Have you ever considered living without the convenience of free-flowing water? I can imagine that this is how a majority of the world currently lives and it has been my reality along with the entire town of Boquete´s for the last three days. The first thing you may notice after waking up on the day the water pressure has subsided to a mere trickle, is that you will be unable to quench your thirst and thus clear your mouth from the last eight hours of slumber. It then may occur to you as you empty your bladder of the previous night´s excesses that you have but one flush left in the toilet, a valuable flush indeed considering the current state of your bowels. The first day is perhaps the easiest, as you still carry faith that water pressure will be restored. However, upon waking up on the second day and realizing that only a gurgle remains in your faucet – you may begin to have doubts as to your abilities to survive in the waterless confines of your house.

As it turns out, in Panama they like to build water mains out of PVC piping, not exactly the strongest material to invest a city´s water supply in, and to top it off they bury the pipes under what remains of a randomly placed system of sidewalks. Now it all seems to be coming together as to why some streets have beautifully paved concrete walkways, while others seem to start and stop in five meter increments… and others still are just a jumble of concrete blocks best navigated on all fours.

The only solution for now is patience, 2 gallor water jugs from the local store, showers using a pot and cup and the aforementioned jug of water, and praying to God every night that they patch up whatever hole busted in their plastic piping with some extra strong super glue…preferably before my next bowel movement.

Here´s a miniature scorpion I found in my bed, crushed by the likes of my nocturnal tossing:

God this music is awful. Seriously, my good ear is on the verge of collapse, if only my drink were stronger it would numb me enough to finish my burger and get the hell out of here.

The two person band showed up within minutes of me placing an order. The first song was bearable, an American girl singing about dumb tourists snapping photos of the town and posting to Facebook to show off. I could handle that, it was the truth after all, but the next song switched over to her boyfriend of Latin American descent. He belched out the most overdone song in modern history : No Woman, no cry by Bob Marley. ‘Please’ I thought to myself, ‘please just let me finish my Burger’. And then it happened…right at the end of the song a drunk cheerfully yelled out a request, the likes of which almost forced a big chunk of my ground beef to fly across the bar and explode onto the opposite wall. It was Hotel California. I closed my eyes, inhaled the rest of my meal and promptly left. This was probably all my fault to begin with, a Lonely Planet recommendation + American Owner + a recent noise complaint about the establishment to the local authorities as well as a criminal complaint = this place is quite possibly out of place. Before arriving I had passed a very local looking dive bar that seemed very festive, with loud Panamanian music, bull fighting on the TVs and a dark and dingy atmosphere that seemed to draw in the natives. This is not usually the type of place that seems inviting to me, but now that I think of it, why the hell not – I’m going in tomorrow. I will probably meet some interesting chaps in there.

Two random thoughts :

Stuff Americans Like in Latin America
- cafes on the plaza
- bottled water
- air-conditioned rooms
- khaki colored pants
- cocktails without ice
- zipline tours even when not in a jungle
- wifi access
- obsessive use of the money belt
- online reservations
- native children 4 years old and younger
- menus with translations

Stuff Americans Hate in Latin America
- having to put soiled toilet paper in the trash
- cold showers
- waiters who don’t check on you every two minutes
- roving packs of dogs
- incessant pestering by craft salesmen
- runny eggs for breakfast
- nescafe
- McDonald’s sightings
- bus rides where a part of your body has to touch a part of the body of the person next to you

And just because I didn’t want this to be a pictureless post…here’s a lizard:

This was probably the closest I have ever been to blacking out, but it was well worth the conversation. At least that’s what I remember thinking at the time. I still can’t recall what we talked about for so long, except for one thing…at one point after several drinks we began talking about women. Women in Sweden vs. Panama vs. Colombia vs. Thailand vs. Cuba. He looks at me with a secretive glance, leans in, lowers his voice to a nearly inaudible whisper and tells me that the best country in the world to find the most beautiful girlfriend – and the easiest to pick up – is in Cuba. Cuban woman, at least the ones found in local bars, will hang out around the outskirts and make eyes at you…all you have to do is look at one you like – then point at her and suggest she come to you. This description was beginning to sound a bit more like prostitution than girlfriendliness, so i asked him what you have to do to court a girl before she becomes committed. Ten dollars, he says. What? Well! That’s the cheapest darn girlfriend I have ever heard of!

In Panama the women are very strictly Catholic. If you want to date one it may take several months of semi-meetups, talking in plazas, and meandering the rivers. The good ones don’t hang out in bars or nightclubs – they are elusive. Apparently if you want to meet one here, you need to put your senses on extremely high alert. Walk the streets, do your errands and take special notice of any girl who gives you the slightest, tiniest, faintest idea of a smile in your direction…that lasts less than two milliseconds. This, my friends, means she is extremely interested in meeting you. But beware, unlike American women who foreigners understand as being some of the most easy in the entire world, Panamanians are likely to wait until after marriage for anything more intimate than a kiss.

Tommy, a locksmith, Swedish Aiforce pilot, mechanic, electrician, welder, fruit salesman, property investor and family man, among twenty other things, returns each summer to his homeland to visit family and do odd jobs. For the next three to for months I will be taking care of a small section of his home blocked off as an apartment. It’s a beautiful place, just a five minute walk into town. The air is fresh and cool here, I am surrounded by mountains and jungly forest. Only an hour and a half from the Pacific beaches and about four hours from the Caribbean.

The next step is to figure out what to do for the next few months. Traveling is weird like that, nobody really knows what travelers do all day apart from sightseeing. I’m planning on hiking to the top of the volcano, buying a bike and exploring the surrounding hills and local towns, figuring out the soccer schedule, re-strengthening my back, meeting a lot of travelers and locals, and volunteering my time to a local organization. Maybe some weekend surf trips to the Pacific, and a week on the Caribbean to mix things up.

Running at less than optimal health in a foreign land, just, plain, sucks. As a traveler you must accept the fact that you will very likely be getting any number of amoebas, intestinal worms, rabies infections, and egg-laying spider bites during your journey. So far I have been through four very mild intrusions into my innards….and it has only been two weeks. The last case being a not very appealing case of swimmers ear that developed within 6 hours of my first surf session at Playa Venao. After a few days I was rinsing out my right ear canal with hydrogen peroxide and swabbing out mammoth amounts of very fibrous looking brown and orange wax – we’re talking several marbles worth here. The more I pulled out, the more I wanted to pull out….and the addiction soon lead to what is likely compacted wax against my eardrum and the removal of a delicate layer of protective skin in the canal…which has swollen completely shut.

You don’t realize how much you appreciate your right ear, until its sense has completely failed into a dark cavernous silence. People have been barking Spanish at me and all I can do is turn my good left ear towards them, ask for a repetition, and strain to follow the movement of their lips – thus picking out important verbs and a noun here and there…then ultimately responding to them with an entirely different subject matter. Due to the current circumstances I decided to take a break from surfing. Six buses and 12 hours later I am in the pleasurably temperate mountain town of Boquete. At 3,000 feet, the daytime high is about 74, which is the exact temperature of my paradise. Plus from here the beach is only a 1.5 hour ride to the south, so I am contemplating my next move – apparently you can rent fully furnished apartments here for around $250. Hmmm, live in a beautiful temperate mountain town, take trips to the beach, hike in the surrounding forests, and repair my eardrum for the next Playa. Sounds good to me.

Fireflies on the beach, surf sessions with San Diego girls, dinner and drinks with a delightful couple from Montreal, mingling with Israelis…Playa Venao, Ciao.

With the storm getting ever closer, rain turned to downpour, and visibility weakened to 50 feet. Thunder crashing in the surrounding hills made it seem as though the entire ocean was surrounding you, breaking towards you in every direction. My thoughts began to stray from trying to decipher the next set of 10 foot beasts through the squall, to wondering if it might in fact be a bad idea to be sitting out on a surfboard three feet above water during an electrical storm. Though I have never heard of any surfer ever being struck by lightning, it must be possible. The waves were just too good right now to paddle in and watch from shore, so I took the most logical path and continued to enjoy myself.

It was at the point where I noticed the power had shut off at the beach front cantina, no lights on, no musica…that the situation seemed to be deteriorating. Not only could you not see the incoming set through the river of water pouring from the sky, but I was pretty sure I heard lightning just to the south…outside the breakers and pretty damn close to me. This was probably no bueno, but the adrenaline rush of riding big waves that you can’t see, in a total downpour, with the possibility of being fried at any moment was just…well…perfect. My religion had become apparent: nature, and the sea serving as my prophet.

This is Fufo. He is a local of Playa Venao, Panama and has been surfing (tearing up) these waters for the past 13 years. He manages the surf shop and hooked me up with a pretty nice fiberglass longboard…a rarity in rental land. After asking for a quick photo, we spoke about the waves and surfing in Panama vs. San Diego. I felt a bit inspired and decided to write this bit on technique….

Surfing, there ain’t nothin’ like it. Paddling out into big waves, catching one and riding it down the line, wiping out and being held under for 10 seconds, and ending the day with a burrito. There are a few key elements that I have become more and more aware of in my past 15 years of surfing (give or take a few years due to my land-locked move to Boulder).

Over and over again I notice beginners making the same mistakes that will potentially crush their souls and possibly their boards as well. So, I thought I’d write a little insight into what exactly goes on in my brain during a session. If it helps just one person….job done (maybe this guy I am staring at out in the breakers getting bashed will come across this one day too).

- Upon arriving at the beach, it is best to find a good vantage point where you can survey the overall situation of the water. Higher up is better. From here you can get a general idea of where the waves are breaking, any rip currents present, and where the billion other surfers are (generally everyone paddles to the same break, even if there are other waves to be had).

- Once you are down on the shore, board in hand, don’t just run right into the water and start paddling out. The key to some good surf sessions is how observant you are of the environment around you. Take about 5 minutes (or more for really big surf) and look out at the sea. What you are looking for here is a number of things that will make the next few hours of your life a lot easier.

- Pay attention to where the waves are breaking, where they start breaking, and where they seem to taper off and possibly not break at all. The latter is most likely the best spot to paddle to the outside with minimal effort. If there is a rip current, you can also use that to your advantage to get out quickly. However, sometimes in low-tide the waves can break in a rip current and it can get messy.

- Watch the waves and count how many come in a set before there seems to be a lull in activity. Keep track of how long that lull is as well. Also – notice the size of the waves in a set, the first, on average, tends to be the worst and smallest, the last is usually the biggest and breaks even further out. This will be important to remember in the water when you are picking out which waves to catch.

- Next check out where the other surfers in the water are. If there are a lot, it can be tricky paddling out directly towards them…you might get slashed.

- At this point I also take notice of the best spot to catch the wave and then look back on the shore to find a landmark to keep track of it. When you are in the water, the current will usually pull you down the beach and if you don’t have a mark on the shoreline – you will end up losing your good spot and wondering why the surf sucks so badly.

- Depending on the break, I usually start paddling out when the last wave of a set is forming. This will give you the full advantage of that lull period. If you don’t make it to the outside during that lull, take notice of where you are in relation to where the big waves are breaking. You don’t want to get stuck right at the point where each wave is crashing down, this is where the wave releases its full power and you my friend, will not like it.

- Once outside the breakers, it is generally good surfing edicate to stay a bit further on the edge of the other surfers already in place. As they each catch a wave you can start paddling closer to the best spot.

- Keep an eye on your landmark and do everything you can to maintain position. In my experience, most surfers tend to drift away from the good spot they paddled into and at certain points I may even be left all to myself to surf it, if I have kept track of my mark.

- These days the majority of people are surfing on shortboards – which need pretty specific conditions for a good day in the water and will limit the areas of a break you can actually surf. I have come to prefer the long board for a number of reasons, the biggest of which is that they will easily catch four times the amount of waves as a short board and can handle much smaller waves as well. The long board (damn you autocorrect)  will paddle very quickly through the water so you end up expending much less energy and will last a lot longer in your session. Another advantage is being able to sit above the water and thus out of the cold, making everything quite a bit more pleasant.

- The final insight I can offer is about paddling into a wave. This really can only be learned by experience, but the key is to balance your weight on the board. Too far back and you will never catch anything, too far forward and you will pearl it every time. Just at the right point on the board and you will be able to shift your weight ever so slightly forward or back just by the arch in your back and the bend in your legs.

There you have it, killer swell brah. Go out and smack the lip, WAPAHHHHHH!!!

After the brief rainstorm, the sun seems to be out in full scorching effect. The waves here are….epic. Perfect rights and lefts in a few spots that break consistently through medium and high tides. Oh, that sludgy brown water turned out to be some sort of clay being washed into the river, though come to think of it, I did get an earache at 2am last night (quickly treated by applying a few drops grapefruit seed extract and popping a couple of advil).
Lots of incredible rides, if only I wasn’t born an albino I could easily live here for the next few months. Though at the current rate of sun absorption my skin will be due to fall off within the next week.

Growing up in San Diego and surfing the coastline through my teen years I was constantly warned about the hazards of getting in the ocean after a big rain. San Diego is a large city you see, and generally it remains dry throughout most of the year. So when a storm does decide to let loose…all of the street sewers draining all of the road sludge, chemicals, pesticides, etc…plus all of the poop and pee from an untreated river in Tiajuana …tends to flow freely into the sea. Many a surfer has gotten a nasty ear or eye infection, diarrhea, general vomiting, hepatitis, cholera….well maybe not the last two, but you get the point.

So, you may be able to imagine how appalled I was when I came across this nice little stream flowing into the middle of the best break on the beach…and turning the waves an eloquent shade of amber-brown, complete with a bit of sludgy foam left stuck to the shore.

I got right to the edge to gain a better sense of what exactly this brown stuff may be. My nose gave no sign of alarm as I tried to get a whiff of its essence, nor did I projectile vomit  – which is generally a sign that what you are smelling is of a more harmless degree.

Luckily for me I started a dose of decent antibiotics two days ago (due to a very intense throat pain, a sinus infection, and some type of pinkeye sickness…all bundled together)…. so I guess that means I’m good to go!  As long as I avoid the submerged tree trunks in the breakers – a gift the rain gods left me overnight.

“Hey man, you wan’ some cocaine?”
“Thank you really, but getting chalked up wasn’t in my plans for the night”
“No, no, listen hombre…my good friend Charlie is just around the corner. Let’s just take a walk.”
“If this walk leads to more snow, I’ll pass. Had enough of that wintering in the Colorado mountains the past ten years.”

And so began my first night in Panama City, Panama. The first major stopping point on the long haul north for traffickers carrying blow, coke, snow, yayo, Charlie, white, flake, dust, toot…call it what you like and ingest it however you prefer. Snort it dry, wet, smoke it, cut it with flour, sugar or corn starch. Or…pass on it altogether to make sure you will stay on budget for your long journey South.

If you walk around the streets of old town in Panama City, called Casco Viejo, you will undoubtedly come across the National policemen in full combat gear with the infamous AK47 at the ready.  On average, every third street corner has two of these guys along with heavy duty flak jackets and souped up motorcycles. After coming across perhaps the twentieth death soldier my mind went off on a tangent and pondered the significance of the abundant occupation on the streets. Maybe they are here as part of a required national service duty when they hit 18 and perhaps the country has so many recruits that they end up splaying them across the city…but I am pretty sure Panama doesn’t have an army or requirement to serve in the police. Hmmm. Maybe the government believes their presence will make tourists feel safer shopping, dining and discotecing. Or…maybe they are in fact posted on these street corners to intercept Colombian drug runners that land in the night on the nearby beaches…thus quelling the Lords from taking over the region altogether. Wandering around the fish market late one day I had a conversation with a local security agent that confirmed this assumption. Apparently security agents are everywhere and armed to the teeth…waiting for a surprise visit from the snow sleds of the south. In Casco Viejo,  security is doubled up since it is also the location of the presidential palace…which I noticed is conveniently located right on the beach, you know – in case there is a late night craving for an eight ball. (White building in the image below)

Casco Viejo is by far the most authentic looking colonial era town I have ever seen. Parts of it look like they haven’t been renovated since 1615. Unfortunately, at the current moment, pretty much everything here is undergoing renovation and the peeling paint, rusted balconies and rotting wooden window panels are being modernized. That said – I still have a good feeling about this part of town, in ten years it will be one hell of a nice place to live, but for now watch out for Charlie and his boys, lest you get caught in a snowball fight.