar sound of hundreds of roosters calling from the valley (El Valle) below wakes me at 6am. For those of you who know me, you also know that I am not a morning person. Nay, I am about as far from a morning person as one can be. I actually brought my jammies with me that read “My Day Starts at 12:00”…and I am wearing them this morning. However, through all my grumpy glory, I catch a glimpse of what is happening out my bedroom window. A sunrise. Not just any sunrise; a sunrise so glorious over the distant mountains of El Valle that I cannot help but rise to my feet and open the door to get a closer peek. It draws me in and I am lured. I am hooked. I meander up the steps to the “living room” above, which is actually a large covered porch with open windows and views that seem a mirage. My roomie and friend of 21 years is sprawled on the “couch” aka one of our three hammocks. I decide to take this opportunity, while Benny is still asleep (somehow), to meditate. It has been months since I have practiced and I am a bit shaky at best but what better time and place? I well up with tears in sheer gratitude for being here in this moment. Again, for those of you who know me, this is a rare occurrence. I could bottle my few and far between tears and sell them on the black market. This place is already changing me. I stroll to the kitchen to get my one cup of Panamanian coffee that Melissa has kindly and meticulously brewed. It is damn good. We lay on our respective “couches” and get into a deep discussion…which we have done continuously since we were 13 years old. We speak of love, loss, being present, getting older, dreams, hopes, and hopelessness. All the while the breeze blows, roosters call, and butterflies float past. Melissa points to the stairs and up walks Benny, in his morning daze. He smiles as I notice him and runs towards me. He climbs up on my hammock and we snuggle hug. The best kind of hug that exists. Its time to get the bambino some breakfast. I let him have one of our homemade popsicles because…why not? It’s that kind of morning. We hang out for a while longer and then I take a short, refreshing (no hot water) shower and wipe the stress of travel off of me. Once we are dressed and Benny is fed again, he begins to get restless as all toddlers do. I realize I cannot stay at La Casa Amarillo all day and we must venture out. Suddenly panic takes hold of me. I am terrified. I have noticed over the last couple of days that English is not widely spoken here. In fact it is rarely spoken or understood. Now I am not saying it should be. It shouldn’t. I am the one entering a foreign country. I am the one who needs to learn and adapt to the culture. Unfortunately my Spanish is very rudimentary and studying is infinitely harder with a child up my rear. So I hesitate, stall, cower in the corner and shake. Then I tell myself (and Melissa basically tells me) “buck up princess” and I put on my big girl panties. I pack up, apply sunscreen, and head out. We walk slowly, at a toddler’s pace (or the pace of a tortoise-meets-sloth) down the beautiful dirt road. Everyone who passes says “Buenas” or “buena dia”, but there is no fake American-esque smiling happening…which I love. Lots of kids walk by in groups, and they ride by in the backs of trucks. One group of kids whistle towards Benny and shout “amigo” at him. He looks confused so I try to explain. I know exactly how he feels. We pass hummingbirds, vibrant flowers, trees I have never even imagined, a lot of stray dogs, and wandering chickens. The sun shines brightly and it is hot. Like sweaty in every nook and cranny hot. As we get closer to town we see more and more people walking and biking by. All ages. Moms biking with kids riding on the front bar, steering with one hand and holding an umbrella with the other (these moms are obviously super heroes in disguise). No helmets here. No car seats either. Just faith and love I imagine. I also quite like this. As we round the corner I hear music, which is not a rare occurrence here at all. Music seems to be the common thread of daily life for Panamanians. Horns and drums are as common to hear floating on the breeze as birdsong and thunder. I also love this. The people here are: colorful, alive, vibrant, gorgeous. They dress well and the women wear their hair long and in beautiful braids. I walk behind them and feel a bit inadequate in my slovenly American style and rats nest hair (humidity is a bitch for my fro), but my inner smile still widens. We walk on and round the corner to the church in the center of town. There is something happening: a fiesta. Bunches of people gather. Couples sell toys on the sidewalk. I hear drums and horns up ahead. We walk through the crowd of well-dressed shiny-haired Panamanians and see a parade on the main street. There are colorful dresses, large bulls (toros), horns and trumpets being played joyfully, and dancing. Children comprise most of the festivities. They are riding on floats covered in various fruits and banana leaves. They are wearing traditional clothing and sombreros. Women are carrying umbrellas and holding babies dressed beautifully. I am awe struck like a teenager suddenly coming across a member of their favorite boy band. I am a huge fan of this celebration. But…it is hot and we have one goal in mind: to find a playground. I have promised this to Benny and, for those of you with young kids, you know how important it is to keep a promise. Especially when it involves swings. So we march on. Past the many restaurants, past the large chinese grocery stores (odd, I know), past the flower-covered bank and the crystal clear streams. I notice trees that could only appear in fairy tales and vines with massive thorns. In the backdrop, always, are the spectacular cloud-capped mountains. We walk down the road, past the famous market, and into the other side of town. Benny starts saying he’s hungry (which only occurs about once every 15 minutes) , so we stop at a coffee shop. The coffee shop of my dreams is surrounded by lush plants that I have only seen as house plants in the states. The tables are colorful mosaic tiles; the same as ours at the casa. I half expect the Mad Hatter to invite me to tea as butterflies float by and hummingbirds feed on flowers. I order a chai te con leche and Benny gets a piece of marble cake. We are both hot and tired, but relieved to be sitting at this beautiful spot in the world. We continue on our walk, hoping the playground is around the next corner. I spot a “sloth crossing” sign and realize it is the hostel I have heard about. It is owned by a Swiss woman and she raises abandoned sloths. She has three currently in her yard and I will be paying her a visit sometime (hopefully more than once). I finally spot it; the bright yellow edges of a slide! After 2 hours of walking, observing, sitting, and whining, we have reached our mecca. We cross the road and Benny runs to the main play area. The playground is big and most of it is older. There are things here that have been banned in the US: metal slides with no sides, metal teeter-totters with loose bolts. There is a plastic play area but some pieces are broken, and there is one metal swing that hangs very low. At first Benny is alone but then a group of kids join him. They do not hesitate to start playing and laughing together…no language issues here. The clouds roll in and it begins to rain. All the kids and parents run for cover under a pavilion. Benny continues to play on the playground in the rain. He plays and laughs, turning the slides into waterslides. An older woman nearby smiles and laughs as she watches him. After about 5 minutes the other kids come running out from the pavilion to join him. He has started a trend. I walk over to the pavilion to stop being anti-social and join the other parents. I approach them and say “Mi hijo es loco”. They laugh and I instantly feel more comfortable. They are having drinks and snacks and they offer them to Benny and I. One of the children comes up to me and asks Benny’s name (Como se llama). I say Benny and he tries to pronounce it. One of the mothers scream Benny’s name and wave as he looks over. The parade approaches and we all gather near the street. One of the men explains it to me in Spanish while pointing and giving hand gestures. I understand! It is a traditional Panamanian parade put on by the school kids. They are dressed in traditional clothes. They give Benny poppers and he joins the other kids throwing them on the ground and is in his glory. I am happy that he is happy. Maybe we’ll be ok here, even with the language barrier. The rain stops and I decide its time to go home. I think this is enough newness and excitement for one day. We start walking back through the crowd and it eventually becomes less crowded and more quiet. It starts to rain again and I try to flag down a cab. I try 4 times before one stops. We get in and it starts to downpour. I tell the driver “Vivo circa La India Dormida” and he says something back that I don't understand. I just shake my head and go with it, hoping he’s not saying he's going to sell my child for $50 on the gringo market! (A joke) We continue to the supermarket and pick up a beautiful woman. We listen to salsa music as we dodge stray dogs, cars parked in the middle of oncoming traffic, and people on bikes holding umbrellas. There are no seatbelts so Benny and I just bounce around like balls in the back seat. We get closer to our road and I say “izquierda, por favor”. He points left and I say “Si”. I say “Recto” and then “pare aqui" (I literally learned these words this morning). He stops and says “Dos delores”. I try to give him a one dollar tip but he refuses and hands it back to me. He helps us out and continues on. Benny gleefully plays in the waterfall coming down our hill and I smile from ear to ear knowing that we survived the day in a foreign land. We open the gate to La Casa Amarillo and we are home. I think I am going to like this place.