Flying over my loves

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

Today I hopped on a plane and flew over Santa Elena, where my grandfather Don Paco (Papapaco) lives. I traced the roads my mother and I drove many times to visit el abuelo. I pinpointed the spot where Beti, Mom, Dad, Pedro, Sadie and Carlos had recently arrived la casita de don paco, after seeing me off to the rhythm of a Beti and Madre duet (quite confusing to the taxi driver).
My plane found its way to Panama through the clouds, leaving my loves behind. Panama City was an urban mess. A neo-liberal economics experiment gone wrong. I thought the place was empty. I walked out of the highrise beach strip and found a marching band in practice on July 14th for November 15th. Each and every member of the band played as loud as he or she could and with pride. Monotone trumpets in unison bellowing out the most recent melody of a given school. The sound stuck right into the ear and made its way to the heart. I felt drawn to the pride of whatever school was in front of me, as if I´d studied, played, and marched with them for years.

I saw soccer on my way over, a social lubricant where pride, energy, frustration, practice and skill were put on display for the brief golden-goal matches in the indoor soccer-size, outdoor fields along the beach walk.

Made it drenched in sweat into the hotel ¨rio de Janeiro¨more like a motel without the garage for one night stands. Saw what looked like a satisfied customer walk out with his temporary employee looking empty during check-in. This place is wet, dark, loud, uninviting. I knew it was temporary. The next night would be much much nicer.

At the internet stand, found some news on some kids looking to get cargo boats accross the panama canal. There were a couple of names I jotted down. Id look for them tomorrow to get on a boat to Cartagena, rapidly becoming a legendary promiseland in colombia, compared to this. I´d make it there no problem, somehow.