The Highest of Highs

A day in Paradise. That is what I will call my Saturday. Coraling cows up a hillside may just be another day in the life for a Herrerence but for me it meant a lot more. It meant gorgeous rolling hillside views in the pounding Panamanian sun and cool forested trails that envelope you in green. I learned the language of talking to cows, or more like whistling and kissing noises and a few “calls” I can’t reproduce. Strange animal-like noises produced by the human vocal cords are really big in Panama. They even have contests for gritaring (yelling, but more like a throaty HoooWahh noise). When we reached a point where I was politely told that the camino would get pretty bad and I should dismount, I jumped a barbed wire fence and hacked my way through some bushes with two boys to pick the sweetest oranges I’ve ever tasted. I think I ate about 3. That is a new record in my personal orange consumption in one siting, but I was told 6-8 is the norm. When you find something great you got to aprovechar (my favorite Spanish word learned in Panama, meaning take advantage of a situation but with a more positive connotation that in English. Example, it’s sunny out, got to aprovechar this sun and wash your laundry so it can dry! Aprochevar!) We also brought two sacks of oranges back to make chicha (juice with sugar). My vitamin C count is off the charts.


At one point in our trip when all the cows had been delivered to their grazing area, we all started picking oranges and nancy and I realized how thirsty I was. Unfortunately the juices of 3 oranges didn’t cut it. I longingly looked up at a 35ft palm tree with green coconuts (pipa) and vocalized my desire for agua de pipa. Wish granted. The most amazing feat I have seen thus far in Panama unfolded before my very eyes. Cano, a boy of about 16-17 years of age, stood on the shoulders of my host dad/community guide and proceeded to scale the thick trunk barefoot. Think Mobley from the Jungle Book style. The coconuts were pretty high up and I was wondering how this kid was going to reach them once he reached the palm parts… I mean palm frawns are not all that strong are they? Apparently children of the campo just know how to do these sort of things. Cano made it ok but the next challenge was detaching the young coconuts. Mature coconuts fall pretty easily, butthe green ones are thoroughly attached. Next thing I knew my host dad had found a huge stick and had stuck the tip of a machete into one end and handed it up to the valiant coconut warrior in the sky. He started sawing off a huge branch with about 6 green coconuts. Heavy lil’ suckers too! But, alas Cano was having some trouble. So what is a group of campesinos to do? Well someone busted out a laso and began lasoing the prized bunch of coconuts. With the combined efforts of the tree climber, the machete and the laso technique, the coconuts came crashing down. Next thing I knew, I was being handed an enormous green coconut with a perfectly machete-ed mouth hole, full of lightly sweetened water. I was on my fifth full gulp when the boy finally reached the ground. The rope was involved somehow and lots of literal tree-hugging. 

Yet another milestone, my limited experience riding horses just about tripled in one day. Let’s just say I now understand the expression; “get right back on the horse”. Luckily I didn’t completely fall off. My horse named Gazella (REDFLAG when the name is some variation of gazelle) apparently likes to run. I had only gotten her to a light trot and felt very accomplished for doing so. I felt even better about finally making the stick and rope tool in my hand make the appropriate whip noise to get the horses and cows moving. I was happy to learn that the motivation is in the noise rather than actually whipping the livestock. At one point my horse, or I, got cocky. She saw a flat expanse of trail and a bridge up ahead and decided to take me for a ride. Instantly blinded (dang hat), I did the appropriate response, pull hard on the reigns, pray to god, yell out my impression of the call my horse’s owner was yelling from behind me. And …nothing. Where are the breaks on this thing? I lost both my hat and stick/string thingy about a mile back, life flashing before my eyes, trail actually flashing by. I wanted to bail, like I used to do as a child on a bicycle, but that was not an option. The past volunteer broke her arm by falling off a chair, I was not about to break any bones only a month in site. I held on tight and continued to pull with all my might. I could see a point up ahead where the trail began to climb uphill. I was praying she would not want to run this part, and was worrying she had picked up enough speed to do so with ease. What actually was coming out of my mouth were a few English words I had not heard myself speal for some time now. And no they were not prayers. Luckily my companeros don’t speak English.

My prayers were answered and Gazella decided to come to an almost complete stop to scale the hillside. Whew. My hat and pole and string contraption were returned to me by my grinning cowboy friends. No quiero correr, I said. No mas! Regardless of my scare, I rode proudly back into town with a flower in my cow girl hat and a matching one for my horse. We had bonded. She had tested me a bit and I had (just barely) passed. That’ll do rider Natalie, that’ll do.

My day and adventure were far from over. I had yet to attend the nearby baile and bullfight planned for the evening. Upon arrival, I was instantly reminded of my experiences (limited, I promise Dad!) at college frat parties, or maybe even high school parties, where it is considered cool for each person to have their own bottle of liquor, or in this case pure, locally produced Seco. The difference is that at a Panamanian party, no drinking games are required to put down a bottle. Ice, a plastic cup and a lot of entertainment suffice. The bull fight was pretty typical and a bit sad. I did get to see one guy get “golpear-ed” in the face. Score for the bull! The real event was the Cantadera group performing hours of tipico music accompanied by two guitar players. I am in love with this type of guitar picking and wish my brother could have been there to learn their art. This music continued for a few hours, occasionally being interrupted by promoters chalking up future fiestas and a few gritar contests. Yes this contest consists of two men or young boys taking turns copying each other’s call (Hooowahhh or sometimes more creative like Hooahheeeahh). The ones who can call the best got a lot of applause. Love it!

At about midnight (we had arrived at 6pm mind you) the dancing commenced. Everyone dances, especially the drunkest attendees which can get a bit crazy. I was being pulled onto the dance floor to learn the tradition of dancing tipico. I didn’t have too much peña (embarrassment or shame)and really enjoyed myself. It was a very sweaty endeavor and I laughed myself through it. We got home around 3 am and I heard my host dad’s car leave to milk the cows at 4:30. This is the Panamenian way of life.



On another note, finally got to talk to Grandma! Love you Dodeo! Can’t wait to take you to a baile.

San Juanito site visit, first weeks with host families in Santa Rita

Life in Panama is different everyday. Well, yes and no. You can expect an early morning, something fried on your breakfast plate, extremely sweet coffee and an abuela insisting that you shower... again. These things never seem to change. The unexpected comes in many forms. It may be a sloth dangling over your house on an electrical wire, or sometimes it´s the novel new type of insect that you find in your hair, or up your pantleg. Some days I forget what air conditioning feels like and equally feel blessed. I am here and I am in it.

Beyond the superficial discomforts or surface differences, the heart and culture of Panama is very beautiful and unique. After attending my first true campo baile this past weekend I can attest to that. The young, the old, the drunk, the sober, the town crazy, and the church lady were all out in full swing. Oh yes and the three gringas from Peace Corps too. I chugged a few orange sodas and hit the dance floor with an older Panamanian gentleman and never looked back. It appeared I was the only person who hadn´t been moving like this since I was 2 years old. I got the hang of it eventually and the bochiche, or gossip, in the town the next morning was all about the volunteers who danced as well as any Panamanian. Thank you bochiche!

I have only been here for about 3 weeks so far and already I have had my fair share of a few things. Rice and beans is definitely one of them. Another is drunken fights between a cab driver and my chiva driver. Some things are just beginning, like my ability to understand Spanish more consistantly. I continually try to make up new words based on English ones, only to have my 14 year old host sister laugh and shake her head. No Natalie esta palabra no existe. Oh well. My host family is pretty amazing and hilarious. Life with an almost 3 year old is never dull and I actually missed her crazy antics while I was on my volunteer site visit in Rio de Jesus this past weekend. I went a whole five days without seeing her drop trow on the patio and pee in emergency, or hear my host dad tell her the sloth would take her away if she didn´t stop crying. I hope to get some pictures up soon. My host family rocks.

I promise to post a more thorough portayal of my life here, but hey, I got to start somewhere. I feel really excited, happy, frustrated, annoyed, anxious, content and alive. It´s all falling into place.