Serious Déjà vu

Somehow, against all odds, inexplicably (tongue firmly placed in cheek) I find myself writing once again from the dining room table of my parents in law in David, Panama. This is my third trip back to Panama this year – a new record and decisively in the explicable category. We have to finally sign the paperwork with the bank for the beachfront condo construction. This was supposed to take place on our last trip but the Panamanian bureaucracy and their innate love for serial stamping of official documents meant I had to return.

I love the returning part because there are few places (and the people I find there) in the world that I love visiting more. The timing (with everything else going on in my life) ranks right up there with some of the world’s worst disasters but in the immortal words “It is what it is.” Now to make the most of it, not a hard or unpleasant prospect, given present company.

First Friday at Brew City

To catch up with what’s transpired since I last posted, despite my wife’s stated desire to spend all of Friday packing suitcases (her well known favorite hobby) I somewhat typically decided that the First Friday of the week had to be observed. My excellent boss was on vacation but he called in to Brew City to pay for our first round (hence the excellence).

Due to my serial travelling over the past few weeks, my operations manager tried to cast aspersions on my First Friday attendance record - something of a running joke due to his own spotty record. I reported conducting First Friday operations both afloat and from Portsmouth. He retorted that photographic evidence to the contrary this should not count. Luckily the waitress’ had my back and thoroughly dismissed his baseless accusations (proving once again the value of generous tipping). After he left he sent a photo of himself which I replied with a photo of the waitress’ reaction to same – priceless.

The Waitress Reaction (l) to the Operations Manager Photo (r)

I pulled my wife away from packing long enough for Zorba’s pizza and yet another wifely mudslide. I may have to reassess her designated driver status after experiencing her parking effort when we returned. We were immediately thrust into packing for the trip, an effort assisted by the Red Sox who were getting their butts handed to them once again. In complete compliance with the title of this blog post I innocently asked my wife where her Panamanian passport was so I could do the web check in. The emotional squawk she replied with told me all I needed to know and brought back some dark February memories of my own passport adventures.

Wife and Her Latest Mudslide

She removed her Panamanian passport (she has dual citizenship) from her usual cache when we traveled to Bermuda since she only needed the American one and she could not for the life of her recall where she put it. Two hours later the passport was still missing but at least she still had the American one to travel on. She did have to bite back a little pride when she had to pass through Panamanian customs with the rest of us gringos instead of the fast track reserved for Panamanians. I figure we’ll find the passport and the location she placed it (so she would remember where it was) when we pack the house out in a couple weeks. Like I said, a serious case of déjà vu and yes the first place I looked was in the hidden compartment of my briefcase.

Wife With her Mother and Sisters Last Night

Traveling out of Boston on a Saturday morning (even a holiday weekend) has everything to recommend it. We breezed through the city and while parking was a challenge in the economy lot (very cut throat) we walked right up to the security check point with no line whatsoever. I was looking around to see if this was some kind of clever reality television plot or something.

After a couple hour layover in Panama City we boarded the flight to David (now only forty minutes) where they figured out how to cut ten minutes form the trip since I was here a month ago. So after leaving Boston around 9 in the morning, by 6:30 that same night I was sitting on my wife’s ancestral home sipping (well sort of) my first Atlas beer. This is so much better than the old eight hour bus rides from hell. This is the first time in years I’ve traveled back to Panama during the rainy season. I was reminded of how green everything gets and the desperate humidity brought back the Panama I remembered during my three years of patrolling the jungles there as a young man.

The Prodigious El Fogon Plate Under Attack

We reconvened at the El Fogon (fast becoming our “go to” place) just down the street where they produced a truly amazing appetizer plate as well as some sangria, pina coladas and the default Atlas’ as well. The best part was sitting around the table with my wife’s brother and sisters just laughing non-stop for three hours. As I’ve said in the past, with my wife’s family you inevitably end up serially laughing. The best medicine possible for the trying week as the detritus of the past few days melted away in the face of the collected excellence.