One Month in Site

As of yesterday I have had one month in site. Only 23 more to go! Hmmm....
As expected with the mundane and uneventful nature of campo life, not much has occurred since I wrote last. I am in David stuffing my face with chocolate and ice cream because two weeks is too long to live without such things :)
Life here is still somewhat a novelty, but what I find new and surreal, the locals merely laugh at. Five nights ago I was attempting to fall asleep when I heard a scratching noise from the ceiling and felt something fall on my blanket. I grabbed a flashlight and searched for whatever it was, but because I didn´t have glasses I could barely distinguish anything. After a moment of searching something bit me and I felt a burning sensation on my lower leg. Naturally I flipped out, assuming that whatever it was, it was surely poisonous. The tropics harbor many poisonous spiders and snakes ( as I am reminded on a daily basis), and finding one in my bed wouldn´t have been impossible. My host family searched for the critter and eventually found, hiding in a shoe, a giant scorpion. I hadn´t even thought of the possibility of a scorpion, but when it returned to the scene of the crime, my bed, I was speechless. They used a pair of pliers to remove it and throw it outside, and I remained huddled under a sheet in my bed, unable to sleep. The assurance from one person that I was lucky it didn´t fall on my face didn´t help at all. Its thorax and abdomen were about three inches long, and fortunately it wasn´t a severely venomous scorpion (which are usually small and black). Fortunately, I think it bit me through my sheet and wasn´t able to dispense much venom. The upshot of this is that I know I´m not allergic to scorpion bites! Whenever I relay this story to the locals they know from the very beginning that it was a scorpion and I needn´t continue with the tale. Apparently scorpions are common enough, and almost everyone gets bit sooner or later. Hopefully being bitten sooner means there will be no later for me!
I am having a hard time adjusting to the tranquility and laid-back nature of campo life. I didn´t realize how much I enjoy being around people and in a busy atmosphere. The solitude and silence is stifling at times and I often feel suffocated by it. Past PC Volunteers say it takes about a year to really adapt to it, meaning there is a long road ahead of me.

While on the bus to David we passed by the usual gated communities of Norte Americanos, and this time, went to the entrance of one to drop off locals. The women go to clean and maintain the homes, while the men and boys stick to yard work. I felt so ashamed and out of place at that moment. For all they knew, they were headed off to clean my house or trim my grass. Every person I meet assumes I am from Boquete or some other Gringo community. Why on earth would a white girl like me be living anywhere else, let alone with other Panamanians? It´s frustrating living outside of both the communities here as I fit in neither sphere. I will always be a rich outsider to the locals, and can never identify myself with those " of my own kind."
The only interesting aspect of that humiliating moment was the community itself. These Norte Americanos claim they come here for the cool climate and the tropical landscape. But from what I could see from the bus window, the community was devoid of any such landscape. Trimmed grass, artificial fountains and waterfalls, statues, manicured shrubbery, and elaborate patios were the only things that met my eye. Any remnant of tropical landscape had long been destroyed. The mountains in the distance were breathtaking of course, and perhaps, that is why they choose to live in such a community. The novelty and beauty of the landscape could be enjoyed from far away, while the luxuries and comforts of first-world living are immediate and accessible.

I have had more than my fill of white rice, fried hot dogs, and fried bread. At the base of the Panamanian food pyramid is white rice and fried bread, and various other simple sugars. Above that is sugar and fat - sugar in the form of juice, coffee, candies, and soda. It will be a sheer miracle if I leave Panama without a mouth full of cavities. Fat is, of course, oil, because everything is fried (baking is rarely spoken of let alone done). The third level consists of carne: fried hotdogs, chicken you pick off bones, tough pieces of beef you have to rip with your teeth, and fried pork, which contains more fat than meat. I am tempted to place hotdogs in their own category becaus they are such a staple. The hot dog section of supermercados dominates that of other forms of meat, and last night I saw a commercial for a new Pizza Hut pizza with a hotdog crust. Only in Panama. And lastly, at the apex of the pyramid, are fruits and vegetables. Despite the fact I live in the breadbasket province of panama, I rarely see vegetables besides yucca or onions. I can´t wait to be able to cook for myself for once, and to finally feel full an hour after I have eaten. Most of the meat here disgusts me, so I am sticking to packages of dried soya as my protein source.

The presence of American culture is, quite naturally, becoming more and more apparent to me. Not only is there a Latin American Idol, but Panama has its own version of the show, "Vive la Musica," complete with horrendous product placements and supplemental reality shows of behind-the-scenes material. Much of the clothing here has writing in English, which no one can read. Common sense dictates that one should only wear what one can understand and defend, but who would these people ask for a translation anyways? Young girls flaunt tanks with vulgarities ("Move, bitch!") while older women sport shirts with tween/teen targeted expressions ("Dump him!" or "Mrs. Clooney"). As if those women even knew who Clooney is....At the very least, the clothing has become a source of entertainment for me.