For an avowed avioniphile or aerophile (definitions differ), the airplane is more than a modern marvel - the dynamic lift of several tons of metal, plastic, people, luggage and airplane-food into the stratosphere to go thousands of miles is sheer engineering prowess. The airplane has made the world smaller and more accessible. I've loved to fly since I was a kid and the excitement hasn't waned even a bit. In fact, I love it even more now that I can summon a plane with the mere flick of a credit card.
But: coronavirus.
Suddenly, the idea of cramming myself into a metal tube with a hundred other souls, coughing, breathing, infecting, has got me squeamish.
Enter the husband who loves to drive, a reliable vehicle, and a destination bearing our only grandson. ROAD TRIP!
I made the prerequisite egg salad sandwiches the night before, and packed enough food, snacks and drinks, while hubby laid out the route.
For days before the trip, I began psyching myself for the journey, trying not to think of destinations but points along the way. My family took many road trips when I was a kid. These involved station wagons, picnic lunches and car games. We played 'peace sign', 'trucker horn', and sang 99 versions of '99 bottles of beer on the wall'.
In those days, most trips were 'road trips' - we didn't drive 80 mph so it just took longer to get places. We also didn't have the myriad of fast food outlets. We had Mickey D's and maybe Kentucky Fried and even those were fancy treats. My mom made sandwiches, and being Sri Lankan meant we probably made tea when we took rest stops for lunch.
But we kids had fun! There was the promise of some kind of treat or snack at gas stops, we were glad to be anywhere away from home and boredom, and somehow my parents were a little less strict and more permissive when we were out. We loved it!
Today, though, our schedules are so busy that taking the time for a road trip is the most difficult decision. Not: where will we stay (Airbnb), or where will we get food (endless options on Yelp), or how do we keep from getting lost (Google maps). So many worries alleviated and yet we can't spare a couple days of driving across this glorious, complicated, expansive country.
Until now.
So, we're 'rolling me down the highway, moving ahead so life don't pass me by', listening to music, watching the treeline, ducking 18-wheelers, pit stopping, and scouting license plates and interesting road signs.
ARE WE THERE YET?
Saturday, June 6, 2020
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Our Collective Moment
See these miniature daffodils - they have washed their
hands so many times they no longer have hands!
Every age has had it's "where were you?" moment: the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the assassination of JFK, 9/11, and now coronavirus. Someday, ages and ages hence, your descendants (provided we don't go full zombie and take ourselves out of the gene pool) will sit at your knee and ask you to regale them with stories of "those days". You'll go all glassy-eyed and recount tales of WFH routines and those WTF moments of daily briefings and tall-tale-tellings on CNN. You'll try to explain what Zoom was and how the internet worked. (Folks, believe me when I tell you that we are truly at a cross-roads - we could go back to the dark ages or do a technology catapult into warp drive.)
You'll tell the kiddies about hoarding toilet paper and late-night searches on Amazon for bread yeast and hand sanitizer. You'll recall terms that will not mean a darn thing to people of another age: 6-feet, N-95s, COVID-19, flattening the curve, chloroquine, and shelter-in-place.
In the process of going through times like these, people often do not stop to take stock of what is happening around them. They float along in a daze, trying to score their next roll of TP or counting how many bottles of wine/liquor are left in the cupboard.
I've been giving a lot of thought to the ways that coronavirus is altering my personal landscape. Here are a few ways:
1) The meek shall inherit the earth. By meek, I mean: germophobes. I have long held the belief that all people, all over the world, are teeming with legions of germs. Sometimes, when I shake someone's hand, I do not use that hand for anything until I am able to wash it. This doesn't make me unable to participate socially with others, it only makes me grossed out at the thought of where that person's hand might have been. Furthermore, it is a proven fact that the more you like that person, the less lethal (or disgusting) their particular brand of germs will be, i.e. kissing, or sharing a drink with a friend. But, in this pandemic, germophobes like me will have their "told you so" moment and will secretly snicker behind our face masks that we no longer have to breathe the same bacteria and virus-filled air that you're breathing. We'll gleefully wash our hands and splash sanitizer in the presence of people and not have to slink away to the restroom to do so covertly.
2) Introverts will finally be in their element. Face it, this is an extrovert's world. So much societal pressure balances on how well people do in public situations. Aside from cat ladies or computer programmers, everyone else is expected to behave normally in public and thoroughly enjoy themselves doing things with others. This was the camp I was firmly residing in. Until coronavirus. Now, I go to work and silently pray that the person passing by doesn't knock on my office door or expect me to do or say anything. Aside from a few close friends and family members, I don't miss people much at all. To use a phrase my husband has long stated: "I'm not anti-social, I just don't like a lot of people." Ding-ding-ding!
3) Personal space is no longer a problem. I've known people who needed to be within inches of your face in order to speak with you. Incredibly, these people want to feel so connected with their friends that they must oblige you to feel the warmth of their breath. Now, we courteously cross the street rather than share a sidewalk with another human. I'm not saying that's a good thing, but anyone who has ever felt that hemmed-in feeling of close-talkers and mouth-breathers will never suffer again. Sometimes even six feet isn't enough.
4) Difficult times do not bring out the good in people or accentuate the bad. People are as good or bad as they ever were. We may have opportunities to show our altruism or our selfishness, but neither of these are traits that were not within us in happier times. I always wrinkle my nose at people who say that they love, love, love their families. Of course, they do. What kind of monsters would they be if they didn't? The real test is whether they love people who are NOT their family. Do they love the annoying ones? Do they love the outcast? Do they love the unlovable? Those are the kinds of love that bear praising.
As you go through your coronavirus moment, take stock of what is important to you. Think about all the ways that our lives changed and are continuing to change. Then go wash your hands.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Social Isolation: That Time I Became an Introvert
As kids, my brother and I would become annoyed at the way our father made conversation with people he didn't know, and found friends wherever he went. One particular time, we were traveling down the street in a taxi near his hometown when he yelled at the driver to stop and leaped out of the slowing vehicle. He had seen a friend of his on the sidewalk.
It wouldn't surprise us one bit if our father made friends with a total stranger and invited them to dinner that night. He was gregarious and outgoing. He loved to make connections between people he knew, and solve problems with active networking.
I am my father's daughter.
When the term 'social isolation' entered the contemporary American lexicon, it sounded particularly horrid to me. It looked like a prison sentence, an elective loneliness, a forced solitude. The thought of being isolated from close friends and loved ones seemed to be a cruel side-effect of a pandemic disease.
But when push came to shut-in, I found myself relishing the quiet, the peace and the time to buckle down and get my work done. I closed the door to my office at work that first week and posted a notice that said 'no visitors'. Strangely, no one ignored the sign and knocked anyway as people are wont to do. Somehow, the memo had gotten out that I meant business and anyhow, they didn't know if maybe I was isolating because I was carrying the disease!
Now, I am faced with a week ahead where I will be working-from-home like so many today. As my job is deemed non-essential in the current state of affairs, I will be available by phone but not in my usual place. In a remarkable plot twist, I find myself actually looking forward to it: there are phone calls I can make, magazines to review and stories to write, emails to answer, and quite possibly - books to read.
Yea, those six tomes that have been languishing on my night-stand while my work schedule has been so demanding are finally going to see the book-light. I even cracked one open the other night (and I do mean c.r.a.c.k.e.d....) and read a little.
One of my favorite Twilight Zone (late 1950s-era television show) episodes is about a poor nebbish who longs to read but has an overbearing wife who hates books, and a bank clerk job that only allows him a meager lunch break to delve into reading. He is having lunch in the bank vault - relishing the aloneness and reading when a nuclear bomb decimates the city, leaving him the sole survivor. Gone are his fellow employees, gone is his demeaning boss, and gone is his cruel wife. What's left in the ruins? The great halls of the PVBLIC LIBRARY! He leaps for joy, for he now has All the Time In the World (the actual title of the episode!). It is a bookworm's perfect post-apocalyptic fairy tale: the promise of redemption through literature. (There is an actual twist ending that you have to see for yourself - YouTube it!)
So for today, we have food, we still have utilities and running water, we have enough toilet paper, and now we have all the time in the world.
Monday, February 24, 2020
A Non-Poem About Poems
When I told a dear friend I was heading out to NYC for a couple days with my daughter, she said, "be sure to write a poem about it!" Well, I can write for days and days, but a poem it will not be. This writer knows how to rhyme, knows how to join long strings of words but poetry is so far beyond me that the thought makes me go pale.
My two-and-a-half-year-old grandson knows some poems that I have recited to him since shortly after his birth. Three poems by Robert Louis Stevenson I have committed to memory have become "Po" to him - what he called them when he was just starting to speak. They are the whisperings of a Grammy to her little man when the bedtime books have been read and he's still not drowsy enough for sleep. They are the stories that he has memorized and can correct me when I misplace a word. They feel antiquated in the contemporary time of touch screens and drones and social media, but he loves hearing about the anachronistic worlds of backgarden swings, grazing cows and a little boy's persistent shadow. He listens intently, considers the lilt of my words and finishes most sentences, further cementing the prowess of his memory.
Grammy recites Po the way the warbler whistles his tune - deliberately, precisely, and with rising and falling tones. If anyone else were to read them, would they remember to add that pause, the half-gasp of surprise, the slight whisper at the resolute end? Little man will someday commit things to memory. I know this because I was 8 years old when I first read "The Swing" by RLS and decided to memorize it. What made me do it, I cannot recall, but I have never regretted the time I spent to learn it by heart. It isn't a marketable skill, it won't win me any friends or even social accolades, and it is probably only impressive to a little guy who thinks the only good stories live inside of books. But to have a tiny and tidy story that is exactly the same every time is a valuable thing. You never know when a kid will need a small story to while away the time, or to get the eyelids drooping and there's not a book in sight.
Poems written for children are a lost art in the literary world. They are reminiscent of 19th century England, or colonial Ceylon. Perhaps poets these days don't think children worthy of rhyming verse and stanzas. I can tell you that rhyming prose is a natural for kids who are starting to read. It naturally aids the memory to have a mnemonic twin at the end of every sentence. It is true that poetry need not always rhyme, but sometimes, the rhymes the thing. Where there's a rhyme there's a reason. And a rhyme in time saves nine.
When my little man cuddles into my lap, for those precious minutes when I can smell the freshly-washed scent of his hair, feel his soft hands reaching out to hold mine, then I feel him relax as I step into the first stanza of "A Friendly Cow" while he hugs his stuffed animal friend Cow. The busyness of the day, the challenges and accomplishments become distant memories as we both breathe deeply and allow our eyes to close just a little.
My two-and-a-half-year-old grandson knows some poems that I have recited to him since shortly after his birth. Three poems by Robert Louis Stevenson I have committed to memory have become "Po" to him - what he called them when he was just starting to speak. They are the whisperings of a Grammy to her little man when the bedtime books have been read and he's still not drowsy enough for sleep. They are the stories that he has memorized and can correct me when I misplace a word. They feel antiquated in the contemporary time of touch screens and drones and social media, but he loves hearing about the anachronistic worlds of backgarden swings, grazing cows and a little boy's persistent shadow. He listens intently, considers the lilt of my words and finishes most sentences, further cementing the prowess of his memory.
Grammy recites Po the way the warbler whistles his tune - deliberately, precisely, and with rising and falling tones. If anyone else were to read them, would they remember to add that pause, the half-gasp of surprise, the slight whisper at the resolute end? Little man will someday commit things to memory. I know this because I was 8 years old when I first read "The Swing" by RLS and decided to memorize it. What made me do it, I cannot recall, but I have never regretted the time I spent to learn it by heart. It isn't a marketable skill, it won't win me any friends or even social accolades, and it is probably only impressive to a little guy who thinks the only good stories live inside of books. But to have a tiny and tidy story that is exactly the same every time is a valuable thing. You never know when a kid will need a small story to while away the time, or to get the eyelids drooping and there's not a book in sight.
Poems written for children are a lost art in the literary world. They are reminiscent of 19th century England, or colonial Ceylon. Perhaps poets these days don't think children worthy of rhyming verse and stanzas. I can tell you that rhyming prose is a natural for kids who are starting to read. It naturally aids the memory to have a mnemonic twin at the end of every sentence. It is true that poetry need not always rhyme, but sometimes, the rhymes the thing. Where there's a rhyme there's a reason. And a rhyme in time saves nine.
When my little man cuddles into my lap, for those precious minutes when I can smell the freshly-washed scent of his hair, feel his soft hands reaching out to hold mine, then I feel him relax as I step into the first stanza of "A Friendly Cow" while he hugs his stuffed animal friend Cow. The busyness of the day, the challenges and accomplishments become distant memories as we both breathe deeply and allow our eyes to close just a little.
Friday, February 7, 2020
The Great Unraveling
There's an old adage: "Never write a blog post when you're reeling from bad news." Actually, that's not an old adage at all. I just made it up. But nonetheless, it probably isn't a good idea. It probably also isn't a smart idea to hang laundry out to dry that is threadbare or torn. It will either be an eyesore or at the very least inspire disdain or disappointment. So, here goes.
This afternoon has brought many worries and notions that would qualify as bad news. The environment is a shambles; our problems with global climate change have only begun. An organization I have belonged to for more than a decade is losing membership and facing a rapid decline. So many things have happened on the political stage that I regularly have responses that range from laughter to fright to rage. A project on which I have worked for nearly two years, and still continue to work on, might be reaching a dreaded and fatal end. (I have to be vague here, unfortunately.)
What does one do when structures around them seem to crumble and smolder? If abridged history is to be believed, Nero strummed his lyre while Rome burned. The musicians on the Titanic played on even as the massive ship went underwater. Even Job, when God was smiting him did nothing at all.
I wonder why my thoughts turn to inaction when all I ever want is to "do something!"
Tonight, I watched the film "The Two Popes" which did nothing to quench the simmering fire of discontent that I was feeling. Even Pope Francis, the anti-pope who eschewed the carnival of finery, and embraced the prisoner and the poor, had his moments of doubt and pain. I thought this film would finally expose the myth of the red Prada shoes, but instead it delved into a dark time in Argentina's past. (Didn't see that coming.) The story wound to a time when Father Francis, then a simple Jesuit priest, faced his own demons and had to walk with them. He had failed people by the very act of trying to help them. Did he drop his arms in defeat when he should have raised them in defiance?
Is there ever a time when inaction is the best action? Perhaps time is the surest cure in those situations when problems threaten to drown us. Perhaps calm is the only way to stay above the rising tide. Perhaps it is then that we float.
Is there ever a time when inaction is the best action? Perhaps time is the surest cure in those situations when problems threaten to drown us. Perhaps calm is the only way to stay above the rising tide. Perhaps it is then that we float.
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Our Bodies, Our Selves
Like many women of my generation (heck, maybe all the generations!), I've had a love/hate relationship with my body. There are things I love - that it moves mostly effortlessly when I want it to, and hate - I've always wanted to be taller and slimmer. But as I approach the later chapters in my life, I find that I have also begun to appreciate and revere it in new ways.
There was a time when I challenged it beyond reason. I would try to carry ALL the groceries from the car into the kitchen at one time. Not only did it make climbing the basement stairs incredible dangerous, there were no medals or accolades waiting when I made it. What I did get was a pain in my hands and arms and the distinct fear that I could have tumbled down all 14 steps. When I started to give myself a break and make two trips, it also gave me a few more steps towards my daily count. I learned that I could be kinder to myself and I wasn't being a wimp.
In my teenage years, it was common for my friends and me to bemoan the lack of natural fluffiness in our upstairs department. Let me put it another way: what nature didn't give you, a Wonderbra might. Though I didn't resort to emptying the tissue box into my bra, my sweaters sure would have fit better with 'more there'! Today, as I approach my mid-50s, this is the last thing on my mind and I often feel relieved that I wasn't more well-endowed. Recently, I purchased a bra online. Talk about shopping in the dark! I had to rely on sheer mathematics. When the package arrived and I opened it, I found a brassiere that looked like it could accommodate Helga the Buxom. I guffawed loudly and showed it to my husband. "Get a load of this, babe! They must have sent me the wrong size... It's ENORMOUS!" But then I tried it on. It fit.
My mother, who is 87, is reaching the point when the body she relied on is beginning to fail her. She was used to putting on shoes and just going wherever she wanted. Now it is taking more than a few pharmaceuticals to keep her upright. She is frustrated at the slowness of the bounce-back and wishes that wishing would make it so.
About a month ago, I began to develop a funny little lump at the second joint of my index finger. I rubbed it curiously when it started to ache. I showed it to a nurse friend who told me, with a sympathetic look, that it was probably arthritis. ARTHRITIS?? You've got to be kidding me! I'm just... Well, I guess it is possible.
It is with a sigh that I say that aging ain't for sissies, and waking up with a pain here or an ache there has become commonplace. I know that things will only get worse from here, but I still have arms that lift what I need them to lift (within reason), legs that can get me where I want to go, senses that still work fairly well, and innards that - if I treat them right - will function to expectation. I know that a time will come when I'll adjust activities, like not driving at night or using a walking stick. I'll change my behavior to accommodate my changing body by allowing more time for self care or taking an afternoon nap. I'll use the restroom whenever an opportunity comes up. I'll have to retrace my steps to remember why I walked into the kitchen.
But for now, I will respect the temple, make self-care a priority, and simply be kind to myself. While I can't control where life takes me, I can definitely manage my attitude along the way.
There was a time when I challenged it beyond reason. I would try to carry ALL the groceries from the car into the kitchen at one time. Not only did it make climbing the basement stairs incredible dangerous, there were no medals or accolades waiting when I made it. What I did get was a pain in my hands and arms and the distinct fear that I could have tumbled down all 14 steps. When I started to give myself a break and make two trips, it also gave me a few more steps towards my daily count. I learned that I could be kinder to myself and I wasn't being a wimp.
In my teenage years, it was common for my friends and me to bemoan the lack of natural fluffiness in our upstairs department. Let me put it another way: what nature didn't give you, a Wonderbra might. Though I didn't resort to emptying the tissue box into my bra, my sweaters sure would have fit better with 'more there'! Today, as I approach my mid-50s, this is the last thing on my mind and I often feel relieved that I wasn't more well-endowed. Recently, I purchased a bra online. Talk about shopping in the dark! I had to rely on sheer mathematics. When the package arrived and I opened it, I found a brassiere that looked like it could accommodate Helga the Buxom. I guffawed loudly and showed it to my husband. "Get a load of this, babe! They must have sent me the wrong size... It's ENORMOUS!" But then I tried it on. It fit.
My mother, who is 87, is reaching the point when the body she relied on is beginning to fail her. She was used to putting on shoes and just going wherever she wanted. Now it is taking more than a few pharmaceuticals to keep her upright. She is frustrated at the slowness of the bounce-back and wishes that wishing would make it so.
About a month ago, I began to develop a funny little lump at the second joint of my index finger. I rubbed it curiously when it started to ache. I showed it to a nurse friend who told me, with a sympathetic look, that it was probably arthritis. ARTHRITIS?? You've got to be kidding me! I'm just... Well, I guess it is possible.
It is with a sigh that I say that aging ain't for sissies, and waking up with a pain here or an ache there has become commonplace. I know that things will only get worse from here, but I still have arms that lift what I need them to lift (within reason), legs that can get me where I want to go, senses that still work fairly well, and innards that - if I treat them right - will function to expectation. I know that a time will come when I'll adjust activities, like not driving at night or using a walking stick. I'll change my behavior to accommodate my changing body by allowing more time for self care or taking an afternoon nap. I'll use the restroom whenever an opportunity comes up. I'll have to retrace my steps to remember why I walked into the kitchen.
But for now, I will respect the temple, make self-care a priority, and simply be kind to myself. While I can't control where life takes me, I can definitely manage my attitude along the way.
Saturday, January 18, 2020
The Sandwich Generation
People in my age bracket sometimes find themselves sandwiched between two generations. We are old enough to have grandchildren and yet young enough to have our parents around. And on occasion, we are called upon to care for both at the same time.
Such was my situation last week, when a long-anticipated visit from our toddler grandson happened at the same time that my mother was hospitalized with a pretty serious health condition. I arranged for a friend to mind the boy for a couple of hours so I could catch up on work and visit my 87-year-old mom without the playful laughter and persistent demands of a two-and-a-half-year-old.
On one particularly challenging day, I spent lunch coaxing my mother to eat the hospital food that she said was unappealing. Then I spent dinner coaxing the little guy to eat all his cheesy pasta. Both meals looked pretty good to me, who was hungry and tired enough to polish off either, particularly if it was presented to me on a tray.
For either family member, I was the go-to gopher. I toted toys, fetched essentials, and did a fair amount of bargaining and cajoling. Though it was exhausting and people at work commented, towards the end of the week, 'wow, you look tired!', I was strengthened by the knowledge that I did what needed to be done.
Amid the chaos were moments when everything went right: nap time coincided with a conference call, and the health care provider I had hounded arranged an appointment. Small victories are what's needed to push an army of one over the next hill.
Though a bit sleep-deprived, fortified by grab-and-go meals that were less than healthy, and without my regular exercise routine, I not only survived but emerged with a sense of accomplishment. If I were a girl scout, I'm sure this would qualify me for a badge. And on the badge would be the image of a sandwich wearing a cape!
Such was my situation last week, when a long-anticipated visit from our toddler grandson happened at the same time that my mother was hospitalized with a pretty serious health condition. I arranged for a friend to mind the boy for a couple of hours so I could catch up on work and visit my 87-year-old mom without the playful laughter and persistent demands of a two-and-a-half-year-old.
On one particularly challenging day, I spent lunch coaxing my mother to eat the hospital food that she said was unappealing. Then I spent dinner coaxing the little guy to eat all his cheesy pasta. Both meals looked pretty good to me, who was hungry and tired enough to polish off either, particularly if it was presented to me on a tray.
For either family member, I was the go-to gopher. I toted toys, fetched essentials, and did a fair amount of bargaining and cajoling. Though it was exhausting and people at work commented, towards the end of the week, 'wow, you look tired!', I was strengthened by the knowledge that I did what needed to be done.
Amid the chaos were moments when everything went right: nap time coincided with a conference call, and the health care provider I had hounded arranged an appointment. Small victories are what's needed to push an army of one over the next hill.
Though a bit sleep-deprived, fortified by grab-and-go meals that were less than healthy, and without my regular exercise routine, I not only survived but emerged with a sense of accomplishment. If I were a girl scout, I'm sure this would qualify me for a badge. And on the badge would be the image of a sandwich wearing a cape!
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
The Last Gasp of a Vacation
In preparation for our flight early in the morning tomorrow, we've checked in to the Riande Aeropuerto Hotel - a posh but comfortable hotel very close to the airport. Living large for one final day, we had a nice seafood lunch, and have ended up at the pool for drinks and a dip.
My margarita (frozen) reminds me of the weather back home. No matter how luxurious the bedding here, it is no match for our humble home. Overhead, the brilliant blue sky darkens as a tropical rain cloud rolls in - much like the grey skies of a Central New York winter. But for the moment, balmy breezes blow and palm trees sway.
But the orchids hanging around me are not my orchids to tend, the children frolicking in the pool are not our kitties, and I am looking forward, just a little, to being back at the work that I find sometimes annoying but mostly rewarding. Just like you can't eat dessert all day long, these two kids are realizing that we gotta put the sweets down and have a taste of reality.
So, hasta luego, Panamá! See ya later!
My margarita (frozen) reminds me of the weather back home. No matter how luxurious the bedding here, it is no match for our humble home. Overhead, the brilliant blue sky darkens as a tropical rain cloud rolls in - much like the grey skies of a Central New York winter. But for the moment, balmy breezes blow and palm trees sway.
But the orchids hanging around me are not my orchids to tend, the children frolicking in the pool are not our kitties, and I am looking forward, just a little, to being back at the work that I find sometimes annoying but mostly rewarding. Just like you can't eat dessert all day long, these two kids are realizing that we gotta put the sweets down and have a taste of reality.
So, hasta luego, Panamá! See ya later!
Red passion flower
Open air market in El Valle
Fresh, locally grown vegetables and fruits
Poinsettia bushes at Museo Victoriano Lorenzo
Monday, January 6, 2020
Our Magical Mystery Tour
Geni has dubbed our travels during the past two weeks a 'Magical Mystery Tour' - that's definitely taken us all away with the sights, sounds and tastes of a new land and it's people
Today, as we sat in front of a local grocery, mooching off their free WiFi, we ran into a local friend of Geni and Steve's - Neil, who is American and has traveled extensively. He once toured much of South East Asia, he told us, for the two and a half years he spent surfing with his son. We talked about how special travel is, and how much we despise the state of politics back home in the states.
Among our accomplishments here in El Valle is that the staff of local restaurant are beginning to recognize us. For two days in a row, we had lunch at the Peruvian place because that chef - wearing his white uniform and toque hat - makes the best fried fish we've ever had. Tonight, we dined on BBQ ribs, chicken wings alitas fritas and ceviche.
This afternoon, our visit to the butterfly gardens was enchanted. Being surrounded by these magical creatures was a special treat. While we walked the butterfly garden, rain fell while the sun shone full blast. When we told one of the museum guides that we found it interesting that the Very Hungry Caterpillar book was on display there and that it was one of our grandson's favorites, he reached into a small metal box and gifted us a wing from a beautiful Blue Morpho butterfly to give to him!
At every turn, Panamá has both surprised and enchanted us. We are very glad to have had this amazing opportunity for a Magical Mystery Tour we'll never forget.
Today, as we sat in front of a local grocery, mooching off their free WiFi, we ran into a local friend of Geni and Steve's - Neil, who is American and has traveled extensively. He once toured much of South East Asia, he told us, for the two and a half years he spent surfing with his son. We talked about how special travel is, and how much we despise the state of politics back home in the states.
Among our accomplishments here in El Valle is that the staff of local restaurant are beginning to recognize us. For two days in a row, we had lunch at the Peruvian place because that chef - wearing his white uniform and toque hat - makes the best fried fish we've ever had. Tonight, we dined on BBQ ribs, chicken wings alitas fritas and ceviche.
This afternoon, our visit to the butterfly gardens was enchanted. Being surrounded by these magical creatures was a special treat. While we walked the butterfly garden, rain fell while the sun shone full blast. When we told one of the museum guides that we found it interesting that the Very Hungry Caterpillar book was on display there and that it was one of our grandson's favorites, he reached into a small metal box and gifted us a wing from a beautiful Blue Morpho butterfly to give to him!
At every turn, Panamá has both surprised and enchanted us. We are very glad to have had this amazing opportunity for a Magical Mystery Tour we'll never forget.
Restaurante El Camino del Inca
Blue Morpho at Butterfly Haven
Another Buho butterfly
Last day in El Valle
Today, Monday, is our final day in El Valle. Feeling like the proverbial last day of vacation, we are determined to squeeze in all we can. Weather, schedules and energy permitting, we hope to have breakfast at Heaven's Cafe, because they have WiFi, which I've been seriously missing, then check out the Butterfly Haven, then go out to dinner in the evening at the first restaurant we tried here: Bruschetta.
El Valle has been another unique experience in Panamá, like the ferry, like the island, like the cuisine, like the wind and mountain rains. I've experienced the stuff of stories and fables: Las Ranas Doradas golden frogs, la pirata Morgan, birds with astounding plumage, iridescent mariposas butterflies, smiling sloths, and the fierce vientos winds that swirl within the volcanic craters that make this valley.
As can be expected, at this juncture, we are beginning to miss home. Yes, even the snowy, frigid weather that awaits us without mercy. No matter how far you roam, there's truly no place like home. We'll take memories, a few little souvenirs, and leave two friends who say they've experienced this all anew through our perspective. Is there any gift greater than this in the journey - to leave a little bit different than when you arrived?
El Valle has been another unique experience in Panamá, like the ferry, like the island, like the cuisine, like the wind and mountain rains. I've experienced the stuff of stories and fables: Las Ranas Doradas golden frogs, la pirata Morgan, birds with astounding plumage, iridescent mariposas butterflies, smiling sloths, and the fierce vientos winds that swirl within the volcanic craters that make this valley.
As can be expected, at this juncture, we are beginning to miss home. Yes, even the snowy, frigid weather that awaits us without mercy. No matter how far you roam, there's truly no place like home. We'll take memories, a few little souvenirs, and leave two friends who say they've experienced this all anew through our perspective. Is there any gift greater than this in the journey - to leave a little bit different than when you arrived?
Blue Morpho at Butterfly Haven
Buho butterfly
Educator at Butterfly Haven poses with Very Hungry Caterpillar book
Rainwater control device
On a hike
Duane rides a... chipmunk?
Cloud forest above the village of El Valle
Miniature Nativity scene at EV post office
Saturday, January 4, 2020
Las Ranas Doradas
This morning, after a fortifying breakfast of yogurt, fruit, apple pastry and tea/coffee, we went off in search of the fabled golden frogs of El Valle de Anton. In the back of my mind, I remembered reading about the golden frogs of Panama (book: The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert) but never dreamt then that I would actually be here.
The frogs were school bus yellow with brown markings on their backs. They were housed in an aquarium along with water, plants and sticks to perch on. Their bright golden color was a warning to predators because they had a potent poison in their skin. Biologists were breeding the endangered amphibians because a deadly fungus had just about decimated them.
While the frogs lounged in their tank, we hiked the former habitat that still held the fungus that made their return impossible. We paused by a bubbling brook of the clearest water that had once been teeming with generations of golden frogs.
Another treat of the natural world to be found on this trail were Los Arboles Cuadrado - giant trees with squared trunks. The ancient trees evidently just grow this way and are common to this area.
We returned to Casa Mariposa just in time for lunch and ambled over to El Camino del Inca for a typical Peruvian meal of the most succulent and perfectly fried filet of corvina (local sea bass) that I have ever eaten. The meal, made by a Peruvian chef, consisted of rice, lentils and a small salad along with your choice of pescado, pollo or bistek. There is no better meal that $4.75 can buy you! While we were there, we talked to a young man named Sear from Toronto, who's family was originally from Afghanistan. He knew little Spanish, had only a few days in Panama but was determined to travel it well. We gave him some advice (order the fish!) and felt encouraged by his optimism and attitude.
After lunch, we visited El Museo de Victoriano Lorenzo, an indigenous young man who was recognized as a martyr for standing up for social justice. In addition to a nice model of the valley created by various volcanic craters, some beautiful rock and petrified wood samples, the museum had a replica of the kind of adobe home that Victoriano would have lived in, as well as artifacts from the area in the 19th and 20th centuries.
Returning to Casa Mariposa, we were treated to special visit with the sloths! Their faces are frozen in perpetual smiles like the smiles that appear on our faces when we see them. I got to hold Samie, one of the three-toed sloths, and found them strangely comforting to hold. Samie's claws could have ripped me to shreds, but that's not what sloths do. She clung to my shoulders as I supported her bottom like a baby. Their long fur, though it looks to be coarse and wiry, is really quite soft. What an experience!
We relaxed in the strong mountain breezes that afternoon, made limeade and walked across to another local place for dinner (more fish!) and made it home just as rain drops were beginning to fall.
The frogs were school bus yellow with brown markings on their backs. They were housed in an aquarium along with water, plants and sticks to perch on. Their bright golden color was a warning to predators because they had a potent poison in their skin. Biologists were breeding the endangered amphibians because a deadly fungus had just about decimated them.
While the frogs lounged in their tank, we hiked the former habitat that still held the fungus that made their return impossible. We paused by a bubbling brook of the clearest water that had once been teeming with generations of golden frogs.
Another treat of the natural world to be found on this trail were Los Arboles Cuadrado - giant trees with squared trunks. The ancient trees evidently just grow this way and are common to this area.
We returned to Casa Mariposa just in time for lunch and ambled over to El Camino del Inca for a typical Peruvian meal of the most succulent and perfectly fried filet of corvina (local sea bass) that I have ever eaten. The meal, made by a Peruvian chef, consisted of rice, lentils and a small salad along with your choice of pescado, pollo or bistek. There is no better meal that $4.75 can buy you! While we were there, we talked to a young man named Sear from Toronto, who's family was originally from Afghanistan. He knew little Spanish, had only a few days in Panama but was determined to travel it well. We gave him some advice (order the fish!) and felt encouraged by his optimism and attitude.
After lunch, we visited El Museo de Victoriano Lorenzo, an indigenous young man who was recognized as a martyr for standing up for social justice. In addition to a nice model of the valley created by various volcanic craters, some beautiful rock and petrified wood samples, the museum had a replica of the kind of adobe home that Victoriano would have lived in, as well as artifacts from the area in the 19th and 20th centuries.
Returning to Casa Mariposa, we were treated to special visit with the sloths! Their faces are frozen in perpetual smiles like the smiles that appear on our faces when we see them. I got to hold Samie, one of the three-toed sloths, and found them strangely comforting to hold. Samie's claws could have ripped me to shreds, but that's not what sloths do. She clung to my shoulders as I supported her bottom like a baby. Their long fur, though it looks to be coarse and wiry, is really quite soft. What an experience!
We relaxed in the strong mountain breezes that afternoon, made limeade and walked across to another local place for dinner (more fish!) and made it home just as rain drops were beginning to fall.
Hike near Las Ranas Doradas (golden frogs') creek
Beautiful Ranas Doradas at laboratory
El Pueblo de El Valle
We have explored this little pueblo and are feeling comfortable within it. Yesterday, we walked down to one end of it, went to the open air mercado and bought some vegetales - baby bok choy and limes for dinner. After stopping for uno helado (ice cream) de vanilla, we headed in the opposite direction to the mercado super El Rey for rice noodles, pork, and ginger root.
That morning, we took a taxi driven by a local guy named Tolo to El Chorro Macho, an amazing trail through thick forest, climbing stone terraced steps and crossing several stoutly-built rope bridges to reach a great waterfall. The descent itself felt like the one at Chittenango Falls but the flora and fauna couldn't be any more different.
We saw a beautiful and uncommon Wood Rail - a ground bird with bright orange legs, and a Rufous Motmot with it's persimmon head and azure tail feathers! Our guide, a young man who was in training for bird guiding, showed us small fish that he called sardines shimmering in a little stream below the bridge where we stood. These little fish were quite literally 'walking' on stones to get from one small pool to another! As they slithered away, right next to us the smallest bees entered and exited their hive in the crook of a tree. Our guide explained that there were two types of bees in the forest and this was one - smaller than houseflies, these bees did not sting in the course of collecting nectar for making their honey.
We did not visit any of the dining establishments in El Valle that day: Steve made tuna salad and Duane made a garden salad for lunch and for dinner I cooked a multicolored stir fry with bok choy, carrots, red cabbage, onions, sweet peppers, and celery all in a ginger-garlic sauce. Though my friends offered to help, I loved cooking all by myself while listening to their conversations and laughter.
Side note: today, I got to see and hold a three-toed sloth named Samie! See pics below!
That morning, we took a taxi driven by a local guy named Tolo to El Chorro Macho, an amazing trail through thick forest, climbing stone terraced steps and crossing several stoutly-built rope bridges to reach a great waterfall. The descent itself felt like the one at Chittenango Falls but the flora and fauna couldn't be any more different.
We saw a beautiful and uncommon Wood Rail - a ground bird with bright orange legs, and a Rufous Motmot with it's persimmon head and azure tail feathers! Our guide, a young man who was in training for bird guiding, showed us small fish that he called sardines shimmering in a little stream below the bridge where we stood. These little fish were quite literally 'walking' on stones to get from one small pool to another! As they slithered away, right next to us the smallest bees entered and exited their hive in the crook of a tree. Our guide explained that there were two types of bees in the forest and this was one - smaller than houseflies, these bees did not sting in the course of collecting nectar for making their honey.
We did not visit any of the dining establishments in El Valle that day: Steve made tuna salad and Duane made a garden salad for lunch and for dinner I cooked a multicolored stir fry with bok choy, carrots, red cabbage, onions, sweet peppers, and celery all in a ginger-garlic sauce. Though my friends offered to help, I loved cooking all by myself while listening to their conversations and laughter.
Side note: today, I got to see and hold a three-toed sloth named Samie! See pics below!
Waterfall at Chorro Macho
Walk in town with Cerro Gaital in the background
Sami and Samie
Holding the slowest, most peaceful creature
Star Wars reference near Los Arboles Cuadrado (square trees)
Thursday, January 2, 2020
Resetting Our Speedometers
Though much of our trip has been relaxed and unhurried, with beach days and restful afternoons and one rainy day when we did nothing at all, today's arrival in the pueblo of El Valle de Anton was even one step further. First of all, our mascots here are a black dog named Snoopy and a three-toed sloth named Dahabie. The sloth, perezoso in Spanish, is the slowest, most sedate and relaxed creature in the world. It is believed that just being in the presence of one can lower your heart rate.
Our accommodation for the next few days is a guestroom in the Casa Mariposa, run by a Swiss expat and her Colombian husband. Among other things, they ride bikes, do not own a car, have chickens, quail and rehabilitate sloths.
El Valle sits in the crater of a long-extinct volcano so we're nestled in a verdant bowl with mountains all around us. One such mountain is called La India Dormida (the sleeping Indian) which amazingly looks like the face and upper body of a reclining woman.
Today's accomplishments include 1) getting here, thanks to our faithful driver Mario, 2) enjoying a slow lunch at a local restaurant, 3) practicing more Spanish, and 4) buying groceries for the next few days. I was delighted to find Chobani Greek yogurt from New Berlin, NY and Duane scoped out more local beers at the Rey Supermercado.
Walking nearly from end to end of this small village reminds us of our own village back home - people know each other, they tolerate tourists, and restaurant choices are somewhat limited. Tonight we balanced our hearty lunch with a cheesy pizza for dinner and coffee and tea at a local hostel/lounge.
Tomorrow, we'll attempt a local hike and make time for relaxing in the garden. Very slowly, very deliberately, and living squarely in the moment.
Our accommodation for the next few days is a guestroom in the Casa Mariposa, run by a Swiss expat and her Colombian husband. Among other things, they ride bikes, do not own a car, have chickens, quail and rehabilitate sloths.
El Valle sits in the crater of a long-extinct volcano so we're nestled in a verdant bowl with mountains all around us. One such mountain is called La India Dormida (the sleeping Indian) which amazingly looks like the face and upper body of a reclining woman.
Today's accomplishments include 1) getting here, thanks to our faithful driver Mario, 2) enjoying a slow lunch at a local restaurant, 3) practicing more Spanish, and 4) buying groceries for the next few days. I was delighted to find Chobani Greek yogurt from New Berlin, NY and Duane scoped out more local beers at the Rey Supermercado.
Walking nearly from end to end of this small village reminds us of our own village back home - people know each other, they tolerate tourists, and restaurant choices are somewhat limited. Tonight we balanced our hearty lunch with a cheesy pizza for dinner and coffee and tea at a local hostel/lounge.
Tomorrow, we'll attempt a local hike and make time for relaxing in the garden. Very slowly, very deliberately, and living squarely in the moment.
Leaving Albrook the day after New Year's
Perezoso (sloth) at Casa Mariposa in El Valle
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Veinte-veinte
Happy 2020 - I can see clearly now, '19 is gone. By some chronological trickery, we start a new slate, even though this sunrise is no different than the one yesterday. The time of celebrating with friends and family is observed the world over. Each country, each culture, each family with their own traditions and ways.
In Sri Lanka, the new year is celebrated twice - once on the 1st of January and then again in mid-April for the Sri Lankan new year. At either juncture, the eating of milk rice, made sticky-sweet with coconut milk, curries and a spicy chili paste is de rigueur. In Panama, there are numerous rituals to court good vibes in the coming year... eating 12 grapes at midnight, walking around the house with a suitcase to attract travel in the year ahead, or wearing yellow underwear for luck.
Today is a major Do Nothing day for us four travelers. Our hotel is spacious and comfortable, with air con for the humid mid-day and big windows for catching evening breezes. Because of the holiday, we ordered our evening meal at lunch and heated it in the room's microwave for our NYE dinner. We ate, toasted with cold drinks, and had a festive meal recounting each our own "creation stories" about early days and marveled how life's twists and turns ultimately made an intricate pattern, even if there was no order or method to it.
Yesterday, I spied my first ever Crimson-backed Tanager - a bird of startling plumage that I hadn't even known existed the day before. We're hoping to see a Tucan today (which I expect will appear holding a box of Froot Loops cereal because that's all I've ever known about this bright colored bird) as we laze by the pool.
In Sri Lanka, the new year is celebrated twice - once on the 1st of January and then again in mid-April for the Sri Lankan new year. At either juncture, the eating of milk rice, made sticky-sweet with coconut milk, curries and a spicy chili paste is de rigueur. In Panama, there are numerous rituals to court good vibes in the coming year... eating 12 grapes at midnight, walking around the house with a suitcase to attract travel in the year ahead, or wearing yellow underwear for luck.
Today is a major Do Nothing day for us four travelers. Our hotel is spacious and comfortable, with air con for the humid mid-day and big windows for catching evening breezes. Because of the holiday, we ordered our evening meal at lunch and heated it in the room's microwave for our NYE dinner. We ate, toasted with cold drinks, and had a festive meal recounting each our own "creation stories" about early days and marveled how life's twists and turns ultimately made an intricate pattern, even if there was no order or method to it.
Yesterday, I spied my first ever Crimson-backed Tanager - a bird of startling plumage that I hadn't even known existed the day before. We're hoping to see a Tucan today (which I expect will appear holding a box of Froot Loops cereal because that's all I've ever known about this bright colored bird) as we laze by the pool.
El buho (owl) butterfly
Crimson tanager at Albrook
El Año Viejo
The old year. Twenty-nineteen has reached it's end and so has the second decade of the twenty-first century.
We visited the Biomuseo in the morning, to see one of Panama's most famous buildings - the carnival edifice of starchitect Frank Gehry. The audacious building houses an extensive exploration of the natural world, the rich biodiversity, and the cultural implications of Panama. It is interpretive, innovative and inspiring!
Next, our patient and knowledgeable driver, Mario, whom we've had since our arrival at Panama's Tocumen International Airport, delivered us to the city's premier Bicicletas Rali bike store where Duane searched for a shop t-shirt. Alas, it was not to be had this time. There were world-class bicycles and all the parts, accessories, and tools that any bicyclist the world over would want - including the beautiful $5,000 ride that was "on sale".
As we drove out of the heart of the city - through boroughs of tenement apartments, a lush national park, and finally palatial bungalows with large walled yards and patios; we had arrived at our "home" for the next two nights - the Albrook Inn. We settled in for two restful days and nights, with a small pool and patio for bird-watching and cool-drink-sipping.
In Panama, everyone is smiling about the repetitious Veinte-veinte and dressing well and eating heartily for the new year. Last night, the popping of fireworks continued into the wee hours of the morning, but around us, the neighborhood is subdued and blooming in all colors. This is the first New Year's we've ever spent away from home. It is a bit strange to be so distanced from our traditions as to be in a different country altogether. But what use are traditions if you can't make new ones, right?
El Año Viejo, is The Old Year as opposed to El Ano Viejo, which is The Old A--hole. Let the old one go and bring in the new. Our love and best wishes for you in the New Year. Happy 2020!
We visited the Biomuseo in the morning, to see one of Panama's most famous buildings - the carnival edifice of starchitect Frank Gehry. The audacious building houses an extensive exploration of the natural world, the rich biodiversity, and the cultural implications of Panama. It is interpretive, innovative and inspiring!
Next, our patient and knowledgeable driver, Mario, whom we've had since our arrival at Panama's Tocumen International Airport, delivered us to the city's premier Bicicletas Rali bike store where Duane searched for a shop t-shirt. Alas, it was not to be had this time. There were world-class bicycles and all the parts, accessories, and tools that any bicyclist the world over would want - including the beautiful $5,000 ride that was "on sale".
As we drove out of the heart of the city - through boroughs of tenement apartments, a lush national park, and finally palatial bungalows with large walled yards and patios; we had arrived at our "home" for the next two nights - the Albrook Inn. We settled in for two restful days and nights, with a small pool and patio for bird-watching and cool-drink-sipping.
In Panama, everyone is smiling about the repetitious Veinte-veinte and dressing well and eating heartily for the new year. Last night, the popping of fireworks continued into the wee hours of the morning, but around us, the neighborhood is subdued and blooming in all colors. This is the first New Year's we've ever spent away from home. It is a bit strange to be so distanced from our traditions as to be in a different country altogether. But what use are traditions if you can't make new ones, right?
El Año Viejo, is The Old Year as opposed to El Ano Viejo, which is The Old A--hole. Let the old one go and bring in the new. Our love and best wishes for you in the New Year. Happy 2020!
From the BioMuseo looking seaward
Giant ants in the BioMuseo
Ancient inhabitants
One side of the aquarium showed Pacific ocean life, the other Caribbean/Atlantic
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)