Panama Summit Sights

So this is an anteater.  Apparently he's tired.

This sign seems reasonable enough to me.  By the way, they don't really enforce it.

"Sendero del Abuelo" means "Grandfather's Path."  So that's the one I took.

Toucans, toucans everywhere, but just try to find a restaurant that serves Fruit Loops.

My Thanksgiving Cat

 

This is my cat. His name is Tiger, and he was the best pet I ever had. We got him and his sister, Parsley (the Calico in the third photo), from a street vendor in Taegu, Korea in November 1993. They were both kittens, about two months old, underfed and tiny. We were told that in that particular market, cats were sold not as pets but rather as raw ingredients for shaman medicine, and that would have been our cats' fate. They were both scared of people when we bought them, but as we rode home in the taxi with the kittens in a cardboard box, Tiger put himself above Parsley to protect her. Over the next 18 years, Tiger traveled all over the world with us. He lived in Korea, Chile, Venezuela, Spain, the Czech Republic and the U.S. Every time we had him in a cat carrier or a cage, he made the most tremendously loud meow ever heard by mankind. When we took him to airports, people dozens of gates away would look our way at the loud mournful meowing. When we carried him to the vet, people driving in cars would stop because they had heard him yowling. The first time we took him and Parsley on an airplane, they flew cargo, and we had been told there was a pressure problem with the cargo area. When we saw their cages sitting by the luggage area, it was as quiet as could be, and we feared the worst. But then he must have heard our voices, because suddenly he let loose an ear-piercing meow that echoed throughout the terminal.

He was, I confess, not the smartest cat in world history. He had a very hard skull, and he seemed to think that if he rammed his head against doors, they would eventually open, even the doors that opened inward. He could keep banging his head against closet doors for an hour with no letup.

When we lived in Chile, Tiger would perch in a tree outside our house. I rode the bus home from work, and when I rounded the street corner two blocks from our house, I would hear this very loud meow, then a thump, then a vibrating, woo-ah-woo-ah-woo meow as he came running toward me still meowing. And then he would bump his head against my leg and walk home with me. He was never really a lap cat; he couldn't figure out how he was supposed to sit in someone's lap. But he would crawl halfway onto your lap and stay there as long as you would let him, periodically bonking his head against your hand to remind you to pet him. As you can tell from his photo, Tiger was a Japanese Manx. He had the most amazingly powerful back legs. He could jump, quite literally, eight feet straight up onto the roof of a pool shed we had in our back yard, and even as a very old cat he never lost his ability to easily jump straight up onto beds and other furniture. He loved to sleep in the sun, and he loved to be near people. 

Tiger was loyal, affectionate, sweet and kind. When we went to Afghanistan, we couldn't take him with us. Parsley had died a month before we left Prague, so he was the only cat we had left. My parents agreed to take care of Tiger for us, and after we came back, he was even older and more frail, and I was afraid to bring him to Panama. My parents are the kindest people on earth, and so they took Tiger in for good, fully knowing that it was a matter of time and that I would not see him again. I think they fell in love with him, even in that short time, just as much as we loved him for nearly two decades.  We dragged him all around the world for 17 years; for his last year and a half, he could rest, and he found a new, final home.

Tiger came to us on Thanksgiving 1993, and he left us, dying the day before Thanksgiving 2011. But for 18 years, he was my little boy. And I will never have a Thanksgiving again when I don't think of him, and be very thankful for the time we had with him.

Days of Our Agoutis

So the agoutis, or neques as they are called here, have pretty much taken over the yard in the morning.  They come sniffing along for any fruit or nuts strewn about.  Sometimes we feed them bread sticks; they proceed to gnaw away as if they were extremely long cigarillos.  They tend to get into fights with the quails, and kind of stare at the lizards.  But the main thing they do is fight among themselves over food.  We stuck a couple of bananas into the fence hoping the monkeys would see it and get them, since if it's on the ground, the neques will get it first.  The birds were interested, but couldn't figure out how to eat the bananas - but they did manage to knock them to the ground.  (They also keep knocking over the bird feeder.)  So one neque eventually found the banana, and grabbed it with his mouth and started trotting off.  The other one came up behind him, obviously smelling the fruit, and kept trying to see what the other one had.  The one with the banana kept turning away from the other one to hide the banana.  However, a neque - which is about the size of a cat, without the tail - with a complete banana in his mouth, is not exactly a subtle sight.  So the one with the banana started running off, and the one without the banana started running after him.  Hey, it's a slow holiday morning, and I've got time to gaze out the window.

Iguanas, de paseo

The main street running by us is the Paseo de las Iguanas, and we have seen several large ones, but infrequently.  In our back yard there is Pedro, of course, who might be a small iguana, along with a bunch of even smaller lizards.  Well, today we saw an iguana about 1.5 feet long not counting his tail, very dark green with some hints of green, munching on something in the jungle.  We went outside to take a look, and this enormous iguana, nearly three feet long not counting the tail and very, very thick-bodied, came crashing through the underbrush.  Then, suddenly, both  bolted off and climbed trees, quickly disappearing from sight.  So now, anytime we are walking along with a tree branch overhead, we have to assume there is a decent chance there is an iguana up there.  I am told they are delicious.

Animal update

Today and yesterday have been banner days for us and animals, in the sense that many animals have come into our back yard and demanded food.  We had the gatos solos (coatis) yesterday morning, only 30 or 35 or so, a smaller crowd than usual, but they have revealed an endearing new quality.  After they eat all the fruit and bread, several of them decide it's time to scratch.  They basically recline back, then with their front paws scratch furiously at their tummies for several minutes.  The agoutis then follow, waiting patiently for bananas and breadsticks.  They sit upright on their haunches when they gnaw on the breadsticks; I have started calling the fat one Nibbler, after the Futurama animal.  The bushy-tailed squirrel has also come bounding in.  Today we had about 9 monkeys, the little white-faced ones.  Cholo the cook, wearing his French chef hat, took a bunch of bananas and papayas into the yard and once he left, they came in to eat.  We've had one very bright green iguana.  The other night we had the zorra, (not its real name - it's some kind of big shrew) snuffling around.  Haven't seen the armadillo for a couple of weeks.  The lizard who hangs out by the fountain has earned himself a name.  He is Pedro, for Pedro Picapiedras, the Spanish for Fred Flintstone.  Pedro is fast.  The other day he was sunning himself on the rocks while the chacalacas, a kind of big-winged pheasant, were eating bread we had thrown into the yard.  Pedro darted off the rock, dashed between them, grabbed the bread and zipped back to his rock.  He kind of runs on his back legs and rears up when he goes fast, so it looks like he's a cartoon character with his back legs spinning like a wheel, like he's the road runner.  The Chacalacas, who might not be the brightest creatures in the yard, stared blankly at each other wondering what the hell had just happened and where the bread had gone.  Pedro was back on his rock, the bread was gone, and if lizards can have shit-eating grins on their faces, that's what Pedro had.

Departure of the Coatis

 For those who may be concerned about leaving small children or inebriated adults with us, ignore those previous posts.  The gatos solos were actually quite friendly and gentle, except for ripping the kitchen door off its hings - we'll need to get that replaced.  And thus, their bellies filled with bread and cookies, their paws filled with the door keys they stole from us, along with the TV remote, they clambered over the fence and went back into the Canal Zone jungle.

Reflections Upon Feeding the Gatos Solos

 Who knew they had learned to open doors?  Who anticipated their surprising ability to learn to manipulate door knobs?  As the final photo shows, they can be rather insistent.  It was all darkness after that....

The Gato Solos Strike Back

 I was out of bread.  There were more than twenty of the gatos solos.  Then I remembered - we had a few cookies left over.  Everybody likes chocolate chip cookies, right?  Turns out they do.  Turns out they would much prefer, rather than having you toss them to the yard and they have to eat them out of the grass, to take them forcibly from your hand.  By the time I got the door closed, quite a few of the coatis had closed in.  But the door was closed.  We must be safe now. . . .

Revenge of the Gato Solo

 You can see their attack strategy revealed in this sequence of photos.  Sure, there are only eight or ten at this point, and they seem disinterested in the humans standing innocently on the patio.  They're keeping their distance and there is no sign of aggression.  Even at the time of the second photo, the only indication things might take a turn for the worse are that your esteemed photographer took a step forward without looking and startled the biggest freaking iguana I have seen outside a zoo, at least four feet long just in the torso, a tail stretching out at least another two feet, and looking like it weighed twenty or more pounds.  He went streaking across my foot, and by the time I recovered, for photo three, the coatis had launched the first wave of the attack.  Now there were close to two dozen already in the yard and at least ten more climbing the fence, and I was running out of bread.  It's rare that I recall any words of wisdom from my parents - a fact in startling contrast to what my own daughters must go through every day, remembering dozens of extraordinarily sage sayings and bons mots I offered throughout their childhood, oftentimes despite their best efforts to put those years far beyond the reach of conscious memory - and yet, for a moment, as I noticed that coatis have very sharp teeth and very sharp claws and were already within pouncing range, I vaguely recalled my parents saying something like, 'You shouldn't feed wild animals up close.  Remember what happened with the crocodile.' 

Return of the Gato Solo

 So there were a few gatos solos (coatis) outside the fence of our yard and we thought, what could be the harm of tossing them some pieces of bread?  And it seemed perfectly fine; a handful came through the hole at the bottom the fence and a few climbed over it, and they ate the bread. And that would be that, right?

Except this was the Day of Revenge of the Gato Solo.  Things weren't over, not by a long shot.

Animals Invade

 Sure, armadillos might seem cute at first.  And in fact this one was.  But he was a harbinger, a scout if you will, an agent of reconnaissance for what was to come later in the morning . . . .

Me and a Mermaid

Already we notice subtle differences from Afghanistan.

Here are photos of me and a mermaid.  I am the one wearing a shirt.

Lining Up for the Canal

Another view from the Amador Causeway.  On the horizon you can see ships lining up to enter the canal.  On the stern of the small boat in the foreground, you can see what appears to be one guy trying to drown another guy.

Jody in Panama

Walking along the Bahia de Panama.

View from the Causeway

We managed to make it to the Amador Causeway during rush hour, veering through lanes of traffic and fighting the buses, called "diablos rojos," to cross where we needed to go.  Still without GPS, we sort of navigated by instinct.  Coincidentally, we wound up at a Spanish wine bar.  The causeway is a road linking a series of artificial islands built to protect the entry way to the canal, overlooking Panama Bay.

Excursions

We're almost fully settled into the house, with nearly all the boxes unpacked and things put in a reasonably logical place.  So we drove around this afternoon.  We went to the neighborhoods where embassy families live and saw two of the schools.  We also went to the two Pacific-side locks of the Canal, Miraflores and San Pedro, and watched a couple of ships go through the locks.  Then we just drove around, because the GPS wasn't working and we didn't have any idea where we were headed.  We more or less made it back OK.  This evening we ate dinner outside and listened to the tree frogs, which I believe are scientifically called Space Invader Frogs, because the sound they make is exactly like some late 70s arcade game when you fire a missile at whatever is attacking you.  Interestingly, they go absolutely still if you stomp on the ground near them, then about five seconds later, they start up again.  We tried out the Mexican place near our house - so-so food, very nice margaritas.  I feel quite comfortable driving around the two barrios near our neighborhood, only somewhat less so as I go through the traffic roundabout I was told was nicknamed "Suicide Circle," but I get completely lost heading downtown.  I'm going to try again tomorrow, hopefully with a functioning GPS this time.

Panama Animals

 I don't know if I'll really keep this blog going.  It will depend on the photos, since there are limits to what I can write about.  First, I'll say that we have noticed some subtle differences between Panama and Afghanistan.  It's a bit greener here, I think.  Second, from our house, we're seeing some strange animals, though we usually aren't carrying a camera.  If you look carefully in the first one, you'll see an iguana.  Our street is called Paseo de la Iguana, and there are at least two gigantic ones and three mid-sized ones in our back yard.  In the second photo is a monkey; we counted seven or so.  There's also a pack of coati, two of which we've seen, but we haven't taken any pictures.  Eventually we'll get to the canal, which is about three blocks from our house, and take some photos there.  Anyway, this will have to do for starters.

The End

I don't see the need to keep this blog, at least with this focus.  We've been out of Afghanistan for three weeks now, and we can go most days without thinking about it.  We are almost finished with our time in DC, and soon after that, we go to a new continent and a new country.  We still won't comment on political issues related to Afghanistan or anything else.  So I believe it's time to wrap this one up.

Next Stage

Well, there's no we can go back to Afghanistan if we never leave it.  So we left on Saturday morning, or Friday night US time.  No major problems with either flight; slight delay in leaving Kabul, but amazingly, and contrary to the expectations and cynicism of everyone we know, the plan to check the bags through Dubai all the way to Dulles worked.  We got to our day hotel in Dubai around noon, had a nice lunch and walked around the mall and saw an extraordinarily high percentage of women in the full black chador, the one with just the slit for the eyes, which is I suppose a step up from the burka.  But here's the difference between Dubai and Afghanistan: in Dubai, there are women in public places like malls.  In Afghanistan, the public is pretty much the man's domain.
Anyway, we went back to the airport at 8 pm, checked in, had dinner, then caught our midnight flight.  For a 14 hour flight, it was quite pleasant.  Dulles is usually my nightmare airport, taking forever to clear immigration and customs, waiting forever for luggage, waiting for an overpriced cab.  We flew through it in about 5 minutes for passport; our bags were the first ones off the carousel, customs didn't even look at our form, and we walked right to the front of the cab line, which zipped to Alexandria in record time.  That's the great advantage of 6:30 am weekend arrivals.  Anyway, we are at our temporary apartment, home for the next four weeks, and we are relatively cleaned up and ready to go find coffee and food.  I have to go to work tomorrow, but that's not until 7:30 a.m.  We actually are getting a Sunday off from work.  I don't believe that's happened in quite a while.

The Final Count

We have 12 rolls of toilet paper left over.  Turns out that that extra week of vacation in France probably saved us from running out.  We have seven rolls of paper towels - turns out that extra year of not cleaning the house probably saved us.  We have 3 cans of bug spray which we can't take because it's aerosol.  We have one remaining bag of coffee - thanks, Mom.  We were allotted 450 pounds of air freight to Panama; we used about 370 of it, plus the packing materials of about 70 pounds.  We were allowed up to 2,000 pounds sea freight, which confusingly travels by air from Afghanistan; we used about 720, not counting the packing materials, which brought it to 895.  We have left over nasal saline spray and eye drops because we became inured to the dust storms.  And that's about it.  Our out of office messages are up and running, and that means we are not doing any work.  We are out of here, and the destination is changing to Panama, via Washington.

The Final Countdown

We are about 14 hours away from heading to the airport.  Our bags are more or less packed, though we're still adjusting to distribute the weight better and, we hope, reduce the Safi surcharges for extra weight (only 30 kg total allowed).  We went to the bazaar one last time, to get a repaired bracelet of Jody's and buy a souvenir for a friend.  No carpets, though at one point I had the guy down to $30, but I wanted lower.  Sometimes you just have to walk away, and that's what it's like for us now - time to walk away from Afghanistan.  Only one more meal at the DFAC to go.  We need to throw away and give away some of the stuff in the apartment this evening.  But we are very close to leaving.

The Destination is Changing

Today we pack out.  After a couple of coffees, we will spring into action and actually pack our suitcases and segregate our stuff destined for Panama from the things we don't want the movers to toss into the crate.  We probably should get started on that.  Otherwise, it's just returning phones and ID cards and things like that.  We are 48 hours away from departure.

More 7/4 Photos

 There's nothing weird going on with the camera in the first two photos.  These were under a large red tent, since in the sun it was about 100 degrees.  Notice the tastefully concealed sandbags protecting the hooches in the third photo.

Fourth of July in Kabul

 Though, as I mentioned previously, it was actually July 3.  The Afghan employees of the Embassy brought their families, which meant there were children dressed in traditional costumes running around the grounds.  The popcorn was a big hit.

Independence Day

Embassies have national day receptions for Independence Day but not usually on 7/4.  Ours was on July 2.  These are working days, where in addition to the setup for the event, part of the job is mingling and chatting with the guests.  Today, 7/3, is the unofficial "community" party, technically not a work day, but since we always work on Sundays anyway, it basically is.  Besides, somebody has to do all the work to set up this party too.  We have a congressional delegation in town - Senators McCain, Lieberman and Graham.  I was reminded of that fact this morning as I got on the elevator and rode down with Senator Lieberman, who was wearing a t-shirt and green turtle-decorated swimming trunks.  I also got a baseball signed by Senators McCain and Lieberman (who was wearing more than just the trunks at the time of the signature).  Tomorrow is a regular work day.
We have three more work days, then the pack out day, then Friday to mail last-minute stuff, and we head out Saturday morning to Dubai.

Last Bazaar

Yesterday was the last bazaar for us.  From now on, everything will be the last time we do something.  Today is the last Saturday.  The next day is the last country team, the last meeting of this or that nature.  The only exception is the ubiquitous baked pollock, which is available at every damn meal, and has been the past eight months, adding a certain je ne sais pas mais ca peste aroma to the compound, as if the natural scent of the air isn't enough.  Anyway, we bought some last jewelry items, lapis of course, and one more small carpet.  I used to hate bargaining.  Now I am, if I say so myself, quite good at it, and the dealers will literally run after me to agree to the price at which I walked away, where then I get it a little bit cheaper.  Yesterday I bought a camel wool carpet with a Kuchi design.  (The Kuchi, frequent readers will recall, are nomadic goat herders, sort of the wandering salmon of the Afghanistan dry highlands.)  This makes five carpets:
 - sheep wool, pomegranate and walnut stained, Ghazni origin, light yellow and red carpet
-  sheep wool, blue and yellow, from Herat though not too Iranian in design, runner
- lamb's wool, dark red, elephant foot design, from Mazar, very large centerpiece carpet
- camel wool, red and light yellow, Qal-i-Naw city, Turkmen design
- yesterday's camel and sheep wool blend, Kuchi design, from Muquer district

I don't think I'll get any more, in part because we pack out on Thursday, and fly out on Saturday.  Now, time to eat breakfast.

Shust and Insurgents

I was overly optimistic in the last post.  There was no clearing up at all.  Instead, we have been blanketed by the shust for the past four days.  You can't even seen the little hill behind the presidential palace, which is less than a mile from here.  Even the buildings on the compound are hazy, and people are sneezing and coughing left and right.  Meanwhile, the insurgents keep trying, and are increasingly directing attacks against soft civilian targets.  In the worst attack, they killed several dozen at a clinic in Logar, the province just to the south of Kabul.  Last night, they tried to stage a Mumbai-style attack against a hotel in Kabul.  We have nine days to go.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/jun/28/afghanistan-kabul-hotel-attack-taliban

Shust Storm

Yesterday morning was extraordinarily hot, close to 90 Fahrenheit by the time we were eating breakfast, and well over 100 for the day.  But what made the day especially weird was the shust storm that blew in just before sunset.  The air was almost granular in its thickness, and instead of breathing, it was as if you were swallowing it.  As always with the shust storms, buildings any distance away just blur into vague shapes; even trees are indistinct. This morning, just after dawn, it's still hazy, though it looks like it's cleared up some.

Two of Us

We have two weeks to go.  This picture of us sitting at a street-side cafe is not from Afghanistan. 

Wingman

I managed to lean forward once without completely falling out to take a photo of the second Huey, the one that was flying a couple of seconds ahead of us.

Huey Close-Ups

 As I mentioned, Hueys fly low, and I had nothing else to do.  I have no idea what the first thing is, some sort of semi-destroyed kiln maybe.   The second is over a junk yard; I tried to get a shot of what must have been over a thousand rusted-out car shells, but the helicopter kept bouncing.  Finally, a bunch of trucks at a container depot.

More on Walls

 Here was another thing I don't believe I've seen before.  In a handful of the rectangular plots people had set up tents.  I don't know if this was because it was their plot but they weren't able to build the house yet, so the family was living in a tent; or perhaps these were squatters or nomads.  Did I mention Afghanistan was extremely poor?

First You Build a Wall

This was about as high as got, after we cleared the mountains; the land dropped below us and we didn't immediately adjust altitude.  This is something you see nearly everywhere here with Afghan rural residences.  First, you build the wall.  You always see these painstakingly laid out rectangles where the family compound will eventually be.  People build the walls before they even have the building materials or the money for the house.  So you find these empty rectangles lined by mud walls all over the country.  In the case of this village, given the complete absence of any buildings and the fact that there was nothing anywhere near it, I don't think it's a new settlement; I think it's an abandoned one.  The river bed looks completely dried out and filled with stones, too, so agricultural failure may have driven the entire village to re-locate.

More Huey Photos

 Look, when you're on an hour-long helo ride and the roar of the rotors is only drowned out by the wind whipping past your ears, and you're in the middle of nowhere so even if there weren't counter-measures activated, you'd get no cell phone coverage so you couldn't check your emails, but you do have a camera, you might as well take a bunch of pictures.  I don't recall seeing rocks like those in the bottom photo.  Usually the landscape is a variation of gray or brown, though the iron-rich mountains are clearly red, and you can see streaks of green minerals in others.  But I don't know what would make them white like this. 

Views from the Huey

 As I mentioned earlier, Hueys don't fly that high.  I shot these from the helicopter with my mediocre camera, not the one with the high shutter speed.  Probably half the pictures were too blurry to really use.  Also, every time the Huey caught an air current, which happened pretty frequently, it would dip or rise up so that your seat and your butt parted ways, and you were hoping you buckled the belt more or less correctly.  For purposes of photographs, that meant that I jerked the camera and now  have a dozen photos of either my feet or upper part of the helicopter frame.