Buena vida, ok palabras.

With five months left on the isthmus it has been a busy last thirty days or so and, shockingly, it didn't go exactly as planned. La vida.
It all started out with a quick trip to the city, I figured, a night, two max, to get my lovely and by that point regionally famous ingrown toenail taken care of. I packed light for two nights, and headed straight from new town to the office where I met with the always lovely Peace Corps med staff who confirmed that, with the infection I painstakingly built up now gone, I was dealing with a pretty impressively confused toenail. I assumed the appointment with the orthopedist had been made and I could swing on over, cortar, sacar, and get a beer. I was wrong, they said they would call and make the appointment that day, and I'd get in to see the doctor by the end of the week, it was Wednesday, I'd packed light. The next morning I was called and informed that Dr. Edwards was on vacation and would return Monday... I had packed light. I spent the weekend writing letters and cooking complex things and when monday morning rolled around Doc Eddy confirmed what was already confirmed and scheduled surgery for the following morning. Washing my clothes in the sink that evening, I thought, what's one more night? The surgery went flawless, at least I think it did. I tried to live tweet it, but I was told I really shouldn't be using my phone during the operation. The nurse did not wear gloves, cringed everytime she looked at my foot, and wheeled me out in a wheelchair afterward. I then hobbled on a completely numb foot to the bus stop, armed with antibiotics to combat and infection I didnt have and painkillers I didn't use. I called the office, told them what a swell time I had getting my toe cut opened and how chevre my bandage was and asked if I could go home the following day after a lot of asking if I was sure, they said yes. Six minutes they called back to say they remembered where I lived and I couldn't go back, because I'd undoubtedly get the bandage wet. I spent the next ten or so days occasionally poking my mummy toe, researching community colleges, making complex foods, and a lot of Facebook stalking. Also at one point I went on a pilgrimage with my foot in a plastic grocery bag to celebrate Jesus Christo Negro (planned before the great toe fiasco of 2015). And then the stitches came out and I was free to move about the country again, so naturally I went to an all inclusive resort to celebrate (planned before the great toe fiasco of 2015).
And now a blurb about the aforementioned pilgrimage. Colon is on the Caribbean coast of Panama and lies host to a large population of Afro-Caribbean gente. And every 21st of October a great fiesta of sorts is held in honor of Jesus Christo Negro in the coastal town of Portabelo. There in a church is a statue of a black jesus that is the focus of many legends and from miles and miles people walk to see it and many for the last mile crawl, go on their knees, or do a strange armless crabwalk style move. I skipped the variation at the end and just walked there enjoying  coast, rain and a bottle of seco and orange juice. Two things I want to get across about this event, the first being that I was really touched by the people along the road giving out food and water to the pilgrims, me included, and secondly the energy that I felt and saw when people carried the statue from church was enough for me to momentarily forget about the chafing I had from pilgramaging in the rain. Im not Catholic or even religous and I can't speak for the logic of repent followed by heavy drinking, but it was one event I will never forget.
I'm not going to comment on my trip to the all inclusive resort, except to say, that shit was awesome.
And now that brings me to fiestas patrias a time for celebration here in Panama, with no celebration bigger than Tres de Noviembre, the separation of Panamá from Colombia. I ate too much arroz con pollo, won a colander in a handless hanging honey covered apple eating contest, and was honored to no only MC part of the event in still broken Spanish, but also lead mi gente in the singing of their own national anthem. I'm proud to announce the event was a success in New Town and the mound of styrofoam dinnerware left behind serves as a monument to the independence and sovereignty of the great nation of Panamá.
And now on our trip through time we've come to El aniversario de la Comerca Sambu. If you're wondering why I got tattoos from my nose to my toes, this was why. After about a three hour bus ride further East from my entrada followed by a couple more hours in a boat, I arrived in a place that I can't adequately describe in words. It was a place of people living very traditional lives, hunting for meat in the jungle and catching fish from rivers, streams, and the ocean while on other days treating themselves to a fresh baked pizza or icecream cone. People wore loinclothes one day and NBA jerseys the next. Thatched roofs and satelite TVs. The first evening we grabbed dinner at a restaurant that I am assured Anthony Bourdain once ate at, ran by the sweetest maybe slightly senial lady. Although technically not in the comerca the food was stellar. A quick dip in the river and it was time to strip down and get painted with a paint made from grating and boiling a jungle fruit called jugua and then sacaring the black liquid. What do you say to an indigenous women while she is painting your nipples? I just asked about the weather. The next day started with jungle meat and a dip in the river and ended with dancing tipico with a bunch of gringos while the gente sat and watched. There was also frisbee, fermented corn juice, and more jungle meat. The following day started again with jungle meat and a river, but included a parade, a spontaneous head shave, basketball, tug of war, dance competitions, and many other shenagins, like too much fermented corn juice. From the sounds of music still blaring as we boarded our six am boat to head back to Puerto Quimba the foundation of the comerca was fully celebrated. Time and time again I have been floored by the generosity and charisma of the Embera people, they're hands down my favorite group in Panamá and the people of Puerto Indio did nothing but reaffirm my love for them. If you visit Panama and do not interact with these people, you're missing out. Although, they make sub par pizza and it turns out jugua will burn your balls.
In Puerto Quimba I entrusted my beloved backpack to a man strapping bags to the top of the chiva and when we arrived in Metati my backpack did not, it had fallen from the roof, luckily after a trip back to the port to search the sides of the road a food smaritain had beat us to it and brought the bag to the terminal. Another thing to cross off the bucket list.
If you're reading this blog you're probably sipping a cold craft beer, shoving your face alternatively with sharp cheddar cheese and dark chocolate (how I imagine USA) while thinking, "wow, finally free of philosophical rambling." Sorry to disappoint, pero ya viene. If you don't speak Spanish, you've missed the warning. I'll be brief.
It is such a sought after trait to be well traveled, wanting to see the world and experience cultures is a common dream of millennials, and people who haven't left The States are more or less uncultured heathens. The one with the most countries wins. This has never been a thought that I shared, for numerous reasons and as a result of spending almost two years living abroad I've only found more reasons to disagree.
Panama is a country around the size of South Carolina, but it in no way feels that small. I have experienced so many diverse cultures, climates, people, languages, and costums in Panama that at times I find myself thinking I am in a completely different country.
Panama is a country the size of a small state and The United States is made up of fifty states, many of which are significantly larger than Panamá. I have talked to people whove been on multiple continents that didn't even know that the US is  host to a rainforest. I've been to close to twenty states and I know that I am just barely scratching the surface of the diversity of my own country. And when I say diversity, I mean culture, language, costums, food, music, climate, I mean diversity in every sense of the word. It is a tragedy how little people in the US travel within the US, when it is so easy. By all means see the world, but please take the time to see your country. And when you do go off into the world take the time to truly see and learn about a country, in the end the one with the most countries or states doesn't win, nobody wins, it's no game, but truly experiencing a culture is something more than hopping around Europe or Central America spending a night in each country. I would choose truly experiencing a culture in just one place, over blasting through places so fast I forget which is which.
Also if you're wondering about my incinerator project it was postponed due to the great toe fiasco of 2015 but is now my number one priority, vamos a ver.
And as always thank you all for humoring me and your continued support, but it'd be great if I could get a few more likes on my profile picture, my self esteem is plummeting, what are there? like tweleve? The caption is clever. Don't you think I'm fucking clever!? Like my shit, I'm funny! I'm hip!