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

MARCH 2005: “Altos del Maria, Here We Come!” (cont.)

Well, our next phase was underway: life at Lamelot. For the next two weeks we "settled" in. During that process we also created our first tradition at Lamelot: Cuba Libres on the Balcony! Like all traditions it started innocently enough, a little tribute to our days in Costa Rica and our nightly drinks on the porch there while reading and responding to emails. But, it quickly became a "new" ritual, once the frogs made their entrance.
Before the first rains came, we made "Libres" to cool off after our evening walks. I loved the fog produced whenever I opened the freezer compartment and the cold and hot air mixed. The ice trays would be so rigid and frozen that twisting them hard enough to dislodge the cubes began causing cracks in the plastic. The process, nonetheless, became a ritual in and of itself: the clink of the cubes in the glass; the crack and deliquescing of the ice as the warm rum poured over it; the pungent, enticing smell of the lime as I squeezed a wedge in each drink; and finally the fizz of the Coke, tying it all together. It's hard to convey the pleasure with which we carried our icy, wet glasses up the stairs and out onto the balcony. A nightly joy. And as I said, we were just cooling off at first, but then the frogs showed up.
I can't remember exactly when the first rain hit us, but hit us it did, a gully-washer. It was torrential and tropical, loud and warm; rain you very rarely experience in Southern California. It was the kind of downpour that makes you drop what you're doing and watch. It was wonderful, and I discovered that I liked wind and rain when they're warm.
Anyhow, that night we took our seats and clinked our glasses before it was dark enough to trigger the street lamps. The brightest stars peeked out at us, flycatchers sat on the power lines swooping up and back as they caught and ate...well, flies, and insect sounds of every type imaginable, plus some never imagined, lent a leitmotif to our evening's entertainment. There was always something to keep tabs on, but the night after the rain something started keeping tabs on us: Frogs!
They first huge daddy of an amphibian came to our attention when it hopped out of our flower bed, down the driveway, and out to the street, where it sat apparently looking back at us! We were amazed, especially when he (we made the assumption anything that large must be male) raised up on his legs like a 4x4 and motored down the drive. He didn't hop, he tanked, stopping on the drive's apron, waiting there before continuing across the street to his goal: an insect-laden culvert. We figured that was why he lived long enough to grow so big: he stopped, looked both ways and listened for traffic! But, just to be sure, he didn't risk a complete crossing at one shot. No, he motored to the yellow-line, stopped again, and then completed his journey. We watched him drop out of sight, down to his nightly buffet. We figured, like the flycatchers overhead, he was doing his best to control the insect population, so we lifted our glasses to big fella and wished him luck.
mantis At any rate, Cuba Libres and the comings and goings of frogs became a nightly tradition; and the big guy never failed to gain our admiration for his sheer bulk and purpose of movement. (Gulp.) Watching him from the safety of the second floor balcony was just fine—I'm sure the tales we heard of poisonous frogs spitting their toxin at antagonists only helped to aggrandize him in our minds.
Our nights watching Bubba, our name for him, also taught us that as long as we left all the lights off we weren't bothered by that many of those bugs fortunate enough to escape the local diners. We did discover, however, that during the change of season in Altos—dry to wet, wet to dry—the bug population explodes, and everyone of them suckers came looking for me! It wasn't pretty. Locals told us that it would calm down after awhile, which, hallelujah, it did. Things became comparatively bug-free and have stayed that way, so far, at least until the next shift of season in December—I can't wait.
But, therein lies one of two Altos' urban legends that we've been sorry to find are not true: no bugs and cool weather.
First of all, and especially at night with the lights on, bugs are a definite problem. Of course, contributing to the problem mightily is Lamelot's excuse for screens. They allow the persistent and I would assume your smarter-than-the-average-bear bug to make its way into the house.
We learned that one night when a beetle the size of my nose (it's a big schnoz, folks!) started banging against the screen. It was the same kind of beetle that serenaded us in Costa Rica by repeatedly careening into the pots and pans hanging over the kitchen sink: "...bink, bonk, boing." So, we were happy that this Altos version was on the outside looking in, but not for long. About ten minutes later...Sproing!...the beetle popped into the room and began reconnoitering, its wings like a blender, it's serenade pretty dull since it only had cement walls to fly into.
Anyhow, thanks to that blundering bug and its myriad cousins and friends, we now keep only one indoor light on in the corner away from where we are. We tried to play a game of Scrabble one night under the bright light of the ceiling fan, but called it on account of the heebie jeebies from swatting and itching and flinching and yelping as bugs invaded our very beings. Outside? Fuggedaboutit! The very bright street lamp attracts them away from us as long as we sit in the dark. No, there are lots of bugs in Altos, but fortunately no mosquitos. Or, if there are skeeters, they are so scarce that we haven't seen nor heard one...yet.
Secondly, we're seriously considering installing air-conditioning in some of Casa Ingaso's rooms—something we didn't want to do—but after several days and nights of enervating humidity and persistent heat, our druthers aren't as important as they once were. No, despite Altos' marketing spiel, it gets uncomfortably warm here. Of course, it reinforces our decision not to buy property at sea level on the Carribean—"And you think this is hot!?!?!" Casa Ingaso is at 1800 feet on the cooler Pacific-side of the country, but still warm by our Southern California-standards (day temps are averaging 80F), which are slightly out-of-sync with locals. Whenever we tell a Panamanian that we are living in Altos del Maria, invariably, they say, "Muy frio!", meaning "very cold." Guess again, amigo!
No doubt, Casa Ingaso's swimming pool will help where the heat is concerned—we plan to wear nothing but bathing suits. But, we're pretty sure air-conditioning is in our future, too. And we're real sure our guests will approve!
At any rate, the end of March came and went as we were introduced to the critters of Altos, and reintroduced—as Steve Martin might say—to our own "unique, individual odor!" Eau du Bobo, anyone?

[click here to continue...]