The Promised Land

Thursday 25th June
Cartagena, Colombia

All right! After 4 months and 14 days in Panama, we have escaped! This Spanish pilot, Pepe, saw the car on Saturday, gave us the deposit on Sunday, the rest of the dough on Monday and Tuesday we flew out of Panama (not with Pepe though!). It sure felt weird flying for the first time this trip, but I didn't fancy paying $380 for a 5-day luxury yacht trip, nor hanging out in Colón (where gringos last no more than a few minutes without being robbed) trying to skank a ride on a cargo boat, nor trekking through the Darian. Another day... but I will try the boat thing on the way back up (towards Burning Man).

I will miss as a treat going to the fish market first thing in the morning to get a big red snapper to bake for $3, as well as a pound of seabass for $1.75 to make into ceviche for lunch.

I will miss the good european style lager from the hole-in-the-wall shop directly outside the apartment front door, chilled, for 25 pence a 330ml bottle, in returnable bottles.

I will miss going to listen to Reggaeton on big systems outdoors with a coolbox full of ice, a bottle each of rum and ginger ale, and Marco, our big friendly black Panamanian ever-smiling new friend.

I will miss slinging our shit into the back of the car and driving from one place to the next without waiting for buses.

I will miss the parties on the rooftop terrace of our apartment, with daiquiri/mojito in hand and looking out over Panama Bay, especially the one that turned into the panama couchsurfing birthday party.

I will miss Baños Publicos! They used to be public toilets, and in proper squat style had been turned into a sick bar right in the heart of the oldest part of Panama City. Then they did a remodel last week, and 4 hours before opening a very large section of façade from the adjoining building fell onto the roof of Baños, collapsing the entire roof. Thankfully it didn't happen 4 hours later, or I might very well be dead. No-one was hurt. Mad shit.

I won't miss finding a safe place to park.

I won't miss the lack of street food (or any cheap food) at night (i.e. after 7pm).

I won't miss hanging out on the swimming pool terrace of the Hotel Veneto watching guys take turns to take a prostitute up to their room.

I won't miss answering the telephone to people vaguely (or not even) interested in buying the car, asking us our lowest price before even seeing the car, then arranging to meet them and them maybe showing up, maybe on time, before telling us they will definately call us tomorrow either way.

I won't miss actually wondering what it would be like to retire in Panama....

Panamanian Plates!

It's been a while. Things have been less adventurous the last few weeks, we're making plans for retirement in Panama, as we're resigned to the fate of never leaving here. Before leaving, Panama would not have been in my top 20 list of places to spend 4 months (it's still not). But, in between running around jumping through car import hoops, it's actually been nice to have some time and space to think and develop my ideas about what I want to do now and on return to the UK. I've started a film script (which is back on the back burner), and I've made a mix.

beans with holes in like this make you sick

In fact, I've made a new blog. You can download the mix there, for those that did download the first one, this is a much better version, the levels are MUCH better, it sounds much more punchy. If you're not sure which one you've got, the latest version ends has mastered in brackets. In terms of genre it's electronic dance music, and style it's all over the place but on a breakbeat/jungle tip. It sounds good on big speakers.

So right now we're housesitting Rose's apartment in Casco Viejo, the top floor end apartment with a balcony, stunning view over the sea and a breeze (pretty important here). She's been away in the States for 3 weeks and is back tonight, when we'll decamp into Room 2 - the bottom floor place with no balcony and a crappy single camp bed and no kitchen - but 'only' $7.50 a night.

We met an English couple a couple of weeks ago - who bought a car in California, went to Burning Man and then drove down here! It's funny, we're soooo similar, it's quite scary. They sold their car within a week, as it is, no import or nothing. Bastards. It's a Japanese car, which they lap up here, as everyone drives them making parts and repairs much easier. We couldn't find a decent Japanese car at the only dealer in NY state that would get our car registered on the sly...

On which note, we now have Panamanian plates! That took 2 months! It involved going to the customs broker with documents, waiting 6 weeks going to the Customs office ourselves to get the pre-declaration where they stung us for a $2300 bill in import taxes - by which stage it was too late to get it done cheaper by paying a bit under the table. Then back to the brokers, withdraw $2300 in $300 batches a day, pay it into a bank account, then back to the brokers twice. Then to the DIJ - the Police Investigators Office - to get a police check. We got there on Thursday, at 6am, which wasn't early enough. Friday we got there at 4.30am to discover they don't do checks on a Friday. Then Monday at 4.30am we got checked & told to come back Wednesday. Came back Wednesday, not ready yet. Thursday we picked it up & the friendly cop gave us his phone number (weird). Friday we went to the Council office outside the city, and got pulled over by a jumped-up little shit of a cop for trying to change lane in the wrong place (!).


He asked us for our passports. We are 4 months into a 3 month tourist visa, because of this bullshit taking so long. He didn't care, and we drove over the police hut on the junction. The 'tourist police' got called over. The little jumped-up shit then asked us for the car keys, saying he was taking the car and going to arrest us. I called our man in the Investigators Office, briefly explained that this jumped-up little shit wants to take our car, and passed the phone to the jumped-up little shit. He listened for 15 seconds and passed the phone back. I had a quick chat with him, he asked how much of a gift I might want to give him. I said 40, he said no problem, pass him over. 30 seconds later, the cop is letting us go and passes us over to the Tourist Police. They give us a jolly good telling off for not having the correct paperwork and show us the way to the Council Office!

So we get to the Council Office, queue for 20 minutes, to be told that we're missing a stamp and to go back to Customs to get it. Outside, the Investigator Cop call back, and explains that he told the jumped-up little shit that we were good friends of his and to make everything as easy as possible for us. He was relaxed about getting his 'gift', said he was glad to be of help. I then explained about the missing stamp, he said to pass him over to so-and-so, who told me to see so-and-so, the boss in the office at the back. Here I passed the phone again, and suddenly the boss brightened immensely to be talking to an old friend, they joked about a 'gift' of a dollar, and he told us not to worry about the stamp.

So, without this cop's number, we would be possibly in prison, but definately have the car impounded. I'm trying to figure out my moral position on this one. I think that the root is the facist cop demanding to see our papers for no legal reason. This is the system in place - they can demand to see your passport at any time - you have to carry it (or a copy). Sounds like Nazi-Occupied Europe - "you're pepperz plees". The friendly cop is just an aberration to disguise a shit system - kind of like George Monbiot disguising the Guardian that is otherwise a mainstream corporate funded rag.

But we're not done yet! So we 'inscribe' the car at the Council and pay $5. Then we drive back into the city, go into Banco Nacional and pay $10 into some account. Then we go to get a 'pre-revisado' - kind of like an MOT, but without the testing/checking part. They take some photos and write down some basic details about the car, and take $16 to give you a piece of paper telling you how many doors the car has. Then we need insurance. We trek to an office, and sit around for an hour while our policy is written up. Because the car is over 9 years old (10), we can't have a $30 monthly policy, we have to buy a $130 yearly policy. Great. At least they only take $43 now, then the other 2 payments in installments on my credit card - which at first they refuse to accept but after repeated assurances that this is a Visa card like any other, and 3 phone calls, we're sorted.


So, out of time on Friday, this morning (Monday) we went back to San Miguelito for 6.30am - by taxi this time - to swap our NY title (and our mountain of photocopied paperwork), for a Panamanian one (only having to wait for 1 hour). Then we take this to another office (thankfully 5 minutes walk away), past the cops that seem to be growling at us (a few skipped heartbeats - we are still techinically "illegals" in their eyes). And, hey presto, we swap some more copies of forms with $12 (50% discount today!) for a number plate!!!

I can't imagine anyone is still reading this, but there it is, the Panamanian Car Import Process. Now, all we need is a buyer...

End of our tether

Sunday 22nd March 2009

6 weeks on, and we are still in Panama City, having planned to be here for 2-4 weeks. I guess selling a car isn't that straightforward. Well, this will be the last car I ever own. My girlfriend and I are nearing the end of our tether, not much hair left to tear out. We are couchsurfing, and have stayed for free with Christian and Kadir for the last 6 weeks.

These 2 are jokers, one is a straight air steward, the other works on boats (what else in Panama City?). We are sleeping on the sofa in their living room. Which is the first time I've slept on someone's sofa. What I hadn't prepared myself for is that this means slinking off to bed is not an option – either last to bed or going to sleep in the thick of things. Which is fine... for a while. Nonetheless, they have been wonderfully accomodating, and with the other Canadian girls staying it's a bit like a hostel, which is exactly the vibe they're trying to create.


It's been great having a kitchen. We have been busy making delicious wholemeal bread, rye bread, ceviche, iced coffee, yum yum... check out recipes and more pics at this blog.


The highlight of the last few weeks has to be Carnivale! We were invited to go with Marco to Las Tablas – apparently the place to go. And it was out of this world. A 4 day affair, what makes this one special is that there is a 50 year tradition of rivalry between carnival queens. One is from Calle Arriba (upper street) and the other from Calle Abajo (lower street). Each has their own float, and entourage. And we were with Calle Arriba – the posh lot – by virtue of our hosts. We had a place to stay nearby, with the family of Lourdes, one of the kru.


Before arriving in Panama, a Colombian friend back home suggested I look up a friend of his in Panama. What has developed is an extremely interesting social phenomenon. She is a trusted friend of my good and trusted friend. So, I have discovered for myself the law of triangular friendship/trust relationships – it seems like we have known each other for years. And her brother with whom she lives has bent over backwards to help us with the car selling. And Marco is her ex-boyfriend, and her brother's business partner, and now also a friend of ours. Visiting another city where you have friends has been wonderful at helping feel connected to the place.

So one morning at Las Tablas I woke up with an intense hangover, and came into the living room. On the TV was coverage of the Carnival. Looking closer at the TV presenter, I realised it was none other than Lourdes. How peculiar. After a quick breakfast, we proceeded for what turned out to be the daily routine – hit the carnival for the daytime session, check out the floats and get drunk. Every session (day/night) each Queen had a new float, as well as their princesses. So that's 32 different themed floats for the Carnival! Then back home, a quick bite and a nap, then back out on the streets for the night-time. We had been warned about looking after ourselves – but being with a local, Marco, and Ariel (a 6ft4 American football player) made it the safest place to be.

Back in Panama City, with my laptop charger bust in a flood, I have devoured books. Having spent 6 years at uni, reading was not something I enjoyed doing in my spare time. But now, a thirst is being quenched. Days of War, Nights of Love is a book by the CrimethInc Collective written in the 90s, a highly inspiration collection of anarcho-inspired readings. Then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, a disturbing dystopian story parodying contemporary patriarchy and government control. And Cuban Anarchism, translated by Frank Fernandez, a concise history chronicling the hard work put in by Cuban anarchists prior to the Revolution, and the bitter disagreements amongst anarchists over supporting Castro's version it during his reign. Then Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, who fictionalises the 1930s wave of forced migration by US peasants to California in search of the American Dream. Finally Adelle Davis' 1950 Let's Eat Right To Keep Fit, a handy summary of the importance of vitamins, fats and protein in the diet and plenty of scientific anecdotes (unfortunately all involving animal testing). The library in Panama City has some crackers (not all the above though – 2 were from the Anarchist Bookstore in San Francisco).

Furthering our bourgeious dalliance at the Carnival, we were invited to a cheese and wine evening at a penthouse apartment in a skyrise last week – quite a view. A bit more down to earth, two bars are my joint favourite.


The first is Baños Publicos – yep, that translates as public toilets – a squatted place in the heart of Casco Antiquo, the original city that got ransacked by the infamous Welsh pirate Henry Morgan in 1671 and left in photogenic decay ever since. And it has a real squat vibe, with live salsa and reggae, a BYO alcohol policy and replete with porcelain toilet pan. The other is Bar de Cuba, which is a great place given the classy San Francisco neighbourhood, with arcade games, a pool table and $1 beers. On that note, from the Chino (local shop run by Chinese folk – as is every local shop) beer is cheaper than well-known soft drinks here (hurray!) - 40 US cents – 25 pence a bottle!

It has been nice to escape the city regularly at weekends. Last weekend we took a 3 hour trip back down the Panamerican Highway to El Valle, a town in the crater of a massive volcano, surrounded by a ring a hills. Inside is a special place, with a magical feel. We stayed at Shwami's campsite [link], a hippy campsite run by a sound Panamanian rasta, the black sheep of his family. We had time to check out the cool waterfall, but not the hot springs, as we were invited to lunch at Rico's parents' place. They designed and built it themselves and filled it full of their own stunning artwork. And a little bit of magic happened when we saw a hummingbird fly to its nest on a windchime actually on the patio area, to feed its 2 hungry mouthed children, right in front of our faces.

And the best bit of news – we both got our scholarship tickets to Burning Man for this year! To finish the trip in style! So $110 instead of $260, for a week of delectable hedonist debauchery – underlined by the principle of mutual aid - in the middle of the Nevada desert.

Chameleon

Friday 13th February 2009

Sipping gin and tonic on a balcony overlooking a park, hearing that Bonjovi track in the background behind. This is the life of a couchsurfer. My feet hurt, I could say I'm tired but the gin won't let me. Today has been spent hanging around at the mechanic's, who was fitting a replacement Oxygen Sensor on the car (these measure the mixture of fuel and air before and after the catalytic converter, returning a voltage between 0 and 1 Volt to the car's computer). The thing being broken means the "Check Engine" light is on on the dash, which needs to not be on to sell it.

That's the ostensible aim here in Panama City, to sell the damn car. It seems actually quite a good place to do that: there appears to be quite a lot of money around here. It's quite out of place in Central America after these months on the road. From Mexico southward, things got slowly more, different, relaxed, poor, rural, dusty. Then from leaving Nicaragua into Costa Rica, things took a turn for the worse. More expensive, more mimicry of Western capitalism. The large U.S. expat and holidaying "community" make travelling in a US vehicle less of a thing I want to be a part of.

our couchsurfing host, Christian

I'm glad I brought my chameleon suit (does that make me a metachameleon?). We got to Panama City quite lost, and ended up driving for 3 hours in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic trying to find Casco Antiguo. This is the old part of town that the infamous Welsh pirate Henry Morgan sacked in 17something when he decided he didn't like the Spanish but did want their gold. So we found our hotel, which looks like it hasn't changed much since Henry Morgan was here. Which of course made it a wonderful place to be, crumbling wallpaper, high ceilings, an amazing tiled lobby complete with an art deco garden table and 4 chairs, a splendid rooftop patio (no breakfasts here though), and finally nothing better than the cheapest digs in town at 11 bucks a night for us both.

Hotel Colón

So, the chameleon... get on with it. A friend from home gave me a contact of a friend of his from Bogota, who now lives in Panama. So on Saturday night, we met up and hit the town. First stop was Bennigans, the now-defunct-in-the-US chain restaurant. It's really bizzare - in Central American big cities, U.S. chain restaurants (McDonalds et al) are actually the preserve of the middle/upper class, by a considerable price margin. Well, we had a couple of beers in this place, jammed to the rafters with posh Panamanians. Then, through our friend's friends, hung out in what appeared to be the most exclusive club in town.

I think the best way to describe the theme was arctic. Air conditioning down to the max (or min...) and white everywhere. The way to drink is to buy a bottle of vodka and some flaggons of cranberry, and serve yerself DIY style. Luckily I didn't see the bill. Then after a while of shaking rhymically to stay warm and alive, we headed next door for more vodka and reggaeton.

The next day, we were invited to a barbeque at our friend's best friend's house, and had a classic Sunday sojourn. Supping and munching pretty much all day and well into the evening, it was a much needed day off before the missions with the car. I had my chameleon suit on (with tact tie in a windsor knot) when I got in a long conversation with a chap who in the end offered me a job with his "lead generation" company, in perfect American English. Lead generation (as in business leads, pronounced leeds, not lead, as in piping) involves facilitating the expansion of businesses - I highly suspect that this involves fuelling the greed of our not-so-favourite multinational corporations - and thought I was very tactful in my polite declination. I have to confess I did say that if my tax refund cheque doesn't arrive soon I would (be forced) take his kind offer.