Bienvenidos a Casa Ingaso, Altos del Maria, Republic of Panama

MARCH 2005: “Altos del Maria, Here We Come!”

Everyone asked, when we told them we were moving: "What made you pick Panamá?" Well, we're tired of trying to explain ourselves, so here's a web site that will help explain our "perplexing" choice of country: Escape Artist's Panama pages. And, here's an article about why some people move to Altos del Maria: Why Altos del Maria?.
Anyhow, before we ever set foot on a plane, heck, before we ever packed a bauble, TC was trawling all the Web's Panamanian message boards and a Yahoo! list for Altos del Maria, in particular. Not only was she gathering information for us prospective expats, she was also searching for anyone with a place to rent in Altos—we wanted to be nearby during construction. Well, she found Norman and Hallie Cohen who had built a duplex on Lot 58 in Valle del Laurel with the expressed intention of renting to people just like us. Hoohah!

Panama map
So, before leaving La Estancia, our first trip to Altos—75 kilometers west of Panamá City on the Pan-American Highway, then another 20 klicks and 2000 feet up a two lane road—was to meet the Cohen's and see the half of their duplex that was for rent. We discovered that it had all the amenities, plus high-speed, wireless, broadband internet—a necessity since we planned to continue our graphic design work, not to mention, I still had parts of our client's web site to implement! The Cohen's were asking what seemed like an exorbitant amount by Panamanian standards, but it was the only place available in Altos, so we took it—supply and demand. The architectural style is sorta like "Man of La Mancha" meets "Camelot," so we've taken to calling it "Lamelot."
Despite the price and the architecture, Lamelot's setting was beautiful, surrounded as it was by ancient, towering trees. Cerro Picacho loomed right outside the front door, mists often scudding its peak. A rocky, babbling brook ran through the barranca behind the house. And the yard held more flowers and tropical plants than we could shake a soon-to-be-sprouting stick at—no really, shove a stick of anything in the ground and it sprouts; fence post made from tree limbs have to be pruned! So, if we had to wait out construction somewhere, we coulda done a lot worse than Lamelot.
[Click the picture of our first Panama photo gallery...]
Although, it came furnished, we wanted to put some of our things in Lamelot, so as to make it feel more like "home." Plus, I desperately needed access to my computer in order to finish The Web Site. Unfortunately, our things weren't in Panamá yet, but they were close.
Our container actually set sail March 4, and took a few days longer than expected to reach the Caribbean terminus of the Panamá Canal: Colón. From there it was trucked to a bonded warehouse they call "Mile 8" or "milla ocho", because it's either eight miles or eight kilometers out the Colón road from Panamá City.
The whole time we were in contact with our Panamanian customs and shipping agent, Juan Cerrud, who kept us apprised of our containers progress...or lack thereof. Finally, one day, he said it was ready and we made arrangements to meet him and the container at the Almacenajes Mini Warehouse storage facility, a facility like any other in the United States. Of course, as had all of our dealings with shippers and containers gone, our arrangements in Panamá didn't turn out quite as expected, either.
Our "container unpacking" day was March 21, a week after we moved into Lamelot. We drove to the city hoping things would go smoothly. With that in mind, Juan went to Milla Ocho to deal with customs, while we met the men hired to unpack the container at Almacenajes. Unfortunatey, customs dragged their feet doing the bureaucratic shuffle and thus held up the works.
When the delay became apparent, I went to a convenience store, bought an ice chest, ice, and a ton of soft drinks for the waiting men—we were dealing with 90° F heat and 90% humidity—while TC manned the phone, getting non-progress reports from Juan. We had already spent a previous day being driven by Juan from bank to office to lunch, paying the duty amounts and taking care of the paper work at customs in the city, so we didn't understand the hold-up. Finally, however, after lunch(!) the container was released and a while later showed up at the warehouse, four-hours late. What is it with us and shipping containers?
Words cannot adequately express the relief, if not downright joy, with which TC and I watched the container truck back down the lane to our storage unit. Our stuff was back under our control again! Yippee! But, what condition would it be in after such a long, harrowing trip?
Unfortunately, in the interim another container had arrived. It was the one the workmen were supposed to unload after ours, but since ours hadn't arrived, they all went off to empty the one that had. So, when Juan—shortly followed by our container—showed up, there was only him, TC, and myself to unload it—drivers don't get involved.
We had taped our list of boxes-that-go-to-Lamelot on the wall. It was a good idea, but a numbering system actually on the boxes that indicated whether they stayed in storage or went to Altos would have been better. Nonetheless, everything ready and waiting, I reached up to unlock the container doors...(drum roll)...
...and there was our stuff, basically looking the same as the last time we'd seen it. We were ecstatic as we started pulling it off the truck—the bed of the container was four feet off the ground and there wasn't a ramp or power lift or any modern gadget to make unloading easier; just our muslces and grit...which, needless to say, ain't much where I'm concerned. Within seconds we were all dripping wet—TC and I will always be indebted to Juan for actually helping with this life-threatening process, well, it was to my way of thinking.
Eventually, as the other container's load grew smaller, men slowly came over to ours to give us much needed and much appreciated help. As we worked, a smaller truck showed up in which to put those boxes ear-marked for Lamelot, so boxes and people were coming and going between the two vehicles and the storage unit, and mistakes were made, boxes put in the wrong places, though nothing catastrophic. But, here's where a better numbering system would've helped. At any rate, the job was finally done, people were paid, and we left for the long, long drive back to Altos expecting the truck to be right behind us...WRONG!
The woman in charge of the second truck, and also hiring the men to help us with all the unloading and loading, called about 10 pm to say the small truck was at the gate to Altos, but the guard wouldn't let it in. Because the guard didn't have a phone (go figure!), the truck driver had to call the woman, Montserrat, who in turn called us to say we had to go up to the gate, take responsibility for the truck and men, and then escort them in and out. It was 11 pm before we returned to Lamelot with the truck and it's frustrated occupants.
And there we all were, making trips back and forth from the truck to our living room in the dark, no lights in the truck, and only a flashlight, which was a little bit better than nothing at all. When all was said and done, and TC and I were back in Lamelot, the truck gone, the twenty minute trip to the gate (both ways!) over, it was 12:30 am. Now we know what they mean when people say: "Panamá time!"

[click here to continue...]