working and wandering in volcán
Hello everyone, i am now the hitchhikerly age of 42. Did i get to have the big 40th bash that i have been delaying for 2 years? No, of course not. Not that i much care about having a big birthday bash - i hate enforced fun. But perhaps that's the joke of your 40s, you'll spend the whole decade wondering if you missed out by not appropriately celebrating reaching the peak and starting the tragic but inevitable descent toward decrepitude and irrelevance.
Well, i'm already irrelevant, so i have a head start on that one.
I got drunk with a friend on Skype in a windowless, bathroomless hotel room in David.
My last entry i was pretty depressed. I am not sure if it's traveling in general that is taking it out of me, or if it's the sense that i am trapped here in Panama and there isn't enough stuff that appeals to me as a traveler to make the place feel worthwhile. I know i never felt this way in China, for example, despite constantly lamenting the lack of coffee. Everywhere i went it felt like an adventure, like i would be discovering some new food or interesting street corner. Or along the Med where it seemed like there were epic vistas and historic stories every step of the way. Here it just feels like i am walking around a suburban parking lot most of the time.
But Volcán is a bit different. The town itself is just as insufferably suburban and tedious as every other town i have visited in Panama, but it is in a rural area with a few hikes in striking distance. The first day i walked down to a couple of nearby lakes, which had some unmarked hiking trails snaking through the woods. Every now and then i had to jump a fence to cross a cattle run. Presumably the lakes are a water source for various farmers in the area, as well as being a small patch of protected land where local people can wander. It was fine.
Then all last weekend i worked in the restaurant of the friend of one of my Spanish teachers. It's one of those rustic-but-gourmet places situated out in the countryside where couples go to briefly escape the city and drink expensive wine. The chef follows a philosophy of sourcing as much stuff locally as possible, but the food still isn't indigenous or even indigenous-influenced. It's Italian, it's French, it's British, it's the standard Michelin Guide kinda place. Something something ossobucco. Something something chicken curry. Goat cheese or aubergines, pepper jam, figs and flan. The hook is many of the vegetables and all of the greens are grown on-site. Hand-made queso, beefsteak tomatoes, you know the drill. It's the kind of restaurant way above my paygrade to visit as a customer, but it's exactly the kind of restaurant that was my very first after-school job way back in the 1990s in the Netherlands.
What i didn't expect is that they would put me front-of-house. I was expecting to wash dishes. I was expecting to trim green beans. I was expecting to harvest herbs from the garden. I was not expecting to have to pour wine into a wine glass. The only time i ever drink wine is out of the bottle. I was not expecting to have to converse with customers in a language where i am not fluent. I was not expecting to have to make myself look clean and presentable.
It has been a good learning exercise, though. Having worked back-of-house, i am familiar with the stress and exhaustion that comes with having to constantly present fake cheerfulness in the front-of-house. I've seen waitstaff come into the dishwashing pit and chain-smoke and cuss out customers and burst into tears before cleaning themselves up and walking out entirely put-together like there are no problems in the world. But what i didn't really understand is how much prep work there is too. It didn't occur to me - although it's obvious now - that front-of-house needs a mise en place too. The notebook, the pen, the stapler, the scissors, they all need to be there, and in the right place. The glasses, the cutlery, the plates, they all need to be pre-polished and easily accessible. Serviettes? You need serviettes. The bottles of water, the bottles of wine, they need to be chilled and ready to go. You got chicha [Panamanian slang for agua fresca] on the menu? The front-of-house makes the chicha, not the chefs. The difficulty of getting this right is compounded by cooking and serving outside, where there is no electricity and no permanent storage. Everything needs to be prepped and hauled out to the garden before service, and hauled back inside before sunset.
It's the hauling that is my favorite part of the job. Carrying chairs, stacking them. Polishing dishes. Moving stuff back and forward. That's the kind of work that i wish was my "real" work. It's solitary, it's meditative, your body hurts at the end of the day but at least it feels like you actually did something real. Working an office is like spending all day masturbating. There is no product. There is no result. There is no sense of achievement. It's just pushing data around so rich people can get even richer.
Obviously, the part of the work i hate the most is interacting with customers. I feel ugly and gross and misshapen, i feel like everyone sees me as a man, or a tattooed criminal, or a foreigner stealing local jobs, or a fool who can't speak their language. I haven't felt self-conscious about anything in my life for so long, but being forced to deal with upper middle class people who drive SUVs and wear jewelry and drop $100 on a meal for two... i feel so out of place and uncomfortable. After the first day i came back home and searched for a scene from Fawlty Towers, because i feel like i am the reverse Manuel.
Basil Gives Manuel a Language Lesson | Fawlty Towers | BBC Comedy Greats
Despite it all, i offered to do a second weekend. As much as i hate dealing with customers, i do enjoy the grunt work around that, and it is helpful for me to learn practical Spanish, in particular the combination of having to be very polite with the customers and comprehending snappy, slangy commands when the customers aren't around. It's also nice to get a free gourmet meal - even if i need to scoff it down in the pantry - and even a couple of tips here and there. And... forcing myself out to work did clear my mental funk, a little.
I had one more day in Volcán before heading back to David for birthday drinks, so i resolved to hike part-way up the volcano. After a bit over an hour of hiking along rural roads, i got to the entrance of the national park, where the ranger told me i wasn't allowed in. For fuck's sake. Apparently they only allow people into the park before noon, because there are basically two ways to climb the volcano - overnight with a guide so you can get to the peak for sunrise, or first thing in the morning with a partner so you can get as far as you want and set up camp before it gets dark. The idea of just going for a walk solo for a couple hours in the afternoon isn't a thing. I begged and pleaded and reassured him i wouldn't step a single foot on the trail, i would only stay on the paved road, and i'd be back by 4pm - 2.5 hours before sunset. $10 later he let me into the park.
Of course, i did go on the trail. But although i might not be the same kind of avid hiker as the nerds who show up at 6am just to climb a mountain, i am definitely experienced with solo hiking, and i know my limits. I know when something is too dangerous to attempt alone, i know when i am risking running out of water, and i know when to turn around. I hiked and scrambled and clambered up to the first overnight campsite, then came back down again and spent another hour or two wandering around the foothills.
The greatest surprise was that there is a fucking prairie in Panama. It's not a very big prairie. You can walk across it in about 2 hours - first hour outside the park closer to town, second hour to get to the main climb - but it's full-blown yellow bunchgrass, no trees, no water, random giant boulders in the middle of nowhere prairie. It was by far the best place i have been to in Panama. I got sunburnt. I saw the rain clouds in the mountains, and unloading on communities all around, but there was no rain where i sat, on a rock, in a small valley, carved out by lava.
I was happy.
Remember last year i wrote a big entry about how i decide where i like to travel? And how the Köppen Climate Classification matters a lot to me? This time in Panama has really driven that home for me. I am so bored by walking through rainforests and jungles and seeing waterfalls and mountains and all of that dirty, soggy, muddy ass shit. Put me on a plain where there are no water sources for miles around, no trees, no nothing except me and the sky... It makes such a huge difference to my moods. I could walk for hours through the desert. It feels so clean, so honest, so pure. That's where i really feel free. Trees and plants and animals just fuck everything up.
I mean, obviously you need water and shade and food to live. Being stuck out in the desert for an extended period would suck immensely. And then you would die. But the point is when i want to go outside, experience the majesty of nature... that's what i want to experience. The other stuff is just a rest stop. The traveling... For me the traveling needs to be in the great wide open, otherwise what's the point?
I also like to be warm. Overnight in Volcán it gets down to about 15C (60F), which is miserably cold after having spent the past couple months in 30C (85F) day and night. It also makes the situation of showering in cheap hostels with no hot water much more of a test of fortitude. Hence why i came back to David for my birthday. Warm. Cozy. Still no hot water. But today i head back up the mountain again to kick off the next weekend of work. After that, i think i will head back to Panama and decide whether to burn fossil fuels flying to another destination, or see if i can wangle a boat to Colombia.
Well, i'm already irrelevant, so i have a head start on that one.
I got drunk with a friend on Skype in a windowless, bathroomless hotel room in David.
My last entry i was pretty depressed. I am not sure if it's traveling in general that is taking it out of me, or if it's the sense that i am trapped here in Panama and there isn't enough stuff that appeals to me as a traveler to make the place feel worthwhile. I know i never felt this way in China, for example, despite constantly lamenting the lack of coffee. Everywhere i went it felt like an adventure, like i would be discovering some new food or interesting street corner. Or along the Med where it seemed like there were epic vistas and historic stories every step of the way. Here it just feels like i am walking around a suburban parking lot most of the time.
But Volcán is a bit different. The town itself is just as insufferably suburban and tedious as every other town i have visited in Panama, but it is in a rural area with a few hikes in striking distance. The first day i walked down to a couple of nearby lakes, which had some unmarked hiking trails snaking through the woods. Every now and then i had to jump a fence to cross a cattle run. Presumably the lakes are a water source for various farmers in the area, as well as being a small patch of protected land where local people can wander. It was fine.
Then all last weekend i worked in the restaurant of the friend of one of my Spanish teachers. It's one of those rustic-but-gourmet places situated out in the countryside where couples go to briefly escape the city and drink expensive wine. The chef follows a philosophy of sourcing as much stuff locally as possible, but the food still isn't indigenous or even indigenous-influenced. It's Italian, it's French, it's British, it's the standard Michelin Guide kinda place. Something something ossobucco. Something something chicken curry. Goat cheese or aubergines, pepper jam, figs and flan. The hook is many of the vegetables and all of the greens are grown on-site. Hand-made queso, beefsteak tomatoes, you know the drill. It's the kind of restaurant way above my paygrade to visit as a customer, but it's exactly the kind of restaurant that was my very first after-school job way back in the 1990s in the Netherlands.
What i didn't expect is that they would put me front-of-house. I was expecting to wash dishes. I was expecting to trim green beans. I was expecting to harvest herbs from the garden. I was not expecting to have to pour wine into a wine glass. The only time i ever drink wine is out of the bottle. I was not expecting to have to converse with customers in a language where i am not fluent. I was not expecting to have to make myself look clean and presentable.
It has been a good learning exercise, though. Having worked back-of-house, i am familiar with the stress and exhaustion that comes with having to constantly present fake cheerfulness in the front-of-house. I've seen waitstaff come into the dishwashing pit and chain-smoke and cuss out customers and burst into tears before cleaning themselves up and walking out entirely put-together like there are no problems in the world. But what i didn't really understand is how much prep work there is too. It didn't occur to me - although it's obvious now - that front-of-house needs a mise en place too. The notebook, the pen, the stapler, the scissors, they all need to be there, and in the right place. The glasses, the cutlery, the plates, they all need to be pre-polished and easily accessible. Serviettes? You need serviettes. The bottles of water, the bottles of wine, they need to be chilled and ready to go. You got chicha [Panamanian slang for agua fresca] on the menu? The front-of-house makes the chicha, not the chefs. The difficulty of getting this right is compounded by cooking and serving outside, where there is no electricity and no permanent storage. Everything needs to be prepped and hauled out to the garden before service, and hauled back inside before sunset.
It's the hauling that is my favorite part of the job. Carrying chairs, stacking them. Polishing dishes. Moving stuff back and forward. That's the kind of work that i wish was my "real" work. It's solitary, it's meditative, your body hurts at the end of the day but at least it feels like you actually did something real. Working an office is like spending all day masturbating. There is no product. There is no result. There is no sense of achievement. It's just pushing data around so rich people can get even richer.
Obviously, the part of the work i hate the most is interacting with customers. I feel ugly and gross and misshapen, i feel like everyone sees me as a man, or a tattooed criminal, or a foreigner stealing local jobs, or a fool who can't speak their language. I haven't felt self-conscious about anything in my life for so long, but being forced to deal with upper middle class people who drive SUVs and wear jewelry and drop $100 on a meal for two... i feel so out of place and uncomfortable. After the first day i came back home and searched for a scene from Fawlty Towers, because i feel like i am the reverse Manuel.
Click to viewBasil Gives Manuel a Language Lesson | Fawlty Towers | BBC Comedy Greats
Despite it all, i offered to do a second weekend. As much as i hate dealing with customers, i do enjoy the grunt work around that, and it is helpful for me to learn practical Spanish, in particular the combination of having to be very polite with the customers and comprehending snappy, slangy commands when the customers aren't around. It's also nice to get a free gourmet meal - even if i need to scoff it down in the pantry - and even a couple of tips here and there. And... forcing myself out to work did clear my mental funk, a little.
I had one more day in Volcán before heading back to David for birthday drinks, so i resolved to hike part-way up the volcano. After a bit over an hour of hiking along rural roads, i got to the entrance of the national park, where the ranger told me i wasn't allowed in. For fuck's sake. Apparently they only allow people into the park before noon, because there are basically two ways to climb the volcano - overnight with a guide so you can get to the peak for sunrise, or first thing in the morning with a partner so you can get as far as you want and set up camp before it gets dark. The idea of just going for a walk solo for a couple hours in the afternoon isn't a thing. I begged and pleaded and reassured him i wouldn't step a single foot on the trail, i would only stay on the paved road, and i'd be back by 4pm - 2.5 hours before sunset. $10 later he let me into the park.
Of course, i did go on the trail. But although i might not be the same kind of avid hiker as the nerds who show up at 6am just to climb a mountain, i am definitely experienced with solo hiking, and i know my limits. I know when something is too dangerous to attempt alone, i know when i am risking running out of water, and i know when to turn around. I hiked and scrambled and clambered up to the first overnight campsite, then came back down again and spent another hour or two wandering around the foothills.
The greatest surprise was that there is a fucking prairie in Panama. It's not a very big prairie. You can walk across it in about 2 hours - first hour outside the park closer to town, second hour to get to the main climb - but it's full-blown yellow bunchgrass, no trees, no water, random giant boulders in the middle of nowhere prairie. It was by far the best place i have been to in Panama. I got sunburnt. I saw the rain clouds in the mountains, and unloading on communities all around, but there was no rain where i sat, on a rock, in a small valley, carved out by lava.
I was happy.
Remember last year i wrote a big entry about how i decide where i like to travel? And how the Köppen Climate Classification matters a lot to me? This time in Panama has really driven that home for me. I am so bored by walking through rainforests and jungles and seeing waterfalls and mountains and all of that dirty, soggy, muddy ass shit. Put me on a plain where there are no water sources for miles around, no trees, no nothing except me and the sky... It makes such a huge difference to my moods. I could walk for hours through the desert. It feels so clean, so honest, so pure. That's where i really feel free. Trees and plants and animals just fuck everything up.
I mean, obviously you need water and shade and food to live. Being stuck out in the desert for an extended period would suck immensely. And then you would die. But the point is when i want to go outside, experience the majesty of nature... that's what i want to experience. The other stuff is just a rest stop. The traveling... For me the traveling needs to be in the great wide open, otherwise what's the point?
I also like to be warm. Overnight in Volcán it gets down to about 15C (60F), which is miserably cold after having spent the past couple months in 30C (85F) day and night. It also makes the situation of showering in cheap hostels with no hot water much more of a test of fortitude. Hence why i came back to David for my birthday. Warm. Cozy. Still no hot water. But today i head back up the mountain again to kick off the next weekend of work. After that, i think i will head back to Panama and decide whether to burn fossil fuels flying to another destination, or see if i can wangle a boat to Colombia.