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March 03, 2005
Grunt Foto Grunt
"I love this place! I got a piece of cheesecake and coffee for only 15 cents."
"That must be a mistake."
How can it be a mistake? They use dollars here. I gave the lady a dollar and she gave me 85 cents back? It's not like I screwed up the conversion rate or something. "No. She gave me 85 cents back."
"Then she screwed up."
"Whatever. I hope they keep doing it. That price is awesome. -- And I feel really tall here too."
"You are tall."
"Yeah. But here I'm like a giant."
It was the morning of my first day in Santiago, Panama. It was only about 10am and already uncomfortably hot and humid, I think because it was the rainy season; I had been set loose in the strange city. I left the makeshift auto garage and turned down the dirt road. First I turned right but found that the city almost disappeared after the drive-through liquor store, so I doubled back and soon found myself downtown.
As I walked around I noticed I towered over everybody. Even the tallest men barely reached five feet. The women were short as well, and often weighed down with bags. People walked around in the hot sun buying lottery tickets and eating ice cream. Mostly buying lottery tickets, but also eating ice cream.
All that ice cream. All those popsicles. I made me hungry. I decided I would get something to eat. And some coffee. So I ducked into the nearest cafe.
What I thought was a cafe turned out to be a bakery with a cafe in it. And it was packed. The line was out the door. But that was the line for ice cream. The line for coffee and baked goods was just me.
The line was just me, so I knew it was me the employees were giggling at when I got the the counter. I couldn't figure out if it was because I was white or because I was tall, or maybe the way I was dressed. Or is my hair messed up? Oh, who cares. I tried unsuccessfully in English, but successfully in Grunt, to get my coffee and a small piece of cheesecake.
I hurried back to the garage. I was happy. Everything here is so cheap! But that happiness faded into bordeom as the mechanics continued to work on the dilapidated car - my only way home. "How much longer?"
"Not long. But that's what they said when they started. They've been saying that the whole time."
"Well I'm going for a walk again, then."
I headed back out into the city. I passed wall-less stores selling everything from clothes to Jesus Christ-embossed mirrors. There was no need for outer walls, it was always hot. It was always very hot and the people were apparently used to it. The shopkeepers just pulled down their garage door-like walls at the end of the day to keep criminals out.
After wandering around for quite some time I decided to get more coffee at a garage-door-walled cafe. Look at me. I'm drinking coffee inside -- but I'm also outside.
I was in a good mood sitting atop my stool bolted to the sidewalk when I saw a police officer stroll up. It looked like he was coming straight for me. Is he going to get me for something?
I didn't do anything.
But this is Central America. He could try to get me to give him some sort of bribe or make me pay for protection.
He was sidetracked by a couple sitting at a table outside (uncovered by the second floor). Oh, he's not after me. He's just doing the rounds.
OH! I have a camera. I'm going to get my picture taken with him. My picture with a Panamanian cop!
He's going to make me pay him off for that.
I don't care. It'll be worth it.
He started for me again and I pulled out the camera. Grunt is most effective here. I made several grunty noises pointing at him and the camera and me and the camera. Several grunts. Lots of pointing.
He looked confused. I mixed a little English with the grunts and pointing.
He shook his head no.
Maybe he doesn't understand. I said "foto" several times with even more pointing. He still looked confused. After he stood looking at me for several seconds someone ran up to him and rescued him from me. I'm not sure what the man said, but the cop was soon off in a run.
Damn. Missed my chance to get my picture witha cop.
A couple days later I was in town again with some Panamanians I knew. We were attending some sort of festival. I'm not really sure what kind, but I know there was a lot of food cooked on makeshift grills - the radiator of old refrigerators torn off and thrown atop hot coals. There were a lot of dolls made af corn husks. There were a lot of people. A lot of people, but no beer.
So we headed off to a bar.
We got special permission for the women to enter the bar. Women don't drink in bars except in Panama City. Panama City and lesbian bars. I think the men don't want women in their bars because they don't want women to see how homo-erotic they are. The bar we went into had a 15 foot tall mosaic of a man with his shirt open exposing several carefully placed chest hairs enjoying a nice cold mug of beer with the words "Balboa. It's for men." underneath in Spanish.
we had several beers and then hit the streets again.
"There's the cop! The one I tried to get my picture with. Can you ask him if I can get my picture with him?"
"Didn't he already say no?"
"But you're a girl. And you can ask him in Spanish. Maybe he doens't know Grunt."
He said yes. I sidled up next to him and posed. The crowd around us laughed. Then I got and idea.
"Have him raise his nightstick like he's going to hit me with it."
He did. But withdrew when I faux-cowwered. "No. No. Tell him it's ok."
We got a great picture with the growing crowd around us laughing harder and harder.
"Brian. He's not a cop."
"What? That sucks."
"He's retarded, or crazy. Out of his head."
"What? He's dressed as a cop."
"No. They say he is crazy. They only let him dress up and pretend to be a cop."
"No way." I looked back, and sure enough.
His badge? Tinfoil.
His handcuffs? Bracelets with paperclips in between.
"Sweet. That's even better. I got my picture taken with Santiago's crazy-pretend-cop."
Posted by calculatoronfire at March 3, 2005 10:43 AM
Comments
Not related to this post, but a site i though you might like:
Posted by: chris at March 3, 2005 04:05 PM
Damn right I like it. I've had them all.
All of them I tell you.
Did I ever tell you about the canadian boxer I met in toronto? About the wine I gave him? about his teeth afterward?
Posted by: brian at March 3, 2005 08:22 PM