July 20, 2023, Panama. I had first arrived in Panama in April, but had been forced to fly home for meniscus surgery. I’d fallen off the proverbial horse and had to get back up. To make sure I was ready, I was diligent about physical therapy, crossing my fingers that I’d given it enough time to heal.

Three hours before my flight, Emilio—the friend I’d planned to stay with in Panama City—told me he had Covid. He’d mentioned being sick a couple weeks before, and I’d urged him to get tested. He’d initially refused.

What a drag—not just for him, but for me too. I had a few hours to decide whether to go or cancel the trip. If I hadn’t rented out my room, I probably would have stayed home. I was battling a stubborn sinus, ear, and upper respiratory infection after being exposed to Shawn’s cold and swimming in the Russian River on July 4. I couldn’t shake it and even had to get emergency ear drops because one ear was completely blocked and infected. How was I going to fly with this?

To add insult to injury, I was missing summer pool parties, music in the park, and other events. I scrambled to figure out where I could stay if I didn’t go—Shawn’s room? That hadn’t worked out well last time I’d done that. I was facing rainy season in Central America, with temperatures over 90°F with 95% humidity. Leaving a Mediterranean climate was hard—I don’t like hot weather.

After much deliberation, I decided to go. I took a red-eye to Atlanta and tried to sleep in one terminal that had somewhat decent couch-like seating. The place was packed—people sprawled everywhere—but I managed to find a spot. I set three alarms on my phone—all of which failed to wake me. When I’d reset my phone, the “attention aware” setting had turned on, which silenced alarms when I looked at the screen. Since the phone was near my head, all three alarms turned off without waking me. I finally woke to the last notes of my Uptown Funk alarm, leaving me just five minutes to get to the gate. Needless to say, I nearly missed my plane. Once on board, I settled in and tried my best to sleep.

As we approached Panama City, I met Alyssa, a wildlife biologist studying the functional morphology of stickiness at the Smithsonian-run Barro Colorado Island. Ants and geckos were her focus. She told me I could visit the island as a guest—something Sean Carpenter had mentioned before. The Smithsonian charges $100 for a day visit.

When we landed, Alyssa and I passed through customs together. I cleared the checkpoint, only to have the drug dog sit right next to my backpack. The guard shouted “drogas,” and I braced for a search, unsure what to expect. I was carrying a four-month supply of supplements—including sleep aids—in an 8-pound bag. I was terrified they’d confiscate them or fine me. Plus, I’d forgotten about the stowaway cherries—two pounds worth! They pulled out the cherries first and told me fruit was contraband and would be seized. Depending on the type, fines might apply. Yikes! We hadn’t even gotten to the supplements yet. I suggested they eat the cherries instead of throwing them out, but no—impossible. I’d buried the supplements deep in my backpack for this moment. Even with a doctor’s note, I wasn’t sure if it would help.

Next, they pulled out my toiletries, including herbal creams. One guard asked if I was a vegetarian. I thought fast and said yes—maybe that would buy me some leeway. In many carnivorous countries, vegetarians are seen as strange creatures subsisting on cherries, dried fruit, and nuts. Upon my admission, they stopped the search and began filling out a complicated form, asking for all sorts of details: phone number, where I was staying, passport number. Finally, the guard said “no multa”—no fine. Then he spotted a bag of dried fruit and nuts and exclaimed, but I assured him they were just nuts. I was tired of losing precious supplies. He asked with a suspicious sideways glance, “How old are you?” When I said 60, he smiled and said, “Welcome to Panama.”

Relieved, I headed to the metro to take it to my Airbnb in Via Argentina. There was a man struggling to buy a ticket, so I paid for his ride so he wouldn’t miss the train. That’s how I met Joe, a recent Christian convert teaching English in China and fellow backpacker. We talked about why we were there and watched the rain pour buckets on the waiting passengers. I was heavily laden and not looking forward to getting soaked. I got off at Via Argentina before him and bid him farewell. I had hoped to stay in touch, as he seemed pleasant, and I appreciate connections with like-minded travelers. Unfortunately, we lost contact.

From the station, I made a beeline to the apartment I would be sharing and met the previous guest just leaving. I dropped my things, greeted the hosts, and asked where I could find food. Carlos recommended a nearby place, so I walked the neighborhood, finding a beautiful café called Annie and Mott’s that I remembered from last time. I looked forward to enjoying a latte there but found it closed and took a photo for memory’s sake. Then I found a shop, bought eggs, cheese, bread, and headed back. Exhausted from lack of sleep, I went to bed around 9:30. Unfortunately, my hosts were fairly loud, and in the middle of the night, I woke to the sounds of them having sex—it seemed to go on forever.

July 22. I slept poorly and dragged myself out of bed at 10:30. I wanted to have a latte at MENTIRITAS Blancas, the café across the street, but decided it was too late in the day. It turned out to be reserved on Sundays until 2 PM and closed on Mondays. I wouldn’t try their famous latte until Tuesday.

Carlos and I talked about mining in Panama. I had heard that a third of the country was mined, but he said both his parents were mining engineers, and while a large area was allocated for exploration, only a small percentage was actually mined. He said the copper mine looked ugly from the air but was quite modern, with many precautions. He felt the environmental movement misrepresented the danger of mining. He’s also a big proponent of nuclear energy. Without revenue from the copper mine, Panama would be much poorer—he said it’s almost on par with the canal’s income. I later learned he works for the UN Refugee and Humanitarian Committee, explaining why he needs so many faxes. When I mentioned water scarcity in parts of Panama, he said it’s not due to lack of rain but inadequate storage. Apparently, 6% of the population only has water about two hours a day and must wake up in the middle of the night to fill containers.

After chatting for an hour or so, I headed to a smartphone shop in a nearby mall to find a 9H hardness screen protector for my iPhone, which I had dropped just before leaving. The store that said it had one wasn’t there, and no one seemed to know where it had gone. I went to another shop and waited a long time in freezing air conditioning before the clerk told me they didn’t have anything in my size. I acclimated to being outside, then stepped back in—it was freezing cold. Not helping my cold at all.

I decided to jump on the metro and headed to Santa Ana station. I looked for a bathing suit and had an interesting time trying them on over my clothes. Security approached and told me there were cameras and I wasn’t allowed to try them on that way, so I went to the changing rooms. They were chained off, and when I asked for help, someone told me I couldn’t try them on even there. Thank God I’d illicitly tried them on earlier and had a sense of what might fit. I bought the one I hoped would fit and headed to Casco Viejo to wander.

First, I stopped at I Love Panamá Chocolate, where Jessy from Chiriquí was explaining the colorful packaging and the story behind each one. I asked if she could explain in English, but she said no. She told the group her father is Chinese and her mother Moreno. She said, “Everybody is equal in Panama—no racism or prejudice.” I found that interesting and wondered if it was true.

It was after 6 PM, so I headed to Magnolia Inn, hoping to find Ximon. He was there but busy, as usual. After waiting about half an hour to speak with him, I said a few words, asked about openings the following week, and how he was. He wasn’t very interested in talking and seemed distracted, so I finally left.

I decided to get ceviche at La Bendición on the way back and was surprised many people in line were using the place like a bank—asking for change, doling out pennies, and taking forever. One guy seemed particularly incensed when the woman next to me cracked a joke about it.

Still hungry, I went to the Fonda near Via Argentina metro and waited in line for wood-fired chicken. Yum. It was worth the wait. I returned to the condo, cooked rice and lentils, and ate them with the chicken—a combination I stuck with for several days. I went to bed late; Halima and Carlos were out at Carlos’s mother’s house, who currently lives in Bulgaria. They didn’t get back until 1:30 am.

July 23. I didn’t sleep well and was still pretty sick, coughing a lot. I wanted to find natural supplements and asked Carlos for recommendations. He suggested a store called Organica, which I visited a couple of days later but found only Sambuca syrup.

I had hoped for a latte but found my usual spot closed, so I went to Annie and Mott’s. They seemed very exclusive—I had to ring a bell to get in, and when I looked for a seat, a man chased me down to say there was no room and I had to sit outside in the heat. I was a bit annoyed but went out and sat down. Then I was told the Wi-Fi didn’t work, but a kind man nearby let me link to his hotspot briefly. I ordered a latte but wasn’t impressed with the service; the menu was expensive for a Sunday brunch, and it was very crowded.

From there, I headed to Metropolitan Park via the University, arriving around 1 PM. I paid for a ticket and set off. I saw a sloth sleeping in a tree but not much else. It was nice to be in the forest. I had a long talk with Shawn and told him about frustrations with my mom. It was good to hear from him. He put me on speakerphone so I could talk to my mom and Bob, who was visiting them.

It started raining, but since I was in the forest, I didn’t get very wet. I went up to the Mirador Lookout for a nice view of parts of the city and surrounding areas. I still wanted to go to Gamboa, but learned there’s no direct bus. I’d have to take Uber or private taxi, which was probably too expensive.

I stayed until 4 PM and was rewarded with another, more active sloth. He was scratching, and I had a better view. I met some Brazilian female biologists studying ticks and integrated pest management. They were here for a conference. I gave them my Instagram and asked them to get in touch if they had time to meet.

I walked nearby in a gated residential area with clay courts and an Olympic center—seemed inexpensive. At the road’s end, a resident came out, asked what I was doing, and after I explained, he smiled and said the homeowners live in Monterey, California. Must be nice, I thought—to live both in Monterey and this fancy part of Panama near the canal. Traditionally, these canal-area houses were colonial-style and mostly American-owned; that still seems to be the case.

I explored more and ate a couple of mangoes, the second of which gave my mouth a weird numbing sensation. I wondered if I’d accidentally eaten some ants—it tasted like formic acid.

From there, I headed to Albrook Mall, caught the metro back to Via Argentina, hung out at the park, and then went back to eat. Later, I treated myself to a wonderful gelato and decided to make it a habit until I left. I also decided to extend my stay at this Airbnb a few more days—I still felt under the weather and dreaded hauling all my food and medicine to the next leg of my trip. I just couldn’t face it yet.

July 24. I went to the café only to find it closed. I thought about returning to Annie and Mott’s but then found a place called Sunco, which makes homemade pastries. I had a latte there, though it wasn’t very good—the milk tasted like boxed, shelf-stable milk, which I dislike.

I headed to the metro and then to Albrook Mall, where I bought a cooling towel—I’d lost mine the night before. I thought about getting food but decided not to and checked the movie schedule. Prices were quite reasonable, especially for seniors—though I think Panamanian citizenship is required for the discount. I’ve just been saying I’m retired, and no one’s asked for ID.

I walked to Metropolitan Park, arriving around 1 PM. I tried sneaking in with my bracelet but was caught. Instead of trouble, I said I’d buy another one, which I did. The attendant remembered me and joked about me being sweaty—I told her I’d walked from El Cangrejo for exercise. She smiled.

I met a sweet woman from New Zealand who expressed deep gratitude for being there. I appreciated her sincerity. Later, I met the four Brazilian biologists again—they’re here for a conference.

The park became my refuge while in the city. I hope to visit Gamboa, but I heard it’s not very interesting. There’s a discovery center with a pricey entrance fee, and it’s expensive to get there. I also wanted to visit Barro Colorado Island but would have to get to Gamboa at 7:15 AM to catch the only boat, and it costs $100 for the day.

I had one more night with Halima and Carlos. Luckily, Carlos was home, and we had a great chat about Panama’s environmental and other issues. He works for the UN humanitarian relief center and knows a lot about the subject. I asked Halima if we could have coffee the next day, and she said yes—I was glad since we hadn’t connected yet.

The night before, I was woken up at 8 AM by drilling in the wall. I mentioned it to Halima, and she said people are allowed to start drilling at 8. Luckily, they only drilled for 15 minutes, so it wasn’t too bad.

I had a long talk with JC about my situation with my mom. He said it wasn’t my responsibility to save or heal her pain—that was for professionals—and I needed to set boundaries. He suggested telling Nancy I was dealing directly with my mom and not through anyone else. I didn’t feel like talking to Nancy again after two emails and decided not to follow his advice. Regarding telling my mom I wasn’t available to save her, I decided I’d say that in person, if at all. I was feeling very burdened, noticing the guilt motivating me to want to go home.

July 25. Same drill—woken up at 8 AM to human termites boring into the walls. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t, so Halima and I went to Mentiritas Blancas and had a latte. I had an 11 AM wellness class, so we only had 44 minutes to visit. She told me about her mother’s passing, her father doing better than expected living with her brother, and how they manage various houses through Airbnb.

She studied industrial engineering but ended up working as an administrative assistant for a fashion designer for 15 years. She traveled to New York and Paris several times and enjoyed her work. But she grew tired of the 9-to-5 grind and long commute. She asked her boss for flexible hours but was refused, so she bought the condo at Cubic five years ago and rented out a room on Airbnb. She also bought a second condo she rents out entirely, as well as her brother’s condo in San Francisco.

I was really weighed down by the situation with my mom and Bob and hadn’t been sleeping well after talking with my mom until nearly midnight for several nights. My wellness class was good, and I enjoyed it. I even sat at the café afterward to continue the session. Then I packed my things and had an hour-long conversation with Leia. I felt her empathy deeply and cried when she said it sounded like I felt very connected with Bob—like, in some ways, we were one. I’ve always had tremendous loyalty and have helped my mom throughout my life, even when it hadn’t been reciprocated the way Bob had. I’d also been talking with Shawn every day, and the combination of these conversations really helped me.

I reached out to Halima Adu to see if we could meet for a chat later that week. Carlos said Thursday night was the only day. Then, on Wednesday, he messaged me saying he’d been exposed to Covid after a three-hour dinner with a friend the night before. I was relieved I was no longer staying there but began to wonder how safe it really was to travel and stay with people while Covid was still around. My mom had mentioned the same—that staying in hostels seemed like a bad idea because you’re around so many people. I could see her point. I moved my things to Park View condo on the other side of the park and met Alua, who’s from Kazakhstan. Her husband is Turkish.

Their place is on the 17th floor, practically the penthouse suite, with a living room that commands a stunning view of the park. It’s a beautiful, spacious place, but I worried she might be a neat freak and that no matter what I did, she’d have problems with me. She didn’t give much information about using the kitchen but got very upset when I used the sponge on the counter instead of the cloth. Clear communication is crucial, especially when renting out a room in your home. I try to be extremely clean and careful, always asking questions at new places, but she was usually on the phone or studying for exams, so I couldn’t ask without interrupting—which she didn’t like. After settling in, I left to look for remedies for my lungs.

That evening, I was meeting the Brazilian biologists in Casco Viejo, so I stopped by Organica near Punta Paitilla first. Actually, I detoured for ice cream beforehand—since it was 3 p.m., I tried the coffee, cheesecake, and hazelnut flavors. All were delicious. At Organica, they only had Sambuca syrup—and at $30 a bottle! I bought it out of desperation. Then I walked past the Union Club and park, and along the Cinta Costera. I enjoyed the stroll, listening to the end of The Midnight Library, which felt profound, especially with its themes about regret and savoring life—perfect timing.

I arrived at Casco Viejo just before six and headed back to I Love Panama Chocolate to see if they had passionfruit chocolate. Luck was on my side. I said one last goodbye to Jessy and then found my Brazilian friends hanging out at the beautiful esplanade overlooking downtown. We talked for about an hour—about their lives in São Paulo, how a 20 km commute can take two hours, work in the lab, and their living situations. They asked about my family, which felt ironic given how unhappy I was with mine right then. Martha, the PI running the lab, reminded me of Fran with her enthusiasm for her work. She spoke warmly about the harmony in their group and shared what each person was studying.

Deborah was on a mission to buy souvenirs and dragged us to a few gaudy, brightly lit shops in the old town, checking off her list. After about an hour and a half, I was hungry and found a taco place that was actually part of a rooftop bar at Selina Hostel—more bar than restaurant. After being ignored by the waitress for ten minutes, I ran into a customer who said the wait was very long. Deciding it wasn’t worth it, I told the women, and we headed back. They were enamored with Uber, saying it was much cheaper than transportation in Brazil. I walked to the metro, though the route was a little dicey in spots.

Sometime that day, I lost my sun hat. I didn’t realize until I got home that night. I resolved to retrace my steps the next day to try to find it. I made lentil soup late that night but suffered acid reflux for hours, forcing me to sit up in bed.

July 26. I wanted to sleep in since I hadn’t been resting well and my cold wasn’t improving. I still had a lot of phlegm in my lungs despite all my efforts. I’m sure the stress of trying to help my mom remotely, dealing with guilt trips from her friend, and struggling for clear communication with others like Dan didn’t help.

I decided to retrace my steps, starting at the bakery where I bought an empanada, then the organic store. After that, I gave up and took the bus to Panama Viejo. I arrived around 4:15 p.m. and just wanted to walk the grounds, but they told me I had to pay an entrance fee. It didn’t feel right, so I looked up the nearest park instead. The so-called “Park of Peace”—well, it turned out to be a cemetery. I thought, maybe people find peace only in death. At least the cemetery had some trees lining the avenues, so I walked the entire perimeter, hoping to find a way back to Panama Viejo, but no luck.

Next to the cemetery were very poor favelas, and the area was contaminated—the river near them was polluted with acetone and chemicals. Garbage overflowed everywhere. It was horrible to see. This was something I’d noticed about Panama, especially the city—there’s essentially no waste management system, including garbage collection.

I checked Google Maps and headed to Parque Omar, recommended by Carlos. Walking there took me through a beautiful residential area. Upon entering, I noticed a house backing onto the park with an aviary housing a scarlet macaw and another stunning parrot, plus cascading pools. Like all the lovely homes in Panama, it was surrounded by a very high fence topped with spiral barbed wire to keep rabble like me out. That fence said a lot about the income inequality here—how the rich isolate themselves.

I liked Parque Omar. It was lovely, with a walking track around the perimeter, large trees, varied landscape, and a public swimming pool for just one or two dollars a visit. Very reasonable. I wanted to explore the entire park and ended up walking to the entrance, where people were doing Zumba in a large pavilion. There was a Japanese garden and some other monuments. From there, I walked back to Gelato!!, arriving at 7:30 p.m., just 30 minutes before closing. I hurried to order and sat down to review my TEFL coursework, which I had only a few days left to finish. I contacted the company and got a two-week extension. Hopefully, I’ll manage to finish by then.

Dan called while I was eating, and we talked for 10 minutes. He told me his family had a meeting about what to do with my dad and mom. It would be easier if my mom were nice, but she was being very ungrateful and difficult, not appreciating the efforts he and others were making. He said he was at the end of his rope but was trying to give her as much leniency and room to make a decision as possible. It felt good to talk with him. He said he felt sorry for me and didn’t want me stuck with her because she was very narcissistic.

July 27. Another late morning. I headed to my now-favorite café at 11:45 a.m. to prepare for a Zoom appointment about osteoporosis at noon. It was supposed to end at 1:30 but went until 2 p.m. The takeaway: Amy Culver said the medication wasn’t as dangerous as social media made it seem—it didn’t cause brittle bones at the rate people claimed. For most, it was worth taking because it stopped bone loss. She also confirmed thyroid issues could increase bone loss. I signed up for a second workshop and a session with an osteoporosis expert at PAMF. One thing that puzzled me: vitamin D over 2 grams could cause brittle bones?

Afterward, I decided to explore areas Emilio and I had passed on the way to the airport. I didn’t get any information about the neighborhood’s name, so I just took the metro to Metro Plaza. After walking around, I headed toward Santa Maria Park, but when I got off, it was just a strange manufacturing zone surrounded by freeways. I asked someone, and they told me to go to Costa del Este. I hopped on a bus and got off on a grand, tree-lined boulevard.

Shawn and I talked, and he told me what my mom had said. I felt irritated because I already knew she spun everything her way, making it seem like she was doing Bob a favor by sending them off to Pasadena. In hindsight, I realized I was very angry at my mom and took it out on Shawn. I apologized in a call later that evening.

I called Zerme at six, and we finally spoke. I’d been meaning to talk to her for days and poured out everything about my mom and Bob. I told her about my challenges around expecting lasting change from my mom whenever I invested time in her, and my ambivalence about helping her. We talked for an hour. Then I wandered around a restaurant mini-mall with a beautiful courtyard of plants. It felt kind of sterile—like a place for wealthy people to eat dinner. I waited for traffic to die down around 7:15 p.m. and took an inDrive back for $4.50. It was nice chatting with the Venezuelan driver as we drove through surface streets.

July 28. I went back to Metropolitan Park. I cooked breakfast and finally had a nice chat with Alua. It took me about 45 minutes to get to the park, arriving at 1 p.m. Over the next three hours, I took a leisurely stroll and spent quite a bit of time at the first lookout, catching up on my blog. I was lucky enough to spot a toucan flying through the forest—a flash of color, with its unmistakable big beak. I spoke with the ranger down below, who said it’s always better to get there early. He was very nice and mentioned that monkeys are often active near the lookout around 4 p.m.

Right on schedule, I saw some movement in the bushes and caught a quick glimpse of tiny monkeys, more the size of squirrels. Apparently, there was a toucan pair in an adjoining tree, but I was so excited videoing the monkeys I didn’t notice them. I pointed them out to a couple from Austin with their kid, and they told me they didn’t realize there was such a variety of toucans.

I left the park around 5 p.m. and made my way to the bus stop in front of the University, where I waited about 25 minutes for a bus to Parque Omar. I had no idea it would take so long to get there—it was peak traffic hour, and though buses have a special lane, we didn’t get to it for about 25 minutes. I thought several times about getting off and walking, but a woman on the bus told me not to—that the traffic would clear soon. She was right.

I got off about a five-minute walk from the park because I was impatient and didn’t want to wait for the bus to loop around. I wandered around, called Shawn, and we talked until it got quite dark. Then I walked back to the fonda and had pollo asado with fire-roasted flavor. I was going to get ice cream, but I needed real nutrition more, so I opted for fresh passionfruit juice instead—they literally handed me a bunch of passionfruits. I was in heaven. A kind man shared his table with me for a while, but I decided I needed my own space, so I moved to a separate table. Partly, I didn’t want to listen to the radio program he and his son were tuning into.

On my way home, carrying leftovers of grilled chicken and plantains to mix with rice and lentils, I passed by a car where I noticed a sign about tarot. Curious, I asked a young man about the deck he was using and whether he liked it. He said yes; he preferred the Thoth deck for its symbolism, though he was currently using the Rider-Waite. We ended up talking for an hour and a half about everything—from Lon Milo DuQuette to Kabbalah. He was impressed that I knew about Lon and I shared what I could.

Our conversation turned to his life—being a punk with an extreme style that scared people at first, and how that changed over time. He told me about his family history: a depressed grandmother and his dad leaving for Spain. I told him about my mom’s depression and how my stepdad had been sent off to another facility, which upset me. It was perfect timing because I’d been feeling very lonely after telling Shawn that Dan had found a place for Bob in Pasadena. For that night at least, I felt like I’d found a community. Around 11:15, I excused myself to go to bed and finally fell asleep around midnight.

July 29. I went to my favorite café and negotiated for about ten minutes to sit temporarily at a table for four until a larger party arrived. The staff was reluctant at first, but eventually conceded. I ordered a strong cappuccino and read New Yorker articles until about 11:30. When a couple arrived, I gave them the table, but they kindly let me continue sitting nearby. From there, I took the metro to Albrook Plaza, looking for the bus to Amador Causeway. After some confusion—having to enter the mall to find that the bus left from the other side—I realized my Rapi pass transit card was almost out of funds. I tried to recharge it but couldn’t because it only took dollar bills, and I didn’t have any on me. I made a note to add money before leaving the city on Monday.

After waiting a bit, I caught bus C850 and got off at the Smithsonian Museum Park at Punta Culebra. It was about 1:30 pm, and I hoped I’d have enough time to see the animals. Luckily, it was open until 5, not 4 as the website said. I told the ticket clerk I was jubilada (retired), so I paid only $2.50 instead of eight dollars. I learned about various conservation projects for frogs and other Smithsonian research sites in Panama. It was inspiring to see efforts to save Panama’s wildlife, especially since from what I’d seen so far, it didn’t seem like the locals were very concerned.

The aquarium featured corals from the Pacific and Caribbean, with explanations of their differences. A blue light activated the corals’ UV protection, and I learned they change colors to shield themselves from UV damage. Later, I spotted two sloths in the trees near the freshwater fish and turtle tanks. I loved the frog exhibit and thought about Edgar’s research trying to save the golden frog in El Valle de Anton. Though many frog biologists were named, he wasn’t among them.

There was a curiosity cabinet hall with fun facts, where I enjoyed looking at sand and fossils under a microscope, plus mammal skull replicas. An employee explained some of the research conducted on Barro Colorado Island. My interest was piqued—I watched a video about the Smithsonian’s history in Panama and their tropical research efforts. Important work is happening here.

Around 4:30, I’d had my fill and almost lost my black fleece sweater on the trail, but luckily an employee found it and was carrying it for me. I walked to the end of the walkway at Isla Perico and watched people feed the fish popcorn and bread—a feeding frenzy! I’d never seen fish swim so fast. There were two different groups, and I enjoyed watching them. I talked with Shawn for about 45 minutes. He was having a good day and planning to go to Half Moon Bay tomorrow. He was happy that José was such a good worker and was helping his business pick up.

I walked back along the canal side of the causeway and watched the sky change from blue to silver to pink to salmon as the sun set behind the clouds. Sadly, the sun sets at 6:40 here, so I’m missing the long days we have at home. I’ve realized I have to take trips north in the summer to lengthen my days, not the other way around. It was a pretty walk, and I even saw fireflies in the garden around the Biomuseum. I was surprised but then remembered seeing them in B as well. I walked as far as I felt comfortable, but it was dark, and some shady characters were hanging out, so I turned around and thought about buying patacones at a nearby restaurant that had once given me an order to-go when I was hungry a couple months ago.

I checked the menu but didn’t find them, so I decided to call it a night and head to the bus stop. I stared out into the dark waters as I waited for the bus. There were lots of people waiting, and I ended up standing the whole way home. I had thought about getting ice cream, but I wanted food first, and by the time I ate, it was 9 pm, so I decided to make it an early night. It was a nice change. I relaxed on the couch reading an article about Barbie and turned in at 10. To drown out a really loud salsa band next door, I played rain sounds on my phone.

July 30. I finally got hold of Erynn last night and asked if she wanted to meet for coffee this morning. She said yes, but I decided to wait and see if I had time, since I also wanted to go to Amador. I got up at 9 and went to Annie and Mott’s. I invited Erynn, and she arrived 30 minutes later. We talked for a while inside, then went outside so she could eat. She’s immunocompromised, and the only time she got COVID was when she ate out at a restaurant in Trieste. She lived there for ten years, and we ended up talking about her time there, her travels, and the beautiful architecture. I wished I had the chance to spend time there. She had a lovely flat for $500 a month on a pretty, tree-filled square. I’m not sure if that’s normal, but it seemed very reasonable.

We walked back to her apartment at Kubix and spent half an hour looking at photos from her time in Italy. I’d stayed in the same tower a few days earlier and was struck by how much smaller it was compared to where I was now at Park View. I was glad we connected because I was still feeling quite lonely. Then I excused myself and went back to make breakfast.

Nejeet was there. He’s much friendlier than his wife, whose almost only interaction with me was to ask me not to do this or that—don’t use the dishwasher, don’t wash dishes by hand, clean up crumbs but don’t use the sponge, wash the cloth every time, put shoes on and take them off outside, etc. What was frustrating was that I was already doing everything she asked, but she seemed peeved anyway. They don’t pay for the place; his work does. So this is just spending money for her.

I decided to head over to Ancón Hill. Someone had told me they’d seen a sloth and toucan there, so I wanted to try my luck. I took the metro to Albrook, then decided to walk to the hill since the bus had passed the spot I wanted to walk. The route was a bit dicey—I passed through a pretty dilapidated neighborhood and a barrio called Curundu, which wasn’t very safe—but I made it in one piece. I walked through some nicer neighborhoods, although there were many vicious dogs, and finally reached the road leading up the hill. It started raining hard, and I enjoyed hearing raindrops falling on the dense jungle leaves. I was struck by how close the urban population was below.

I got thoroughly soaked in the heavy rain. My shoes held up for the first five minutes, then their tongues—without Gore-Tex—gave in. At the hilltop, people were huddled under structures, and I joined them for a while, though I had an umbrella I’d chosen not to use. By the time I reached the top, I was quite wet. I changed clothes and walked around a bit, then headed back down. By the time I reached the gate, the rain had stopped and birds were coming out. I hoped to see some animals, but it was very special just to hear the rain. It was worth it.

From there, I walked around Balboa Common and the Gold Roll buildings—officers’ quarters for Americans who worked on the canal, which I’d learned about at the canal museum. I absorbed the neighborhood vibe and ended up at a lovely church, where I asked to use the bathroom. The complex was quite large, and I learned John Rockefeller had contributed funds toward its construction. From there, I walked back to Albrook Mall through a mix of nice and not-so-nice neighborhoods. I got lost and ended up near the police station, having to retrace my steps through some dilapidated, crumbling areas to reach the mall. It was an interesting experience.

From there, I went to Argentina for my last gelato. Tonight they had pistachio! I enjoyed it immensely. When I got back to Park View, Alua and her husband were busy watching TV, cleaning, and vacuuming. I tried to get to bed early, but the smell of cooking onions, the fact I forgot to turn on the AC, and loud Turkish TV chatter kept me awake much of the night. My last night in the city was a restless one.

July 31. I told Alua I’d be out by 11 am but worried I wouldn’t make it in time. I had a lot to pack and wanted to shower and eat. I was very careful to clean up after myself everywhere. I took a quick shower, packed quickly, made some eggs, and nearly threw up when I found a long, dark hair in them. I threw the eggs out.

Not wanting to be underfoot, I asked the guard downstairs if he could watch my pack for an hour or so. I said goodbye to Alua at 11:10, handed over my bag to the guard, and headed to Annie and Mott’s. They had a nice cappuccino, and I asked if I could sit near a couch where some women were sitting. The staff worried I might offend them, but reassured everyone it was fine.

I was struck by the social stratification in the city. The rich definitely seem catered to in places like this café. I didn’t want to leave L Congré (?), and since time was running out, I grabbed my backpack and started walking down the street. Then I saw Leonardo, the young friend of Kieran’s who said little two nights before. He told me he didn’t speak much English, so I happily spoke with him in Spanish. We talked about life, how he’s surviving, paying bills, and selling chocolate on the street. I’d noticed him on my first day and remembered thinking he was very polite. We exchanged emails, I gave him a big hug, and wished him well. Meetings like this remind me why I travel.

I slogged my things onto the metro and practically collapsed as I put my pack on the floor. It was so heavy! I got out but had no ticket for Elvia and then faced the challenge of getting through a turnstile without the correct token. The attendant wouldn’t help me. Exasperated and sure I’d miss my bus, I threw my pack over the turnstile and was about to jump over when a young man bystander used his card to let me pass. I tried to pay him, but he didn’t hear me. I was relieved and happy that there are kind people among officious transit workers.

I waited outside until the bus was ready to go, not wanting to sit in the freezing cold air. I sat next to the door, but then the guy who rides shotgun told me to move—ironic, since he didn’t end up sitting there either. Some women who got on later took that spot.

I spent much of the ride ranting to my co-counselor friend about some of the injustices I’d endured in the city: Tamir Shirley, who promised me a long-awaited ride to Gamboa after I gave him 80 dollars to help buy a taxi (he’d contacted me weeks before and said he’d be happy to give me a ride, but when I asked while there, he went silent); my Chilean friend Emilio, with whom I’d planned to stay in the city but who came down with Covid and informed me just three hours before my flight; Alua, the host of my second Airbnb, who seemed unhappy no matter how hard I tried to comply with her strict cleanliness rules; the turnstile at Albrook that required a different transit card, and the woman who refused to let me through; falling into a hole covered by leaves on the sidewalk and nearly breaking my neck; not having eaten because I was rushing to leave on time and avoid upsetting Alua; and, last but not least, still battling this stubborn cough.

I’m sure people on the bus thought I was crazy. I was so angry I didn’t care that I was speaking English and tried to save the seat next to me so I wouldn’t have someone practically sitting on top of me. I didn’t succeed. The last person jammed into me so hard I pushed back—which I don’t usually do out of civility and respect—but I was beyond caring. After venting for a while, I listened to Paula and felt much better. Plus, I had a couples counseling session with Shawn to look forward to the next day.

We finally arrived three hours later in El Valle. I hauled my unwieldy load to the fire station, where I met Julian. I was more sensitive than usual about being used and wasn’t sure if he was taking advantage of me for the shoes I had bought and brought for him. I was able to communicate this the next day, and we cleared the air. We went for a walk to the zoo and then near the waterfall, Chorro Macho. I love that part of the valley at dusk. On the way back, Julian said he was tired and a bit reluctant to stay because his daughter missed him. He probably needed to return home soon to take her to school in Penonome.

Since he was tired, I told him I’d walk alone to the El Rey market, hoping to buy prepared chicken. Sadly, because of the late hour, my two-mile round trip was for nothing—no chicken or plain yogurt, just multigrain bread and eggs. As the locals in the store told me, “es por la hora.”

That night, I camped in the ample backyard of the fire station. One fireman held a bright light while another helped me set up my tent. The neighbors next door were howling to provoke the neighborhood dogs, Gaia and Gigi. I pitched my tent in the shade of a giant mango tree at the back of the yard to maximize morning shade. Unfortunately, it was only about ten feet from the fence and the incessant barking, which lasted for several hours.