Things that take you back: ordering a Subway sandwich

After a gym workout this evening, I went looking for something to eat and noticed a Subway sandwich shop at Shaw and Palm, across from the Fig Garden Village center. I pulled up just a few minutes before closing and was not surprised to see a young Indian woman behind the counter. So far, every Subway I've visited in Fresno has been owned by Indians. Gotta love that enterprising spirit. Can you imagine going to India and monopolizing the samosa industry?

In Panama I went to Subway more often than I ever did in the USA. When I lived in El Dorado I frequented the one on the "Do-It Center" street, in the small shopping center that has the two Chinese vegetarian restaurants. After I moved to El Valle de Anton, I used to stop at the Subway in Coronado whenever I was on my way back from the city. The first several times I had to ask the names of the various sandwich ingredients, and the staff always answered me with a chuckle or a smirk. In time, as my Spanish improved and I racked up the Subway visits, I became very comfortable ordering in Spanish.

Walking into the Subway tonight, I had a flashback to Panama, and had to resist the urge to order "atun grande con pan integral."

Somehow life in Panama was richer, more full of the "stuff of life" in a way. More friendships, more interesting experiences, more challenges, more frustration and laughter and spirit-lifting beauty.

I was talking to a friend recently, and I said that I didn't know how to think of Panama now. What is it to me? What does it represent? And my friend said, "I think it is your home."

"Real" Spanish

Today was our friend Rudy's birthday and a Saturday as well, so we took him down to Santa Clara for a day at the beach. It was a beautiful summer day, with a clear blue sky and a steady breeze. The water was wonderfully calm and shone turquoise in places and azure in others. Less than a dozen yards out a "banana boat" owner dropped anchor and dozed on his water ski while he waited for customers. Later a second ride seller cruised up and down in a fishing boat, towing his inflated banana (yes, this is still a G-rated blog - I'm talking about an inflatable boat) up and down the beach just a few yards past the many swimmers. A tall three-masted sailing ship crossed in front of a small island just off the coast and headed out to sea.

We took Salma out into the water and she enjoyed being held by me or her Mama as we played and bobbed in the calm, cool sea.

Later we lazed in a palm-thatched bohio that we rented for the day for $5. There are a score of these all up and down the beach. In the bohio next to ours, two young American girls were playing in the sand as their parents relaxed in hammocks. We could see that Salma was curious about the girls, so we took her over and introduced ourselves.

The couple told us that they were with the American embassy. They had previously been posted to Madrid, and had arrived in Panama only a week ago. They were aloof and not terribly friendly.

"So," I said, "You probably speak Spanish already."

"I speak real Spanish," the husband replied. "I don't know what this is they speak here. It's like the difference between an Ivy League graduate and an Alabama redneck."

The Spanish of Spain is accented differently than that of Panama. The Spaniards enunciate more crisply than Panamanians, but they lisp their c's and s's in a way that Latin Americans do not. Presumably this is what the embassy fellow was referring to.

Later on, however, we heard him on the phone talking to his driver, and his Spanish was not in fact very good.

Rudy, who has traveled extensively, later commented that this behavior was typical of U.S. embassy staff everywhere. "They're cliquish," he said. "They stick to other embassy people."

I suspect that since they go where they are posted and are often moved from country to country, they don't develop deep attachments or friendships.

I found the comment about "real Spanish" to be very off-putting, so I returned to our bohio to lay in the shade and read, but Salma continued to play with the two girls and with just about every other neighbor. She's so amiable and trusting of everyone, even adults she doesn't know, which I think is great, but also worries me a little. When she's old enough to understand we'll have to have a talk about the difference between friends and strangers.

Later we enjoyed a good lunch of grilled corvina and french fries at the seafood grill on the beach, and then we dug into the chocolate cake that Laura made for Rudy's birthday. Instead of the usual sugary frosting, Laura created a gourmet frosting out of melted dark chocolate mixed with honey. It was so rich that I had to have two pieces and then I felt a little sick, maybe because I haven't been eating sweets much lately and I'm not used to it.

We discussed what to do with the rest of the cake. "I thought I'd share it with the other restaurant patrons," Laura said.

"These people can buy their own cakes," I said. Let's give it to Rosa (our maid) to take home to her kids.

"Or I could give it to Ani," Laura said (Ani is Salma's nanny).

"Since tomorrow's Sunday," I said, "Why don't we give it to the Kunas at the market."

Finally Rudy interrupted. "It's my birthday cake," he said. "Why don't you give it to me?"

So we did.

Laura's Birthday; Spanish Study; Summer

Yesterday was Laura's birthday and we went down to the beach at Santa Clara for the day for a day by ourselves (we left Salma with Ani). It was a lovely day, bright and warm, and the water not too rough. We swam, lounged in the hammocks, ate three entire fish for lunch - one corvina and two red snappers - played cards, went back in the water for a while, and then returned home by 4:30pm. A nice day overall.

Zippy unfortunately is sick again, and Laura has just left to take him down to Dr. Jaime Reyes in Coronado once again. Zippy improved markedly after the last visit to Dr. Reyes, but after a week he once again refused to eat. So we'll see... I know he's old, but I don't think that's the problem. I suspect he has a parasite or infection of some sort. Fortunately veterinary care here is quite cheap.

We've been taking Spanish lessons with Cleo twice a week. He comes to the house at 7:30pm, after he's finished with work and Salma is asleep. Our classes are typically two hours. The first hour we make conversation, and the second hour we study grammar. I do feel that my skills have improved, but it's very difficult and I have so much still to learn. I have not really mastered the use of direct and indirect object pronouns (se, le, lo, la, etc), I confused preterite and imperfect tenses when speaking in the past, I don't know future tense very well, and I don't know conditional tenses at all (could have, should have, might have, etc).

So, a lot to learn still.

Summer is almost here. It's raining much less, the wind has already picked up, and it's much cooler these days. I was hoping to install some wooden shutters on the living room window screens before the summer winds arrive, but it will have to wait.

Laura and Salma will return to the U.S. for Christmas. I will stay here, though I will make a brief trip to Costa Rica by bus to renew my visa. We're close to initiating the residency application process; it will be a relief to have that taken care of.

Tropical Bytes, Part One

We're thinking of adding a few extras to the house, including a utility closet, a yard trash incinerator, a cistern, and an outdoor bathroom for the gardener. We were strolling around the outside of the house just before sundown, talking about where we could put these things, and suddenly I noticed several noseeums clustering on my legs (I was wearing knee-length shorts).

"Oh my God!" I said. "We've got to go inside right now!"

Nothing puts me in a panic like noseeums gathering for their evening feeding frenzy.

Watermelons are in season. Everywhere along the InterAmerican Highway are makeshift fruit stands, piled high with hundreds of sweet watermelons. And sweet they are, like red candy. No such thing as seedless down here, though.









I've been holding irregular Hapkido training sessions here in my home, with Nico the craft seller and Eric the apprentice electrician. Both are Panamanians, locals from here in El Valle de Antón, though Nico is originally from Panama city and it shows in a certain toughness that he exhibits. I've noticed something different about them, compared to martial arts students in North America, which is this: they do not complain or make any exclamations of pain.

Some of our Hapkido techniques are painful, and I know that Nico and Eric feel the pain, but they never say, "Ow, that hurts", or "Ok, take it easy", or "No more, please!" - All of which I have said on many occasions when training. When we're doing crunches or pushups, I am always the first to quit as I exclaim, "Ay, I can't do anymore." When I apply a joint lock to one of them, I have to really cinch it and work it to make him tap.

I attribute this to Latino machismo, which does not allow a man to express anything that might make him seem less manly.











I went to Penonomé for Jum'uah prayer today, and Laura and Salma came along for the ride. I've been missing Friday prayer because the city is just too far for a weekly daytrip, but Penonomé is closer, so I thought I'd give it a try. None of us have been to Penonomé before, and I was worried that I might not be able to find the masjid, so we left early.

The drive west is unremarkable, mostly lightly treed pastureland. We passed through the small towns of Rio Hato and Antón, and arrived at Penonomé in almost exactly one hour, quite early. Locating the masjid was easy - it is a large building with a minaret, right on the highway before you get into town. Since it was early for prayer, we went to El Machetazo, a sort of department store at the outskirts of town. We bought some snacks and a pair of white shoes for Salma.

Laura dropped me off at the masjid and went with Salma in the car to explore Penonomé. There were about 20 men in attendance for prayer, and a few women. The Imam was Egyptian, judging by his accent, and all the worshippers were Arabs, unlike Panama city where most of the congregation is of Indian origin. The khutbah (sermon) was in Arabic, and I was able to follow it fairly well. After prayer several of the men introduced themselves to me, and asked a few questions about where I was from.

None of these men spoke English, but all spoke both Arabic and Spanish, so I found myself in the unenviable position of having to choose between two languages in which I communicate poorly. I chose Arabic, because most of the men were clearly more comfortable in Arabic, with the exception of one young fellow named Akram who spoke Spanish like a Panamanian. As I spoke with them, I found that whenever I tried to remember an Arabic word a Spanish word would pop up in its place. I had to push the Spanish word away and retrieve the Arabic word from the depths of my brain. I think I'll have to brush up on my Arabic - isn't that funny!

After prayer, as I waited outside the mosque for Laura to return from her jaunt into Penonomé, the Imam approached me and encouraged me to come more often. I probably will, just because it's much closer then Panama.

On the way back we made three stops worth writing about. You can read about them in Part Two, perhaps tomorrow.