We set out for Chiriqui in an elderly UTP bus just after noon in a blinding rain squall. As usual, we drove up the Pan-American Highway, over the hill, and then through the suburbs around Panama City. The rain slacked off by the time we picked up one of the students who lives out that way at a Mall.
The now-familiar landscape unfolded around us. Small towns with their M/S ("mini-supers" or "Chinese stores") and bus stops - all the same, with the same pitch of the roof and benches and sides throughout the countryside. All painted differently - many red for Digicel or Claro, others still wearing their political skins declaring the parties of Varela (purple) or Arias (pink on sea green) or Navarro (red, white, and blue) Most of the billboards are now available - billboards that were covered in political posters on my first trip to Chiriqui. And many of the flags have come down, although there are still many fluttering by the sides of the road. Most of these are in tatters or at the very least mud-stained and you're think someone would take them down as they are quickly becoming eye sores. But they are still there.
Elba and I were sharing a row - which is tight for her, so she folded down the spare seat to give herself some more room. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had nothing to stop her crashing into the doors should we encounter a problem. She tried the seat belt, but that wasn't working too well.
Meanwhile, we talked. I beaded. We talked some more. She talked with Alexander in Germany. She tried to use her computer which was a complete lost cast. She called her advisor in Germany because changes to a provisionally-accepted paper for MobileHCI were due and she hadn't been able to make them all before leaving. She had counted on being able to use her laptop, but now that she couldn't, she was concerned about the paper. But it turned out that all was OK. The editing I did last night had been passed along to Germany, and apparently all was well.
Whew!
We continued on our journey. The countryside stretched far into the distance at times, and at others, it was "up close and personal" as we twisted and turned over hills. The poor bus labored. Unlike the "Dean-mobile" that I last rode in, the bus was old and really struggled. I told Elba of the story from my childhood (and Anna Rachel's too) of the "Little Engine That Could" that conquered the hill by sticking to the task, and repeating the ultimate in positive self-talk: "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can." And then, as it got close to the top, , "I know I can" and breasted the hill, "I knew I could. I knew I could." In my mind's eye, I could see it... "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..."
The sky spit rain at times, and cleared up at others. By the time we made Santiago, it had cleared altogether. We stopped for an early dinner at about 4:30 - trying to hurry because the rough road after Santiago lay ahead of us, and it's not great to be driving on it after dark.
We trundled back into the bus and continued our journey.
As always, there was heavy truck traffic on the two-lane road from Santiago. Traffic backed up and we were passed by all kinds of cars - from sporty cars to ordinary passenger cars - frequently. Every time we would get to a passing lane, we had to pull over into the right lane with the trucks because we were laboring so. And even when we were in the 2-lane parts, cars passed without regard to the double yellow lines or even visibility. On more than one occasion, we all winced collectively as a car would speed by us, only to jam on the brakes and squeeze back into traffic right in front of us.
Night fell.
We entered Chiriqui, with its hills and a check point at the border. We were not stopped, although people said that, had we been a commercial bus, we would have been stopped and our IDs examined. One of the students had forgotten his ID, so we sighed a sigh of relief to be past it.
The night grew darker. Lydia and Immaculata, the 2 professors leading the trip, began to worry. The rule was that if we were not inside by 8 pm, we would not be allowed in. And it was getting closer and closer in time. 7:30 passed, and still no sign of San Felix, the town where we were staying. Their phones and iPad didn't pick up where we were. Anxiety mounted until suddenly, the sign to San Felix came into view.
But then, WHERE in this tiny town was the accommodation? It was a Catholic center - I wasn't clear what kind - where we were to stay. After several phone calls, the bus turned into a tiny street where, at the end of it, was a gate with a welcome sign. We were "home"!
The guys unloaded the luggage and we tromped into the Men's and Women's Dorms, respectively. The center had been in ruins but had been restored lovingly - and all of the surfaces were painted with lovely ethereal paintings of angels, and clouds, and flowers.
Elba helped me put up my mosquitero (mosquito netting) - a lovely pale pink drape that I climbed under quickly to escape the mosquitos. But there weren't really a lot of them (although Elba killed a wasp like the one that stung me so scarily several weeks ago)
The "kids" were outside goofing around, as kids will, until Lydia read the instructions on the sliding door to our dorm. When she told them that "the dog is let loose at 10 pm", they all scampered into their respective rooms and we all quickly fell asleep.
