Boquete, Panama

My day begins at 7am. Time to feed the cat. OK, it really began about 6am when the sky lightened enough to call it day and the cat knows it’s time to begin the morning badgering, which will continue until she has been fed at 7am. Tika’s the cat’s name. Hates everyone but me, but now and then I’ll get a snarl, a bite, or a paw swipe, too. She sleeps by my side though, and for a guy that’s enough.

Pretty much every day begins this way. At 8 degrees, 30 minutes latitude even the sun rises and falls at plus or minus 15 minutes throughout the year. 

I shower, spend a half hour on the Internet and head off to breakfast in town. The temperature outside is 70 degrees Fahrenheit. It always is this time of day, plus or minus a degree or three.

The Toyota diesel pickup chugs to a start and I’m off on my morning run for nourishment at Olga’s. Sun’s in my face so I put on the shades and roll down the hill and into town.

Life is good in Boquete, Panama.

Olga’s - officially Punta del Encuentra (Meeting Point) - is the unofficial morning meeting place for local expats and travelers to Boquete. Every morning there will be a few regulars, a few travelers - some with backpacks, and a few would-be expats scouting the place out, many looking to buy property. Kind of like the weather here SSDD - Same Stuff, Different Day. But also as the clouds are quite different today from yesterday, so the differences in the people from day-to-day give a sense of variety from the uniform. 

The first choice is whether to go it alone with my book-of-the-month - I read just a few pages a day, before someone will sit down with me or a conversation will start with another table, or I will join one of the other expats already here.

I’m ‘building a house.’ I was ‘having a house built,’ but my builder went belly-up. So, having taken over the construction, I do my expense accounting each day. Takes 10 to 15 minutes. From ‘client’ I’ve now become ‘paymaster,’ ‘jefe’ (chief), and ‘gofer’ - gofer cement, gofer tile, blah blah. 

Coffee arrives courtesy of Olga. A hug, a latin-greeting kiss on the cheek (I love this way of greeting). “Que vas a comer, mi amor?” she asks. “Omelete, sin papas, por favor, mi carina.” I answer. She spots the bowl of processed sugar in front of me and replaces it with the "turbinado" sugar I prefer.

A couple sits down at the only other table in this section. Eat, find. They talk for a bit. He says “Do you live here?” “Yup.” “How long?” “Two and a half years.” “Like it?” “Yup. Love it.” “How come?” Blah, blah, blah. Three years ago I was here. I was asking these same questions. I was getting the same answers I was now giving. So I think, “Am I on some kind of weird merry-go-round?” 

I excuse myself and go get another cup of coffee from the coffee maker on the main terrace. The big table is full. Regulars, with a couple new folks. This is the social table. (It’s been called “mesa bochincheros” - the gossip table, but that’s for fun. It’s just an ad hoc group that enjoys a social breakfast.

Olga's daughter Lici comes through the door, says hello gives me the latin hug/kiss and sits down with me. She's in college taking a pre-psychiatry major. We talk about books.

Finishing at a little after 9am, I say “Hasta luego”  to the folks at the neighboring table and head off to pick up Pamela and Carmen. Pamela is my translator and secretary on the construction site and on the farm that Phyllis and I own. Carmen is our housekeeper. She comes twice a week.

I pick up Pamela first. It’s 9:11am. “You’re late.” She chides me. I’m always a few minutes late. I wasn’t in the States. Always punctual. A fetish for being on time. I’ve slipped, I guess. Carmen’s next. She climbs in at 9:20. “Buenas dias. Como estan?”—Hi. How are you all?  “Bien, y tu?”—fine and you? “Bien, gracias.”