I was a month into my Central American trip, and instead of being north in Nicaragua or Honduras, I was precisely where I had started: Panama City. I hadn't even left Panama. However, I was with the Bocas crew for a few more days, so I was happy.
As a transportation hub, Panama City goes everywhere. Within a few days, Kiwi was flying back to New Zealand, Lynn to Colombia, and the Brits were boarding a sailboat from the San Blas Islands to Colombia. Gonzales and I were going north with our tent, which we had named Ali G.
We rocked up to Luna's Castle, my second stay at that hostel, and I confidently approached the desk. Gonzales, Lynn and I didn't have reservations, but everyone else we were with did.
"It's okay, I stayed here last time, we can definitely get beds," I confidently announced.
We couldn't get beds. Luna's Castle didn't even have sleeping room in their movie theater or lounge areas. I tried another approach. I said that we had reserved three beds and we needed the accommodation we had planned for. Oddly enough, there was nothing reserved in our name, and they still didn't have beds.
"Listen to me, there's another hostel a few blocks away," they said.
We didn't listen. Instead, each of us shared a twin-sized mattress in a dorm room bunk bed with those who actually had reservations. Gonzales and her Mexican blanket shared with one of the English guys, I hopped in with Kiwi, and Lynn with one of the girls.
The next night was the fourth of July. The guys all took off. I was in Panama City with Lynn, Gonzales and a British girl, Becks. When we awoke, Gonzales and I (the two Californians) looked at each other with shining eyes.
"Happy fourth of July!" we said.
We hugged.
Lynn added, "May the fourth be with you."
"And also with you."
We went to the bus terminal, which also happened to have a mall in the complex. Becks was on a mission. She bought useful things. She purchased a water-resistant watch and camera to use while diving. Lynn, Gonzales and I bought colorful body crayons. We wanted to decorate our bodies for the 4th. While in the taxi to the mall, at the mall, and in the taxi back, we randomly screamed, "Happy fourth of July!" to unsuspecting Panamanians. They looked confused.
When we followed it up with, "May the fourth be with you," they looked downright baffled.
"And also with you" was said in a quieter tone, sometimes accompanied by a religious gesturing across our chests in a cross motion.
The fourth of July in Panama City had become a religious experience.
When we returned to Luna's Castle, we embarked on a grand American 4th of July tradition: we drank beer. The beer at the hostel was usually cold, frequently restocked, and cost a dollar. I busted out a pack of cards and after a few rounds of Fuck the Dealer, we saw Ray Ray. He had been on the free catamaran, free beer extravaganza with us in Bocas del Toro. Ray Ray was another Brit who had long blond shaggy hair, was a few inches shorter than me, and felt no inhibitions towards indecent exposure.
As we drank, he showed us naked photos of himself taken around the world. Some were at iconic sites, like the Parthenon and Big Ben. Others were in front of canyons or waterfalls. All revealed shocked expressions on the faces of those in the background.
By 8pm, Gonzales had passed out at the table in the middle of the hostel's common area.
"Gonzales OUT!" Lynn and I maturely repeated to each other, screaming.
We covered Gonzales with cerveza-soaked playing cards before escorting her to bed. And then we covered ourselves in red, white and blue body crayons.
Lynn was a contradictory combination. She had "Canadian" written in red down one arm, "Honorary Cali" in blue and black down another arm,"USA" in red near her eyes, and "4 July 2011" in white on her back. I believe we were trying to write "Honorary Californian," but, in our drunken revelry, didn't space the letters appropriately. Thus, "Honorary Cali."
I had "USA" written on every available epidermis location, my cheeks included, and an American flag on my face. I wasn't very creative.
Becks participated in the color spectacle by writing "To the empire" in blue down one of her arms. Damn Brits. In retrospect, I should have written "We beat the empire" somewhere on my body.
In true exhibitionist fashion, Ray Ray was naked before 9pm. We were still at the banquet table in the hostel's common room. Everyone in the hostel frequented the main room, because there were bathrooms, access to the kitchen and some rooms, a yellow and red 5-gallon water jug, the reception area, and, most importantly, beer. At one point, small children came out to get water. They stared at Ray Ray, who had his cock in one hand and his bollocks in the other.
Lynn and I continued to scream "Happy 4th of July," "May the fourth be with you," "And also with you" to passersby who didn't immediately comprehend the astounding significance of the day. Becks shouted, "To the empire!" with regular frequency.
Ray Ray introduced us to a game called Cock or Bollocks, revolving specifically on his cock and bollocks. Lynn and I were fascinated by the concept. Becks affirmed the popularity of the game by saying that she'd seen it played countless times: at house parties, at bars, in the woods. It's something of an English vocation. You really can't blame them. It always raining in that country.
I'm still not entirely sure what the game consists of, but as I understood it, cock or bollocks comprises a naked man grabbing his penis in one hand, balls in another, and lightly pinching the skin near either his cock or his balls. The participants in the game had to guess whether he was pinching his penis or his balls. This resulted in us sitting around the table, alternately screaming "cock" or "bollocks." Whoever guessed wrong had to drink.
We drank. A lot. Lynn had to leave the next morning for a boat to Colombia. Even though we woke up late, it was still at some ungodly hour that Gonzales and I staggered outside with Lynn to see her off. I wore one sandal, as I had lost the matching one the night before.
Waving good-bye to Lynn, I almost cried. I may have still been intoxicated. Then Gonzales and I gathered the explosion of our belongings from the hostel and prepared to journey north. I never found my other sandal.
As a transportation hub, Panama City goes everywhere. Within a few days, Kiwi was flying back to New Zealand, Lynn to Colombia, and the Brits were boarding a sailboat from the San Blas Islands to Colombia. Gonzales and I were going north with our tent, which we had named Ali G.
We rocked up to Luna's Castle, my second stay at that hostel, and I confidently approached the desk. Gonzales, Lynn and I didn't have reservations, but everyone else we were with did.
"It's okay, I stayed here last time, we can definitely get beds," I confidently announced.
We couldn't get beds. Luna's Castle didn't even have sleeping room in their movie theater or lounge areas. I tried another approach. I said that we had reserved three beds and we needed the accommodation we had planned for. Oddly enough, there was nothing reserved in our name, and they still didn't have beds.
"Listen to me, there's another hostel a few blocks away," they said.
We didn't listen. Instead, each of us shared a twin-sized mattress in a dorm room bunk bed with those who actually had reservations. Gonzales and her Mexican blanket shared with one of the English guys, I hopped in with Kiwi, and Lynn with one of the girls.
The next night was the fourth of July. The guys all took off. I was in Panama City with Lynn, Gonzales and a British girl, Becks. When we awoke, Gonzales and I (the two Californians) looked at each other with shining eyes.
"Happy fourth of July!" we said.
We hugged.
Lynn added, "May the fourth be with you."
"And also with you."
We went to the bus terminal, which also happened to have a mall in the complex. Becks was on a mission. She bought useful things. She purchased a water-resistant watch and camera to use while diving. Lynn, Gonzales and I bought colorful body crayons. We wanted to decorate our bodies for the 4th. While in the taxi to the mall, at the mall, and in the taxi back, we randomly screamed, "Happy fourth of July!" to unsuspecting Panamanians. They looked confused.
When we followed it up with, "May the fourth be with you," they looked downright baffled.
"And also with you" was said in a quieter tone, sometimes accompanied by a religious gesturing across our chests in a cross motion.
The fourth of July in Panama City had become a religious experience.
When we returned to Luna's Castle, we embarked on a grand American 4th of July tradition: we drank beer. The beer at the hostel was usually cold, frequently restocked, and cost a dollar. I busted out a pack of cards and after a few rounds of Fuck the Dealer, we saw Ray Ray. He had been on the free catamaran, free beer extravaganza with us in Bocas del Toro. Ray Ray was another Brit who had long blond shaggy hair, was a few inches shorter than me, and felt no inhibitions towards indecent exposure.
By 8pm, Gonzales had passed out at the table in the middle of the hostel's common area.
We covered Gonzales with cerveza-soaked playing cards before escorting her to bed. And then we covered ourselves in red, white and blue body crayons.
Lynn was a contradictory combination. She had "Canadian" written in red down one arm, "Honorary Cali" in blue and black down another arm,"USA" in red near her eyes, and "4 July 2011" in white on her back. I believe we were trying to write "Honorary Californian," but, in our drunken revelry, didn't space the letters appropriately. Thus, "Honorary Cali."
I had "USA" written on every available epidermis location, my cheeks included, and an American flag on my face. I wasn't very creative. Becks participated in the color spectacle by writing "To the empire" in blue down one of her arms. Damn Brits. In retrospect, I should have written "We beat the empire" somewhere on my body.
Lynn and I continued to scream "Happy 4th of July," "May the fourth be with you," "And also with you" to passersby who didn't immediately comprehend the astounding significance of the day. Becks shouted, "To the empire!" with regular frequency. Ray Ray introduced us to a game called Cock or Bollocks, revolving specifically on his cock and bollocks. Lynn and I were fascinated by the concept. Becks affirmed the popularity of the game by saying that she'd seen it played countless times: at house parties, at bars, in the woods. It's something of an English vocation. You really can't blame them. It always raining in that country.
I'm still not entirely sure what the game consists of, but as I understood it, cock or bollocks comprises a naked man grabbing his penis in one hand, balls in another, and lightly pinching the skin near either his cock or his balls. The participants in the game had to guess whether he was pinching his penis or his balls. This resulted in us sitting around the table, alternately screaming "cock" or "bollocks." Whoever guessed wrong had to drink.
We drank. A lot. Lynn had to leave the next morning for a boat to Colombia. Even though we woke up late, it was still at some ungodly hour that Gonzales and I staggered outside with Lynn to see her off. I wore one sandal, as I had lost the matching one the night before.
Waving good-bye to Lynn, I almost cried. I may have still been intoxicated. Then Gonzales and I gathered the explosion of our belongings from the hostel and prepared to journey north. I never found my other sandal.
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