The Sports Report in Panama

Ok, so the Saladino Effect has gone a little over the top at this point. He is now in every other commercial, every politician has solicited his endorsement, and every baby - boy and girl - will be named Irving or Saladino or both for at least the next month. So as the Olympics draw to a close coverage once again returns to the America's pass time. As I sit here and watch the sports highlights I can't help but notice the stark differences between the coverage here and back home.

Good ol' ESPN loves their Yankees and Red Soxs, Ozzie Guillen's mouth, Brett Farve's arm, Tiger Wood's knee, whether Boston Celtics will repeat (who thinks about the NBA in August), and the insignificance of preseason football. But guaranteed to be in every hour of Sports Center are some of the best plays in the sports world and an attempt to cover at least most of the games of the day, and then there are the plays of the day and web gems. Most local sports casters have a local and shorter version of this same format.

Contrast that to what you get in this country. The leading story on any reputable sports cast here in Panama is with Mariano Rivera. The likely future Hall o' Famer is probably the most famous sportster to come out of Panama. After watching 7 of his 9 pitches to win, loose, draw or save for the Yankees the focus switches to all the tier two Panamanian ball players. A tier two ball player in Panama is defined here has any player in the Major Leagues that is not Mariano Rivera. One might see Carlos Lee fan twice and hit an insignificant ground ball to the second baseman; or Carlos Ruís catching for the starting pitcher of the Phillies... in the bullpen before the game.

All of the insignificant plays that these and the other Panamanian players make will be well documented, but will they note the great catch made by Ichiro to save extra innings? Not a chance. Will they show Ronaldinho's spectacular bicycle kick goal? Maybe. Will they show any other sport besides baseball and soccer? No way!

I am reminded of the banner that I saw in Costa Rica right before the World Cup 2006 in which Costa Rica lost three out of three games and was eliminated. The banner read: "Congratulations Costa Rica, we made it to the World Cup Tournament!" They were happy just to have made it. In the same way the Panamanians want to see the Panamanian players no matter how significant or insignificant to be able to share in the glory of just making it, and forget the actual great plays, results, and commentary on significance.

And to this I say, rock on Manny Acosta! Carlos Beltran hit the game winning double off you last night, but someone hand to throw the loosing pitch. All of your countrymen (all of whom claim to be related to you by at least a cuña'o) down here will love you for making it onto the mound in the majors and will happily forget the details. We made it!

Us Americans and our Gold Metals

Ok, so Michael Phelps won 8 gold metals to become the most decorated Olympian ever, the Redeem Team is on pace to destroy the competition, the USA as of today leads the overall metal count. These are all great stories of triumph and success, and to be honest they are all a little trite. Swimming hands outs metals like confetti on new years days, and the USA is actually loosing the gold metal race with China which probably means that they are going to roll their red asses across the Pacific and assimilate the the USA into their Borg-like factory system based on a a wierd combination of capitalism and communism.

Is this history in the making? Probably. Is this the best story of the Olympics? Hell no! The Olympics has always been about making a bunch of money off all the people coming to the host country, and a little thing called friendly international competition. I could write a thesis here about how much I love the Olympics as each sport is actually a little society with simple rules, punishments for breaking said rules, and rewards for being the best. For example in the long jump the rules are simple. Run as fast as you can at a pit of sand and jump as far as you can. If you step on the line it doesn't count, you have three jumps, good luck.

My favorite stories are the ones of the underdog; never the ones of the people that are suppose to win. Rooting against the Yankees is more fun than rooting for them, watching the "Redeem Team" kick the crap out of everyone they play against is a little is boring. I want to see the Kenyan or Nigerian runner who historically should be shooting his neighbors for being a different shade of "dark chocolate", but instead decided he was going to take his long legs and start running. No only would he run well, but he would defy AIDS and so much more just to make it to the Olympics. Then he would continue to eat his Wheaties, and run 26.2 miles faster than anyone else in the world. These are the stories!

Panama finally has it's first gold metal in the history of the Olympics, EVER! Before this year Panama had two Bronze metals for basically showing up to the games. With a long jump of 8.34 meters Irving Saladino long jumped his way out of one of the toughest neighborhoods in all of Panama into Panamanian sports history with the first gold metal by an central or south american team this year, and the first gold one for Panama. So the rich countries can celebrate celebrate all their gold metals by taking the winners out for a "good job pizza", but I'll be dancing in the streets on August 21 with the rest of Panama City to the hero's welcome for Saladino as if he had single-handedly stopped the Russian invasion of Georgia.

Survival Guide to Carnival in Salvador

Many people have asked me to describe what Carnival is like in Brazil. It is not an even that is lived, it is survived! It is an assault on the sense and even for someone who has a space bubble as small as mine there were enough people to make me glad that I didn't have social anxiety disorder. Everywhere celebrates the festivities, but there are two major hot spots in Brazil for the week. Rio de Janeiro, and Salvador da Bahia.

Rio is a great town with some amazing beaches and is know throughout the world as THE place to be for Carnival! From some first hand accounts that I have heard this is very true as many international tourist come here to catch some sun, music, and exotic diseases. Rio has the a stadium built on a stretch of road exclusively for the Carnival Parades. In theory these are the best parts about Carnival in Rio, and these are exactly the reason why we went to Salvador.

While all of the international tourists flock to Rio; all of the Brazilian tourist exit en masse to Salvador. While all those people are in the stadium watching the parades, in Bahia we were people Rio have got nothing on the Guiness Book of World Records largest street party in Bahia estimated at well over 2.1 million people each year. Throughout this post there are pictures from both as we watched the Rio parades on TV as a break from the dancing in the streets in Bahia.


Dave and my Peace Corps from Panama friend, Jon, met us in Bahia for the glorious week of chaotic madness. We spent the days laying on the beach taking momentary dance breaks from our attempts to turn our skin color into that of a lobster. Once it would cool down in the evening we would go out to the streets with several million of our favorite pick pockets to watch all the famous musicians from around the world perform on their moving stage.

We would take turns buying beer in the streets, dancing as the floats went by, and trying to get the other two to look at (in that special way) the pretty girls with five o'clock shadow, hair legs and baritone voice. I will admit to being headbutted by a pair of flying lips from a dude in a pink leotard and bunny ears who was almost a full head taller than me. I had no idea it was coming. After five minutes of laughter Dave said he saw the whole thing coming, could have stopped it, but then decided it would be funnier to let the whole thing play out as he said "naturally".

part of the parades. Lastly all theI wish we could have taken more pictures, but due to security concerns we did not take our cameras out for more than one hour in the week. One is just asking for trouble taking a camera around, even a disposable camera. Everyone is a pick pocket during this time. It is not that they are malicious about it, Brazilians just feel like if they can buy the next round on your dime they will. Being tall and blond is as good as wearing a neon sign that says ROB ME! We never had more than $15 each at any given time, and thought it would be fun to write offensive phrases on bits of paper and stick them in pockets like folded money.

One pickpocket earned himself a cuffed ear from Hospital (aka my left fist), he's lucky I didn't turn the other way otherwise he would have run right in Cemetery. Dave still got the best of one pick pocket by complete accident. He felt the ominous pokes of interested fingers, waited for the smash and grab, and when it happened he turned and pushed the guy right into a line of police that he had not seen. The cops caught the guy as he stumbled back, looked right at Dave and in a language that sounded like the adults in Peanuts asked a question. It did not matter that we do not speak Peanuts Adult-inese, we understood the question perfectly. "Yes," Dave responded and pointed at the guy, "he tried to rob me." and with that the public beating began. Dave and I walked off as the judge, jury, and executioner hauled the would be robber off for a fun night of pissing blood at his local cell.

After a couple of days the quantity of people started to get on our nerves. We were tired of feeling on guard all the time. We didn't get tired of the random girls coming up and kissing us though. We learned the all important lesson that one may not speak the same verbal language, but we learned that all speak body language.

At this point I shall leave the reader to use their imagination to fill in the details...

Road to Carnival

By going to the Boca/River game we successfully traveled 6 hours in the wrong direction for getting to Carnival. We spent 12 hrs in Mar de Plata to see the game and go to the beach. We spent as much time on the bus as we did in getting there. It is as if we were 19 again and had made a beer run from Portland, Oregon to the Canadian border. Upon leaving on the 2 am bus back to BA we decided to go for the luxury seats so that we might be able to sleep a bit better as there would be four days of hard traveling to make it to Carnival on time.

We soon discovered that after a night on ANY bus you reach Vegetative State 2. This state is recognized by a sore back, and restlessness. We had a few hour to kill in BA so we were able to collect our thoughts and prep ourselves for the 20 hr bus to the Brazilian border. We brought the chess set, books, food, Rubik's cube, and a Portuguese study guide, but by the time we got off the bus at the border we had passed into Vegetative State 3.

Vegetative State 3 is indicted by long periods of lost time, zoning out, unresponsiveness to punches in the arm, and emitting a body odor that no cologne can cover up. We were lucky though because we had to cross the border independent of the long bus systems. Even though we had to think and process information in a country that did not speak English or Spanish, by the time we got back onto the long haul bus we were only back to Vegetative State 1 which is the lack of desire to talk because everything you have have to say that is interesting or uninteresting has already been said.

While at the border we did have to opportunity to jump out to see the famous Iguaçu Falls. No one picture can capture the immenseness of the falls. Interspersed through this blog post are a series of pictures that show parts of the falls, but the quantity of water, shape, and grandness of the falls is unmatched. They are probably 60 meters tall, but over a kilometer long. There are national parks on both the Argentine side and the Brazilian side, and both have their perks. In terms of getting to the water and getting wet, the Argentine side is better, but the Brazilian side is more photogenic. It was nice to just stroll around and have a look at something that was not the inside of a bus.

No movies in any of the Brazilian buses was a huge disappointment and a large part of the reason why I forgot where we transferred. It could have been Sao Paulo or Rio de Janeiro, this memory loss along with with the drool covered shirt indicate that I reached Vegetative State 5 on this bus. Vegetative state 5 is recognized by the desire but in ability to sleep or think. One may feel as though the brain has been removed from the body.

We got to the city about midday, and discovered we had to get across town in 15 minutes to make the bus. As that was not going to happen we ended up with the afternoon in what we discovered was Sao Paulo as we came back down the vegetative state chart. We had lunch and watched a movie, and the back to the bus stop were we got back on the bus for our final and longest leg. All night and the next day and night we traveled on the bus. It is unknown what the final vegetative state was because we had obviously blacked out and thus had been above level 6 (if level 10 is brain dead and breathing machine).

In the bus yard in Bahia da Salvador, after all the passengers had gotten off, the maid came on to clean the bus and found us still there. She freaked out, started screaming and babbling in some strange language that I didn't recognize, and beating us over the head with her mop. That brought us back to life enough to grab our bags, tumble off the bus and start to give human form to the blobs that we called our bodies.

"We're soooo there!" Dave exclaimed.

"Hang on," I said, "I need to sit down for a couple of minutes."

Final Breakdown on Argentina:

Country of Origin: Chile
Total time in country: 21 days
Music: Tango dancing is the nation dance of pride. This sultry dance has been made illegal in 8 states for being "excessively sexy".
People: 40% of the Argentinian population is three (or fewer) generations removed from their immigrant Italian ancestors. Hmmm what happen three generations ago in Italy that would make them all want to leave Europe...
Transport: Supposedly the airline company that we flew was on strike. They should teach the airline companies in the states how to improve their service by striking.
Landscape: Patagonia might be one of the loveliest places I've ever been, and I will always be looking for jobs now in Mendoza, I could live there.
Food: Dave so eloquently put it that he fell in love will all the grill masters at restaurants where we ate. The Italians don't mess around when it comes to their food and wine. In my opinion Argentinian wine underrated, Chilean wine overrated.
Safety: I don't recommend sitting in the Boca stadium in white and red, but other then that it felt as safe as any European city.
Gas prices: 3.14 Argentine Pesos/Liter (3.98 USD per gallon)
Surprised by: How un-Latin American the place seems. It is the South American anchor point to Europe. You can also tell by the strong (but likable) ego of the Argentinians that they are a little miffed they have to share the continent with the rest of Latin America.
Final word: If I had my way this would probably be the first South American country I return to. I could live in Mendoza, I still have to get to the lake district in the northern part of Patagonia, and I'm not sure I would ever get tired of watching the tango dancing in Buenos Aires.
Next stop: Brazil

Bad Haircuts in Buenos Aires

Instead of taking two days in a bus to get down to Patagonia we saddled up an airplane and flew both directions. We flew from Buenos Aires down to area which means that upon our return we were actually visiting BA for the second time. The first time wan not much. We had opted to stay in Mendoza for an extra day and just catch the overnight bus to get to the airport in time for our flight. One the way in we had some unexpected bus trouble and found ourselves sweating, not knowing if we were going to make said flight. Finally on the edge of town while the bus was broken down for nth time (where n = more fingers than I have) Dave and I decided to just pony up and take a taxi. At this point in the day it is probably 2:00 and and the flight is at 3:30. We motor through town in the cab, pull the "I'm a lost gringo" trick and walked to the front of the line in the airport. No one even seemed to notice. By 2:15 we were checked in and realize we had not eaten all day and were famished.

I had noticed a stand outside with a grill. We headed back outside the airport to fill our striking stomachs. Unbeknownst to us at the time we accidentally stumbled upon the choripan which wins the best street food of south america award. For three Argentinian Pesos (about a dollar) one can get an excellent sausage (chorizo) packed inside a freshly baked roll (pan), and if you mash chorizo y pan into one word you come up with the above stated choripan. Part of the reason why these stands win this award is because they have more condiments (some of them made fresh daily) then they have items on the menu.

Dave and I shove two into our mouths each, and as we are contemplating a third we look over to see the cook talking with a pretty lady who has a camera man in tow. I turn around just in time to see him point at us and say, "you can interview the gringos too if you want, they speak Spanish well enough." Unable to resist, she came over and started to chat us up. Eventually she wandered into asking for an interview, I looked at Dave and myself and saw nothing but scrubby backpacker who hadn't changed clothes in over 24 hrs, showered recently, and had greasy sausage face as well. Unfortunately while I had thought about saying no, Dave had immediately exclaimed "anything for you pretty lady," with his big cartoon like googly eyes. Somehow I got roped into standing by Dave's side. Before allowing Dave to do the interview i asked what the interview was going to be about. She promised just a couple of easy questions about where we are from and Buenos Aires. My spid-e-senses were going crazy, but I had no real ammo to say no.

The interview went something like this...
What are your names?
Dave and Lane

What are you doing here in Buenos Aires?
Traveling, we are on our way down to Rio Gallegos by plane

How did you like Buenos Aires?
We actually have only been here for about an hour, we will spend more time here on the way back

Aren't you concerned about sicknesses and eating at a dirty sausage stand like this one on the streets?
...

As Dave, startled by the sudden change in question, started to say something about how we had been through all of South America and that this place was probably 100X better than anything in Bolivia, blah blah blah the camera moved in for the portrait on just him. The questions continued and Dave just kept talking. As I slowly stepped away all I could see was in the close-up shot on Dave, all one would see is his unkept self as stated above, and his shirt that had Promotor de Saluda emblazoned across the front and a Peace Corps logo.

In the Peace Corps we are told to avoid the media, but we were out now. Why not do the interview? I knew that she could cut the film to make us look like idiots, and thus the Peace Corps as well. I, like Tom Sawyer after stealing a hunk of bacon, thought that the gods of doing the wrong thing were going to rain hell-fire down upon us, but as I opened my eyes to see the interviewer walking off and Dave saying, we gotta go, and not but blue sky all around, I wiped my brow having escaped fate again and walked off. Dave later admitted to me that he had no idea what he was saying during the interview, he was just trying to speak Spanish as well as he could and make sure that the answer given matched the question asked. Maybe it was a good thing that we didn't see the end result of the interview.

Once we got back from Patagonia we were ready to get down in BA. We had heard so much good stuff about BA, and she did not disappoint. We got a local recommendation for some tango lessons in the basement of a near-by community center. It was mostly locals, and a great experience. The tango is amazing to watch, it is the vertical representation of the horizontal mambo. Dave and I looked at each other and both decided to practice a little, but we really just wanted to watch.

The next day we went down to the El Caminito which is in Boca the blue-collar part of town. This colorful alley has tourist trap written all over it with tango dancers in the street, over priced restaurants, art galleries, and gift shops everywhere. It was quaint, but over the top, the stadium of the Boca Juniors (The South American soccer version of the Yankees) which seats over 100K people was far more interesting for Dave and I. On the way back to our hostel we stopped at the Casa Rosada, the Argentine 'White House' to be able to say we went to the house where Madonna played that famous lady in that movie we never saw. what was that movie called?

To kill an afternoon Dave and I went and got haircuts. I was nervous because Argentina apeared to be the mullet capital of the world. Everyone had one and the style was to see who could make their hair look more greasy and redneck than the rest. Haircuts were mandatory because we would each have an interview on the way home, and we did not want that awkward "I just had a haircut yesterday" look. We made the executive decision to do it in BA because we could speak Spanish and explain what we wanted, who knew what would happen in Brazil where we might not be able to communicate with the hair cutter. Dave went first and came out fine, but when I came out next, Dave stifled his laughter and said, "looks great, no mullet." It wasn't until we met up with Jon a week later at Carnival when he asked "do you know you have a mullet thing going on in the back?"

Dane showed up soon there after. He was headed down to Patagonia to instruct a NOLS course on long distance hiking in Patagonia, but had some time to kill in BA and we just happened to be there at the same time. We strolled around town and went to see Romeo and Juliet styled cemetery. It was full of all the famous families from Argentina that I didn't know, but the Catholic style housing for the dead was quite impressive.

The next morning we clambered onto a train and went down to Mar de Plata. Spent the day on a beach where we had to walk for a quarter mile just to find enough space for three dudes to lay down in the sand. It was PACKED. Why here you ask? Because the beach was secondary for everyone. We were all there to see a football game. It had been a sin to have skipped so many games in the other countries, but we were making up for it here. The three of us were going to see a boca/river game. This is a crosstown rivalry AND a social class rivalry AND the two most well know teams in the country. Imagine Yankees / Red Socks on HGH. People have been killed, and as we got off the train, the riot police made their presence know right away in their full riot gear and dogs. It got better by the minute. We scalped some tickets infront of the summer league stadium, downed a couple of choripans and went into the game. Chaos ensued. Boca won, our prize for standing with the winning team was we were locked us into the stadium for almost an entire hour after the game. Measures that the local authorities had taken to prevent mixing of the fan bases. We walked back to the bus station (over 3 miles), and only had to duck a couple of stones thrown. We survived the game, but I was more worried about what was to come. Dave and I had four days to get to Carnival, and 3 days on buses if everything went well. We didn't have much time to dilly-dally. We parted ways with Dane and started the first night of three on a bus north to the glory of Carnival.

Falling Off the Bottom of the World, Patagonia

We have officially reached the furthest away from home that either of us has experienced. This is the end of the Americas to the south and it could not be more drastic in it's appearance. The most interesting part of the whole Patagonia experience is the drastic changes in scenery. As is the case with this blog 99.9% of the pictures of Patagonia are of the electric blue glaciers, the huge slabs of granite, evergreen filled valleys, and crystal clear lakes. This area is amazing and during the comfortable (but still cold) it rivals anything I have seen. The irony is that 99% of the land mass in Patagonia is more associated with the picture immediately to the right. That's right, Patagonia is mostly barren, flat, and sparsely populated with sheep. The wind that rips through here in the winter time is fierce, and even now in the summer time it can get bluster through with enough power to let you know it is still around.

Dave and I flew down on tickets that we had purchased a month earlier from Bolivia. This was key strategizing by us as the number of butterflies that flew out of our wallets increased and the number of dollars was drastically diminishing. It is a good thing that we are headed home, our mothers will be much more willing to help us if we have made a solid effort to at least START to come home.

After we made the bus trip to the local tourist town we began the harder than expected search for a place to lay our heads. We ended up in this nice little spot that was full of Israelis. Dave and I looked at each other and knew we were in the right spot, because there would be no cheaper place in town. Now before you get all offended by my thinly veiled jab at the chosen people, it seemed to me that this stigma is worn like a badge of honor to them. On one occasion we were having dinner with a lovely pair if Israelis and on of them launched into a monologue about how he was so proud that he never paid full price for anything. Dave and I played dumb, trying to keep a straight face, while we jabbed each other in the ribs with our elbows as the guy explained to us that it is a characteristic (and a stereotype) that all Israelis are cheap. He even went as far to say as he enjoyed going to open air markets, "to watch the Jews try to 'out Jew' each other." (his words not mine) I feel as though I have dug myself into a hole of digression so deep that I may not be able to write my way back out, so let us get back to not so culturally offensive bits.

We spent an entire day sitting at the Perito Moreno glacier. It is one of the few glaciers in the world that is not in retreat. It is presently holding its size and for every chunk that falls of in a given year it is build back up on the mountain behind it. We spent the day lazing in the sun watching and listening to the huge 60 ft slabs fall off into the water as we drank more wine and ate cheese, and pretending that we were more cultured than we are.

Our next stop on the Patagonia Express was back in Chile. The Torres De Paine has an amazing route that is called the "W" for obvious reasons, and one must take 'Bus #11' (walking). It was a moderate 4-5 day route that we took six days to do, because it was cheaper, prettier, and did I mention cheaper to rent the camping gear and stay in the park. It was nothing but view after view after view.

The last morning before we were to hike out was the finale to the hike, if one is lucky to have a clear morning at sunrise a blur of purple, pink, and orange paint the walls of the granite towers of the actual Torres de Paine, which stretch out like the fingers of God" as it was described by the Rocky Horror Picture Show butler of a receptionist at our hostel back in town. I was sprawled out on a rock looking up at the stars realizing I was laying on "the bottom of the world" and that only a little natural phenomena called gravity was keeping me from floating off into oblivion. I then made me realize that as a sphere every spot on this little dot of a planet is simultaneously the "top" and the "bottom" of the world and it only depends on your ego to create the perspective that each person wants to see.

Unfortunately one obscure cloud blocked the direct sun light, so we did not see the colors in the morning, but the sight was impressive none the less. We hike out in relative silence as I was quite sentimental of the fact that I was now technically on my way home. It was very strong nostalgic feeling of happy to be on my way home, but having also enjoyed the trip immensely thus far. It was rather metaphorical that the sun had not come up in the ideal conditions. It represented the realness of the trip that even though everything had not gone ideally, it was still amazing and worth it. Even though mayhem of Carnival in Brazil lay ahead, I couldn't help but feel that this was the spike of the climax in the trip, and the rest is just the resolution with carnival as the last chaotic scene before the closing credits. I then asked Dave to punch me in the face, which he was more than happy to oblige without even asking why. What is a good guy friend good for if not to help you realize that enough physical pain will suppress the males Achilles's Heel: emotions.