Bocas Town

A hundred years ago, this little Caribbean town had 25,000 inhabitants, five embassies, and the first phones in Panamá. In 1890, the Snyder brothers from Boston established the first banana plantations here with their Boston Fruit Company which later merged with two other companies to form The United Fruit Company. After Panama Disease hit in the 20s, and most of the bananas died, thousands were without work. Most left. A town that looked like a colorized postcard from another era with a population of around 3,000 people was what Paul and I found when we came here in 1994. 

Times have changed. Bocas has some of the most biologically diverse eco-systems on the planet. We have turtle nesting grounds, reefs, beaches, jungles. The Smithsonian Tropical Institute recently moved its center of Central American operations here. The tourists are arriving in droves. Land is still cheap, compared to the eastern Caribbean. And there are no hurricanes.

Ten years ago, there were a handful of us gringos and we all lived at the Brisas Hotel ($9/night) and went to the Red Lobster (a Chinese-owned restaurant, and no relation to the US chain). Today there are dozens of hotels and restaurants. We used to have Andino’s - a small supermarket selling everything from kerosene to carton wine, and the occasional limp stalk of celery. Today we have deliveries of fresh milk and ice cream and the sale of fresh vegetables has become a competitive enterprise.

Nevertheless, shopping in town can be a challenge. Today I want a beef filet, and have to go to three different supermarkets before I find one that isn’t the size and shape of a hammered sausage. There are carrots, green beans, eggplant and cabbage, but no romaine lettuce. There is butter and cream, but the fresh milk hasn’t come in on the ferry, yet. So I pick up my copy of the Miami Herald (delivered to my office by a 50-year old paperboy) and head to Le Pirate for a diet coke to wait. It’s nice waiting. I greet the townspeople I know, who love to tease me. “Where you been, Cin?  Thought you ran away when it started rainin’.” I enjoy the breeze and the view across the channel to Carenero. I read the funnies first. 

I cover a few more essentials. We’ve got a few houses we rent, and a couple of properties for sale. But mostly, Magdalena, the sweet Bocatoranian I employ, pays the bills, does our small payroll, and stands in line at the bank. There is only one bank in Bocas, which is run by the state. It is roughly a quarter of the size that it needs to be, and is under-staffed and dysfunctional. Living in Latin cultures (we lived in Spain for 15 years before coming to Central America) has not improved my patience about banks. 

I gather my supplies, and head for home on the lumpy dirt road. It’s time for lunch. 

Cecilia has baked the bread I left out this morning. Every two weeks or so, I go and buy 6 lbs of masa from the local Italian baker and come home, divide it into loaves and freeze it. Cecilia, more often than not, puts it in the oven, and we have fresh bread every other day with the vegetable soups I make. Today it’s carrot/ginger. 

We are like a little family of three inside this house. Cecilia knows almost everything that goes on here and has a wonderful lightness and sweetness to her personality that makes it a pleasure to have her around. If she finds a dime under a sofa cushion, she gives it to me. I pay her social security, her cab fare out here and back. She is well renumerated on the scale of things in Bocas ($40/week), and is happy to have steady employment. I give her clothes, a refrigerator, money for her sick mother, presents for her grandkids, and hormone pills. We giggle together like sisters over town gossip: who’s running around, who landed in jail for not paying child support, how long a sentence the mayor is supposed to get. She knows all about the medicinal quality of plants, too. Her parents raised her in the bush on Isla San Cristobál where they made charcoal from mangrove trees and sold their carbón and plantains in town. Today she tells me that the juice of the sour sop fruit is a wonderful antidote for intestinal parasites. She makes a chicha out of one of the big mushy fruits Paul brought home from the farm and adds sugar and milk. Paul drinks it down like it’s a vanilla milkshake. If he had any parasites, they’re history.

Afternoon Delights

I got into the habit of an afternoon siesta living in Spain, but to be honest, my family is genetically-predisposed to napping, and I fit the mold. So, after lunch, I close the doors, turn on the fan, and lie on my bed. I sleep for almost an hour, wake up, and start writing. Generally, I write for a couple of hours, and then go for a swim. 

I put on a hotskin so the fish and jellfish don’t tickle my legs. The dogs sit on the beach and watch, waiting for me to come out and throw them a stick, like the entertainment committee.

Paul made me a shower garden at the back of the house. It’s a concrete slab shaped into a circle and surrounded by plants. I peel off the hotskin, and shower outside surrounded by orchids, greenery and flowers. It’s a wonderful tingly feeling having warm water run over you when there’s a fresh breeze, and the sun is just starting to set.

I go in, and wrap myself in a fresh pareo and pour myself a drink. I read for a while and let my hair dry. Dinner is already planned: fresh red snapper on the grill, frozen asparagus from Pricesmart in the city; rice pilaf. There will also be some leftover guacamole as the avocado trees are still producing, and a lemon pie made with lemons from our trees. 

I look out the window at the sea. It's pink and orange now, almost seamlessly serene. There might be rain tonight, but it promises to be a beautiful, sunny day tomorrow. However it looks - rain or shine - I’ll be in bed looking out through the sliding glass doors, waiting for the horses to show up.

The following are the previous articles that Cindy wrote for the magazine:

Going For Broke, Or Going Bananas? - How To Leave Home Without Losing Your Sanity
Does Money Grow on Trees? - Growing Teak Wood In Bocas Del Toro, Panama

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