Working and Working Out in Ciudad Neilly

Our plan was to catch the 2pm bus back down the mountain to Ciudad Neilly. We walked in the afternoon heat to the sleepy bus station and found it closed for lunch. Took a taxi back to the town square and I went into the air conditioned internet cafe. They have nice computers with large flat screen monitors. $1 per hour seems to be the standard fee for internet access in all these small Costa Rican towns.

At 1:30 I met up with Tracy and we asked a taxi to take us back to the bus station. "Where are you going?" he wanted to know. "Ciudad Neilly." "I'm going there," he said. "I'll take you both for 3,000 colones."

3,000 colones is only $6 or so. True, the bus would only cost 600 colones apiece, but the bus is slow, crowded, and takes a very indirect route.

Just at that moment a tall American woman approached us. She was only the second gringo I had seen in three days. "Can I help you guys with something?" "Do you live here?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "in Sabalito. We come here now and then to shop."

The American woman told us we must be mistaken, no taxi would take us all the way to Ciudad Neilly for 3,000 colones. "It must be 30,000," she said. I verified the price again with the driver and the woman said, "Well, it's an incredible deal." I would have liked to talk to her further and find out what she and her husband were doing in this remote place - most likely they were farming, or perhaps running a hotel - but the taxi was leaving right away.

The trip that had taken 2.5 hours in the bus took only 1 hour in the taxi, though of course the taxi was going downhill. It rained much of the way and the road was draped in mist and fog. I ate almonds and an apple and listened to Yusuf Islam (formerly Cat Stevens) songs on my iPod. The driver let us off at the Hotel Andrea, the largest and nicest hotel in Neilly, and we paid him the 3,000 colones. I almost expected some sort of problem, since the American woman had been so incredulous that we could get a ride at that price, but no, the driver said, "Thank you and have a good day."


The Hotel Andrea is comfortable and attractive, and not a bad deal at $40. I went out to find an internet cafe and located one only a few blocks from the hotel, across from the large Loaiza grocery store. Air conditioned, good computers, not crowded. I worked for three hours (again $1 per hour for access), then back to the hotel.


I asked the concierge about finding a gym in Neilly. She was very young looking and I later found out that she'll be 18 in a week, and is working at the hotel in summer, and going to university soon to study journalism. She told me of a gym 2 kilometers down the highway. I decided to look around on my own, and lo and behold, I found a small neighborhood gym catercorner from the Loaiza grocery, just around the corner from the hotel.

The gym consisted of one small room crowded with equipment and almost 20 people exercising, more of them women than men. I paid $2 to use the facility, and proceeded to work out very hard. No one was using the leg press machine or the lat pulldown, so I went back and forth between those two, working them heavy, breathing hard. I must have looked like I knew what I was doing because one fellow approached me and wanted to know if the pulldown is for the chest. "No," I told him. "La espalda." The back.

The walls were mirrored and occasionally I saw that people were watching me, probably because I was a stranger and a foreigner to boot. A gym that small, they probably all know each other. The gym was not air conditioned and soon I was dripping sweat. I did some heavy shoulder presses with dumbbells - there were several sets of dumbbells but no one using them, maybe because many people don't know what to do with them or believe that machines are better (they're not) - then washed up in the tiny bathroom, thanked the clerk, and went across the street to the grocery store.

Again, people watching me, but maybe now because I was drenched in sweat. Maybe they thought, "Look at this sweaty gringo, he can't take the humidity." In reality I don't even feel the humidity anymore, since Panama is the same.

Tracy had the AC on high back at the room, and was already asleep, tucked under the heavy blankets. I've had to adjust to our different sleeping patterns, as he is usually out by 8pm and up at 5am. I quickly changed out of my sweaty clothes, prayed Ishaa (the night prayer), watched a little tennis on TV with the volume on low - Tracy could sleep through a bombing run anyway - then hit the hay at only 10pm, very early for me.

Neilly doesn't have the charm of San Vito, and it's much hotter, but it's a nice town. The people are friendly and curious, and best of all Neilly is a good gateway for trips into the mountains and the parque Amistad, or down to the beaches at Zancudo or Golfito, or across the Golfo Dulce to Puerto Jimenez and Corcovado national park. The food at the Hotel Andrea is not great but the rooms are nice and I am comfortable recommending it.

Canton Coto Brus Real Estate Tour

The little mountain town of San Vito is part of a larger canton, or county, called Coto Brus. The canton includes three other towns - Sabalito, Agua Buena and Limoncito - but San Vito is the largest, with a population somewhere between 10,000 and 20,000.

Tracy was curious about real estate values here in San Vito and the surrounding area, but we had not seen a real estate agency - we later learned there are two in San Vito - so we stopped in at the office of an attorney that said Bienes Raices (real estate) on the window.

The receptionist turned to the lawyer in the back office, a portly, baby faced fellow, and said, "We don't do real estate, do we?" "Yes, we do," he replied, and she turned back to us with a big grin on her face, and I read her thoughts clearly, "My crazy boss says yes because he can't bear to turn any possible customer away."

We went in anyway. The lawyer couldn't have been more than 30 years old. I later learned he was 28. In Costa Rica, as in Panama, a real estate transaction cannot be completed without a lawyer, so although the attorney - whose name was David Salazar - does not sell real estate himself, he has been involved in several transactions. He told us about those, showing us photos and detailing for us how much the properties sold for. So we got what we were looking for. Turns out property in San Vito proper is surprisingly expensive. A 1,000 m2 property with a small house might go for $150,000. Outside of town is a different story. A hectare of coffee-producing land or of cattle land can be had for as little as $2,000 if it's part of a larger finca or ranch. A stand alone hectare might go for $10,000.

David said he knew of one finca for sale, and offered to take us there. I wasn't too keen on this simply because I knew it would tak all afternoon, but Tracy jumped at it. So we went to David's wife's optometry shop to get the car they share. It was a very comfortable Mitsubishi SUV with leather seats. We headed out of town and along the way David pointed out to us various houses and properties that had sold in the last few years.

San Vito is full of banks, clothing stores, electronics shops and other businesses. Much more than you would expect in a small town. Tracy asked David where this money comes from. David said, "This is coffee country. So there is money for six months, then no money for six months. San Vito is the center of all of Coto Brus, so all the stores are here."

David pointed out a huge house with modern styling that he said was his father-in-law's house. Later on he indicated vast areas of hillside and forest that belong to his mother-in-law. I began to realize that David had married into money. I never heard a word about his own parents. He took us 15 kilometers outside of town to a large sawmill owned by his father-in-law, and in fact we met said father-in-law, who apparently buys and sells the coffee from the finca that is up for sale. The father-in-law said to us, "Let's play a trick on David," and he rushed us out to David's SUV, where the father-in-law got in and started the car, then began to pull out. David came hurrying out and got in the passenger seat.

The coffee finca was quite large, but on a sharply sloped hillside running down to a river. The coffee trees stood in orderly rows, with occasional patches of yucca and corn. The hillside was blanketed in a heavy afternoon mist, giving the area a remote, isolated feel. I would never live there, though David says there is an American couple with a dairy farm nearby, and another wealthy conservationist American couple who have bought an entire mountainside and are reforesting it. Supposedly a jaguar killed someone's horse, and they wanted to hunt the jaguar, but the American said, "No, we'll buy you more horses."

David drove us back to town and dropped us off at Lilliane's pizzeria. I felt a little guilty, as if I had taken up three hours of David's time by pretending to be something I'm not. I tried to give him some money for his time or at least just for gas, but he adamantly refused. "It was my pleasure," he said. That was very generous of him, but hey - can you guess what I'm going to say? - that's the pura vida.

Second Day in San Vito, Costa Rica: Jardin Botanico; Funeral Procession

I worked out fairly intensively in the room first thing in the morning, doing pushups with my feet elevated on the bed, and lateral shoulder raises with the desk chair. There was a gringa on the hotel computer - first foreigner I´ve seen here in San Vito - so since I couldn't get online, I suggested to Tracy that we go for a hike.

The hotel owner recommended the Jardin Botanico. Took a taxi there, about five kilometers further up into the hills, at 1,200 meters elevation. The air was pure, clear and cool. The Jardin Botanico turned out to be a scientific research station, owned by a consortium of universities based in North Carolina. Sixty years ago this land was clearcut for coffee plantations. An American couple from Florida, founders of something called the Fantastic Gardens in Miami, came here and with the help of a British philanthropist they re-planted the forest. Today there is a healthy secondary growth forest covering many hectares. They also have several areas segregated by species, so for example there is a palm garden with 200 species of palms, a bromeliad garden, etc.

We spoke to the young woman at the reception area for a few minutes. She told us that she had studied tourism in Panama for four years, at the Universidad Latina de Panama. Many of the Ticos I´ve met have either been to Panama or have friends there. Not surprising since this town, San Vito, is only 15 kilometers from the Rio Sereno border crossing in the Panama highlands. That´s not the one we´ll be crossing through on Thursday, unfortunately.

The gardens had a small football (soccer) field surrounded by forest. What a setting for playing football! I went on one of the more difficult jungle hikes while Tracy sat on a bench in the shade. It was incredibly beautiful, deep in the green, with water running and birds everywhere, but the trail was very muddy and my arms were movable feasts for the bugs. I came out of it with several awful bites coming up already on my arms. There was a huge old fig tree which we were told pre-dates the gardens. It was not cut because it provided shade for the cattle that used to be here. Now it´s one of the anchors of the forest, with the figs providing food for hundreds of species of birds and animals. How incredible that one tree could have such an impact. That one tree matters more to more living creatures than many human beings ever do. SubhanAllah.

I realized at some point during the day that I was understanding every word that everyone said. I wondered if my Spanish comprehension had taken a leap forward, but once I began paying attention I realized that the Ticos enunciate much more clearly than the Panamanians. Panamanians tend to drop their s´s and even final consonants. Ticos don´t seem to do this.

Back in town I bought a nice pair of $2 sunglasses at the drugstore. The last pair of cheap sunglasses I bought in Costa Rica survived three years. I hope these will do so well. I have an Ironman watch with a plastic band and the band had broken. I went into a watch shop and in less then two minutes I had a new band, exactly like the old one. Cost: another $2.

A funeral procession came up the street, with young men carrying the coffin on their shoulders. About a hundred people walked behind, mostly women, and only a few wearing black. I guess that is not a requirement here.

There´s more to write about the long real estate tour we got in the evening, but no time now. I have a bus to catch down to Ciudad Neilly. I´ll write more later.

Oh, one more thing. People actually stop their cars here to let you cross the road. That would be unthinkable in Panama. In fact I think you can be stripped of your Panamanian citizenship for such a thing. Also, store clerks come up to you, smile and ask if they can help you find something. Not just in clothing stores, but in large grocery stores! Where am I??? Oh yes, I remember. I´m in the Pura Vida.

Travelling in southern Costa Rica: Ciudad Neilly and San Vito

After only half a day back in Costa Rica (I spent a week here in 2004) I am reminded of the incredible beauty of this country, the openness of the people and the innocent quirkiness of the culture. It´s the Pura Vida! I had forgotten how different it is from Panama. How can it be right next door and yet so different in every way? Ahh, Costa Rica, how I´ve missed you.

I boarded the Panaline bus at eleven o´clock at night, catching it at the El Valle entrance on the InterAmericana, where it made a special stop for me. Tracy was already on the bus and had reminded the driver to stop there. The bus was huge, dark and cool, but when I boarded the light came on and the sleepy passengers - who had all boarded 90 minutes back at Albrook - squinted at me in annoyance. The bus was perhaps one quarter full, so I took two seats and made myself comfortable. The bus was so dark and I surprised myself by sleeping comfortably.

I woke up to find the bus empty, except for myself. I asked the driver where we were and he said, ¨La frontera!¨The border. I was amazed that I had slept through most of an eight hour bus trip, but annoyed that Tracy had not awakened me when we arrived. He´s done this border crossing before, I haven´t. I hurriedly got my things and the Panaline trip manager, a young woman named Leydis, directed me to the immigration line.

I´ve heard horror stories about the Paso Canoas border crossing, but it wasn´t so bad. Perhaps those people who complain so bitterly have not lived or travelled extensively in the third world and aren´t used to the way things are done here. Wait in one line, get some papers stamped, wait some more. So what, big deal. I listened to my iPod, read a book, stretched my legs.

So, yeah. You wait in line at Panama immigration, get your passport stamped, then literally walk a few hundred meters up the road and you´re in Costa Rica. You walk into the immigration station there, and in our case they weren´t open yet, so all the bus passengers sat or stood waiting for perhaps an hour. I saw one of Corrin´s friends there, a woman named Isabel. Small world, small country. When the agents arrived they stamped our passports, gave our bags a perfunctory search and we were on our way.

Leydis the trip manager was very helpful through the entire process. She noticed my name on my passport and said, ¨Abdel!¨ I said, ¨Yes?¨ She said, ¨Are you Arab?¨¨Yes,¨I replied,¨and?¨ ¨Nothing.¨ ¨Are you Arab too?¨I asked her. ¨No.¨ ... I thought for a moment... ¨Your boyfriend is Arab?¨ ¨My old boyfriend,¨she replied. ¨Same last name as you. Are you Jordanian?¨ I told her no, that my ancestry is Egyptian. She kept up a conversation with me all through customs on both sides, trying out some of the Arabic words that she had learned. Tracy really liked her and as he always does, imagined how it would be if he were dating her. "I´d have to move to Paso Canoas" he said. As for me, my mind is in other places, thinking of my future and what it will bring, and also just enjoying the experience of doing something new.

Immediately upon passing into Costa Rica the difference is striking. Southern Costa Rica is so lush, so overwhelmingly green. The Pacific side of Panama is mostly clear cut and is now agricultural land or cattle country, but Pacific Costa Rica is heavily forested, even in the farm areas. Lovely rivers and streams race across rocky beds on their way to the gulf. Small towns roll by but the natural beauty is persistent and immediately seductive.

Our plan was to disembark at Ciudad Neilly and take another bus to San Vito, a small town high in the mountains. I had read about San Vito in the guidebook and it sounded like a cool place (literally) to spend a few days. At 700 meters elevation it is even higher than my home town of El Valle de Anton. Founded by Italian immigrants, San Vito supposedly has some of the best pizzas in Costa Rica. I was looking forward to finding out.

I was nodding in and out of sleep and at some point I realized that we had just passed a large town called Rio Claro. I looked at my map. We had passed Ciudad Neilly. We had gone too far. I asked the driver to stop and he let us off at a bus shelter in a forested area with few homes. The sun was bright and warm, the wooden shelter was clean, and the narrow road disappeared into the endless green in each direction. There was some graffiti scrawled into the shelter, but instead of dirty words there were geometrical diagrams... some schoolboy practising his lessons? There were several women waiting at the shelter, including a young woman of classic Spanish beauty, with aquiline features and wearing a simple long white skirt and brown blouse. Buses passed occasionally going in the other direction and I noticed every man on every bus craning their necks to look at the young woman sitting next to us. One man stuck his head out of the window of a bus and made funny faces, and the woman laughed. An old man approached the bus shelter and said good morning, and everyone in the shelter replied, ¨Good morning!¨¨How are you all?¨the old man asked and everyone answered in chorus, ¨Fine, thank you, how are you?¨ This is Costa Rica, you see. Land of the pura vida.

Finally the bus arrived to take us back to Ciudad Neilly. It was full and I had to sit on the entrance step. A woman boarded selling bags of plantain chips and pork rinds. She had a large bottle of hot sauce and a bottle of lime juice. Customers chose their poison and she squirted a large helping of sauce or juice into the bag.

Another vendor was practically a walking kiosk. His long sleeved shirt was strung with goods of all kinds. He went to the front of the bus and in a loud voice began proclaiming and promoting his wares. Skin cream to cure any acne problem. A herb called cat´s claw that would soothe any stomach disorder. Indian soap for natural beauty. Hair scissors, leather scissors, pocket knives, nail clippers, pens, cell phone cases, key chains, toys, even a back scratcher. All this came off his shirt or out of his pockets. He sold a nail clipper and a few other items and disembarked at the next stop.

Ciudad Neilly is a lively small town with two or three commercial streets at odd angles. We took a taxi to the Hotel Andrea. Both the bus and the taxi were $1 each. The Hotel Andrea is the nicest hotel in Ciudad Neilly. A large, Spanish style hotel with two stories, it´s $40 per night for good rooms with AC. We made a reservation for Wednesday night, which should be our last night in Costa Rica, then went to the restaurant for breakfast. Omelettes and pancakes, not very good but passable. Afterwards we walked to the bus station which, it turned out, is only a block away.

The bus to San Vito was leaving in one hour. Fare, 600 colones, about $1.20. The station was very busy, with dozens of people waiting for buses going in five or six different directions. A small covered mercado abutted the station and I walked about, passing time. Many small sodas, as they call these tiny local eateries here, and a few clothing stores. I seemed to be the only foreigner in the area and I got a lot of looks. I also saw several Guaymi women in traditional dresses. I had not realized that the Guaymi tribe was so prevalent in southern Costa Rica, but looking at the map later I noticed several Guaymi reservations.

An old woman selling bags of piva fruit (a small, nutty flavored and soft fleshed fruit) persistently tried to convince me to buy some. Finally I told her honestly, ¨I don´t like them.¨She was offended by this. ¨Don´t like them!¨she huffed. ¨Eat them with mayonnaise.¨And she walked away.

We boarded the bus to San Vito and immediately proceeded to climb, climb, climb. The bus rose slowly on a steep, winding mountain road that ascended through stunningly beautiful cloudforest. Soon there were views all the way to Panama in one direction, and the gulf in the other, and then beyond the gulf to the ocean. At one point the road was confined to a ridge with immense drops on either side. The bus was very large and had trouble navigating the gravelled and potholed road. At one point we rounded a curve and came face to face with another large bus. Both buses backed up meter by meter until there was enough room to pass. At times I gripped the seat in front of me tightly, as if that would save my life if we tumbled over the mountain. Soon the air became cool and damp, and the forest disappeared, replaced by cattle land and coffee plantations.

The 33 kilometer trip to San Vito took almost two hours. San Vito itself is a true mountain town, with a small public square in the center and from there five main roads climbing or dropping steeply, each road rising and falling as it curves through town. It´s a surprisingly large town. There are no population signs, but I saw at least six banks, dozens of clothing stores, three large pizzerias, a huge church with a large grassy compound and outlying buildings, a well-equipped grocery store and much more. Also many motorcycle shops. They love their motorcycles and pizza here. Must be the Italian blood.

My hotel, El Ceibo, is at the end of a gravel driveway coming right off the center of town. Surprisingly, it´s very quiet and in fact is backed by forest and a fast running stream. The room is cool without AC, and has a small balcony that looks out onto the forest. At $40 per night it´s a bit pricey but is undoubtedly the best hotel in town and is quite nice. Since I am a traveller I combined the Dhuhr and Asr prayers, guessing at the direction of the Qiblah, then Tracy and I went to one of the pizzerias for a late lunch. It was delicious, with spicy tomato sauce, plenty of cheese, and loaded with broccoli, mushrooms, tomatoes and onions. Better than any pizza I´ve had in Panama, and the small was large enough that I only ate half and took the rest back to the hotel for lunch tomorrow. Tracy had a very meaty pizza with chorizo, pepperoni and ham... ugh.

One thing I don´t see in San Vito: foreigners. Aside from Tracy and myself, I have not seen a single gringo, Chinese, Arab or any other foreigner. Very unlike Panama in that respect. The population seems to consist universally of slim, fair-haired, attractive locals. I have not even seen any indigenous people here and I wonder why. Do they live only on reservations? I get a lot of looks as I walk about town. Sometimes entire groups stop and watch as I walk past, not at all in a hostile way, but more like, ¨Oh look, a stranger!¨ Occasionally someone asks me if they can help me find something. No one would do this in Panama.There are no restaurants selling ethnic foods other than Italian and local Tico dishes. Also no call center, which makes sense in a town with no tourists, but I was really hoping to find one. Tomorrow I´ll see if I can purchase a phone card and use a public phone, though talking to Salma without a webcam won´t be the same.

Reading this, I realize now that I have not done a good job explaining what it is about Costa Rica that I love so much. There are so many things, but let´s forget about the stunning landscape for a moment and talk about the pura vida. In the USA when you walk into a store the clerk smiles and offers to help you because that´s what they are trained to do. In Panama they simply gaze blankly. In Costa Rica they smile and help you because they are genuinely interested and friendly. People greet one another in street heartily, and beyond that they are genuine. Costa Ricans don´t wear masks. They laugh, talk, joke, flirt, and they do it all honestly and openly, without pretense. Perhaps because they have been a stable democracy for so long, with no military and no wars, they have forgotten how to mistrust. Their lives are simple.

Sure, there is crime in the cities and in San Jose yóu´d better watch your bags, and you could even get mugged. On the other hand I´ve had someone stop and offer me a ride because he was concerned that I was walking in a bad neighborhood.

And the landscape is part of it too. Costa Rica has done a better job preserving their forests than any nation in the world, because to the Ticos the land is precious, it is pure and therefore a part of the pura vida. Sure, the roads here are potholed, high speed internet is rare outside of the major cities, and poverty exists. But the pura vida enriches everyone.

Salma May 2008

Some recent photos of Salma at the local park in Palo Alto, and at the Children's Science Museum in San Jose (I think).

Taking the Harder Path

The other day I went over to the mercado and talked to my friend Cleo for a few minutes. Cleo sells crafts at the market, especially the painted feathers that he makes himself. A teenage fellow there told me that he wants to learn Hapkido. I told him, "Es dificil. Es mucho trabajo." (It's hard, a lot of work). I was trying to discourage him, I guess, but he said, "No importa" (It doesn't matter). I'm not sure I want to take a student at this point. I'll probably be gone in three months. I told him I'd consider it, but in reality I need to spend this time preparing for my move. I´m not looking forward to returning to California but my daughter is there, so my destiny must be there.

Then I went to the Minisuper Yin, one of the five Chinese-owned mini markets here in town, and bought a Hershey bar and a $10 phone card as it was a cuadruplica day (the value of the card is quadrupled), then came home, did my afternoon prayer, and then served myself some of Rosa's food from yesterday. It's quite good: corvina with vegetables, rice and lentils, and some sliced mango for dessert.

I got my food and sat down to watch a movie called, "Himalaya." It's about a village in the highlands of Nepal. Every year they take their yaks on a long, dangerous mountain journey to trade salt for grain. The chief is killed in an accident and they don't know who will lead them. The chief's father Tinle, who was chief himself long ago, insists that he will do it, even though he is old and has not led a caravan in a long time. Before they have to leave he goes to find his second son Norbu, who was sent to the monastery at the age of eight to be a monk. Tinle asks Norbu to come with the caravan. Norbu objects and says, "You sent me here to be a monk. I know nothing of mountains and yaks."

So Tinle decides to lead the caravan himself, even though the villagers have grave doubts. Just before he is to leave Norbu shows up. Norbu comes along and proves to be a big help, once he learns to tie a salt sack properly and to manage the yaks. At one point Tinle asks him, "Why did you decide to come?"

Norbu says, "My master told me, when two paths open before you, choose the harder one."

That's not common sense, but I believe there is a profound truth there. The harder path, the path of challenge, struggle and fear, is the one that allows you to grow as a human being.

Leaving my life in California and coming to Panama sight unseen was in many ways the harder path, but it has proved to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Leaving my job back in 2002 to work on my own business was hard, but now I have a steady income while many people have been laid off or seen their jobs outsourced. Leaving Panama again will also be difficult, but that is where the path leads.

Taking up Hapkido and almost never missing a class, and driving all the way to San Francisco on Saturdays for Master Jung's brutal classes (or Master Forrest's less brutal but still excellent sessions), was definitely the harder path. I was often bruised, and sometimes wanted so much just to skip class and rest... but I went.

Paul Graham wrote in "How to Make Wealth",

If you have two choices, choose the harder. If you’re trying to decide whether to go out running or sit home and watch TV, go running. Probably the reason this trick works so well is that when you have two choices and one is harder, the only reason you’re even considering the other is laziness. You know in the back of your mind what’s the right thing to do, and this trick merely forces you to acknowledge it.

Paul calls it a trick, but it's more than that. It's a discipline, a way of living a progressive life. I am also reminded of something from the Quran, in Surat Al-Balad (Chapter 90). Quoting from verse 8 on:

Did (God) not give him two eyes,
One tongue, and two lips,
And showed him two roads?
But he could not scale the steep ascent.
How will you comprehend
what the steep ascent is?
To free a neck
(from the burden of debt or servitude),
Or to feed in times of famine
the orphan near in relationship,
or the poor in distress;
And to be of those who believe,
and urge one another to persevere,
and urge upon each other to be kind.

So the path to Paradise (or heaven on earth) is the steep road, the one that many people refuse to climb. The hard path.

I suspect this is an essential principle of life. The easy way leads to comfortable mediocrity. To grow spiritually, or in strength, or even materially, or to build something meaningful that will outlast you, you have to take the harder path.

Consider some of the most famous figures in history: Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad, Socrates, Alexander the Great, Sheikh ibn Taymiyyah, Galileo Galilei, Joan of Arc, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Marie Curie, Winston Churchill, John F. Kennedy, Mother Theresa, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr... all men and women who took extraordinarily difficult paths in life.

Not that I'm looking to go that extreme. I'll pass on the martyrdom route for now. I'd be satisfied with a happy medium, somewhere in between laying around on the sofa and giving up my life for civil rights. More towards the sofa end of the spectrum.

Frogs; First Rain; Weighted Walks; Rosa

We had a few light rains last week and the toads and frogs have come out in force. Some are quite large and must have been hibernating all summer long. They are everywhere in the road. Yesterday evening driving home from dinner with Cleo and his son Caliler, I stopped the car four times to shoo the frogs out of the road, so as not to run over them.

We had our first long, heavy rain this afternoon. Looks like we're easing into the rainy season, or perhaps we are already there. I checked the entire house for leaks and so far just the same minor leaks in the foyer area and the center of the living room that we had last year. We meant to have those patched but never got around to it. Now it'll have to wait until next summer.

I did another of my 30 minute "weighted walks" this evening, wearing a pack holding two 30 lb dumbbells. I would have liked to go longer but the strap was really cutting into my chest. I need to figure out some way to carry the weight more comfortably, maybe by padding the straps with something. I enjoy walking at night, and with the weight it's the equivalent of a one hour fast march.

I managed to get Rosa all booked up six days a week, out of which I will employ her two days. I needed to cut her hours back to save money, but I wanted to find other work for her first, and I'm happy that I was able to do that.

Laura tells me that Salma has learned the word "heavy" - more or less - and now everything she carries is "heawy, heawy!" She's been having some long crying fits and nothing comforts her. I know she is missing everything and everyone she has grown up with (except her Mama, of course). I may return to California to be near her later this year, in which case I will most likely rent out this house in El Valle. I will not sell it. This is one of the beautiful, peaceful places of the world and I hope this house will one day be passed on to Salma, who is a Panamanian citizen as well as an American, Egyptian, German, Muslim.

Night Walks in El Valle de Antón

I have a daily phone call with Laura and Salma. I use Skype and call computer-to-computer to it costs nothing. This morning I sang the ABC's to Salma and Laura told me that she bobbed and danced to my voice. Linda has some potted ficus trees in the house and apparently Salma is getting great enjoyment out of scooping out the soil and dumping it on the floor. Laura took her to Target and chased her through the clothing aisles and Salma loved that.

I have to cut Rosa's hours back to two days a week but I can't bring myself to do it, so I've tried to find someone to hire her on the other three days. I posted a message on the Valleros website. Corrin, who says she desperately needs someone to do housework, has agreed to employ Rosa one day a week. So I still have two days to fill.

I went for a night walk with Rudy. At about 8:30 pm we set out to visit his property. He is in the middle of building a home. The property is in an isolated location. Rudy warned me that the gate might be locked, but that we could squeeze through a gap. It turned out that his workers had strung barbed wire across the gap, but there was a small opening at the bottom so I got on my stomach and shimmied through the dirt. "Go on," I said to Rudy. "It'll be just like boot camp forty years ago." So Rudy did it too, and we proceeded to his property with dirt all down our fronts. The trail crosses a small stream (you hop on three stones), and up through a wooded area to the site of the construction.

There was no moon, only bright stars, though of course we had our wind-up flashlights. We toured the property and Rudy explained the layout to me. The wind has grown quite strong at night lately and it kept picking up fine sand from the construction and flinging it into my eyes. A frog had gotten into the house and was trying to climb the wall. Huge clouds of mist obscured Cerro Gaital in the distance.

I love walking around El Valle at night. It's all wind in the trees, mountains, clouds and stars. Wandering dogs, frogs, sometimes ñeques or opossums, and the occasional silhouette of a sloth if you're lucky. Sometimes youths making out in the shadows.

We walked out the long way, along the Casa de Lourdes road, and parted ways on the Los Capitanes road. Returning home I detoured through the far end of my yard and stopped at Zippy's grave to say hello. I found Li'l Fishy outside and meowing at me her unhappiness at being left alone. Now I'm back in the office and she's in her box next to me, happy and purring.

Lightning Bug, Ani, Voicebox, Heavy Pack, Stars

Last night there was a bug thrashing on the bedroom floor, apparently dying. I didn't know what kind of insect it was but I stepped on it with my sandal. Suddenly it began shining light and I realized it was a lightning bug, and then I felt bad about stepping on it, as if it were somehow a beacon or a lamp and I were a dark giant.

Ani came by today to get her pay for last week. We won't be needing her services for now, so I gave her a month's severance pay. I could see she'd been crying, whether because she is out of a job or because she misses Salma, I don't know. Perhaps both. She has been Salma's part-time parent since Salma was six months old. I told her that Salma loves her, and that she (Ani) will always be a member of the family, and that when Salma returns I will call her to come back to work.

I decided this evening to go for a walk. I enjoy listening to my iPod as I walk. When I picked up the iPod from the kitchen counter the cord was tangled up with some small plastic box, and the little box suddenly began emitting a loud crying sound. I stared at it in alarm and confusion before I realized that it was the "voicebox" for Salma's doll. She has a doll that used to "cry" when you squeeze it, but for some reason we had removed the voicebox and here it was. The noise was startlingly loud in the large, silent kitchen.

That got me thinking about Salma and how much I miss her. It's very hard, but I know that my bond with her is strong enough to weather this absence.

Just for fun, I decided to put a couple of dumbbells in a backpack and wear that on my walk, to make it tougher. I wrapped two 30 lb dumbbells in a towel and stuffed them in the backpack, then set off on my walk, listening to a novel called "The Traveler" on the iPod. The pain in my shoulders and the hammering of my heart quickly reduced the length of my planned walk from a long circuit around town to a few blocks, and then just around the one block.

A few local dogs befriended me and walked with me, every now and then nuzzling my hands to be petted. One was a large black puppy, and the other was a fat old dog with a limp. They followed me all the way home. By the time I returned home the weight of the shoulder straps had cut off the circulation to my arms and my hands were tingling. Elapsed time: 20 minutes. I don't know how they do it in the army. Don't they have to run 10 miles wearing 100 lb packs, or some crazy thing?

There's no moon tonight and the stars are incredibly bright. The sky is packed with them, stacked on top of each other like apples at the market. SubhanAllah. This is a beautiful place, beautiful people, in the crater of a volcano nestled beneath the stars.

Ants and Pasta, Welcome Home

Laura and Salma flew to California this morning. Or their plane did, and they just rode.

After seeing them off at the airport I stopped by my friend Tracy's house in La Chorrera. There was a salamander on his kitchen floor and I helped it out into the yard. Two cats lounging about the house on the cool tile floors, and the smell of burning leaves in the air. No sign today of the parrot that calls, "Mama, mama." Tracy is having a running dispute with his Panamanian neighbors. He recently discovered that his property is larger than was previously believed, so he moved the fence accordingly. A large chunk of what was believed to be his neighbor's property is now his. They have responded by loosening the fence posts, breaking into his backyard casita, tossing dogs and chickens over the fence, and on one occasion striking him with a board. The case has gone to the local magistrate and one of the neighbors may face jail time.

I got home just in time to see Henry and Nora Smith pulling up to my gate. They were in town to scope some properties, so I quickly fed the cat and went with them. They brought their granddaughter Ana Sofia with them to meet Salma. Ana Sofia is a happy, friendly little girl, charming in the way that Panamanian children can be.

I guided them to the new place that Silen is building and selling. Silen, who sold me this house, asked me about all my fruit trees. "How's the papaya tree? How's the mango? How's the guanabana?" Etcetera. I told him the bananas, papaya and mangoes are great, but I didn't even know that I had guanabana.

I took Henry and Nora to see the two-story house past Dan & Cherry's that a developer built on spec and is trying to sell. Nora took lots of photos.

Returning home I found Listo watering the yard on his day off. I asked him about the guanabana and he showed me, and he also pointed out a chirimoya tree (another one I didn't know I had).

I opened some windows and the kitchen door and stepped out into the side yard, only to step into a new anthill next to the sidewalk. I didn't even notice it until I got the first bite, and by the time I got my slippers off I had a half dozen bites on my foot. Welcome back to El Valle. In fact the insect population seems to have burgeoned lately, perhaps because of the light rainfall we've had. Termites, spiders, and a mouse-sized cockroach are running rampant in the house. I took off my slipper and aimed it at the cockroach but he escaped beneath the bathroom sink. Such sensitive little monsters.

The sugar-ant super highway has disappeared from the kitchen counter but a few scouts remain.

On the other hand it was nice to look in the fridge and find the delicious macaroni and mushroom dish that Rosa left, along with an olive and feta salad, and the remains of the chocolate cake that Laura made before she left.

The house is large, empty and silent, with a cool night breeze blowing through now that I've opened the windows. Salma's room is dark. There's a scent of jasmine in the air. Li'l Fishy is very glad to have me home and follows me from room to room. I have turned my phone off because I'm not in a talking mood, so if you've tried to call I'm afraid I have not received your messages. I still read my email.