Steadier Footing, Death Cab For Cutie

Peace Corps loves putting us in awkward situations.  I’m not sure if they do it on purpose to entertain themselves or as a training process for us – since think about all the awkward situations we’ll enjoy on our own at our sites.  A week ago, we were gathered into the ANAM compound, corralled into a room with 21 gringos, 21 Panamanians and a handful of Peace Corps Panama admin members and told to interact.

We all stood segregated by language before we decided to venture forth.

The Panamanians were our community guides, coming in to show us how to get to our communities, how we interact in the regions in which we will reside and basic cultural advice before we gathered up again, bid each other farewell and headed to our sites for the very first time.

My community guide was eager to get started on our way.  In fact, we waited on the highway for over an hour to get a bus to Las Tablas, gave up, and accepted a ride to Chitre before another bus to Las Tablas.  Once in Las Tablas, at 8 pm that night, we headed for his sisters house to spend the night before going to Isla Canas the next morning.

Panamanians are some of the most hospitable people in the world.  Another civilization may have pushed to wait until the next morning, so we could simply arrive in one trip (American civilization, for one) and not trouble a stranger, yet my community guide pushed and pushed until I finally agreed to stay the night with his sister in Las Tablas.  Who set up an extra bed, gave me the room with the connected (indoor) bathroom and tried to make me not only dinner and breakfast, but also a load of other food.  Unfortunately, my stomach was not doing too well so I had to turn down all the food.

The next morning, we arose early and headed out to the island.  We got onto a bus for about an hour and a half before arriving at a dock.  My community guide had phoned ahead and told the boat to wait for us – he had a gringa with a large suitcase filled with basically her entire life.  He helped me load my suitcase into the boat and I got in.

The river I cross into the estuary is lined with mangroves.  While the community (and any sane environmentalist – like myself) would like to see them thicker, mangroves have a fairy tale quality to them.  The thickets of roots seem the perfect home for a gnome and at any moment, a fairy might hop out to cast a spell on the crab rooting around.  After five minutes (or less) in the river, we enter the estuary, speeding across before arriving at the dock.

My host family wasn’t expecting me until later in the day, but my counterpart was expecting me earlier.  After putting my things in the room that will be mine for at least another month and a half, my counterpart came up, hugged me and told me he’d get me to take me around the community in an hour.  For the next hour, I sat on the porch and talked with my host father, an older (old) man who lives with his equally old wife and 30 something son.

My counterpart took me on a tour of the community, talking with me about things to remember, his favorite people and introducing me to key members of the ecotourism group.  The next few days passed in a pattern, I paseared for a bit, went to the beach, walked around the community, then sat on the porch or in the hammock, talking with Sr. Pablo and echaring el cuento.

This community entry business is tiring.