More Late June 2016
Rainy season here in Panama is from May to July. The natives call the rainy season invierno, or winter in Spanish. According to the calendar, it is late spring and early summer, but for islanders, it is winter.
We had a particularly dry spring. Joyce said they had three weeks of totally dry weather before we arrived. (Why is it that they always have the best weather, see the most whales, etc before we arrive?) When Wes and Joyce left us, the cisterns were about half full.
We didn’t think much of it, but I checked them from time to time and the water was running low. I talked it over with Dawn and we went to DefCon 2. We were careful with the water, but weren’t on strict rationing.
The toilets here seem to have a mind of their own. When you flush them, sometimes they continue to run until you jiggle the handle. Other times, I have waited in the bathroom until they stopped running, then an hour later, discovered that they were running even though no one else had used the bathroom.
Then we had the big drain. One afternoon, Dawn walked into the bathroom and the faucet in the sink was running full force. She immediately turned it off and started looking for the perpetrator.
It seems that Heidi had used the bathroom last. I suspect that she saw a cucaracha or spider and panicked, leaving the bathroom with the faucet running.
In any case, we were nearly out of water.
This continued for days. After Heidi left, we had to resort to bottled water for drinking and washing. The truck was broken so we couldn’t go into town to buy water, so we had to ask neighbors to pick some up for us when they went into town.
In the meantime, it didn’t rain. Our situation was getting worse and worse.
We were in mid-June and had only had one big rainstorm and it came before our water crisis. We waited hopefully for the rain to start.
How stupid can you get? When it started, it didn’t stop.
Rainy season here in Panama is from May to July. The natives call the rainy season invierno, or winter in Spanish. According to the calendar, it is late spring and early summer, but for islanders, it is winter.
We had a particularly dry spring. Joyce said they had three weeks of totally dry weather before we arrived. (Why is it that they always have the best weather, see the most whales, etc before we arrive?) When Wes and Joyce left us, the cisterns were about half full.
We didn’t think much of it, but I checked them from time to time and the water was running low. I talked it over with Dawn and we went to DefCon 2. We were careful with the water, but weren’t on strict rationing.
The toilets here seem to have a mind of their own. When you flush them, sometimes they continue to run until you jiggle the handle. Other times, I have waited in the bathroom until they stopped running, then an hour later, discovered that they were running even though no one else had used the bathroom.
Then we had the big drain. One afternoon, Dawn walked into the bathroom and the faucet in the sink was running full force. She immediately turned it off and started looking for the perpetrator.
It seems that Heidi had used the bathroom last. I suspect that she saw a cucaracha or spider and panicked, leaving the bathroom with the faucet running.
In any case, we were nearly out of water.
This continued for days. After Heidi left, we had to resort to bottled water for drinking and washing. The truck was broken so we couldn’t go into town to buy water, so we had to ask neighbors to pick some up for us when they went into town.
In the meantime, it didn’t rain. Our situation was getting worse and worse.
We were in mid-June and had only had one big rainstorm and it came before our water crisis. We waited hopefully for the rain to start.
How stupid can you get? When it started, it didn’t stop.
Peanut discovers a tasty mid-day snack
Nearly every day a tropical rainstorm moves over us. Most of the time, they hit at night, but sometimes during the day.
It is awe inspiring to watch the storm. The winds arrive first. If it has been a hot day, they are very welcome. We hear thunder in the distance and see sheet lightning. Then it hits with the impact of a battering ram. The rain comes down so hard it disorients you. Our visibility almost disappears. The horizon and other islands that we can easily see during the day are gone. All you can see are the sheets of rain.
We have furniture on the deck. Every night we bring in the cushions so they don’t get wet. When the storm hits, we run to bring in the cushions and any laundry Dawn has hanging. They will be soaked in minutes.
Most of the time we have the louvered doors open, making the interior of the house open to the deck. It gives the cook a wonderful view of the ocean as he/she works.
The deck is maybe twenty feet wide with the roof overhanging that by about eighteen inches. The wind is so heavy that it blows the rain into the house. We have to scramble to close the doors to keep our inside space dry.
That doesn’t work too well. There are several leaks in the roof. Great puddles of water accumulate on the floor. We put towels down over some of them, but it’s a losing battle. More water comes in that we can sop up.
In the bathroom in the master bedroom, the floor is a lake. The causeway between the house and the master bedroom is covered with water. Just walking between the two spaces is a dangerous task.
We have a corrugated iron (steel?) roof on the house. The rain pounds down on it so loudly that it completely covers the sound of the surf crashing ashore. One night I was watching TV when a storm hit. It was so loud that I couldn’t hear the TV, so I turned it off.
The dogs are not found of storms. They are afraid of thunder and lightning. If the pantry door is open, Peanut hides there. Little Bit likes to curl up at my feet or in Dawn’s lap. If those options are not available, he joins Peanut in the pantry.
This morning I stood on the deck outside the bedroom and watched the power of the storm in the back yard. Yesterday, I noticed that the lakes and puddles in the back yard were gone. They had finally been absorbed into the soil. But the soil is so saturated that within a few minutes, they were back.
The rain came down in sheets. The wind blew so hard that the blanket Dawn had drying on the clothes line outside the bedroom was flapping around like an unsheeted jib in a gale. I went out to take it down and it tried to get away from me.
I felt like I was fighting our jib down in a blow off the coast of Baja.
The rainy season is supposed to end by late July. Since it started so late, it’s just our luck that it will continue until we leave in late September.
It is awe inspiring to watch the storm. The winds arrive first. If it has been a hot day, they are very welcome. We hear thunder in the distance and see sheet lightning. Then it hits with the impact of a battering ram. The rain comes down so hard it disorients you. Our visibility almost disappears. The horizon and other islands that we can easily see during the day are gone. All you can see are the sheets of rain.
We have furniture on the deck. Every night we bring in the cushions so they don’t get wet. When the storm hits, we run to bring in the cushions and any laundry Dawn has hanging. They will be soaked in minutes.
Most of the time we have the louvered doors open, making the interior of the house open to the deck. It gives the cook a wonderful view of the ocean as he/she works.
The deck is maybe twenty feet wide with the roof overhanging that by about eighteen inches. The wind is so heavy that it blows the rain into the house. We have to scramble to close the doors to keep our inside space dry.
That doesn’t work too well. There are several leaks in the roof. Great puddles of water accumulate on the floor. We put towels down over some of them, but it’s a losing battle. More water comes in that we can sop up.
In the bathroom in the master bedroom, the floor is a lake. The causeway between the house and the master bedroom is covered with water. Just walking between the two spaces is a dangerous task.
We have a corrugated iron (steel?) roof on the house. The rain pounds down on it so loudly that it completely covers the sound of the surf crashing ashore. One night I was watching TV when a storm hit. It was so loud that I couldn’t hear the TV, so I turned it off.
The dogs are not found of storms. They are afraid of thunder and lightning. If the pantry door is open, Peanut hides there. Little Bit likes to curl up at my feet or in Dawn’s lap. If those options are not available, he joins Peanut in the pantry.
This morning I stood on the deck outside the bedroom and watched the power of the storm in the back yard. Yesterday, I noticed that the lakes and puddles in the back yard were gone. They had finally been absorbed into the soil. But the soil is so saturated that within a few minutes, they were back.
The rain came down in sheets. The wind blew so hard that the blanket Dawn had drying on the clothes line outside the bedroom was flapping around like an unsheeted jib in a gale. I went out to take it down and it tried to get away from me.
I felt like I was fighting our jib down in a blow off the coast of Baja.
The rainy season is supposed to end by late July. Since it started so late, it’s just our luck that it will continue until we leave in late September.
Our jungle island
Early July 2016
I want to start out with a tribute to our neighbors. Living off the grid is like the Old West. I’m sure that’s why these people are here. They grew tired of our regulated life in the States. They wanted to take care of themselves, not have the government decide what was best for them.
Some of the pioneers here want to tame the island, mold it in the direction that they would like to see at home. Others just want to be left alone. They don’t want any taming. They want to live in peace and make their own decisions. So what if they don’t want to wear clothes on a hot day or swim in the nude. No one cares.
This comes with a price. Freedom is never free. It means when your hot water heater breaks down or your roof leaks, you can’t just pick up the phone and call a repairman. There are no electricians or plumbers or roofers on the island. If you really do need their help, you have to fly them in from the mainland and pay for their room and board while they’re doing your repair.
Everyone here is handy. They fix their plumbing and roofs and repair their decks. Living here is not just sitting in your lounge chair watching the sun go down and the tide roll in. These houses take active maintenance to keep them habitable in this hostile climate. If you’re looking for a five-star resort, look elsewhere.
Wait a minute, did I just say hostile climate? You thought we were living in paradise with long empty beaches, palm trees and warm weather every day of the year.
Yeah. The humidity is one hundred percent. Any metal parts will be eaten alive by rust or corrosion unless you care for them. Everything is damp all the time. When you crawl into bed at night, the sheets are slightly moist.
The sun is unforgiving. It will destroy your wood unless you keep it protected. The rain is relentless. It pounds down with the force of a sledge hammer. It will destroy any electronics that get in the way and find ways through the roof into your house.
It is also a paradise for every species of insect known to man. I like the monkeys and sloths and turtles. I despise the insects. They are everywhere. When I brush my teeth at night, I am assaulted from every direction. Dawn hates the spiders. I dislike the spider webs.
The spiders here are very smart. Because the average human here is about five foot six, they spin their webs just above that level. We go walking in the forest and Dawn walks under the webs. I get them right in the face.
Bocas Town is like something out of the Fifties. You go into the hardware store and ask for a part. The person behind the counter disappears into the maze of shelves behind the counter and finds it for you. No self-service here.
There are no chain grocery stores. They all seem to be owned by Chinese families. The entire family works in the store. When you ask for help finding something, they take you to it. The big key here is that you can find someone to help you. Nine year old boys stock the shelves, teenage daughters man the till.
I want to start out with a tribute to our neighbors. Living off the grid is like the Old West. I’m sure that’s why these people are here. They grew tired of our regulated life in the States. They wanted to take care of themselves, not have the government decide what was best for them.
Some of the pioneers here want to tame the island, mold it in the direction that they would like to see at home. Others just want to be left alone. They don’t want any taming. They want to live in peace and make their own decisions. So what if they don’t want to wear clothes on a hot day or swim in the nude. No one cares.
This comes with a price. Freedom is never free. It means when your hot water heater breaks down or your roof leaks, you can’t just pick up the phone and call a repairman. There are no electricians or plumbers or roofers on the island. If you really do need their help, you have to fly them in from the mainland and pay for their room and board while they’re doing your repair.
Everyone here is handy. They fix their plumbing and roofs and repair their decks. Living here is not just sitting in your lounge chair watching the sun go down and the tide roll in. These houses take active maintenance to keep them habitable in this hostile climate. If you’re looking for a five-star resort, look elsewhere.
Wait a minute, did I just say hostile climate? You thought we were living in paradise with long empty beaches, palm trees and warm weather every day of the year.
Yeah. The humidity is one hundred percent. Any metal parts will be eaten alive by rust or corrosion unless you care for them. Everything is damp all the time. When you crawl into bed at night, the sheets are slightly moist.
The sun is unforgiving. It will destroy your wood unless you keep it protected. The rain is relentless. It pounds down with the force of a sledge hammer. It will destroy any electronics that get in the way and find ways through the roof into your house.
It is also a paradise for every species of insect known to man. I like the monkeys and sloths and turtles. I despise the insects. They are everywhere. When I brush my teeth at night, I am assaulted from every direction. Dawn hates the spiders. I dislike the spider webs.
The spiders here are very smart. Because the average human here is about five foot six, they spin their webs just above that level. We go walking in the forest and Dawn walks under the webs. I get them right in the face.
Bocas Town is like something out of the Fifties. You go into the hardware store and ask for a part. The person behind the counter disappears into the maze of shelves behind the counter and finds it for you. No self-service here.
There are no chain grocery stores. They all seem to be owned by Chinese families. The entire family works in the store. When you ask for help finding something, they take you to it. The big key here is that you can find someone to help you. Nine year old boys stock the shelves, teenage daughters man the till.
Our Jungle super highway
This is where I have to say something about our neighbors cooking. Courtney and Rosemary own the only marina on the island. They have an open air cantina on the point, looking out at the sea and back to the cove where the boats are moored.
They serve food in the cantina. Every day they serve breakfast, lunch and dinner. On Friday nights they have live music and BBQ ribs and chicken. We’ve gone over on Fridays several times.
Whenever we go to Rosemary’s house, she’s cooking something. Sometimes it’s pizza dough for the Friday night spectacular, sometimes its hemp bread or coconut cream pie. One time she was working on an amazing chocolate desert.
She’s like a drug pusher. When we drop by, she gives us a little taste to get us hooked. Then we have to go to the marina on Friday night to buy a whole portion. With the chocolate dessert, we had to buy two. We shared one after dinner and took the other one home for a late night snack the next evening.
I have to tell you about Frances cooking. I already mentioned their BBQ, but I should tell you about the side dishes Frances made. She is a Loos-iana girl. She made a couple of Cajun dishes. I don’t remember (and probably couldn’t pronounce their names) but I remember their flavor. It was wonderful.
I think all of our neighbors are heroes. You could take the plot from an old western, change it to a tropical story and film it right here. We have neighbors that I have identified as the sheriff, the self-sufficient farmer, the good hearted farmers wife, the saloon girl with a heart of gold and the rigid storekeeper.
The best part of it all is that when one person has a problem, everybody comes to their aid. They may have petty feuds, but those are put aside until the problem is solved.
Thank you to all the residents of the north side of the island.
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