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Nudity, Numpties & Numbers: Back Home Once Again

January 28, 2023 /

A few years back in the Canary Islands, we (or rather Michaela) suffered a moment of extreme embarrassment which you can read about HERE. But wow our last few days in Panama so nearly brought another…

The sound of the door closing behind me was the first sign that I’d made something of an error of judgment. Long before going to bed it had started to dawn on me that the draught beer in The American Bazaar in downtown Casco Viejo was considerably stronger than I had realised, not least because the flat paving slabs had somehow become just as difficult to walk on as the cobbles – they just wouldn’t stay flat.

So a few hours later, when I awoke with the inevitable need to use the bathroom, the confusion brought on by a combination of being in our eleventh bed of the year when it’s still only January and the effects of too much craft beer, led me to lose my bearings and go through the wrong door. To my disbelief and horror I suddenly found myself out in the corridor of the hotel, absolutely stark naked. Cue total panic and instant sobering up.

What a terrible sight it must have been – fortunately one which no one was forced to share – my 65 year old naked form frantically hammering on the door in order to rouse Michaela from her own cocktail assisted slumbers. You have no idea of the measure of my relief when that door opened before any other door did.

American Bazaar in Casco Viejo Panama City
Inside the American Bazaar

As we prepare to pack up and end this latest adventure, the humid sunshine is once again disappearing behind the clouds which creep over Panama City each afternoon. It’s still raining every day here, and it’s January 25th. In most years the rain ends in mid December and the month of January sees absolutely no precipitation at all. Not this year though, and everyone from hosts in Boca Chica to hiking guides in Gamboa to the lady who cuts Michaela’s hair in Panama City is raising their palms and asking what the hell is going on.

It is, evidently, highly unusual for the rains to be hanging around some six weeks after they’ve normally called it quits and headed off elsewhere. These aren’t, of course, wholly wet days, they are “only” showers, but boy these showers carry a significant liquid tonnage and are capable of flooding Casco Viejo’s streets in seconds – literally, in seconds.

Rain in Casco Viejo Panama City
Here comes the rain again

Our time is done and another adventure is over. With no direct flights between Panama and the UK, it’s a lengthy haul via Amsterdam to make our way back to the cold of England. It’s a 21-hour journey from door to door and one which drops from 34C to 7C in the process – not as cold as recent days have been here in England but it sure feels cold to us.

During the course of the journey we see three familiar characters: characters who seem to crop up on every trip even though their actions are mystifying and maybe a touch absurd. Firstly, there’s the person – I hesitate to say woman, but in truth it usually is – who suddenly feels the need to open their suitcase on the floor of the airport terminal and rifle frantically through its contents until their neat packing is turned into a laundry bundle. And then they stuff it all back in, as if they have at last established that the favourite pair of beach shorts is indeed still in there and not left behind in the bedroom.

It shouldn’t be difficult

Secondly, here is the man who wanders too far down the aeroplane aisle until he is several yards past the correct row and has to turn and walk against the tide to retrace his steps. It is, it seems, beyond him to work out that the incremental increase in row numbers is by 1 each time, and therefore it is pretty likely that if your seat is in row 24 then it will be immediately behind row 23.

And last but not least, the “wrong seat” merchant, who, having stowed his or her case in the rack above and settled in with all long-haul paraphernalia in the correct place, is confronted by someone clutching a card with that precise seat number on it. The interloper’s response is, invariably, to achieve a facial expression which suggests that, in their world, matching your seat number to the one on your boarding card is a wholly alien concept.

Who ARE these people?!

It’s nine weeks since we ventured out into Kingston, Jamaica at the start of this trip, nine weeks since kicking off with that great visit to the Bob Marley museum and the first platefuls of jerk chicken. Breathing in the fresh air of the Blue Mountains and chatting with Rodger and his team at Lime Tree Farm seems some time ago now, but sticks out as one of the highlights – but then there were many of those.

Happily, it won’t be anything like nine weeks until we’re off again.

San Blas Islands Panama
Till next time

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