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Mangos and Easter
19 April 2003

It is now the height of the mango season here in Azuero. Mangos grow everywhere. The trees are laden with fruit hanging low and heavy, it drags the branches down with its weight. Fallen mangos lie everywhere, but they are especially noticeable where they fall in the road. Flattened by passing cars they make a sort of yellow, hairy splotch on the asphalt wherever they have fallen and been flattened by passing traffic.
A common sight is to see people out with a long pole, trying to knock a choice fruit out of a tree. It's nothing for someone to enter the front gate, walk up to the house and pick up the pole in our front yard, then go back and knock a mango from the tree by the gate. With fruit in hand they then sit and talk as they slowly eat it.
The kids around here will often take the green ones, then cut off pieces to eat with salted vinegar. That is also a popular way to devour the little ciruella (small wild plums) that are also prolific at this time of year.
Mangos are also a sign that summer is passing and the rainy season is approaching. When the trees are full of mangos and the ground under the trees is littered with over-ripe fruit the rain could start almost any time. Out here it would be a little unusual for it to start raining any earlier then the first of May, but it's not unheard of.
One of the rewards of this time of year is an abundant supply of fruit to make that heavy, pasty Panamanian dessert, dulce de mango. This is a sort of sticky, heavy, mango pudding type dish that is eaten with saltine crackers. The sweet rich mango and the salty cracker are the perfect combination on the tongue.
As I have mentioned before, I usually drive a company vehicle. Normally this is a Delta Daihatsu with a big boxy cargo compartment. Just think Big White Delivery Truck and you will be able to picture it in your mind. One of the things about driving this truck is that not only is it necessary to watch the road ahead, but also to watch for low hanging obstacles. Telephone lines and low hanging power lines are just a couple of examples. In the heat of the day and under the power of the sun these lines sometimes sag dangerously low where they cross a street. The greatest hazard is if it is necessary to park on the side of a narrow street where a house alongside may be several feet below the elevation of the street. That means that the lines to that house are probably dropping at a dangerous angle on that side of the road. So far I have only taken out one phone line, and it didn't actually break, it just caught one corner of the cargo box on the back of the truck and twanged like an out of tune guitar string before it popped a piece of the fascia off the house it was attached to. Those kinds of things are sort of embarrassing.
Speaking of mango season though, the branches often hang low enough weighed down with the fruit that they brush against the top of the truck as it passes below. This usually isn't much of a problem unless the branch is really loaded with mangos. I have on various occasions been startled as the cargo bed will knock off some mangos and they fall heavily onto the cab of the truck making a noise like the devil with a drum. A few times I have turned a corner where a mango tree is hanging low over the side of the road, the truck will hit a particularly heavily laden branch and mangos will launch off and fly for twenty or thirty feet. That always seems to startle the group of little old ladies that are inevitably walking along the road at the point of impact. Fortunately their aim isn't very good as they toss them back furiously at the truck (just kidding here). It is a little alarming though to see those heavy fruits flying through the air and smacking against the earth in a heavy yellow splat.
Tomorrow is Easter and yesterday was one of the big events of the year in the town of Pes�. A reenactment of the Passion of Jesus is an annual event there. It starts on Thursday night with the supper and finishes on Friday at sundown when the crucifixion takes place. The town is not very large but this event attracts a great number of people from outside and the town is filled with humanity. It is sort of a curious atmosphere during the day. A mixture of solemnity and a sort of carnival like spirit with vendors selling raspao and carne asada and chorizos and all sorts of other things to the throngs of people observing. This year someone got even more creative then usual with the reenactment and during the crucifixion the music from the soundtrack of the movie Ben Hur was played. At the moment of the death of 'Jesus' several mortar like fireworks were set off to simulate the thunder, they simulated it well enough that you could hear the glass rattle in neighboring houses as they exploded in the air. The music made an interesting addition to the event. I kept expecting to see Charleton Heston searching for his mother and sister at the leper colony. The only thing is that Pes� doesn�t have a leper colony.
The day ended with a church procession that started about nine in the evening and continued until about midnight winding through the town. My beautiful and faithfully Catholic wife attended and walked through the streets of Pes�. I sat quietly behind the house and listened to the procession's progress, notable for the solemn and sad drum that was slowly beaten in the front of the procession. It was not hard to imagine this could have been the 12^th century instead of the 21^st, BOOM��BOOM��BOOM. With not another sound in the air of Pes�.
Tonight the Great Vigil of Easter will take place as it does in every part of the world where Christians gather to celebrate. Afterwards people here start to party (well, some of them wait until afterwards), the street on the side of the baseball stadium has been blocked off where a cantina is located for a discotec. That means that my end of town will be filled with loud music until dawn on Sunday. The party goes all night long, but I have always managed to sleep through it just fine.
From the heart of Azuero, wishing a wondrous Easter to all.
Leo
From the Exsultet,
(taken from the 1979 copy of The Book of Common Prayer, According to the use of The Episcopal Church, Seabury Press.)
Rejoice now, heavenly hosts and choirs of angels,
And let your trumpets shout Salvation
For the victory of our mighty King.

Rejoice and sing now, all the round earth,
Bright with a glorious splendor,
For darkness has been vanquished by our eternal King.

Rejoice and be glad now, Mother Church,
And let your holy courts, in radiant light,
resound with the praises of your people.

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The War, a Birthday Party, and a Few other Things
29 March 2003
- The last couple of weeks have looked like summer has returned to the Azuero. The sky has been clear and blue, and there is usually a fresh breeze from the North. All of the flowering trees are in full bloom; the countryside is decked out with enormous bursts of bright yellow, and deep orange, and violet. Mangos hang heavy from the trees and the ciruella (the tiny wild plums) are everywhere. It's a common sight now to see people moving along the fence lines beside the road with bags and long sticks collecting ciruella. The little kids around here like the green ones, dipped in salted vinegar.
  This is quite a contrast with the first week of the month. That week looked like winter had returned with a vengeance. It had rained everyday of that first week. There had been almost ten days of rainy weather. This is unusual for this part of the country. Sometimes there will be one or two days of rain in the middle of the dry season, but this year has been a little unusual.
- Here in the heart of Panama, I usually avoid talk of politics with everyone but the best of friends or family. These last couple of weeks have been a little interesting. Since the start of the bombing, there have been a couple of the National television stations carrying CNN's Spanish broadcast throughout the night, after their regular programming. The only other time that has happened since I have been here was on the night of September 11, 2001. All night T.V. is only a phenomenon here during times and events that are considered exceptional.
  I have heard a lot of discussion about the war in Iraq. What's heard from the intellectual community is about the same as always. The Church is definitely opposed, although individual priests may make more positive comments in person. But what is really interesting are the comments from the regular folks.
  My wife had to go into the hospital a few days ago. During the course of her visit she had to wait for awhile in the pharmacy to get some prescriptions filled. The television just outside the door of the pharmacy had been tuned to images of the war via Telemundo. She said that while she was waiting for the medicine, there were a number of people there waiting and watching when a lady entered, saw what was on the television and sort of snorted out that she was not in favor of that war, and that she considered it an affront to International law and that George W. was a criminal.
  An older lady seated close by heard these comments and asked the first lady if she remembered how it was here under Noriega. The younger lady replied that she had never had any problem while Noriega had been in power. The older lady then appeared a little upset, and started talking. She asked how would things be here now if Noriega was still in power and she asked how was it that with the number of people that were opposed to him, how did he manage to stay in power so long? Without a pause she went on and asked the first lady how could the Panamanian people have gotten rid of him themselves, without weapons? She finished by simply stating that Panama was much better now, but that of course the other lady would be happier with Noriega, she then snarled out "Noriegista" in a rather forceful voice. Sometimes feelings run a little strong out here. But there are people who remember what it was like to live under fear.
- I have to confess that I had intended to write this comment some time ago, but have been suffering under a severe case of writers block. On the 16^th I went to a birthday party in Monagrillo. The Fiftieth birthday of Bebito Vargas, a friend of mine who is also a master at the 'Cantadera' and 'Decimo'. He had advertised this party on the radio, and it took place across the street from his house, under a temporary roof in an open field. I got there about eight in the evening and paid my dollar to get in. The little fellow that took the dollar tried to start a conversation, but in that silly way that a lot of people out here do who have no experience with gringos. He started asking if I spoke English or Spanish. I told him I would rather speak Spanish because if I didn't then he wouldn't understand anything I said. I then asked where Bebito was, I explained I was a friend of his and wanted to wish him well on his birthday. The little guy turned and grabbed another person walking by and told him to find Bebito and tell him there was a gringo here to see him. A few seconds later, Bebito's wife came up, grabbed me by the hand and led me off to their table. We shook hands, he bought me a beer and we talked for a few minutes as best we could while the Cantadera continued at full blast. About fifteen minutes later the Cantadera finished and it was cake time.
  Bebito went up and mounted the stage to make a little speech before the candle on his cake was lit. He took the microphone and started to speak. He thanked everyone for coming and said how honored he was that so many people had come for his party. He went on and said that he realized that wasn't too difficult for most of the folks there since they had come from Chitr� or La Arena, or somewhere fairly close. He said how glad he was that people had showed up from Las Tablas, and Penonem�, but that even those place weren't all that far away. He thanked people who had come from Panama City and David who had to look for lodging overnight since the drive back was so far late at night. And then he went for the clincher, he said, "But someone has come here from much farther away, all the way from the United States." He then went on and introduced me and told about how well he had been received when they had visited the house in Pes� the first of December. I was a little embarrassed by this, but really had no choice but to sort of wave and smile after each reference to my humble person. This went on for about ten minutes with various references, of course, this only added to the number of people here who now recognize me at a glance. Well, there's nothing wrong with that, except it lessens the possibility of being able to do anything that I shouldn't be doing.
- I want to finish up with something else. I don't know how much attention this might have received in any other part of the world, but I wanted to mention that here in Panama there has been a great deal of concern over the Prisoners taken by the Iraquis. I'm sure that is true up there as well, it's just that here there is one of them they consider one of their own. Shashana Johnson is also a citizen of Panama, she was born here and her Grandmother is still living in Pedro Miguel. Her story and fate have captured the attention of everyone here. Last night a special Mass was held in Panama City to pray for the return and safety of all of the POWs. We shouldn't be doing any less ourselves.
  A little on edge out here in Azuero.
  Leo
  
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  Coima and Another Recipe
  21 February 2003
  - I normally leave the plant around six in the evening, but lately we have been working late so that all of the folks paid by the hour can build up enough time to be paid for the Monday of Carnival. That way we will be off from one P.M. on Saturday until seven-thirty A.M. on Thursday. That's great, except it means that for now I am leaving around seven to seven-fifteen every evening.
    Last night was no exception and at seven-thirty I found myself waiting at the meat counter in Masisa, tenth in line. It looked to me like the Thursday lazies had hit the carniceros and they were moving with exceptional slowness. As I waited I got hungrier and kept adding little tidbits to my basket.
    When I finally had everything together I went up to the front of the store to pay. It seemed that the cashiers, also, had a case of slowness. As I waited in line it occurred to me that I should check the cash reserves I had on hand. Taking out my much abused billfold, I saw that I would probably be short. With that realization I stepped out of line and took my little basket over to the jewelry counter and asked the girl there if I could leave it for a minute. Of course it was ok, after all, I am Mister Leo of Estereo Lasser fame. I left my basket and went out and across the street to the closest ATM. After rejuvenating my personal fortune I returned, retrieved my basket and paid my bill. This little inconvenience turned out to be very fortunate.
    Leaving the store I climbed up in the big white truck and decided that considering all of the delays I would take the most direct route. What a fool I was, here in paradise there is never a direct route.
    I was headed out of Chitr� on the main highway and after passing that juicy location called 'La Florida', I observed that the traffic in front of me was sort of congested in the road. An operativo transito was taking place right at the entrance to La Arena leaving Chitr�. I, stupidly, was not very concerned. My commercial drivers license is up to date and I had all of the papers to the company truck in the glove box. I rolled up for my turn of scrutiny by the young transito in the road and then the first little wave of panic hit. In the dark I couldn't find my license in my billfold. As I asked the officer to please shine his light into the cab so I could locate that troublesome card, the Sergeant across the street spoke out and told him to have me pull up a little on the side of the road.
    Still, I wasn't too worried, I knew my license was in that beaten up piece of leather, and after I had parked the truck on the shoulder I calmly went through its contents and located my drivers license.
    I waited patiently, sure that since I now had my license in hand that I would soon be on my way. I waited for the Sergeant to cross the road, check my license and tell me to have a good night.
    He finally came up to the truck and took my license, but he then walked forward to a little pickup stopped in front of me and started talking to the driver of that unfortunate vehicle. I decided it would be best to get out of the truck to wait so that he would not have to stand right on the edge of the road, exposed to traffic. Very considerate of me but as I walked to the front of the truck I saw that something was horribly wrong.
    I had put the transmission in neutral and left everything running sure that I would soon be on my way. As I got in front of the truck I realized that only one headlight was working. Great! Obviously he had discovered a genuine infraction. When the Sergeant returned I cordially greeted him and explained that I now saw what the problem was. I also (truthfully) explained that this was the first I had realized that one of the headlights was not functioning.
    He asked me to accompany him back to the magical transito patrol car. When we had gotten to the back of his car, he walked around me and took his ticket book out of the back seat. He opened it and then with his flashlight illuminated infraction number eleven. 'Operating a vehicle with missing or defective lights'. He said this was what he would have to write the ticket for.
    I told him to go ahead, I could see that the truck had a defective headlamp. But I also explained again that it was the first I had known about it, and that (again, this is the honest truth)the truck had been in the shop and had just come out that morning and I had thought it was in good shape.
    He was a rather large Sergeant, but he seemed fairly congenial and pleasant, but stern. He had studied my license and had remarked about my address in Pes�. He then asked how long I had been in Panama. I told him about ten years altogether (all of this as he bounced his pen up and down on top of an open ticket in his book). I thought it prudent to mention again the ten years here, with a wife and daughter who were Panamanian. I stressed that the first time I had come here was 1993. He finally seemed to catch the significance of the date, and I could see his features sort of soften.
    He asked me what part of Pes� I lived in and I explained that my humble residence was just above the baseball stadium. He did the Panamanian thing with his hands and the "alli y all�" deal that everyone here does so well when giving directions to be sure he understood where I lived. I explained that I lived right behind left field, and he seemed to like that. His face and manner seemed to soften a little more. He then said that he would still have to write the ticket.
    I said, "Fine, what can I do? If you have to write it go ahead."
    He looked at me and said, "Well, if you don't have any problem in doing something to help yourself, then I surely don't."
    Well gosh, here it was. Still, he had not stated this very clearly and I asked him what I could do. He looked at me and then said that if I could do something and if it didn't bother me, then he was open to finding a solution other then the ticket.
    This sort of took me back a little, not the idea of 'fixing' the ticket on the spot, but his obvious bashfulness about stating the conditions. Besides, it bothered me that this cop would be concerned if I was 'Ok' with that solution. What was going on? Some sort of 'New Age' feel good session? It worried me because it occurred to me in that instant that maybe this was also a push to eliminate corruption, perhaps I was being set up.
    I said, "Look, either give me the ticket or lets work it out, but I need to get going, I'm hungry."
    Hearing that he sort of chuckled and said, "It's up to you, if you can do something to help yourself then that's fine with me if you don't have any problem with it."
    There was that curious kind of 'feel good' business again. Well, being set up or not, I was just getting hungrier. I asked him what it would take to take care of this. Again he was a little cagey and just asked me what I had in mind. In exasperation I said, "Look, I don't have much experience in this sort of thing, but will five dollars help?"
    He looked at me then reached down and pulled an official looking sheet of paper out of the back of his ticket book, focused his flashlight on it and started to copy my name off my drivers license. He then said, "Dale pue."
    As discreetly as possible I pulled out that worn out piece of cowhide, that fountain of dinero which does nothing but spew forth dollars, and separated the five on top from the pitiful little collection of papers inside.
    He finished scribbling on that piece of paper and then turning his pen upside down, he stabbed the paper and said, "There is no charge for this, it is just a reminder. But in the morning, first thing in the morning, fix that headlight." He then handed my license back along with the paper he had been messing with, and the five dollar bill that was wadded up in my fist was magically transported to his chubby hand.
    That was it, I crossed the street and got in the truck and left. It wasn't until I got home that I examined the paper he had handed me. Here it is if you want to see it.
  - A few weeks ago I had to take care of some business in Los Santos early in the morning. I made sure that someone would be in to open the plant up and figured on a rare treat, a real breakfast. I figured that with the unavoidable 'people factor' it would be about eight thirty before I could make it into work. Oddly enough, the business part of the day started out very efficiently and I was finished and headed back into Chitr� at about five minutes after seven. But alas, the second, and most important part of the plan quickly fell apart.
    At seven in the morning there are very few restaurants open in Chitr�. I guess it has to do with the inability of alarm clocks to stir people to action in the mornings. I know that mine is an object of scorn and I treat it very roughly, I assume that other folks probably do the same. This wouldn't be a very big deal, except I had awoken several times during the night and had gone back to sleep with the thought of a biscuit from MacDonalds. I know, I know, MacDonalds is supposed to be an object of scorn for the politically correct. Sorry, I like 'em. It's very seldom I eat there but that has more to do with working hours and other factors. Unfortunately, they were still closed when I headed back into Chitr�.
    Disappointed, I turned onto the Circunvalacion to head to the plant. My mind was as active as my stomach though and less then a kilometer down the road was the bus terminal. The bus terminal in Chitr� is fairly new. It opened in 1997 and brought all of the local transport into one location. It's the beginning and end of most trips into Panama City and the departure point for most of the local chivas. It is also home to one of the two all night restaurants in Chitr�. I decided to salvage my plan and pulled the truck in there.
    I am not a stranger to this place, often I have had to catch busses to various locations and have eaten in this restaurant. The food has always been very good. In fact they have the best fried chicken in the province of Herrera. The only problem I have is that I always have to check out my water glass very carefully for lip prints. Yes, the place just doesn't appear that hygienically sound. But despite all of that, the food has always been good, basic, food; Estilo Azuerense.
    I walked into an almost empty restaurant and checked out the selection at the serving line. Most resteraunts out here that serve 'regular' food, are a sort of buffet style. Azuerenses don't like to wait for their food. I looked over the selection and decided on the salchichas guisada and a big piece of changa with a couple of fried eggs and coffee.
    This is one of my favorite breakfasts and here is how I make it.
    Salchichas Guisadas
    - 1 package of hot dogs
    - 1 6 ounce can of tomato sauce
    - About five small pear type tomatos
    - About three small green peppers
    - 1 medium onion
    - culantro and worsectershire to taste
    Everything is normal out here in Azuero.
    Leo
    
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    Time
    4 February 2003
    - Yesterday was Monday, and Monday mornings must be about the same over all of the world. Sometimes here in the Azuero peninsula we're treated to some really fantastic sunrises. Just about a week ago, for several days, the sun rose with an intense red color. Nothing orange or yellow, but red, like fluorescent blood. With those high clouds that look like puffy marshmallows up in a deep bluish-purple sky and mist around all of the hills, it was a sight that took away all conversation from my companions on the drive into Chitr�. These were mornings to admire and appreciate for their incredible beauty.
      This particular morning wasn't like that. This morning started off way too early. It was one of those mornings where when you first open your eyes, you realize it would be a day better spent somewhere else. First of all, when I first awoke, it felt as if for the first time in my life my leg muscles had been molded perfectly with the mattress in an act of oneness impossible to describe. I was one with the bed and had no desire to break that holy union. Unfortunately the snooze alarm was just out of reach and the sound of 'rap' at five-thirty in the morning, was too much. Well, I could probably have tuned it out but my lovely bride, trying to sleep beside me could not, and after the third "Harumph, cough, cough!" I got up and shut off the clock from hell.
      The day had started and it was now too late to retrieve that special moment. The drive into Chitr� was not in any way special. It was obvious from my first footfall outside that the day would be one of those hot windy summer days that are the hallmark of Azuero in summer. No red sun, no misty hills, no puffy clouds, and the desire to sleep another three hours. So much for paradise.
      The rest of the day passed in the same vein. Too much to do, too many problems to solve, and way too much to think about. But, as time has a tendency to do, it all passed. The day progressed and the night arrived dark and intense and a sky full of stars. Orion appeared directly overhead and perfectly visible. The nightly breeze stirred the air enough to dry my forehead and the peace and quiet descended over everything.
    - This week is one of preparation. We are getting ready for the cumplea�o of the child goddess Margaret. She who has made such a difference for ordinary mortals. Her birthday is Saturday the eighth. This year will be the seventh glorious year that she has pressed her precious feet over the planet we live on.
      Plans are in the works for the celebration of this great event. She, the child goddess, has selected a long list of friends and acquaintances she would like to be present at this festival of light. I am counting and revising my bank account. My wonderful and patient woman person, the vixen who condemned me to a life in paradise, is busy adding up ingredients and planning the feast. I am counting the few lonely dollars in my bank account. We will survive this ordeal, I am from a race of survivors and we will survive this with honor. Proud to do everything necessary to celebrate this most important event. We will not only survive, but will celebrate in a style that would terminally embarrass most of the folks I have ever known.
      Thinking more of this I realize that we are now on the gentle backside of the most awesome wave of all time. This week will be the last week of our lives lived in such tranquility. Saturday will certainly be a turning point, not only for us, but for all of humanity, civilized or not.
      I think it was about this age when I received one of those gifts that changed the course of human history. My first chemistry set with it's tiny bottles of reagents and little booklet of experiments. I soon grew bored with those and attempted some more spectacular experiments. Fortunately I survived to adulthood with all of my body parts. I don't know if I learned much about chemistry from that thing, but I did learn how much fun it is to mess around mixing things together, always a little afraid the next ingredient would be that one mystery ingredient that would do something explosive.
    - I, like everyone else in my generation was caught up in the idea of men exploring places where no foot had tread. The day that Alan Shepard made his ride towards space I was a first grader in a one room school house that held eight grades, all eighteen of us. My mother called to let me know he was alright, I had been excited and anxious about this and my six year old imagination had been working overtime.
      I really have nothing to say over the recent tragic events in the sky over Texas. Life is so difficult to appreciate while everything is going well. But no exploration has ever taken place without the highest of costs being paid.
      I recently saw the movie Blackhawk Down, (the video store out here is a little slow on the new movies). I thought it was interesting that the song used for the end credits was the Minstrel Boy. Oddly enough it was this song that started running through my mind as I sat and pondered the days events that evening. Click here for the words and tune, be sure your speakers are on. I suppose it sounds horribly grim, but Hector Berlioz said, "Time is a great teacher, unfortunately it kills all of its pupils." So it is with life huh?
      Pondering the impossible out here in Azuero.
      Leo
      
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