May 21. On a slow boat to China?

According to my plan, I will hitchhike on a slow boat to China. The means to that end is a stubborn and tenacious sojourn in the port. So I leave the hostel in the morning and take a bus to the Puerto Balboa. Balboa is the discoverer of Panama and the namegiver of many things. They call a dollar a Balboa. Here's what happens in the port.
"Sir, are there any captains around here. I have an OFFER for them."
(never ask for a favor, offer something instead).
-"What do you mean?"
"Well, if he could take me on his ship I could pay hime like 200 bucks, off the record of course, and it wouldn't cost him a dime."
-"Manaña maybe the captain will come..."

In the port, I am told to talk to Mr. Castillo. A security guard takes it very serious when I ask him if it is possible to talk to a certain Mr. Castillo. He calls him up and spells out my name over the phone. A certain mr. V-e-r-w-e-r is waiting for you. No no, I say, he has never heard of me. I am told I should call his secretary and come back tomorrow. I had the feeling that this tomorrow would be the beginning of a very long chain of tomorrows that would keep me in the ugly city of Panama for weeks. And I wouldn't have any guarantee that a vessel would take me as a passenger. Pondering along those lines, I promenade along the port fence and consider the alternative. Why don't I continue my way north instead through Central America, reaching Los Angeles eventually to catch a plane to Asia from there? The countries of Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala seem interesting. And it's easily done. I don't have to depend on the mood of certain people, of Port Safety Restrictions and things beyond my reach in general. It sounds very tempting. Yes, why not, I will just continue my way north, and see some very spectacular naturaleza on the way, I shall be careful not to catch that H1N1-thing the media is overdramatizing, and I won't arrive in dodgy cities in the middle of the night. That's it.

It might be the ants that help me taking that decision. I see a tree with hundreds of ants climbing its bark. They all carry a piece of leaf with the size of a fingernail. The ants are moving along a certain path, it's like a highway. I follow it across the pavement, under a car, through a ditch and then into the ground on the other side of a fence. This is discipline, zeal, perfected diligence. It's actually quite unbelievable, the way a group of ants can organize itself to accomplish the very complex task of defoliating a tree and building an underground fortress with the leafs. I gaze at the ant trail in stupefied amazement. The anthropomorfic projection backfires soon after that. What are we and what is our leaf? What is the human underground fortress? The money we make and the financial system? That's ridiculous. The only leaf I can think of are plain social skills, and the only fortress is Love. We climb up a tree to pick up some social skills, and then transport them all the way down and into the place where we are constructing the fortress of Love. The ants know what they are carrying and work incessantly. We have yet to find out -

I visit the Casco Antigua, Panama's Old Town. It doesn't exactly blow my mind, though it's allright. Just another World Heritage Site, some interesting churches and a pretty square. I walk around like tourists do and climb some ruins at the coast. A man shows me the entrance, and I climb some stairs to reach the upper level. How pretty these ruins are! And how pretty the view towards the skyline of Panama's financial city! It's a rugged concrete structure, nothing else, but it's gently draped with bright red flowers. I take some photos while the man is waiting for me downstairs.
That man wants something, of course. He has a story that is either a laughable rip-off cliché or an inhumanely bitter situation. He needs babymilk. He needs a pot of powdered babymilk for his kid. I fail to believe him. He takes me into a supermarket and shows me the milkpowder that cost about four dollars. I still don't believe him. To get rid of the beggar, I put one dollar in his hand.

Back in the hostel I cook a big meal for myself to fill my stomach before the next long bus ride to San José, Costa Rica. I overcook the meat and the barely cooked risotto tastes sour. The other night, when I cooked beef and fried potatoes together with DJ, it was way tastier. But DJ has already gone. It's time for me to go too. We take a taxi to the terminal and get on a 25-dollar-bus to San José.

May 20. Entering Panama.

When I wake up and climb out of my sarcophagus berth we have already anchored. We've arrived at mainland Panama. Mainland! We stuff our luggage in the dinghy, row to the dock and strap our backpacks back on. I talk to a strongly tattooed girl on a big Katamaran. She has just introduced herself overzealously friendly because I am from Holland.
"Do you happen to travel with Marihuana?"
It's the common question. The one and only thing that makes a Dutch person interesting is the dope he carries around wherever he goes. Sssst, don't judge them too quickly. You might have the first impression you are interesting for the possible stimulants in your pockets, but maybe your first impression is wrong. Maybe the marihuana question is innocent smalltalk and you are the one judging too quickly.
-"No, unfortunately I don't. And where are you from...?"

Meanwhile, the others have arrived at the dock and we are ready to roll. Re-entering our dominion of overland traveling makes us feel firm and confident. From Portobello we hop on a bus to the city of Colón at the Caribbean end of the canal. The city has a very bad reputation, crime rates are beyond imagination according to Lonely Planet, and a stay here equals suicide. The filth and the persistent beggars at the bus stop confirm this reputation, and we catch another bus to Panama City. It's business as usual: we get dollars at the ATM, have lunch in a food court American Style, share a taxi to a German owned hostel where we hang out and make extensive use of the internet.

May 8. Waiting for our boat.

After only a few hours sleep we walk to the Club Nautico and say YES to Fabian and the Panama boattrip. And that was it. The next days we will spend waiting for the boat to leave. And I will write.

Consider this: THE KEYS.
"How did you get in?"
-"I still have the keys."
"You should have left them."
-"I'm sorry, okay. S-o-r-r-y."
"I can hear you. Just give them to me now."
-"Suspicious as always. I could have known. I should have come to get my stuff while you're working."
"You diabolical serpent."
-"Pardon?"
"I mean, ah, you know what I mean. Can you give me the keys now?"
-"No. I'm not ready. I will get my stuff first."
"What stuff?"
-"My cd's and the salad bowl."
"Salad bowl was a present of my uncle."
-"He gave it to me, so it belongs to me and me and me."
"Okay. You can have it. And keep the keys too. I don't care about what you do."
-"You run away again, can't you see that. You always run away."
"I can see it, but I no longer care. Do whatever you like."
-"You make me very, very sick."
He shrugs.
"Maybe you should visit a doctor then."
-"Fuck you. I'm out of here."
She throws the keys at him and rans away. He shouts at her.
"Don't you want the cd's?"
-"No! they're contaminated."
"What do you mean?"
-"Everything you touch gets bad."
"You're hysterical. You should see a doctor."
-"Yes, I AM hysterical. And you know why? Because you touched me."
She rans out of the house. He shrugs again and plays one of her cd's that is actually quite nice. He begins to swing a little bit to the music. It's some old jazz record. If love were like an old jazz record, we see him thinking, this world would be a paradise. Another woman gets in and starts talking to him.
"Tom, how are you doing?"
-"What?"
"How are you.. can you lower the volume a little?"
-"What?"
She sighs and walks to the stereo set to lower the volume.
-"What do you want?"
"I want to talk to you about us. How serious are we?"
-"Why now?"
"Well I... technical reasons."
-"Technical?"
"Tomorrow I should start taking the pill again."
-"And?"
"If we're serious I thought I will not take it. I am thirty-two you know."
He knew. Thirty-two, almost the autumn of her reproductive life. He had thought about having a child with her, but just not now. His wife had just left him. We can see him calculating.
-"And thirty-four? My sister was thirty-four" he says.
"I am not your sister. Women of my age are running a risk. Just tell me are we serious?"
He shrugs.
-"Okay, we're serious" he says absent-mindedly.
"You make me very, very sick."
-"You don't believe me?"
"No of course I don't believe you."
-"Look at the table. You see the keys? They are yours. What do you say? Do you believe me now?"
"O Tom, that was not necessary. And I thought you had not yet made up your mind. I'm sorry, stupid little me. I love you."
She walks to Tom and gives him a kiss on his mouth. They hug and she sighs.
"I am so happy we finally found each other."
-"Will you be careful with the keys?"
"Of course. You can trust me."
-"I trust you, sweetheart."
He stands up to get a bottle of wine. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle.
-"Should I change the music?"
"No, I like it. It's jazz, isn't it?"
He sighs.
-"Do you think our love is like this music?"
"What do you mean?"
-"Swinging, dynamic, smooth, without stress."
"That depends."
-"On what?"
"On our understanding of each other."
-"You mean thiry-two?"
"Do you want a child with me?"
-"It's too early sweetheart. How am I supposed to make that kind of decision. My wife just left."
"She was here?"
-"She came to return the keys."
"O. So that's why they feel warm. They are still warm of her hands."
-"Does it bother you?"
"I don't know. Did she want a child with you?"
-"After the death of Tom we never spoke about having another child."
"But did she want Tom with you?"
-"Yes, very much. Tom has made us very happy the last three years."
"How happy?"
-"I don't want to talk about now, please. Let's go to bed."
She plays with the keys in her hands.
"Can I visit Tom's grave?"
He sighs.
-"Yes, but leave the keys on the table. I will change the lock.
"Why?"
-"Because I say so!" he yells.
She looks at him and thinks for a few seconds. Then she says.
"Who will get Tom's keys?"
He looks at her with tears in his eyes. She sweeps the tears out of his eyes and whispers in his ear.
"Thirty-three."
Then they go to bed.

Kamiel's Daily Karma Rule: "Synthesis of opposite fears".
If you are afraid of something, try to generate fear of the opposite as well. Try to imagine why the exact opposite is fearsome as well. The synthesis of these two fears, if properly generated, will heave you up a higher level of Being (taste of apricots).