Panama sucked. The thrill is gone, the luster, faded. You can’t smoke
in your hotel room there anymore. I couldn’t smoke at my favorite
outside table at my favorite Tex-Mex , Italian, Greek restaurant.
Smokers in general are not welcome anywhere, and soon, may be shot
on sight. I’m happy to have gotten through the border without being
strip-searched for tobacco products.
I was laying on my hotel bed, naked, watching Law and Order, Criminal
Intent, when I felt something largish walking up my lower leg. I had an
instant SMACK reflex, and knew I nailed it, whatever it was. I turned on
the light and put on my glasses and there was a fucking 2 ½ inch
scorpion on my bed, looking dead. Just when you think you’re out of
the jungle and in a nice generic hotel room, and you got a fucking
scorpion going up your leg. I showed it to the guy when I checked out
and he wasn’t impressed; notions of a discount dissipated, died, and
went into the drink.
I caught two movies at the cine; Hancock, and Get Smart. Get Smart
was disappointing, I thought, and Hancock was pretty fun, in a
disturbing way..sorta…but not really. WALL-E was in Spanish, so I
passed for the time being.
I bought some shorts and t-shirts, and spent a lot of time counting the
hours till I could get the fuck out of there.
It’s time for me to apply my vastly limited resources to the task of
attaining some sort of residency here. Now that I’ve found a great
neighbor and house-sitter, I will be able to leave The Mutts and The
House, for longer periods of time to wander, dimly, through the dark
and curious passages leading who knows where in the quest for open-
armed acceptance, or at least, a grudgingly diminishing resistance on
the part of Costa Rican Hospitality..
I don’t think Panamanians like Gringos much on the whole. Costa
Ricans have embraced them/us for years, and have realized some
substantial rewards in certain sectors. Of course there’s a different
history with The U.S. and Panama. Whatever the reasons, I feel much
more welcome in Costa Rica than in Panama, and here (CR), a person
can still smoke in an outdoor restaurant, and in ones own hotel room.
SMOKING IS GOOD!
I’ve become, like, totally intolerant of intolerance. I am soon going to
plant myself right next to a couple at a restaurant, a couple reeking of
self-righteousness and Politicaly-Correctism, and wait till they are well
into their meals before I light up (hopefully with the right draft
direction) and get my money’s worth with my deadly second-hand
smoke. It’s pathetic I feel no remorse for all the healthy lungs I’ve
poisoned with deadly tobacco smoke. What is wrong with me? I, for
some reason, never thought my cigarette smoke could be bothersome
to someone, at a baseball game; for instance. The huge fireworks
extravaganza after the game fills the park with dense clouds of noxious
gas, no problem, but don’t cross the smoker line with that cancer stick..
asshole!
The shuttle bus from David, to El Frontera, or the border, is fun, and
cheap, and makes me like the people more. Next time I’m going to find
some little town and kick around for a couple of days instead of
wandering dopily through the streets of David.
I got out of town as fast as I could this morning, and was at the bus
around 6AM, Panama Time. The ride was nice (about an hour), and
someone actually spoke to me! He pointed to his house as he left and I
replied, “muy bueno”.
I breezed through the Panama exit, but there were four bus-loads of
Guatemalans in queue to enter Costa Rica. I had a sinking feeling.
Then, The Expediter graced my path. We embraced like long lost
twins, and he hustled me to the front of a line. He looks official, and is
an important cog in the gears of the border crossing machine. For a
small fee he will grease the squeaks, and navigate you around
troublesome obstacles . I only had a five dollar bill, so that’s what I
slipped him on the way out to get my car. I LOVE THESE GUYS! He
probably saved me an hour of standing around with my thumb up my
ass, which I'm uncomfortable with in public.
Driving home I managed to fly under the radar, zooming past the speed
traps with a friendly wave at the Policia who, luckily, were busy
extorting other hapless motorist.
Carolina seemed to have enjoyed house-sitting, and I'm happy to have
made this connection.
I went on a binge soon after arriving home, and while visiting with Noah
up at Mistura, he roped me into making a flier for Jam Night, Mondays.
I leaped into action, and with reckless abandon, flew at the task in
hand. I entertain myself easily and often with gusto.
I think I made a final print awhile ago. It’s just a simple thing, but I like
it. I get to make the next Full Moon Poster..oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I’ll
see how many people I can piss off, or at least annoy.
I wanted to rant more about the whole Nazi Anti-Smoking League, and
their world-wide crusade to fuck with smokers everywhere, but I’m not
in the mood anymore.
I’m tired,
Tom..out.
in your hotel room there anymore. I couldn’t smoke at my favorite
outside table at my favorite Tex-Mex , Italian, Greek restaurant.
Smokers in general are not welcome anywhere, and soon, may be shot
on sight. I’m happy to have gotten through the border without being
strip-searched for tobacco products.
I was laying on my hotel bed, naked, watching Law and Order, Criminal
Intent, when I felt something largish walking up my lower leg. I had an
instant SMACK reflex, and knew I nailed it, whatever it was. I turned on
the light and put on my glasses and there was a fucking 2 ½ inch
scorpion on my bed, looking dead. Just when you think you’re out of
the jungle and in a nice generic hotel room, and you got a fucking
scorpion going up your leg. I showed it to the guy when I checked out
and he wasn’t impressed; notions of a discount dissipated, died, and
went into the drink.
I caught two movies at the cine; Hancock, and Get Smart. Get Smart
was disappointing, I thought, and Hancock was pretty fun, in a
disturbing way..sorta…but not really. WALL-E was in Spanish, so I
passed for the time being.
I bought some shorts and t-shirts, and spent a lot of time counting the
hours till I could get the fuck out of there.
It’s time for me to apply my vastly limited resources to the task of
attaining some sort of residency here. Now that I’ve found a great
neighbor and house-sitter, I will be able to leave The Mutts and The
House, for longer periods of time to wander, dimly, through the dark
and curious passages leading who knows where in the quest for open-
armed acceptance, or at least, a grudgingly diminishing resistance on
the part of Costa Rican Hospitality..
I don’t think Panamanians like Gringos much on the whole. Costa
Ricans have embraced them/us for years, and have realized some
substantial rewards in certain sectors. Of course there’s a different
history with The U.S. and Panama. Whatever the reasons, I feel much
more welcome in Costa Rica than in Panama, and here (CR), a person
can still smoke in an outdoor restaurant, and in ones own hotel room.
SMOKING IS GOOD!
I’ve become, like, totally intolerant of intolerance. I am soon going to
plant myself right next to a couple at a restaurant, a couple reeking of
self-righteousness and Politicaly-Correctism, and wait till they are well
into their meals before I light up (hopefully with the right draft
direction) and get my money’s worth with my deadly second-hand
smoke. It’s pathetic I feel no remorse for all the healthy lungs I’ve
poisoned with deadly tobacco smoke. What is wrong with me? I, for
some reason, never thought my cigarette smoke could be bothersome
to someone, at a baseball game; for instance. The huge fireworks
extravaganza after the game fills the park with dense clouds of noxious
gas, no problem, but don’t cross the smoker line with that cancer stick..
asshole!
The shuttle bus from David, to El Frontera, or the border, is fun, and
cheap, and makes me like the people more. Next time I’m going to find
some little town and kick around for a couple of days instead of
wandering dopily through the streets of David.
I got out of town as fast as I could this morning, and was at the bus
around 6AM, Panama Time. The ride was nice (about an hour), and
someone actually spoke to me! He pointed to his house as he left and I
replied, “muy bueno”.
I breezed through the Panama exit, but there were four bus-loads of
Guatemalans in queue to enter Costa Rica. I had a sinking feeling.
Then, The Expediter graced my path. We embraced like long lost
twins, and he hustled me to the front of a line. He looks official, and is
an important cog in the gears of the border crossing machine. For a
small fee he will grease the squeaks, and navigate you around
troublesome obstacles . I only had a five dollar bill, so that’s what I
slipped him on the way out to get my car. I LOVE THESE GUYS! He
probably saved me an hour of standing around with my thumb up my
ass, which I'm uncomfortable with in public.
Driving home I managed to fly under the radar, zooming past the speed
traps with a friendly wave at the Policia who, luckily, were busy
extorting other hapless motorist.
Carolina seemed to have enjoyed house-sitting, and I'm happy to have
made this connection.
I went on a binge soon after arriving home, and while visiting with Noah
up at Mistura, he roped me into making a flier for Jam Night, Mondays.
I leaped into action, and with reckless abandon, flew at the task in
hand. I entertain myself easily and often with gusto.
I think I made a final print awhile ago. It’s just a simple thing, but I like
it. I get to make the next Full Moon Poster..oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I’ll
see how many people I can piss off, or at least annoy.
I wanted to rant more about the whole Nazi Anti-Smoking League, and
their world-wide crusade to fuck with smokers everywhere, but I’m not
in the mood anymore.
I’m tired,
Tom..out.
Last Exit to Panama
7-12-2008
jungle journal, 7-12-2008, by Thomas Scott Daly
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