After crossing the border, as I wrote before, we headed a few kilometers off the highway to the beach.  The town was called Las Lajas.  There was not much going on in Las Lajas, and after searching around some bad roads, we headed back to the only place that we had seen.  At first a kid told us it would be $5 to camp, but after we had hung our hammocks and grabbed a beer, another fellow came over, apologized and said it would be $10.  We couldn't get them to budge, and after considering just heading down the beach and camping somewhere for free, that $10 was a price that we were willing to pay for secure parking and a little restaurant/store with cold beverages on hand.  Just as we settled in, a lady and her son in a beat-up SUV cruised up selling tamales.  I'm not always a fan of the tamales, but I grabbed two and it was a great decision.  These were tamales de pollo (of chicken) and the masa (corn flour dough) was spiced and almost orangey in color. 

     Tamales down here are corn flour/meal dough, with different fillings inside that are then wrapped in banana leaves and steamed until they are cooked.  The dough doesn't bake like bread; it thickens up a bit, but is still smooth and soft.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but in Mexico and SW USA tamales are often wrapped in corn husks.

      These tamales were really good and totally filling, and even though it was our first meal of the day, it was also a suitable last meal of the day.  By this time, the sun was setting over the pacific and we used the last half hour of light to gather wood.  Eli started a great fire, like us NH boys were brought up to do, and we drank just a little rum and just a very few beers.  There were coconuts everywhere which made for great coconut-rum cocktails complete with coconut cups, and I felt like I was at a Chinese restaurant...almost.

      There were very few people around, but we were joined by a fellow named Aaron.  Aaron was from Georgia and more recently Alaska and it happened to be his birthday.  His father had been living down here and building a few little houses, and he came down to check it out.  Now he probably will never leave.  I've encountered that story here a number of times: "Came down to check it out and haven't left yet".  It is understandable.  Central America is tropical, inexpensive, friendly and pretty wild in places.  If I wasn't such a chronic wanderer, I just might never leave here either...if only there wasn't other curious places to visit.  The funny thing about traveling is the world doesn't get smaller, it gets bigger.  The more you see, the more you realize that there is to see.  A vicious circle.  But enough about me.

     After a solid night of tending fire, I gave Aaron a ride home, which turned out to be a bit of a distance, and when I got back, Eli and I let the fire dwindle and wound things down.  The stars were killer and it had cooled off nicely.  As we rambled back to our hammocks, I grabbed the tamale wrappers (banana leaved) and brought them down to throw them in the fire.  Suddenly my hand was burning.  Fire ants, all over my hand and arm.  Fire ants are funny buggars.  They like to carefully crawl all over you and then bite all at the same time.  It wasn't our first meeting, but I was reminded how much I dislike them.  When I got back to the hammocks, I pointed the flashlight down and saw the ground was crawling with them.  Moments later Eli was hooting...ouch, gad-dam...they got him too!  (Check the tips section for some fire ant tips).

     We were careful, from then on out, not to touch the ground much, and they never got up to us.  The next morning we got up and got going.  I picked the random town of El Valle up in a volcanic crater as our next stop.  We had been beaching it for a week or so, and I needed some mountains and cool fresh air.

      Feb. 8, 2008.  Panama City.  Life has slowed down as we try to take care of the details of getting the car onto the ship.  The drive from Isla Grande to Panama City was troublesome.  From the first twist of the car key, Silver Al was not a happy girl.  The sputtering was back, her engine light was blinking and she wasn’t running with the full gusto that she was used to showing us.  This is still the case.  For the ride back to the city from Isla Grande (approx. 2 hours) we gave a lift to our Isla Grande pal Kat, who has been waiting to catch a friend of a friend’s catamaran through the canal and up to Mexico.  Kat is an acupuncturist and addiction counselor.  Although perhaps slightly appalled by Eli and my own somewhat lurid mannerisms and lifestyle, she has helped us kill some time here in the city and become a nice temporary member of the Silver Al Saga, introducing us to the novel ideas of drinking water and eating more regularly.  For all the family reading this, you should know that other than these pieces of advice, she gave us a 'nothing-to-worry-about' addiction bill of health.  (Although she did mention something about writing a case study on us!?)  She even gave Silver Al a studded rubber steering wheel cover as a good bye present, before realizing that, like us, she wasn´t going anywhere fast.  Waiting in limbo has really gotten to be a drag.

    Upon our arrival back in Panama City, we encountered a first: these good Christians at the hotel would not let Eli and I share a room. I tried to explain that we were brothers, but I guess they thought we were gay so I split a room with Kat instead. On our first day in the city, Eli and I headed to the offices of Seaboard Marine and began to discuss the terms of the shipping of the car.  The biggest thing that we learned was that contrary to the information relayed in my previous phone call, the next boat was on Thursday as opposed to Sunday.  This news wasn’t great, but it will give us a little more time to look into Silver Al’s ailments.  The rest of the details were pretty routine; we filled out some forms, they printed some papers up that we could use for customs, we headed over the a nearby bank and transferred some money into their bank account, we headed back and got a different slip stating that we had paid our balance, we discussed what to do next, ect, ect.  by the time we were through we had a much clearer vision of how the upcoming events would proceed, and digested the news of a later than planned shipping date at an upstairs Cuban restaurant and a down stairs Cuban club.  The food at the restaurant was really good.  In striking contrast, the club downstairs blared bad music and, we quickly realized, was full of ladies on the job….not our cup of tea.

     Today we fought and lost our way to the customs agency, located in an obscure and unmarked section of town.  This was alright, however, because we learned through a couple of overlooked passages in our SEA (South American Explorers) ‘Driving in Central and South America Guide’ that we first needed to bring the car to the National Police to get an inspection and clearance of the vehicle to leave the country.  They want to make sure that you don’t have any unpaid violations, haven’t stolen the car or are exporting a car that has any type of liens on it. 

     We hired a cab to guide us to the station for a couple bucks, and soon began a painfully long waiting game in one office and then another.  It was another one of those times when you think that you are making progress and then you think that you are almost done and you might even give your amigo watching the car the thumbs up out the window and then bang, you finally get the paper you were waiting for only to find out that you have to bring that paper to another office than has an even longer wait.  In this case, it was a frogger game across a raging street to the Secretary General’s office where I traded my one paper for a form and then the form for a 2 hour, dozing in my chair, wait.  That was the day.  Day done without feeling like anything really got done.

      Eli was still not feeling great, so he is layed low and I hung out a bit with Kat who was, once again, supposed to be meeting her yachty friends tomorrow. We spent most of the evening riding buses around, taking each line to their ends at the far reaches of the city and then riding back again. Chit chatting, people watching and enjoying a cheap tour in the process. Somewhere along the way, we stopped off for a quick bite at Pio Pio Pollo, and fed on fake mashed potatoes, cole-slawesque  salad and a roasted hunk of chicken.

Still in Panama City.  Today is Monday and we are making slow steady progress.  Right now I am just killing a little time before catching a taxi to the customs office outside town.  (Gov. offices are closed between 12:00 and 1:00). 

     Silver Al is at the shop.  Eli will head over there in a little bit, while I deal with the customs.  Yesterday we caught a cab over to the Miraflores locks of the Panama Canal.  We hung around long enough to watch a large container ship pass through.  It was quite interesting and we will have some pictures up soon.  In other news, we have hung out in the old city a little.  They are filming a James Bond movie there, so everyone is excited and there were tons of people and police.  After a little wandering around, Eli and I wandered into the wrong part of town and got picked up by the paddy-wagon.  They gave us a ride out of a neighborhood that, apparently, we were not going to make it out of alive.  Panama City, feels pretty safe, but there are undertones of danger lurking around the edges.  Today, for instance, I have to go to a lousy part of town for the customs office.  I´ll be fine.  I was already there a few days ago, but this morning the hotel owner came out from behind the counter when I asked for directions, clutched each of my shoulders and insisted that I don´t go alone...which I am about to do. I´ll catch a cab (they are really cheap here) and avoid too much wandering around.  This is the lurking danger...we haven´t had any problems...just people telling us we are in danger.

     I have tried to tone down the accounts of drinking and night life, feeling a bit like a lush, but now with this clean bill of addiction health and a few comments that the site has lost some of its afterhours detail, I´ll try to keep you all a little better informed of our night life escapades.  For those concerned that we are not utilizing our evenings properly, please be assured that we have still been quite merry in the evenings.  Rum is the drink of the month on the Pan American highway and we happen to prefer the cheapest rum (abuelo 5 anos) on the shelf.  Rum on the rocks with a squeeze of lime is a fine drink and goes down like Warner water.  It has been pretty much all we have drunken since Costa Rica.  Thanks to abuelo on the rocks with lime, my pocketbook (or is it a man-purse) and beer belly are kept in check.  I´m out of time right now...but when I get back to this PC, I´ll try to catch some of you that are curious up on a couple funny evening stories...but for now I´ve gotta run!