Sunday January 8, 2012

I wake up thinking about bacon!  Good old crispy, fried American bacon!   The US has obviously “taught” the Panamanos many “lessons”.  How to cook bacon so it is perfectly fried to a crisp with no fat left is not one of them.  There’s only one restaurant here in Boquete where the cook knows how to make bacon.  Olga’s!  Her little cafe is right around the corner from the Dollar Store on the main road leading into town.  This morning Waylon wants to stay home and watch a movie – 1000 Dalmatians – on the laptop.  He opts for a big bowl of Fruit Loops and seems content for the moment.

                                        

Georjean and I head out for Olga’s.  She’s there at the door.  “Hola, mi amor, como esta?”  Breakfast is true!  Fried eggs, cooked just right sunny side up with bacon and papas perfecto.  The “pan” is a little dry toasted but no one is a hundred percent all the time right?

As we are departing Olga’s a woman steps out of the door calling my name.  “Cliff, do you remember me from the other day at Big Daddys?  I’m Sue.  I was there when you had your accident”.  Of course.  She was the one whut was kneeling next to me on tghe ground when I had fallen backwards off the porch my chair slipping off the edge and my body hurtling backwards towards the ground below.

All I had remembered were some horrified screams from nearby diners.  I recall a thud.  Then  nothing but blackness for a while.  My head had come to rest in the very small space between two large protruding rocks.  How I, or my body, neck, head, spine etc had missed those two hard objects on my descent I will never know.  It must have seemed impossible that I had to the close observers.  Incredible.  I became aware – was it 20 or 30 or more seconds (they argued about how long afterwards) I was “out”.  I heard a voice asking if there was blood.  Someone said to call the Rescue Squad.  It was then, after silently taking inventory of every scrap of my being bones, cartiledge, skull that I knew I would survive this near miss accident and live for another day (at this age one wonders how many more there may be!).

 

I reassure Sue that I am well, unhurt, not at all injured by the grace of God thank you.  She seems  better.  The worry lines across her brow relaxed.  She tells us about the  Blues concert about to take place in the parque beginning at eleven.  We decide we need to hear some good old Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia Blues.  We call Waylon to tell him to get down to the parque.  Arie and Kai are already at our house.  They want to go for another hike today.  It is terrific to know boys who love nature so much they just want to be out in it.  They do not care for the music or the parque.  They just want to walk. “We could do the Quetzal Trail in seven hours”, Arie claims.

But this morning, Georjean and I, jonesin for some good music are grooving to the sounds of the Boquete Blues Band, not bad considering where we are on then planet!  We need to dance.  Doesn’t matter that it’s eleven o’clock in the morning on a Sunday.  Who cares if we’re the only ones on our feet of the hundreds of concert goers.  Waylon joins us and does a little break-dance number.  The crowd goes wild.  There’s an Argentine juggling keeping people amused at the far corner of then parque.  The concert is a precursor to the Boquete Jazz and Blues Festival which takes place (is this the third or fourth annual?) on the first weekend in March with two days of back to back bands playing up at Valle Escondido, all night performances at Amigo’s, Tammy’s, La Posada and elsewhere and in conclusion a grand jazz and blues parade through the town on Monday.  We are sad that we will miss the event.  We leave for Cuenca, Ecuador in mid-February.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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