Untrust Us, Crystal Castles

The Peace Corps has recently had two very obvious affects on my life.  Primarily, I am incredibly stingy – not knowing when next an envelope full of money will make it into my hands has me pinching pennies.  Once ever ten or so days (usually “or so”), we get handed carefully (but not really) plotted envelopes full (not really) of money.  My last one held $63 and was expected to get me to and from my site visit and feed me during the site visit as well as during other “free days” around Panama city.  Panama uses US currency, but makes their own coins, including dollar coins, but intermingles US coin into their currency.  In other words, US currency can be used in Panama, but Panamanian currency cannot be used in the US.  Feel free to laugh at me when I’m home and try to pay for a beer with balboas.

After doing the math from my site visit paperwork, I realized that unless I made every connection on time, after making the 7:00 bus to begin with, I would still be three dollars short.  US, Balboa, what have you, I would be missing three of them.  I looked over to the food side.  We had $6 for a lunch later in the month, and I decided to borrow from there, skimping on other meals in order to scrape together dollars to eat that day, as well.

Note to the nervous: when I say skimp, I do not mean that I am withholding food from myself.  I am not starving here.  In fact, I’m eating more fried food and carbs than ever before in my life.  I simply mean that when I am buying myself food, I am only buying what I need, having no leftovers and eating lots when I get home to Mama Olga’s.  I am not starving.  I am simply cheap.

The second profound change is that my internal cynic gets to rear it’s ugly head a whole lot more.  My distrust of humanity tends to be on a more general level, but the Peace Corps constantly talks about needing to keep our wits about us, know where bags are at all times and to write down taxi license plates before getting into cabs.  So whenever anyone tries to help me with my bag when I’m traveling, I am hesitant to let them.  I check outside the buses to make sure mine hasn’t been left somewhere as others begin to get off.  I keep my backpack on my lap to ensure I won’t lose it on a local chivas.

Previously, my cynicism has only extended to the individuals who have proved themselves untrustworthy – be that politicians, former friends or otherwise.  Now, it’s to all taxi drivers, all bus drivers and everyone who tries to help me.

This makes travel excessively tiring.