Oysters, bar fights and Red Sox heartache

We took the most beloved weekend on the cape and made our journey to enjoy the festive delights of the annual Oysterfest in Wellfleet. Wellfleet is the town where Jamey and i first met. i handed him a basket of dirty laundry and asked him to bring it to my room to which he looked at me and said nothing. What a jerk. It was total love at first site. Wellfleet was the first town I ever lived on my own, out of Virginia and it will always have a piece of my heart.

Wellfleet was our stomping ground for about a year. We frolicked and played along the towering golden sand dunes, drank good new england beer by bonfire on chilly nights and howled at the full moon in the dead of winter. There is nothing that is more Cape Cod to us than that crusty fishing town squeezed between the bay and the Atlantic ocean. In one afternoon you can surf with the harbor seals and in a matter of minutes be digging oysters out of the bay for a salty seafood smorgasbord. And that is why we worship the wellfleet oyster. They are much like the salty people of its town. Its tough exterior and rough edges can cut you but if you are careful enough you can cajole one to open up and reveal to you the glory of a surprisingly loving core. If oysters can have a loving core that is, which for this metaphor, they do.

Oysterfest started the year before we moved to Wellfleet. Ever since we lived up there, whatever our situation, we always made it out to Wellfleet for the festival. It was a chance to catch up with old friends and neighbors and of course, drink a beer at the Bombshelter. The bombshelter is this little gem of a bar, underneath a restaurant called the Bookstore. Yes, the Bombshelter is in fact underground and ever there was a reason to need a fall out shelter I would hope that it would have a full bar just like this one, and of course a pool table and a juke box and a really surly bartender that has worked there FOREVER. The first night of the Oysterfest we met up with some friends a new restaurant on the waterfront that was spinning some good music and had a great laid back atmosphere however we were soon itching to leave because we knew the Sox were playing game four of the ALCS against the Tampa poopy Bay Rays. After a couple of drinks from the hot pink punch, a bunch of us moseyed over to the Bombshelter to watch the game. This year we were excited to actually be in Mass. when the Sox were in the finals. Every year prior we have been either in a car loaded with ALL of our belongings headed south for the winter or, well, yeah, usually that is what we were doing. Moving. Again. So this year we did things backwards and we were actually going to Massachusetts and we were psyched to be able to celebrate with local fans.

(Go Wellfleet!)

After ordering a round of beers and I think there was some tequila thrown in there for good measure, we were enjoying the game and the sox were up three runs. It was all fun and games until all of the sudden we started feeling a great pressure and pushing from the crowd smushing us up against the bar. I looked back at Jamey to try and figure out what was wrong and low and behold a short but very round woman was throwing her weight into the crowd. Now, mind you, I wouldnt have thought twice about it except that she was about 250 pounds, about 45 years old and clearly hell bent on getting to the bar to order another drink, oh yeah, and there were 5,000 people in the bar already. When this beauty finally did reach the bar, after much rolling and sloppy grossness, she started stringing words together, from which we could only deduce she was ordering another drink, because clearly she hadn't had enough already. For whatever reason the bartender did not see her or chose to ignore her or was unable to understand flobbersloselnoodlelam, the drink she ordered. At this point we were thoroughly grossed out and annoyed at the amount of space she was demanding and we started trying to push her away from the bar and out the door. Her poor friend, clearly sober, was embarrassed and asking her to stop acting that way and to leave but doing nothing to really help the situation.

Well, then it got really interesting. We just wanted to watch the Sox, not this disgusting drunk blob. When we were against the bar this lady started caressing Jamey's hair and fondling his back as she attempted to keep herself standing using the bar and the crowd to right herself. It was at this moment that Jamey had had enough and started shouting into the crowd for people to help get her the hell out of there. Ummm, gross about sums it up. After trying to call attention to blob drunk lady and no one seemed to be responding, Jamey decided to take matters into his own hands and force her away from him. He was able to push her about 12 inches before all hell broke loose and she went from loving Jamey to wanting to kill Jamey with her fist. And she tried. As he pushed her she whipped around and cold cocked him in the face. Stunned, Jamey kept shouting to get her out of the bar and proceeded to use a modified hog tying technique by grabbing her flailing fists and locking them together and using all of his weight to push her out the door. Somewhere in the middle of all of this her elbow caught his lip and drew blood. At this point I realized that I wanted a piece of her because I knew Jamey would never hit a "lady" if that's what we want to call her. So I started to charge the woman because I really wanted the opportunity to defend my mans honor with physical violence. I mean, I am never in that situation, I was ready to throw down. This was a good cause and it was the Bombshelter and behavior like that is generally permissible. So as I went into a dive to land on top of her like a wrestler, Jamey caught me and lifted me back behind him with little difficulty. It was a futile attempt. At this point, my friend Amy had informed the bartender that there was a lady throwing punches. When he heard this news he was surprisingly agile and leapt over the bar, landed near the scuffle and began to drag the lady out while Jamey kept pushing her from behind, hands still hog tied.

Now the question I ask now is, does this lady wake up in the morning and have a good laugh about her crazy night out or does she hide in a hole for the rest of her life because she's an embarrassment to women and mankind in general? All in all the night was a success, the Red Sox won that game, we danced and caught up with friends we hadn't seen in years and we beat up a drunk lady or a drunk lady beat up Jamey. It was all I could have asked for, it was an authentic Massachusetts night out.

For a clearer picture of what this lady looked like I have rendered a drawing for dramatic effect.
This picture shows the bartender that eventually helped us boot the drunk lady out. He's in the background, never mind Amy and I enjoying the rinds of our limes. Yum.

oystershucking on main street

Below are some pics I took on the plan ride up there of the fall colors! enjoy! and Please keep the peace, fight with your minds not your fists people. It only gets you fat lips and bruised eyes.

Boston on approach

dead people in a cemetery enjoying the fall colors

golf course!

This Ain't My First Rodeo, no, It's My First "Bullnanza"

Now I imagine the title being read with enthusiasm and the "Bullnanza" part accompanied by Jazz Hands. If you don't know what Jazz hands are I suggest you Google that because I bet the urban dictionary definition will be funny.

Recently Jamey was assigned to work one weekend in Guthrie Oklahoma at a little event called "Bullnanza". For all of you rodeo freaks out there, I'm sure you know what Bullnanza is and probably have even had some dirt kicked on you from an enraged bull, so you can appreciate the story I am about to tell. We arrived in Oklahoma on a Friday night after a 6 hour drive from Little Rock. I accompanied Jamey with the intention of helping him with a portion of the Rough Guides research that was to be done in Eureka Springs Arkansas, hands down, the coolest town in Arkansas. Sorry Little Rock people. We were going to stop in Eureka on the way home from OK. Until then we were hangin with some cowboys in Guthrie.

On Saturday, I decided I couldn't miss out on this cultural phenomenon of bull riding in the heart of the USA. I wanted to experience the cowboy culture surrounded by people who's passion for bull riding could be likened to the European passion for cricket or the other American passion of drinking bud light at a Nascar race.

The competition wasnt an actual rodeo. It was an event called "Bullnanza" which I guess is more of an exhibition of the best bull riders in the country. The Bullnanza competition was judged and the whole holding on for dear life for 8 seconds did apply. The bulls were angry and aggressive and ready to kill. The cowboys were more than willing to jump on them in a cage and then ride them into the arena, get thrown off and sometimes pelted so hard in the spine that they are unable to coordinate their thoughts or motor skills for a good five minutes. And then you win $50,000.00. How this is different from a real rodeo, I have yet to figure out. Nevertheless, it was Bullnanza and I was a part of this grand tradition in Guthrie Oklahoma.

The evening started with Jamey, his co-editor Melanie and I being allowed press access because Jamey and Melanie work for some media outlet called "ESPN", a sports network which apparently is really popular or something. So we had all access to the cowboys to ask the important questions and pick their brains about their love of this sport. Turns out, most of them speak Portugese so there was a little bit of a language barrier. Brazilians make up some of the most successful competitors in this sport. Who knew? I was there as a fake reporter and basically just walked around wide eyed and confused looking because I have never been to anything like this in my life. I did realize at one point (about the time I saw the guy get hooved in the spine) that I had been to a similar event before. It was called bullfighting and it was in Valencia Spain. There were shinier costumes, big red capes and more blood, so it wasn't exactly the same but the two events had remarkable similarities.

Jamey brought up at one point that we were watching a gladiator sport. Spectators waiting for the thrill of blood, the adrenaline rush from the infinite possibilities of injuries and perhaps seeing your hero reduced to a comatose vegetable or end the night with a bull horn through the windpipe. What a thrill. I was amazed, despite the mixed feelings of disgust and joy, that I was actually beginning to learn the riders names and differentiate the mean bulls and the not as mean bulls.

The beginning of the show started with a tribute to a bull riding announcer who had recently passed. During his tenured career he was known for telling life stories about inanimate objects. We were introduced, in first person, to the American Flag. This Flag has lived a hard life and made it through wars and blah blah blah and "I was born for freedom and God willing in freedom I will die". All this while in the spot light following Mr. Flag riding atop a horse (well a person holding it but it would have been much better showmanship if a flag itself riding on the horse alone, maybe next time). Next we were introduced to the stars of the show, two enormous raging bulls. The lights went out and the smoke machines blew smoke into the arena and the two bulls were let out to strut and warn the crowd of the possible maimings in the next few hours. They walked out, were obviously trained to stand and blow smoke out of their enormous nostrils and then saunter back into the cage thingy. It was weird and exciting all at the same time. The scary bull was named Voodoo Child, which coincidentally is the name Jamey and I were going to give our two person folk-synthesizer band. Once they were back in the pen the competition was on. The lights came up and the cowboys began to ride and clutch the rope thing for what seems to be an interminable 8 seconds.

(One of these guys isn't a cowboy, can you guess which one? You guessed it! It's the guy wearing the backpack and running shoes to a rodeo.)

The next few hours went by with little blood and the competition ended with a winner and prize money and lots of oohs and aahs. Towards the end of the competition I followed Jamey to the super exclusive press/family/cowboy area behind the bull cages. I was standing near the exit door for the cowboys once they have been bucked off and all of the sudden I felt I was getting pelted in the head. I immediately looked up to blame the crowd for throwing popcorn and trash at the confused looking yankee in the bull pit but to my relief it was only dirt chunks being spewed from an angry bull charging the exit door five feet away. It was one of those moments in my life where I take pause and wonder what the hell I'm doing and how I got there. I've had a lot of those during my 20's.
After the competition we decided that we needed some tall boys so we headed to the upstairs bar for a drink and some two steppin'. We rocked out to some G&R and traditional country hits and then called it a night. All in all it was a great, authentic, weird, American experience.
I'm still not sure how I feel about Rodeo or Bullnanza's for that matter. I'm stuck somewhere between letting it be what it is, another bizarre sporting event or being adamantly against the exploitation of bulls. I'll let you know when I figure it out.
Meanwhile, on the domestic home front, after a brief goopy eye illness, Alfie is better and the countdown is on until his surgery to lose his physical manhood. We've recently taught him to "shake" which we are now regretting because he has enormous paws and his "shake" generally turns into a right hook to our face. We'll be working on this one. Below are some recent pictures of Jamey and Alfie wearing life vests dangerously wrong.
I hope everyone is well. Stay on the look out for Jamey's blog. I know I said he would be writing one but he's slow and we don't want to read some lame dribble so we have to give him time and no pressure. The Panama book officially went to the typesetter so that one is in the bag! YAY! Be well and be happy friends and family!

"take everything down highway 61"

Our first trip for the USA Rough Guides was planned about two weeks ago. I was madly trying to fit a week long Rough Guides trip in a 2 day time slot and Jamey was slaving away at ESPN and hardly even thinking of Rough Guides or spending a hot 105 degree weekend on the Mississippi Delta. After all the frenzy, we kicked back and decide we didn't want to go that weekend. Instead we held off for another weekend when the Sunflower Blues and Gospel Festival was to be held. What a fantastic ending to our procrastination. We headed east this past weekend and for authenticity we packed some beer and our hound dog and headed to the Delta.

We had a few days to travel about 3 hours over the River to Clarkesdale, Mississippi where the festival is held each year in early August. And just our luck, a cool down descended upon the deep south and we even felt saw some rain drops scatter across our windshield. Traditional team JK style, we found some cheap i.e. free accommodations at an RV park. The highway to one side, an old Christmas float, waiting to be ridden down sunflower ave., on the other side. In addition to this magnificent float there was plenty of wide open space, homeless dogs and random people in gigantic RV's who offered us coffee and walked around shirtless. It was exactly where we needed to be.






There is so much to say about this town I dont even know where to start. What I can say is that there is at least 20,000 people from Mississippi that are voting for Obama. Clarkesdale is an awesome little liberal enclave in the deep conservative south. Anyway, I'm going to write less and instead post some pics of the weekend and let them do some of the talkin' and let Jamey do the rest. Yes, that's right, Jamey was so inspired by the Crossroads that he has committed to writing about the trip on the blog. If you have ever crossed out states like Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas or any other southern place from your cross country itinerary, you should have reconsidered. We met a blues playing, harmonica jamming man and his son from Holland, taking a cross country trip from Florida to L.A. He told us that he wanted to give his young son this memory and specifically to give him the gift of blues music where the Blues was born. He told us his son was enjoying the music but more importantly he really wanted to come over and pet Alfie. He came all the way from Holland and purposefully visited the south, and in the dead heat of summer. That's serious dedication. Dutch people are so cool. Never met one we didn't like.















Mississippi is alive with culture and gives you a history lesson that you will never forget and one that should be mandatory for every American. To visit a place with such a dark, heavy history and to see that history alive in music and song and dance and in peoples faces and even the signs on the highway, its inspiring and humbling all at once. It was a crazy experience and almost made me feel that I was in a different country all together. People were more or less unimpressed that we were from Little Rock. They actually tended to be disappointed that we were from LR because they viewed it as more unauthentic than other places in the south. Agree or not, Mississippi probably does take the prize for music culture and a bit more scary and interesting American history.









Enjoy the pics, the link to the right gives you access to the whole album on Flickr.com. A blog from the big JB coming soon............





Oh, and P.S.- yes, that is authentic cotton from the field hanging out of Alfie's slobbery mouth in the pic at the top.

Introducing the new Dairy King Frizzard!

When we moved down here I knew the summer heat was something I would have to get used to, especially considering June in Massachusetts ( on the Cape) reaches about 80 as a high and then creeps up to 85 at the peak of summer. Here in Central Arkansas we reach about 95 everyday and the heat lingers until late evening. You only feel it cool down after about 9pm or later. It’s been okay so far because I’m not working on the highway picking up trash or the ultimate worst job ever- paving a street in mid summer, or wait, picking up bloated road kill, yeah, that’s the worst job ever. Everyone tells me that this is nothing and that it is only going to get worse. Worse? What the hell? I have been nearly on the equator and I have never felt heat like this. I was standing in front of my house the other day, in the middle of the road while Alfie was sniffing something disgusting and dead and I was thinking that I was literally melting. I have never felt a summer so hot. So usually when the heat starts getting to me I jump in the nearest body of water, which in downtown Little Rock happens to be a puddle of urine left by a bum. Okay that’s gross and over-exaggerating but sort of true. Considering this may be my only option, and the gas prices are a little too pricey for me to drive for the natural body of water an hour away, I think I’ll just tough it out and stop bitching. Done and done.

So to make things a little bit more dramatic here with the summer heat and the sun burning my skin off my bones, there is no ice cream. Sure, I could go to the store and get some but it’s just not the same. I want an authentic ice cream shop on every corner. Well, not really. My parents were here for the Fourth of July and we drove up north to see Jamey’s family and mid drive we stopped in a small town and purchased $1.00 ice cream. $1.00?! I love it! It was so yummy and the 90 year old lady that served us was even better! Jamey informed me the other day that Dairy Queen has begun the most genius partnership in the history of ice cream partnerships (maybe aside from Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry of Vermont). DQ has announced their mixture of Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies as a BLIZZARD! What?! This is a remarkable moment in history. The Blizzard is awesome just as it is but then add some Girl Scout Cookies and you’ve got heaven blended and stirred with yummy chunks of mint and chocolate! AHHHH, I can hardly contain myself only to learn that Little Rock does not have an F’in Dairy Queen. Okay, now I’m really pissed. What city in America or street corner near a KFC and McDonalds does not have a Dairy Queen? Am I in America still or have I time warped somewhere else? I’ve done a bit of research on this important matter and it turns out the closest one is 20 miles away. What has Little Rock done to offend the DQ franchise? I’m not sure we’ll ever know but I do have a plausible theory.

My theory begins with TCBY, the international chain that in recent years has fallen on some hard times and can be tricky to find in any city. In fact, I used to frequent a TCBY in Alexandria all the time and then one day it was gone. I mourned for months. It turns out that TCBY had its headquarters here in Little Rock for many years and the large building where the HQ was housed was even called the TCBY building. My theory is this: TCBY has some major beef (no pun intended, I swear) with DQ because they are their biggest competition for soft serve and so they had the city zoned so DQ could not open franchises within the city limits or they will get their knees capped by masked men in jumpsuits. That about sums up my theory, I mean, what else could it be? People in the south don’t eat greasy cheeseburgers, oozy cheesy hot dogs and ice cream sundaes the size of your head? Umm, I doubt that, in fact, the obesity rate here proves that’s not true. It’s definitely the knee-capping masked men theory. I am going to change the fate of this town and open a Dairy King and sell Boy Scout cookies and ice cream mixed in what will be called a “Frizzard.” Let me know if you want in on a franchise in your town. Add that to my list of business ideas that will make me millions.

Finally, an update on our pup Alfie. He’s awesome. That’s about it. We’re totally in love. Here’s a picture or two for your enjoyment. He’s gained 8 pounds in fourteen days and is continuing to grow. Alfie and his cousin Arnie have bonded pretty well, they talk about their ears and life as a hound dog and they generally get on really well. Hope everyone is happy and healthy and thoroughly enjoying their summer!

Oh! P.P.S.- Jamey landed another freelance job working for Rough Guides this summer. He will be contributing to the Rough Guide to the USA, which is fortunate for us because that’s where we live. Jamey will be covering Mississippi, specifically the Delta Blues Trail and Arkansas. Hey, that’s where we live! Arkansas! So we will be the backpacking and touring authorities on the Delta region of the South in addition on how to evade the police in Panama. Road trips! We’ll keep you updated!

Meet Alfie

Hi friends and family,

I thought it would be a good time to introduce you to our new dog Alfalfa Sprout. We just brought him from a beautiful Arkansas farm near Petit Jean mountain. I know he and his brothers and sisters had a good life there so all we can hope for is that he is as happy with us as he was on the farm. His mother was surprisingly tall and the sire is supposedly big for the breed meaning that the paws on Alfie are telling of whats to come. He is a Redbone Coonhound and we fell in love as soon as we saw him.

His first night I was warned about so many things, mainly that he would whine and wimper to alert his pack to find him. I knew I had to be tough and realize that he isn't "crying" like we might think. His first night he slept and slept and was soooooooo good. He slept the whole night while I tossed and turned and stayed awake and alert should there be a time when I had to rush him down the stairs and out the door to use the bathroom. He just slept. I kept thinking that there was something wrong with him and was thinking for a while that he must be dying from heartache thats why he's not showing the signs of the new puppy first night crazies but nope, he just kept sleeping. So Alfie is well rested and Jamey too since in order for Jamey to agree to get this dog I had to assume all puppy duties; breaking habits, house training, etc. So I am tired but it seems that if day one and day two are any indication of the temperment of this dog I will be relieved from a lot of stress.

Jamey and I have agonized over getting a dog for a long time. Since we were so transient for so long we never had the opportunity to get a companion but now we've made a commitment and there ain't goin back. I think that is what freaks Jamey out the most. Jamey has given me a pet before. My first Valentines Day gift from him was a Beta fish named Nikhil. Jamey surprised me and made me close my eyes and put my hand in the fish bowl. I pulled back my hand and opened my eyes as I felt the water. To my surprise, there was my brand new Beta fish, swimming upside down on top of the water. Apparently it wasn't a good idea to transfer a new Beta fish from room temperature distilled water to freezing cold well water in a glass bowl. I was confused at first as to why he would want to give me a dead fish but it turns out that he didn't mean to, from the time he transferred the fish to the bowl in the kitchen to the time he got to the living room, the Nikhil 1 died. It was the thought that counts. That's the last present I ever got from Jamey. I'm just glad he consented to having a dog. Its much more fun to play with Alfie than with a dead Beta fish, trust me.

The mothership has landed....in Arkansas

I hope you are enjoying the new look for our blog. Now that we are living the American life with full time jobs and all I thought it was time to give it a more sophisticated look so you're welcome. Some of you may wonder what I mean by the "American life" and well for us it means that we have a new place with no furniture with the exception of a nice couch that was donated to our cause and a brand new Samsung flat screen, overly large, ostentatious but beautiful T.V. Yes, that's all we own. In fact, here is a picture of our living room here in Little Rock. (That box near the window is our T.V., just so you don't miss it.)

Some wonder what has gotten into us, because, in fact, before we settled here Jamey and I shunned the life of consumerism and yet the first thing we did for our townhouse was consume a rather large flat screen T.V. We bought it and we like it, even despite the fact that we don't have cable and only watch re-runs of shows we have never even heard of through a snowy screen. We are connoisseurs of film and we wanted to do it right so we bought it. Done and done. And if you've ever seen Judge Judy in HD you will never buy another regular T.V. again. She's amazing. (picture of the kitchen, very exciting.)

Just to catch up the two or three people that are reading my blog, when we returned from Central America (see posts below, we were in fact in Central America only a couple of months ago...) Jamey holed away at his parents house in Mountain Home and worked his little heart out on the Rough Guides Panama chapter. He produced some amazing work and even more amazing maps, if I do say so myself. I went to Raleigh to visit family and let Jamey work so I wouldn't be tempted to nag and bother him while he finished his writing. While in Raleigh I applied to I think a thousand jobs in San Francisco because our plan was to gracefully transition into a really large, expensive city in the western United States. As it turned out, Jamey had friends and family looking out for him and suggested his name for two very good writing jobs in Little Rock, one for ESPN outdoors and one for Heifer International. So we changed our game plan a bit and scrapped the San Fran idea once we found out that these jobs were the real deal. Jamey ended up getting both jobs but the Heifer one fell through because of funding issues, which was a real bummer. The ESPN job seemed to be the right fit for him now anyway so he accepted the job and here we are in Little Rock. As for me, I'm still looking for work but thoroughly enjoying not working and arranging and re-arranging what little furniture and knick knacks we have. (Here's another picture of our place)

After living here for only a few weeks I have realized that I desperately miss the East Coast. Well, I don't know if it has to be East but definitely the coast. I never took for granted that for the last six years or so I have lived in walking or biking distance from the ocean or Vineyard or Nantucket Sound. And now, I am landlocked and without a natural body of water to which to run from the sweltering southern heat. It's making me feel a little claustrophobic. We miss Cape Cod and we miss the Atlantic Ocean and surfing and midnight swims and digging for clams and kayaking. It is now my mission, while I have the time, to find a natural body of water in Central Arkansas. Please, suggestions are welcome.

Our tentative plans while we are in Arkansas I will list below:

1) start our own non profit advertising agency (don't steal this idea)

2) breed bloodhound puppies
3) get a book deal on a topic I can't discuss because someone would definitely steal the idea

4) join the Rodeo circuit

5) become a famous photographer

6) prepare for overseas lifestyle. We must be prepared when we are accepted into stellar graduate programs in our respective fields

7) make beautiful music (this is not a metaphor, we are really going to start a band and call it The Soggy Croutons)

And lastly, I have a trivia question that stumped us last night at our bar trivia on Tuesday nights. No googling, use only your brains people.

Q: What is a Hemicrania?

Panama Shitty

James and I managed to escape the city and made it to Bocas Del Toro for a week and what now to me seems like months ago. We have been back in Panama ¨shitty¨as the locals affectionately call this black hole and we are really enjoying it. That was sarcasm. Jamey had some unfinished business here in the city and so we came back to walk around and pollute our lungs. Now that I have had a taste of the Caribbean I want to go back! I´m no city gal, that's for sure, but I´m definitely not a Panama City gal. I am yearning to visit a place where there is a waste management system, i.e, it doesn't constantly smell like you are walking around in a toilet. Granted, there are parts of New York that smell like a toilet but you can manage to get away from it. Not so much here. So I guess you could say I´m a bit burned out from this place. Several events have contributed to these feelings.

The week before we left for Bocas we had a brush with the immigration police and one foot in the back of a patrol car, we evaded riots by a bunch of really angry construction workers throwing cinder blocks and we were in a car accident. It was really fun. Then we had to come back and so far we have been yelled at (for basically being from the States), segregated by race on a bus and witnessed a vehicular homicide. I´m ready to go. We are dreaming of the Panama that we fell in love with last year which for the most part was in the Chiriqui mountains or on the Caribbean. In a last ditch effort we are attempting to escape to the Caribbean tomorrow, the day before we leave so our lasts precious moments here are not wasted in this smelly gutter.

I´m not sure when the next time will be that we travel and it may be while Jamey is working again for a book, which is great, but I really hope he gets the country-side and not the city. The city research was crazy and I think that I might kiss the ground when I get to DFW and be thankful for all that I had growing up in Virginia. The woods, the playgrounds without hypodermic needles and an education.

I´ve been trying to think of what to write for a blog to let people know what its like here. I have been at a total loss because I´m not sure you want to know. The poverty is intense, the pollution is deadly and there is widespread apathy for throwing garbage in the actual trash can. Hey, where can I toss this large dirty diaper? oh, there's the river where we get our drinking water, i´ll just toss it in there. MMM, serve me up a cup of water from the tap senor and please dont fish out the unidentifiable floaties.

If anything, this trip has taught me the value of education, if I didn't know before. You want a solution to poverty and environmental issues? go to school. Education. The average level of education for the working class here is probably 8th grade. I am making a sweeping generalization. I have also been told that the average education that a policia or military guard on the street has is the second grade. Now, I don't know if I believe it but I don't necessarily discount it. Imagine that, handing a second grader a gun and a moped and telling them to fill the quota of sending gringos to Immigration. Awesome. It is amazing the ego and power issues that go along with being an under educated, armed and uniformed military man. wow. Let me give you a dialogue of our brush with the military-

note: all from the policia was said in Spanish. Everything kate and jamey said was in broken, bad spanish.

Policia-

Hey, (big bright light on big stupid truck) wait there. Dont go any further. (truck pulls over)

Kate- are they talking to us?

Jamey- Si?

Policia- We need to see your identification or passport.

Jamey- Identification? We dont have it, it in apartment up the street.

Kate- No have it here. We can walk and get it.

Policia- You need to have identification to walk around here. You cant just do anything you want.

Jamey- we have a credit card.

Policia- no, no good, (addressing other policia) well what are we going to do?

Kate- (to Jamey) oh, they want money.

Jamey- I dont have any money.

Kate- (to the policia) I have a dollar. Thats it.

Jamey-(fake looking for I.D. in back pack) Do you want to make a run for it?

Kate- Are you crazy? They'll shoot us with their machine guns.

Kate (to police)- Well, what do you want us to do?

Policia- You need identification, it is illegal not to have Identification.

Kate- (to Jamey) Thats *expletive*. Its not illegal. They can go *expletive* themselves. I'm not *expletive* giving them anything. They can follow us up the street or they can *expletive* off.

Jamey- We dont have money.

Policia- You need to come with us (pushing jamey in police truck)

Kate- No *expletive* way. We are not getting in that truck. (to police) you can follow us up the street. No, we no want to go in truck. No. Where you take us?

Policia- Immigration, Jail.

Jamey- what? Immigration?!

Kate- No *expletive* way, do not get in that car Jamey. (to Police) We did not know that it illegal no have identification. Now we know.

Jamey- Senor, I writer for guide book. I write only good for Panama.

Policia- (after a quiet discussion among themselves) okay. have a good nite.

Kate and Jamey- What? okay??? See ya lata suckas.

Lesson learned. It is in fact illegal not to have I.D. on you as a foreigner. Especially at night. So I dont know Panamanian law all that well but the practical experience sure does help. Let this be a lesson to all who want to avoid a Panamanian jail. In fact if you can, avoid Panama City altogether.

Overall it has been an eye opening trip. The latent hostility towards gringos is grinding away at my nerves and making me very uncompassionate. I have to go somewhere to re-group and center myself. I think being a bitter, angry person only exacerbates the problem. Thanks for reading our posts. And check out the 2008 edition of Central America on a Budget from Rough Guides. You will see Jamey's name in print! yay! And a whole bunch of hard earned information on Panama Shitty.