The Mango Tree Part II

After a glorious 2 month run, last week my mango tree could give no more. The joy that the tree provided me was unmatched by any other tree I have known. A moment of silence, please.


Thank you.

When the tree was overflowing with mangoes, I would simply get up each morning, go search under the tree and find three or four ripe mangoes that had fallen the night before. They were perfect and ready to eat. And eat a lot of them I did. I was eating two to three mangoes a day over this stretch! Eventually, something happened that I never imagined could happen, I actually started to get a little worn out on them.

Along the way, I started having a building a stockpile of mango reserves. To alleviate this problem, I started giving mangoes away to friends, neighbors and kids that stopped by my house. And I kept giving and giving. All toll, I easily gave away 200 mangoes!

So now, I face the coming month’s mango free. It will be tough. I’m not going to lie. But don’t worry; my orange tree is starting to flourish.

The Music

This past weekend, there was a little disco in my community. It was a pretty fun time, but what stuck out most to me was conversation with my Panamanian friends about the music.

By in large I feel like I’ve adapted pretty well to the Panamanian culture - the food, the language, the pace of living and the little cultural quirks that come with the country. However, one area I just can’t get in tune with is the music. It’s not that it is bad, or my eardrums are ruined from listening to it at such loud levels, it’s just that I’m picky with my music.

There are a couple types of music that are big here- tipco, Spanish pop and the occasional American song. Tipico is the most interesting and unique of the types. The popularity of this genre of music is captured by the duo of Sammy and Sandra. On the Spanish pop front, I feel, despite being here for over a year, I still hear the same 7 songs even today. I know this isn’t much different that listening to WVAQ in the late 80’s-early 90’s, but one can only take 'Sucio, Sucio' so many times before he or she snaps. As for the American songs that make their way down here, I would prefer these actually didn’t happen. They represent some of the worst that our country has to offer. It only gets worse when someone asks me if I like the song. Quite often my answer is no, and they always follow it up with what type of music I do like. Usually, I answer with the umbrella generic term of rock. Oh so like Linkin Park, is what comes next. Well, no, not exactly.

Thankfully I have my iPod and some cheap little speakers that keep me content. While the speakers couldn’t fuel a Yoke Street block party that starts at 8 and goes all night, they are good enough to drown out the music when I need a break from a neighbor’s blaring speakers.

People will on occasion stop by my house and bend their ear to some tunes. Usually the reaction is favorable. But my favorite musical cultural exchange occurred a couple months back on Father’s Day. Here in Panama, Father’s day is the same day as in America. As I was walking down to the public telephone to call my dad, I was intercepted by a couple friends enjoying their day in the sun. Inviting me over, we hung out on the porch listening to some tipico music while enjoying the atmosphere that the Azureo culture provides.

After a bit, one asks me about American music. This discussion leads me to eventually bringing over my iPod and speakers to jam out on some of my tunes. That’s when the fun started, at least for a bit.

Choosing guitar heavy songs (Dinosaur Jr), my older friends started to get into the first. There may have been some fake air guitaring involved, as well. However, by the second song they had had their fill.

You can’t gritar over the reverb, you know.

The Missing

This coming Saturday is one of my favorite days of the year and for the second straight time, I will be missing it. What is it? Well, of course, it is the Hampshire Heritage Day in Romney, West Virginia.

I’m joking, of course. This Saturday is the first WVU home football game. And that means I will miss not only the game, but the tailgating.

That first tailgate is always is great fun. The weather is warm. You see family and friends likely for the first time in a while. The refreshments are plentiful and cold, while the food is overflowing. There is a feeling of optimism in the air. Well, until you remember that Bill Stewart is the coach.

Over the past couple years, I had developed a pretty solid tailgating route. I would start out at the house of my friend Michael. He always had a top notch tailgate. Do this math problem to figure out why. Family beverage distributor (lots of beer) + Family Italian Bakery (lots of food) + Great friends = Great times!

From there I would meander up the dreaded Law School Hill to where I would alternate between a family tailgate and friends tailgate. And the good times would continue from there. More food. More cold beverages. More good conversation.

So that’s what sucks about missing Saturday- a festive day with great people.

Drink one for me.

The World Map

A couple weeks ago, I ventured up to another volunteer’s site (Franco) to help him with a world map project he was doing at his school (i.e. paint a world map on the school so the kids can get a better understanding of the world around them). Franco and I live in the same region, but in terms of how we live, we are worlds apart. For starters, Franco is an Environment Health (EH) volunteer, while I am a Community and Economic Development (CED) Volunteer. The gist of this is Franco - along with the other EH volunteers - live in less developed areas, and often requires a hike to their site, because a road does not go to their community.

Franco is no different. We got dropped off about a 45 minute hike from his site. From there, we had to navigate the hills, streams and tricky terrain to his community.



As you can see, it’s a bit different from the flat ground that I’m surrounded by in my neck of the woods. Once we made it to Franco’s community, we came to Franco’s house. Because the community is so small (about 150 people) there were no open houses, so Franco, with the help of the community, built his own house.


Needless to say, it’s pretty cool.

The next morning we made our way over to the school. We were joined by another volunteer (Hailey) who lives nearby in the region and hiked over to Franco’s community. The three of us worked first to lay out the grid at the top part of the map. This was more difficult than it sounded because the ground which we put the ladders on wasn’t the best, as in it was on a slope and a bit rocky. Nonetheless, we were able to complete the top part of the grid. After that, we repainted the ‘ocean’ on the bottom part, because the first coat didn’t hold up too well. Here Hailey and Franco are working hard, while I’m hardly working:



At the end of the day, we put Franco on the fast track to finishing the map before he leaves Panama in October when his two years are complete.

The Ryan

I’m sure most of you were wondering where the entry from last week was. Wait, you weren’t? Well, last week I had my first visitor to Panama- my cousin Ryan. He arrived last Tuesday and departed early this morning. Here’s a recap of his time in Panama. I want you to read this.

After being picked up at the airport by new friends here in Panama that I met through the Peace Corps office – Rich and Anne – we went to the Metropolitan Park in Panama City. We hiked around the park to a view overlooking Panama City.


After grabbing a meal in the city, we took an overnight bus to the other side of the country near the Costa Rica border to the city of David. We got into the city at 6:00am and then took a bus north to the Lost and Found Hostel that is located in the mountains of the Chiriqui province. The hostel is just under a mile high from sea level.


Once there, we took a tour of a local farm that grows everything organic. The farmer had a wide variety of things that grew on his farm that ranged from tropical fruits to coffee to sugar cane. One highlight of the stop was Ryan helping in squeezing the juice out of the cane by swinging a log up and down on the plant. It might have been his first manual work in years.


Sadly we didn’t get to do the natural treasure hunt that the place offers because of heavy rains in the afternoon into the evening. We left the place early Thursday morning and ventured back to my community in the Azuero. Getting there in the late afternoon, we grab a typical Panamanian meal at a local restaurant ($1.60 per plate!) and headed to my site. There Ryan got to see my house (he thought it was extremely bare), my community and meet some of my good friends here. He was invited to come back in January when there wasn’t any rain.

The next morning before heading back towards Panama City, we took a walk down to the port in my community. From there, we hopped a bus out of Chitre with the intentions of stopping at a beach along the way. Through a little local knowledge and luck, we came across a deserted beach about an hour and half outside Panama City. This is when the fun picked up. While riding a wave, my cousin got tossed and flipped in a pretty strong one. It turned out he hurt his wrist pretty bad. Needless to say, that ended our time at the beach.

As we were on the bus to Panama City, Ryan, fearing that his wrist was in bad shape, decided that he needed to go to the hospital. After getting some advice from a taxi driver, we landed at one of the local hospitals. After five hours and an x-ray it was determined there was no fracture, just that he jammed it pretty bad.

Even with the wrist injury, Ryan was not going to be deterred from going on Saturday morning to visit my friend Alyssa’s site. Alyssa is a volunteer in an Embera community, which is one of the indigenous groups of Panama. Joined by Rich and Anne, we headed up towards Colon to her site.


There we were greeted by the traditional dances of the community as well as explanations on how they use the surrounding area to live. Ryan and I also got something to the effect of a painted, temporary tattoo that represented a cultural significance to the Embera people.

However, Ryan was in store for one more unique experience. While eating lunch, one member of the community noticed the bandage on his arm. When asked if Ryan would let the gentleman have a look, Ryan, figuring there was no harm, obliged the request. After a quick glance over the situation, the local medicine man started to pull and tug in the efforts of improving Ryan’s wrist. After about ten minutes of ‘physical therapy’ Ryan was pronounced ok, and things should be better in a couple more days.

While I tried hard to give Ryan a great cultural experience, it took a bum wrist to get the full effect. Nevertheless, even without the native medical experience, it was a great time. So come down and see if you can top Ryan’s trip.

The Bull

Today marks a year in Panama for me. Over this time, I’ve seen and done a lot of things I never would have experienced in the States. After all, I am living in a totally different culture. However, one thing was missing - seeing the running of the bulls.

Now this isn’t exactly like what you would see with the famous running of the bulls in Spain. Instead, here in Panama, the activity features bulls shot out from a gate with a person sometimes riding and sometimes not. There are also a ton of people milling around the ring deciding whether to challenge the oncoming bull or run for their lives. Most cases the people would run as fast as they could for fence and climb it for protection. I’ll let you guess why that choice was most often taken.

And I have to say, I don’t blame them one bit. When you see something like this charging at you, what would you do?




That’s what I thought.

The highlight of the day was when my friend, that lives in the town where the bulls were at, decided to give it a shot and ride the bull. When he went shooting out of the gates on the back of the bull, his hometown folks in the surrounding arena exploded in approval. It was a cool scene. My friend gave it his best effort and lasted about 10 seconds. Afterward as we were milling around the crowd, people were coming up left and right to congratulate him on his ride. That was really cool. The exchange cultures at its finest.

Now, I just need to work up the nerve to go next year. Although, that nerve will likely never come.

The Dylan

While it might be true that I’m the only white poet warlord in my community, that’s not to say the Dylan brand doesn’t exist outside of me in my parts.

Case in point #1


As you can see that’s me, holding a young child that lives in my community. You might have guessed it, but the kid's name is Dylan! And before you wonder, no it’s not Dylan Jr. It just so happened that there was already someone named Dylan here before me. I guess he was the test run to see if I would work here. It can be confusing for me when I am around him. I just didn’t expect another Dylan around me, especially not a Panamanian.

Case in point #2



This photo is of a hair salon in the bigger city near my community. I’m not thrilled to have my name attached to such an enterprise, so let’s just move on.

Case in point #3



Oh that’s right. A popular, international clothing line bearing my name is prevalent here. It’s quite a hoot, really, especially when I see someone from my community wearing one. The one thing I can’t decide is whether I should be owning and wearing some of these t-shirts. I mean would Calvin Klein be caught wearing a ‘Calving Klein Jeans’ t-shirt? I don’t know; I’m asking you. I could totally see Tommy Hilfiger wearing one of his shirts, though.

Whatever the case, I'm kind of a big deal down here.