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Over the past three months, the weather here has been spectacular. Each day is the same - 85 degrees, sunny to mostly sunny with a nice breeze to keep it cool. You can’t beat it. I'll let that sink in for a few seconds...
(no snow)
(no cold weather)
(no shoviling snow)
However, not all is perfect. With the warm weather comes another problem: bugs. Namely mosquitoes. Now you know the critters as the occasional bug that bothers you during a summer day in the forest. I know them as the bane of my exsitence, especially when the sun comes up and the sun comes down.
When I first got to site back in late October, the mosquitoes were pretty brutal. Often times around 6:30 in the evening I would have to go and hid under my mosquito net to avoid the attacks. Slowly as the wind picked up as summer came, the mosquitoes lessened. But that’s not to say they went away. In fact, over the past couple of weeks, the wind has slowly faded and as a result more and more are coming back.
So that sets up some interesting moments in the early evening, especially if I had played baseball earlier. Let’s just say the sweat on my legs is more inviting to the those pesky bugs. That’s when I usually reenact Will Ferrell’s “Get off my Shed” skit.
First, I politely ask the mosquito to be a good little boy and leave me alone. After a couple more times of bothering me, that’s when I usually snap at them and warm them “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE, I WILL COVER YOU WITH RAID AND YOU WILL CEASE TO EXISIT.”
Of course, they don’t listen and things don’t end so well for them. But they usually get a few shots in before all is said and done.
And, yes, I have plenty of bug spray that helps keep the varmints away, but I am not a big fan of putting the stuff on. It just feels gross. So instead I fight my battles with these lowlifes. Sure I lose some of them, but I always win the war.
Speaking of which, a couple have been bothering me while typing this. Time to go find the Raid...
About Me
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Beisbol Part II
As I discussed last week, my late afternoons have been filled with baseball. It has been a lot of fun for a couple different reasons. One, I have gotten to know some people better through the games. Two, I’ve learned a bunch more names! Third, and finally, I’ve gotten to make a fool of myself a few times, which they love.
When I first started playing, because I was of decent size, it was believed that I could hit the ball real far. As I walked to the plate, the little kids would say “Dilan, homerun”. I guess even Panamanian kids love the long ball. However, I could never fulfill the wishes of the kids. Between the t-ball size bat and years of swinging a golf club, my swing was all out of sorts and I could only manage some weak grounds to either third or shortstop. Yes, I realize I am making excuses, because the other players my size have no problem launching rocket shots. I am not very good. I am comfortable with that. On the bright side, though, I have been making steady progress.
While I am not the best, there are some pretty good players in my community. My province, Herrera, has won recently dominated the Panamanian Baseball League. So baseball is in their blood. You can tell, too. Some of the hand eye coordination on a couple of the players leaves me astounded. Whether it is plucking a late errant hop on a groundball or throwing up a bat at the exact time to stop a foul ball, I
feel at times we are playing a different game.
With the talent there, this makes for some pretty good, interesting games. Between the hops and the stiff breeze that usually blows, craziness often ensues. Because the games are so short (3-4 innings), they are usually close which leads to a lot of yelling and arguing. And they really enjoy this. My favorite wrinkle is when you want to make a point one usually finishes it with a “jo” for added emphasis. Needless to say when the game is tight there are a lot more “jo’s” and everybody becomes like Lou Piniella. I usually just sit back and with the madness unfold while wishing I could talk that fast. At least I can do a good “jo”.
All of this is in the spirit of the game so you have a lot of instances where people give each other a hard time. My favorite moment for me was after I couldn’t take an opposite field shot over the right fielder’s head. As I was trotting back to the rest of my team, one observant bystander remarked to me “Dilan, mas fuerza”. Or more strength. I just kinda laughed and nodded my head. He was right. I could use a bit more strength.
But in my defense, I was hitting into a pretty good breeze.
When I first started playing, because I was of decent size, it was believed that I could hit the ball real far. As I walked to the plate, the little kids would say “Dilan, homerun”. I guess even Panamanian kids love the long ball. However, I could never fulfill the wishes of the kids. Between the t-ball size bat and years of swinging a golf club, my swing was all out of sorts and I could only manage some weak grounds to either third or shortstop. Yes, I realize I am making excuses, because the other players my size have no problem launching rocket shots. I am not very good. I am comfortable with that. On the bright side, though, I have been making steady progress.
While I am not the best, there are some pretty good players in my community. My province, Herrera, has won recently dominated the Panamanian Baseball League. So baseball is in their blood. You can tell, too. Some of the hand eye coordination on a couple of the players leaves me astounded. Whether it is plucking a late errant hop on a groundball or throwing up a bat at the exact time to stop a foul ball, I
feel at times we are playing a different game.
With the talent there, this makes for some pretty good, interesting games. Between the hops and the stiff breeze that usually blows, craziness often ensues. Because the games are so short (3-4 innings), they are usually close which leads to a lot of yelling and arguing. And they really enjoy this. My favorite wrinkle is when you want to make a point one usually finishes it with a “jo” for added emphasis. Needless to say when the game is tight there are a lot more “jo’s” and everybody becomes like Lou Piniella. I usually just sit back and with the madness unfold while wishing I could talk that fast. At least I can do a good “jo”.
All of this is in the spirit of the game so you have a lot of instances where people give each other a hard time. My favorite moment for me was after I couldn’t take an opposite field shot over the right fielder’s head. As I was trotting back to the rest of my team, one observant bystander remarked to me “Dilan, mas fuerza”. Or more strength. I just kinda laughed and nodded my head. He was right. I could use a bit more strength.
But in my defense, I was hitting into a pretty good breeze.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Beisbol
When I was younger, I used to really like baseball. Somewhere around the age of 14, I started to lose interest. Maybe it was I stared to like track (talk about a difference in sports – One you always run, the other hardly), or maybe everybody around me was getting bigger and stronger and I was, well, skinny. Nothing showcased this better than me trying to be a catcher. I stared to catch at 11 and by 14 it was the only position that I enjoyed playing. One problem – I had a noodle arm. A walk or a single was pretty much a double unless you moved like my old Ford Festiva.
Anyhow, I quit playing at 15 and other than playing a year of intramural softball my senior year in college, baseball was restricted to seeing a couple MLB games a year and fantasy baseball. That has all changed over the past couple weeks.
When I first got to my site, I gravitated to the basketball court. After a couple weeks the games became pretty good and fun. That came to an abrupt halt one day when a water tank started to be built adjacent to the court and in the process cluttering the court with junk and making it unplayable.
Without basketball, I turned my attention to the baseball field. One problem. It appeared that the field hadn’t been touched in a couple years as evidenced by the weeds that had run rampant on the field. A few weeks back a group of people got together to clear the field. Using machetes, half the field was knocked down. However, that process became tedious and eventually it was decided to just burn down the rest of field. Well it worked. Kinda. Now the infield has more bad hops than a can of Schlitz. (I wish I was good enough to come up with that line, but I stole it from Joe Posnanski) While the outfield is in even worse shape as my last week my face was nearly mangled by an errant hop.
The view from home plate.
The outfield. I guess it is in better shape than old Yankee Stadium.
But you know what? The games have been a ton of fun. Each day around 5:00 a game starts. They last four innings and the winner stay on to face the next team. All ages plays which leads, in the long run, to a lot of yelling and complaining. This usually occurs over a botched play where the old player will get on the case of a young one. Of course, I have seen plenty of evidence that demonstrates they would not have likely made the play either. But that’s not here not there. And of course there are a ton of arguments over the score and the number of outs.
Next week I will go more into detail about some of the interesting moments that have occurred thus far. First, though, I got to track down and read up on baseball field up keeping.
After all, I can’t afford to have my livelihood in danger of another errant hop.
Anyhow, I quit playing at 15 and other than playing a year of intramural softball my senior year in college, baseball was restricted to seeing a couple MLB games a year and fantasy baseball. That has all changed over the past couple weeks.
When I first got to my site, I gravitated to the basketball court. After a couple weeks the games became pretty good and fun. That came to an abrupt halt one day when a water tank started to be built adjacent to the court and in the process cluttering the court with junk and making it unplayable.
Without basketball, I turned my attention to the baseball field. One problem. It appeared that the field hadn’t been touched in a couple years as evidenced by the weeds that had run rampant on the field. A few weeks back a group of people got together to clear the field. Using machetes, half the field was knocked down. However, that process became tedious and eventually it was decided to just burn down the rest of field. Well it worked. Kinda. Now the infield has more bad hops than a can of Schlitz. (I wish I was good enough to come up with that line, but I stole it from Joe Posnanski) While the outfield is in even worse shape as my last week my face was nearly mangled by an errant hop.
The view from home plate.
The outfield. I guess it is in better shape than old Yankee Stadium.
But you know what? The games have been a ton of fun. Each day around 5:00 a game starts. They last four innings and the winner stay on to face the next team. All ages plays which leads, in the long run, to a lot of yelling and complaining. This usually occurs over a botched play where the old player will get on the case of a young one. Of course, I have seen plenty of evidence that demonstrates they would not have likely made the play either. But that’s not here not there. And of course there are a ton of arguments over the score and the number of outs.
Next week I will go more into detail about some of the interesting moments that have occurred thus far. First, though, I got to track down and read up on baseball field up keeping.
After all, I can’t afford to have my livelihood in danger of another errant hop.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Honking the Horn
One of the things that I have really noticed during my time in Panama is people really like to honk their car horn. I mean really like to honk their horn. It doesn’t matter the situation. For instance, a car could be slowly approaching a stop sign at an intersection and appears in no way it will be cutting the driver off in the flow lane the car with the right away will be honking their horn. It’s a sure thing.
But it is just not situations like that. Say a person is walking along the road and has their back turned towards oncoming traffic. That person has nothing to fear, because the driver will surely give the person a courtesy beep that they are coming soon. The constant honking extends to passing by a pretty girl, seeing an old friend and pretty much any other imaginable situation where one can think a good honk is necessary. And some you can’t even think of.
Some people have even taken the whole honking thing to the next level by getting special horns. While I haven’t heard someone yet with a Dixie horn from the Dukes of Hazard (truly a shame), the most popular alternative horn is a siren like sound that wanes for a few seconds. These are the serious honkers.
Trust me, I enjoy a good honk, but with my last car in the States, my horn was pretty weak, therefore I rarely used the thing; opting instead for a well timed middle finger to a lousy driver. OK, that’s not true, but having not driven for over six months the whole horn thing reminds me of the days when I had the power to drive anywhere I wanted.
Now that I can’t drive, I get to experience situations like the following when I was riding in a truck with a representative from a government agency on our way to a meeting in Panama City. Having been taught the standard “10-2” driving position, I watched as the driver have his left hand at the 10 position, but instead of having his right hand at 2, he had his hand resting on the center part with his thumb placed right over the sweet spot of the horn (somewhere I imagine my driver education teacher Mr. White is shaking his head in disgust).
And he took full advantage of his well placed thumb. Over the 6 hours of driving to and from the city, I lost count of the number of times he gave the horn a toot, but I am pretty sure he honked the horn more times over that time period than I have honked a horn during my 10+ years of driving. To pass the time, I would try to guess when the honking situation would come and what it would look like and would it get the person's attention.
Of course, it would have been a lot more fun if every time he honked the horn, he would play the sounds of Dixie. Now that would have really gotten people’s attention.
But it is just not situations like that. Say a person is walking along the road and has their back turned towards oncoming traffic. That person has nothing to fear, because the driver will surely give the person a courtesy beep that they are coming soon. The constant honking extends to passing by a pretty girl, seeing an old friend and pretty much any other imaginable situation where one can think a good honk is necessary. And some you can’t even think of.
Some people have even taken the whole honking thing to the next level by getting special horns. While I haven’t heard someone yet with a Dixie horn from the Dukes of Hazard (truly a shame), the most popular alternative horn is a siren like sound that wanes for a few seconds. These are the serious honkers.
Trust me, I enjoy a good honk, but with my last car in the States, my horn was pretty weak, therefore I rarely used the thing; opting instead for a well timed middle finger to a lousy driver. OK, that’s not true, but having not driven for over six months the whole horn thing reminds me of the days when I had the power to drive anywhere I wanted.
Now that I can’t drive, I get to experience situations like the following when I was riding in a truck with a representative from a government agency on our way to a meeting in Panama City. Having been taught the standard “10-2” driving position, I watched as the driver have his left hand at the 10 position, but instead of having his right hand at 2, he had his hand resting on the center part with his thumb placed right over the sweet spot of the horn (somewhere I imagine my driver education teacher Mr. White is shaking his head in disgust).
And he took full advantage of his well placed thumb. Over the 6 hours of driving to and from the city, I lost count of the number of times he gave the horn a toot, but I am pretty sure he honked the horn more times over that time period than I have honked a horn during my 10+ years of driving. To pass the time, I would try to guess when the honking situation would come and what it would look like and would it get the person's attention.
Of course, it would have been a lot more fun if every time he honked the horn, he would play the sounds of Dixie. Now that would have really gotten people’s attention.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Attack of the Gringos
This past week, my group (62) reconvened for the first time together since we departed for our sites back at the end of the October. The purpose of this was to give an update on how things went for the first three months, receive some additional training and fine tune our Spanish. Or in my case, learn a bunch of additional things that now have me more confused than before the classes. OK, I’m embellishing things some, but really the time spent together was great.
The training ended after lunch on Friday and we all dispersed back to our sites. Well, most of us anyway. Because of the hour that we were let go, and the distance some people have to travel to get to their site, it was not possible for people to get back home. Since I only lived a couple hours from where we were at, I invited my friends Jay and Julia to stay with me on Friday night. (By the way, I have plugged their blog before, but after my sister told me how much better their blog was than mine last week, I feel like I need to do so again) So, they told me they were in. Cool. From there, that’s when things really get interesting. As word spread that they were staying, before I knew it, I had a couple more interested. OK, not a problem. Then a couple more. Now, I am starting to think how I can handle all these people!
When the dust settled, I had seven people coming to stay with me now. Sadly one person had to back out on Friday morning. In any case, it was quite a bit of people. Thankfully, my house is pretty big, but I had a few minor details that I had think about. First, I have a water shortage problem during the day. This wouldn’t be that big of a problem since we would be getting back late and they would be leaving early, but I wasn’t sure if I had enough water that night for everybody to take a shower. Second, we wanted to cook dinner, but my stove is not fully hooked up yet. I have been just using a single hot plate to get me by. What if we wanted to make a big dinner?! Third, where was everybody going to stay? I have bed room for three people, a hammock and a sleeping mat. That adds up to five, which is short of seven. Lastly, what would my community think of all the gringos in the community?
In the end, everything worked out. There was enough water. We opted to make some tacos that were fantastic (I lapped the field eating six!). The sleeping situation was not ideal, but we all survived. Only one person slept directly on the concrete floor. Finally, my community loved the visitors. My counterpart and cooperative president, Sergio brought his little boy over on Friday night and had dinner with us. Then the next morning we went down to the port where we met a couple of boats that were just pulling back into the port after staying out at the ocean during the night to do their fishing. One thing the group of fishermen caught was a sting ray and we got to see them carve it up so it could be sold. I think the group had mixed feelings on that.
Then 9:30 came and the group pulled out to head back to their own worlds. My house became empty and quiet again, but the buzz in my community remained. After cleaning up, I headed out to chat with some folks. They were impressed with my friends and asked when they were coming back.
Soon, I told them. Just let me get my house in order first.
The training ended after lunch on Friday and we all dispersed back to our sites. Well, most of us anyway. Because of the hour that we were let go, and the distance some people have to travel to get to their site, it was not possible for people to get back home. Since I only lived a couple hours from where we were at, I invited my friends Jay and Julia to stay with me on Friday night. (By the way, I have plugged their blog before, but after my sister told me how much better their blog was than mine last week, I feel like I need to do so again) So, they told me they were in. Cool. From there, that’s when things really get interesting. As word spread that they were staying, before I knew it, I had a couple more interested. OK, not a problem. Then a couple more. Now, I am starting to think how I can handle all these people!
When the dust settled, I had seven people coming to stay with me now. Sadly one person had to back out on Friday morning. In any case, it was quite a bit of people. Thankfully, my house is pretty big, but I had a few minor details that I had think about. First, I have a water shortage problem during the day. This wouldn’t be that big of a problem since we would be getting back late and they would be leaving early, but I wasn’t sure if I had enough water that night for everybody to take a shower. Second, we wanted to cook dinner, but my stove is not fully hooked up yet. I have been just using a single hot plate to get me by. What if we wanted to make a big dinner?! Third, where was everybody going to stay? I have bed room for three people, a hammock and a sleeping mat. That adds up to five, which is short of seven. Lastly, what would my community think of all the gringos in the community?
In the end, everything worked out. There was enough water. We opted to make some tacos that were fantastic (I lapped the field eating six!). The sleeping situation was not ideal, but we all survived. Only one person slept directly on the concrete floor. Finally, my community loved the visitors. My counterpart and cooperative president, Sergio brought his little boy over on Friday night and had dinner with us. Then the next morning we went down to the port where we met a couple of boats that were just pulling back into the port after staying out at the ocean during the night to do their fishing. One thing the group of fishermen caught was a sting ray and we got to see them carve it up so it could be sold. I think the group had mixed feelings on that.
Then 9:30 came and the group pulled out to head back to their own worlds. My house became empty and quiet again, but the buzz in my community remained. After cleaning up, I headed out to chat with some folks. They were impressed with my friends and asked when they were coming back.
Soon, I told them. Just let me get my house in order first.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Dancing in the Dark
You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
~Bruce Springsteen “Dancing in the Dark”
When I was just a baby, my parents changed my middle name from Jared to Matteo. My parents made this switch to honor my recently passed away great grandfather, whose first name was Matteo. Now what does this have to do with me being in Panama? Well, it was my great-grandfather that brought the Sacchetti side of the family to America through Ellis Island after World War I.
Having just passed my first six months in Panama, I was reflecting about how I ended up in turning my life upside down during the time and the factors that led me to the change. Of course, there were the obvious reasons – I wanted to help my fellow man, I wanted to challenge myself, I wanted to learn a new culture and language, etc. All those were inspiring and played a big role in leading me down here. However, there was something more that ultimately pushed me to go. It was that ‘spark’ that started the fire. Sure, it wasn’t the feel good reason like the others, but it was the final push that led me to a small fishing town in the Auzero region of Panama.
And that’s where my great-grandfather comes back into the mix. I am sure there were multiple reason to come to America (better life, American dream), but I can’t shake the thought that a big reason that he decided cross the Atlantic with his family was because something inside him pushed him, just like me.
That’s when I stared to think more about our two situations and I realized that this is my version of my great-grandfather coming to America.
In no way am I implying that my voyage is as difficult. For starters, I don’t have a family to take of. And while I get paid a low wage, I never have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. While I’m alone here in my community, I have a great support staff that is watching my back constantly. Finally, if I get homesick, I have plenty of options to turn to (phone, Internet, iPod, books).
At the same time, though, there are a lot of similarities. We both left behind out lives in our native country. We both spoke very little of the new language. We both didn’t know anybody in our new land. Lastly, we both thought the move would be to the benefit of our futures.
I never got a chance to talk to my great-grandfather, but judging that he raised his family and stayed in the States, his dance in the dark proved to be a great move. While, I’m not going to stay in my new country to live after my service is up, I can say that after six months, my own dance in the dark is proving to be a great move, too.
You can't start a fire without a spark
~Bruce Springsteen “Dancing in the Dark”
When I was just a baby, my parents changed my middle name from Jared to Matteo. My parents made this switch to honor my recently passed away great grandfather, whose first name was Matteo. Now what does this have to do with me being in Panama? Well, it was my great-grandfather that brought the Sacchetti side of the family to America through Ellis Island after World War I.
Having just passed my first six months in Panama, I was reflecting about how I ended up in turning my life upside down during the time and the factors that led me to the change. Of course, there were the obvious reasons – I wanted to help my fellow man, I wanted to challenge myself, I wanted to learn a new culture and language, etc. All those were inspiring and played a big role in leading me down here. However, there was something more that ultimately pushed me to go. It was that ‘spark’ that started the fire. Sure, it wasn’t the feel good reason like the others, but it was the final push that led me to a small fishing town in the Auzero region of Panama.
And that’s where my great-grandfather comes back into the mix. I am sure there were multiple reason to come to America (better life, American dream), but I can’t shake the thought that a big reason that he decided cross the Atlantic with his family was because something inside him pushed him, just like me.
That’s when I stared to think more about our two situations and I realized that this is my version of my great-grandfather coming to America.
In no way am I implying that my voyage is as difficult. For starters, I don’t have a family to take of. And while I get paid a low wage, I never have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. While I’m alone here in my community, I have a great support staff that is watching my back constantly. Finally, if I get homesick, I have plenty of options to turn to (phone, Internet, iPod, books).
At the same time, though, there are a lot of similarities. We both left behind out lives in our native country. We both spoke very little of the new language. We both didn’t know anybody in our new land. Lastly, we both thought the move would be to the benefit of our futures.
I never got a chance to talk to my great-grandfather, but judging that he raised his family and stayed in the States, his dance in the dark proved to be a great move. While, I’m not going to stay in my new country to live after my service is up, I can say that after six months, my own dance in the dark is proving to be a great move, too.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Nobody Beats Me in the Kitchen
With two weeks down in my new house and nearly everything in place, I have started to settle in nicely and returned to more of a normal life after being treated in a way as a king over the past five months (Yes, Dylan, would like his food right now and his clothes washed, but can you hold the mayo next time). Now all those cooking and cleaning responsibility fall back on my shoulders. In other words, I have got to get myself going again.
The one thing I am really looking forward to over my remaining time here is cooking. I suppose after being held hostage to rice two times a day for five months, I have a strong desire for a little more variety in my life. My Aunt Randy and mom sent me down two great cookbooks and my cousin Colin sent down his fine recipe for pepperoni rolls. I hope to use this latter recipe and tie it in with the youth group in my community. One thing we are to do is help the local people understand our culture, and nothing says West Virginia like pepperoni rolls (mmmm Colasessano’s). So I envision teaching the members of the group how to make them and then we turn around and sell them to the community and hopefully make a couple dollars to fund future projects. On paper it sounds like a win-win for all those involved. Well, that is if I can find pepperoni.
Not only do I want to broaden my American cooking skills, but I want to learn more about traditional Panamanian cooking. These include ajoldres (similar to fried bread), chackies (a type of cookie that is big in my part of the country, and of course the standard Panamanian meal on important days, arroz con pollo (chicken, rice and bunch of stuff added in). Along with these, I hope to learn to take advantage of the orange, mango and coconut trees that are in my backyard.
There should be many highs and lows when it comes to cooking. Anybody that has seen me in action before in the kitchen knows I am prone to a spectacular failure every once in a while. Alas, I’m ready to charge full speed ahead.
Besides if it doesn’t turn out well with the cooking, I can always go crawling back to my host family for meals. This time, though, I just won’t have the guts to ask to hold the mayo.
The one thing I am really looking forward to over my remaining time here is cooking. I suppose after being held hostage to rice two times a day for five months, I have a strong desire for a little more variety in my life. My Aunt Randy and mom sent me down two great cookbooks and my cousin Colin sent down his fine recipe for pepperoni rolls. I hope to use this latter recipe and tie it in with the youth group in my community. One thing we are to do is help the local people understand our culture, and nothing says West Virginia like pepperoni rolls (mmmm Colasessano’s). So I envision teaching the members of the group how to make them and then we turn around and sell them to the community and hopefully make a couple dollars to fund future projects. On paper it sounds like a win-win for all those involved. Well, that is if I can find pepperoni.
Not only do I want to broaden my American cooking skills, but I want to learn more about traditional Panamanian cooking. These include ajoldres (similar to fried bread), chackies (a type of cookie that is big in my part of the country, and of course the standard Panamanian meal on important days, arroz con pollo (chicken, rice and bunch of stuff added in). Along with these, I hope to learn to take advantage of the orange, mango and coconut trees that are in my backyard.
There should be many highs and lows when it comes to cooking. Anybody that has seen me in action before in the kitchen knows I am prone to a spectacular failure every once in a while. Alas, I’m ready to charge full speed ahead.
Besides if it doesn’t turn out well with the cooking, I can always go crawling back to my host family for meals. This time, though, I just won’t have the guts to ask to hold the mayo.
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