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Treehouse in Washington

Photo by Peter Nelson
"This Washington state treehouse is called "Temple of the Blue Moon." It was built by author and treehouse enthusiast Peter Nelson. It is part of Treehouse Point, the Snoqualmie Valley retreat where Nelson and his wife, Judy, host private events and overnight guests. " -From the Denver Post

"Something draws us to nature, into the woods and up into the trees," says Peter Nelson, author of numerous books on the topic including "Treehouses of the World" (Abrams, $35). He is a partner in the Seattle construction company TreeHouse Workshop. "Since the days we were hunting and gathering, it's always been a natural response to retreat into the trees for protection," he says. "When you get right up against that bark, it's very comforting, rejuvenating, and you get a new perspective."

Squatter Shacks in Manila: 11 Million People Live Thusly in Greater Manila

In many years shooting photos of buildings, I've developed an appreciation of shacks in squatter settlements. Considering that they're built out of trash by people with no money, some are remarkable. Talk about recycling! I've always been too shy (or scared) to shoot in the slums. There's a settlement in Tijuana on the banks of a toxic-looking gulch I've always admired.

Kevin Kelly just sent me link to a website in Frankfurt of the L.A. Galerie, which is having an exhibition of the photos of Peter Bialobrzeski and Oliver Boberg. The exhibit opens today and runs for 2 months. Here are some of Bialobrzeski's photos.

The following description is from art-in.de website:
Peter Bialobrzeski shot the Case Study Homes series at the Baseco compound (“Bataan Shipyard Corporation Compound”), a squatter camp located at the mouth of the River Pasig near the Port of Manila, in February 2008. This neighbourhood, 300 ha of unsafe, unstable subsoil of a former dump site, is home to an estimated 70,000 people. Around 45 per cent of the more than 11 million inhabitants of Greater Manila currently live in such squatter camps and slums. ... The pictures of this photographic investigation follow a strict composition. The self-made shacks of old slats and posts, covers, roofing cardboard, corrugated metal and all kinds of cloth fill out each picture in its entirety, like in a portrait. In many cases the photographer chose a slanted front view, displaying both the front and one side wall of the house. Pure front perspectives are rare, as are two or more buildings in one picture. ...

Playing For Change: Song Around the World "Stand By Me"


"If you're a fan of world music, then you're in for a treat with Mark Johnson and Jonathan Walls' Playing for Change: Peace Through Music, a film that premiered at the 7th Annual Tribeca Film Festival. It isn't really a documentary as much as a global concert film, recorded on the streets of New Orleans, Barcelona, South Africa, Tibet and elsewhere, as the filmmakers (Johnson being an award-winning engineer and producer) traveled across the globe, finding musicians to record tracks on versions of "Stand By Me" and Bob Marley's "One World" without any of the individual musicians ever having met each other. The purpose of the project which led to the formation of a foundation to help impoverished people in the areas visited is to show how music brings people together regardless of their cultural differences. The project had the duo recording and filming these diverse musicians guerilla style, then editing the film together to create an amazing never-before-seen "music video" of these amazing musicians playing together on these inspirational songs, as well as playing their own music." Above excerpt from flixxy.com: the best videos on the net
Movie sent me by Lew.

Cajun Food in San Francisco


Spotted this place while skateboarding in SF Tuesday morning. This is a wall next to the entrance of The Cajun Pacific Cafe, which is at 4542 Irving. It's received good reviews, good seafood. Subtitle on the sign is "Po Boys and New Orleans Kitchen." I'm going to try it out. I'm a sucker for good graphics.

Robert Harvey Oshatz, Architect


This seems to be my week of far-out architecture. This is the Gibson boathouse/studio, Lake Oswego, Oregon, designed: in 1993, completed: in 1995, by Oregon architect Robert Harvey Oshatz.

Another House in San Francisco


House by beach in SF yesterday morning

3 Houses By The Beach, San Francisco



Caribbean colors near my favorite SF beachside espreswso/wi-fi cafe. Am I glad to be home!

In retrospect, my trip was pretty tough at times. I'm off-balance when I travel anyway, and traveling like I did, too much backpack weight, stress in the cities…there were occasions when I would get depressed being alone and…hey, am I whining?

The trip was actually a rich experience:and it's thrilling to be back; the tough times sharpen perspective at home.

I'm printing out contacts (thumbnails) of all 2500 photos, I swear I have enough for a book: people, places, ocean, jungle, waves, animals, fish, cities, Chilon ajnd Guitar Shorty, Costa Rican Celtic rock and roll, but it will probably end up as a chapter on a book I'll do some year called Trips.

Driftwood Creature Sculpture


Sculpture on Northern California Beach by Bob Demmerle, Zim Croselli and friends

I Smell A Rat!

I hadn't been home 24 hours from a 6-week trip before I was made aware of a country homeowner's nightmare: the smell of a dead, rotting animal in the house. It happened about 6 months ago and turned out to be a disintegrating possum under the floor. I won't tell you how much fun it was to remove this object. So this time I again donned my crawl-under-house coveralls, scarf and headlight and went under the house looking. I should add that I so wish I'd followed the Uniform Building Code requirement of 18" crawl apace because I have to wiggle like a worm on my belly to attend to wiring, plumbing or dead animals under the floor. So here I am working my way to the area of the smell and wham! I've hit the 1/2" copper pipe "t" to the kitchen sink and knocked it off and water is gushing out. Shit! I wiggle my way out, turn off the main water line, go back underneath, only to see it's still dripping. Back out, turn off another valve, get my copper plumbing tools, propane torch, white bread to block water while soldering, big flashlight, wiggle in…there's more, but just say I was ecstatic that the joint worked.
Now for the main problem: I couldn't find anything under there, so went to the living room where the smell (getting worse) was strongest, and pried off wood trim so I could start removing the ceiling boards. When I got the first board off, here was a big rotting rat. Yahoo! Way better than if it had been in the middle of the ceiling — lord have mercy! I was thrilled, no kidding, Scrubbed off boards, swept up rat shit, vacuumed dust, burned incense, Hallelujah!

Three-dot Stuff At End of Trip

I'm at the San José airport, just about ready to get a flight to Houston, then back to Calif.…yesterday went out to the Univ. of Costa Rica to see the Insect Museum (Museo de Insectos), which is hard to find (in basement of music bldg.) and wonderful. There are some 14,000 species of butterflies in Costa Rica. Was hungry so went into student cafeteria and had a pretty good meal for $2.50, surrounded by maybe 200 college kids, talk about noise…I've shot about 2500 photos in 6 weeks…One big problem with my super duper little Cannon Powershot G10 is shutter lag; it means I never know what I'm going to get when shooting people or action…one sure pays a penalty in weight by lugging around a laptop and accoutrements, but it's the only way I can prepare photos to post on the blog…I wore out a copy of HOME WORK dragging it around and showing to people; reaction was great, especially the carpenters I showed it to, they invariably went through every page, even when they didn't understand English…sitting at a bar one night in Bocas, I met Steve, a 31-yr-old pilot from Seattle, who had just been laid off by Continental (he flew 737s), said he was getting into fishing, as the airlines jobs were not coming back…I asked all the cabbies about number of tourists and all said there are way less, maybe 50% less Americans than last year…I went underwater sightseeing with mask and snorkel in Bocas del Toro, the reef had coral that was purple, yellow, green, blue, all pulsing with life…much as I love warm water and the relaxation of balmy weather, I'm happy to getting back to my home base's cooler climate. Nothing like San Francisco fog to get brain cells energized.

Basket Case Harley

Spotted this on my way home this afternoon. How about the craftsmanship!

Back In The Big City, Oh Boy!

I'm a bi-polar traveler. After 5 or so days in a big city I need to flee to cleaner air and less pavement. Then when I get out away from it all, a week or at most two, I want to connect with both more people and yep, the internet. After 6 days in Bocas de Toro and environs (I'll try to give you an updated take on this very beautiful and wonderful, but, but…) I got a Natureair flight from Bocas back to San Jose, from where I fly home. I was pretty lethargic from the tropical heat in Panama, but getting to this 3000' elevation, mountain-surrounded city gave me a jolt. Wake up, dude! Checked into the unique little jungle-in-the-city hotel, Los Cinco Hermigas Rojas (The Five Red Ants) and ventured out for dinner, after which I stumbled into some kind of cultural festival in a downtown park. Right away it felt good.


Thousands of mostly young Costariccenses, lots of children, fire-jugglers, gymnasts, and best of all a band I was sure was Irish — fiddler, bagpipes, guitar, drummer and a guy who clogged as additional percussion. They were sensational. Here and there young people were dancing like Irish jigs. They turned out to be a Costa Rica band, Perigrino Gris, The Celtic Band from Costa Rica.
Not known outside the country. I'm not kidding, these guys would knock them out in New York, or London, or San Francisco. People were all jumping and dancing and yelling. I tried to get one of their CDs at 3 stores today, but they were sold out.


THEN, as I walked back to the hotel and passed the Escuela Metallica, the 100-year old beautiful prefabricated steel building (shown here in the daytime), there was a stage in front, and a small orchestra. An organ started playing Bach, and a spectacular MacIntosh-generated light show started bathing the building in light. I've never seen anything like it. The crowd would gasp or go ooooh! Children were transfixed. It went on, with different music for maybe 45 minutes. When it was over, there was about 20 minutes of world-class fireworks. I shot maybe 30 pics.



On my way home I wandered into a patio where a group of avante-garde dancers were whirling and twirling and moving graceful and artistic (and flexible) ways. It makes me think there may be some kind of cultural revolution going on in Costa Rica, a blending of world cultures. Pura vida!

Mark Morford: the Best Columnist Around

The best columns I'm reading these days are those of Mark Morford. He writes perceptively about anything that catches his eye. He is brilliantly articulate and wickedly funny. Trust me; if you have sensibilities at all like mine, check him out. The San Francisco Chronicle has dropped his weekly column, so you can only see it on SFGate.com. (Click here.)
A recent excerpt:
By Obama's own insistence that he be held accountable for it all, no one knows for sure if all of these spectacular, historic moves -- the bailouts, the massive recovery program, the jobs, housing, overhauls in health care and education and etcetera -- if any of it, will actually work.
It is, by every estimation, the biggest political and fiscal gamble in a generation, maybe five. It is dicey and dangerous and wildly progressive in scope and ambition, and you know this is true because many bitter, unloved Republicans are seething and whining and tearing into every Obama idea they can find, simply because said plans don't do enough to fellate the wealthy and worship oil companies and ignore children.
Maybe longtime pundit David Gergen said it best when he noted that Obama's agenda is more than merely a stack of dramatic, expensive proposals. It's actually more akin to FDR's New Deal rolled into Lyndon Johnson's Great Society; the grand sum of what Obama is attempting to do just so happens to be "the greatest political drama in our lifetime.
This, then, is our grand takeaway. If Obama can pull it off, if he can follow through with even half of these massive, historic overhauls, it will result in one of the most profound transformations and redefinitions of American ideals in history. And I gotta say, it's damn nice to write that sentence and not be referring to warmongering and torture and God-sanctioned homophobia. What a thing."


See interview of Morford by Steve Outing on Pointer Online.

L.L. Bean Backpack, PacSafe Fanny Pack, Sanuk Flip-flops

While I'm still on the road, I want to recommend three totally-tested-out pieces of travel gear.

1. L.L. Bean Deluxe Book Pack. I have probably gone through 7-8 of these (same model) over a 20 year period. I carry a lot of stuff on my back, usually including books, and this one has pockets, and compartments, places for pens. I've even put a tent and light sleeping bag in it. It seems to hold limitless stuff.( Ignore the red color of the one shown on Bean's website, I like the black.)
Click here

2. The StashSafe 100 Hip Pack. The best fanny pack I've had (been wearing fanny packs for many years). This one is especially geared to prevent theft, like someone cutting the strap with a knife and running off with it (the strap has stainless wire embedded), or a thief unbuckling the strap (the catch is hidden). You can also lock the zippers shut, It's also got lots of compartments and pockets inside for wallet, camera(s), pens, penlight, pocket knife, etc. Click here

3. Sanuk "Summit" Flip-flops. I bought these the night I left and have worn them every day for over 5 weeks. (I gave away a pair of running shoes as I just didn't need them (or the weight). I'm amazed at how comfortable these things are. I went for a 6 mile hike in the jungle, hiked up a canyon to a waterfall, have worn them in San Jose, Costa Rica and Panama City. http://www.sanuk.com/ (Click on "Men's Sandals," then "Summit." Sanuk also makes the most comfortable shoes I've ever had. Look for them in surf shops or outdoor stores like REI.

"Killin Me Man" Caribbean Pepper Sauce

"Hot like the Caribbean to wake up your passion"

Pink Window Trim, Banana Leaves

Fixed-up Old Buildings, Bocas del Toro Town



View From the Deck


This is the first blue sky I've seen in maybe 10 days. Come to think of it, Isla Grande, the little island I was on for 3 days, was battered by a tropical storm. Not strong enough to knock down buildings, but everything got knocked around a bit. The first night I was here, it started pouring when I was walking back to the hotel and I ducked under the porch of a restaurant with three young guys. Did I want ganja? Nope. At least in Costa Rica, there's real low grade Columbian weed g,oing around. I'm staying at Hotel Las Olas, really nice, polished wooden floors, a breeze off the water, killer breakfasts included, good wi-fi. Owned by Israelis.

Had dinner last night at El Refugio, dimly lit entrance, you'd never know it was there without being told, the place was packed, good vibes, 100% gringo, two guitar players, '60s music, good food. I'm going out later today to see if I can get a small boat to take me to outer islands. There's a lot to do around here.

Bocas del Toro Islands, Panama

When I came to Costa Rica 18 years ago, I intended to visit both coasts, but when I saw the black sand beaches and the acquamarine-colored Caribbean, I never made it over to the Pacific side. On that trip I remember someone telling me about Bocas del Toro, the main town had 100-year old buildings on stilts and there was surf, and it was fairly deserted. Well, of course, since then, the world has discovered this place and it's a heavy tourist destination. But it still has its charm, and is gateway to dozens of small islands, villages, reefs, and beaches by boat. It reminds me of Hong Kong, there is a continual stream of boats ferrying people in all directions. It's got a reggae vibe. You want ganja, man?


I'm once again glad to be back in internet land and will post photos when I can.

There are lots of traveling sailboats anchored here (Bocas del Toro Town). There are lots of great old boats, along with the fiberglas pangas. There must be at least 50 restaurants, all competing, some very good. It's got the Panama tranquilo (trahn-kee-low) feeling.

The older guys were pushing the little ones and they were improving by the minute.

Blog Layout

I'm continually frustrated by the limitations of blog layout. It'd be different if I were devoting all my time to it, but as an extracurricular activity that I need to do rapidly, I have to use Blogger photo tools, and never quite know how things will line up or look. All the below photos and text would look way better if done as pages in a book.

Isla Grande, Small Island off Coast of Panama

I was on Isla Grande, a very small island off the Caribbean coast of Panama without an internet connection for 4 days, wrote the below from the island, and am posting these from Bocas del Toro (a Panamanian island close to the Costa Rica border on Monday (on which, more to come):

Thursday — I love the good big cities — exciting and inspiring, but after about 5 days I need country air. (Surfer Stu, who doesn't love cities, told me the other day that he's a "country slicker.") I got up at 5 this morning and caught the trans-Panana train, which runs from the Pacific {Panama City) to the Caribbean (Colon). From there I got two buses way out to a little port town and then 20-foot-long fiberglas boat like a Mexican panga) powered by 15 hp outboard to a small island off the coast, Isla Grande.

Left, the Sister Moon hotel in Isla Grande
Below, view from my deck hammock

Below that, one of the many island boats for ferrying passengers back and forth. Nada es Etorno (Nothing is Eternal). So true.


I found a funky room in a quirky hotel with deck and hammock practically hanging out over crashing waves. I'm absolutely in heaven. I'm going back and forth from the hammock to wandering with camera. There are 300 black people on the island, English-speaking West Indies descendants like Jamacians and Triniadians. There's a Bob Marley open air nightclub, and the place is full of whimsical architecture and gardens. A bunch of Watts Towers type seashell and tile mosaics. The island is filled with tall coconut trees.

Friday — Dinner last night at the Congo Cafe, a bar/restaurant with thatched roof and beachcomber deco set on a pier over the water. Squid cooked in creole coconut milk, rice, a Balboa beer. 5 locals were there watching grainy TV show from Mexico. I was the only customer.

It started blowing last night and by this morning a full-blown storm hit. Sheets of water. Ocean has gone from green to grey, big waves, wind howling. Air is warm! I'd forgotten about the Caribbean. It's green and lusty and exotic, beaches with black sand, waves that come out of nowhere. It's more passionate than the Pacific, more gutsy, soulful.
Sunday — Isla Grande is about a mile across by maybe 2 miles long. No roads, not one motor vehicle. There's a slippery rocky path along the shore from my hotel into town, and it's been getting battered by waves the last few days. By now a certain amount of reality has set in. There's a fair amount of garbage on the beaches and trails. And with many of the black people, there's an edge. They're not jumping through hoops for tourists. Like the Kuna Indians of nearby islands who have been resisting the exploitative incursions of gringos for 500 years. No video cameras; you pay them for each photo you shoot. My friend Leo told me that over 40 years ago, when he landed on the San Blas Islands, the Indians wouldn't let him and others get off their boat.

Right, below: chapel on the ocean in Isla Grande. Now here's a church I can go for. No priests, no sermons, no dogma, no guilt. Hallowed be thy essence, oh mighty Ocean


I found an immaculate little restaurant on the edge of town, El Nido Postre, and the chef, Olga Ehrens, is a native Tica who studied cooking in France and Spain. I had breakfast once and two dinners there and they were extraordinary. The kind of cook where you say, bring me whatever you want.

From where I live, it's 3000 miles to get from one ocean to another. In Panama it's less than 50 miles. Found a white-sand beach at sunset last night, went swimming. In the warm water I'm relaxed and swimming with more power. The foam was like whipped cream.

A Not-So-Nice Touch

The old town in Panama was the original town and from its remnants, it must have been stunning. But as the city grew and built out, the old town was abandoned and became a slum. These days it's being fixed up, but the side streets are still ragged and dirty. I started down a street today and an old black guy shook his head and said, "No, no," and put both his hands on his throat like he was being strangled. So I reversed course. It's like the city is under siege, cops on every corner, tough guys, a menacing presence. One cop slapping his baton in the palm of his hand, another with his hand on his pistol. Today an armored truck drove up to one of the big markets. Two armed guys got out to pick up the money while a third stood outside the truck, looking in all directions and holding a wicked-looking shotgun at the ready.

A Nice Touch

I asked a lady in a store today if she had a battery for my travel alarm clock. She said, "Ah no, pa-pá." When Chilón and I had dinner at a busy diner in San José after the soccer game a few weeks back, the waitress brought him his dinner, and said, "Aquí, mi amor." He thought it was so great, that she would say "my love." People touch you, like on the arm when you ask directions. It's warm and friendly.

Vegetable Market in Panama City

Busses operate like jitneys. People hail them to get picked up.
Yesterday morning I had breakfast at the Cafe Coca Cola, French toast and cafe au lait (and sneakily poured a shot of mescal from a half-pint of same purchased for $1.40, into the coffee, heh-heh). Bkfst was $2.
In any major city south of (and including) LA, I head for the mercado. Yesterday I explained to a cabbie that I wanted to go to the biggest mercado (there are generally a number of them). First we went to a meat market, where there was more poultry, beef, goat, pork, and who knows, than I've ever seen. Next we went to the vegetable market and it was spectacular. More wholesale than retail, mountains of fruit and vegetables. In the outdoor area there were flatbed trucks converted into booths with mounds of bananas, coconuts, plantains, pineapples. A stand with 2-300 papayas. Watermelons cut open to show sparkling pink insides, huge piles of potatoes and dozens of other root vegetables, tons of tomatoes. A beatup black Toyota 4x4 with an 8-foot-high pile of bananas, A room inside with nothing but parsley and cilantro, smelled like parsley incense.Little restaurants serving the freshest of food, and packed with people. I got a glass of fresh-squeezed ice-cold cane sugar juice for 25 cents, it was green and So good. I can't bring myself to shoot photos at real places like this. I just don't want to engender that vibe, so I turn on the camera in my head.

Last night after dinner I got an ice cream cone (2 scoops, 50 cents) and sat on a park bench for about half an hour, opposite this diner run by a Chinese family, watching people walk by. The weather is balmy and perfect, and there's usually a nice breeze from the Pacific, I imagine it can be hot and steamy, but I've hit it right.

Another Photo From This Morning

Casita in the Jungle by Colorado Chris


I'm going back and picking out a few photos from past weeks, so the blog won't be linear time-wise. I have a really lot of good pix!

Super Steve/Super Bamboo


Back to the jungle (linear this is not): Super Steve and his wife (a Tica architect), have designed and built a bunch of fascinating, meticulously-crafted bamboo structures in the seaside jungle. Here's what Steve told me about the bamboo he uses, imported from Columbia:
• It's cut with machetes in the 1/2-waning moon — when the moon is on the opposite side of the earth, and it is drawing the sugars and starches out of the canes and into the roots. This is a 3-day window once a month.
• It's cut between midnight and 4 AM.
• It's left standing in the grove 30-90 days so moisture wicks out slowly; then it's air dried in the sun.
• If it's getting exported (like to Costa Rica, it's immersed in a borate and boric acid solution (natural bug killer).
I have a bunch of photos of these wonderfully-constructed (and designed!) structures.

Tuesday Morning in Panama City


It's dirty, dangerous, and difficult, but it's also exotic, exciting, and soulful. I love the place, and the people. We are all Americanos, verdad?

ELLIS HOOKS & JON TIVEN: DINGWALLS LIVE BBCRadio

The Zonas Rojas (Red Zones) of Panama City

About 3-4 times I've started to follow my I-am-a-camera instincts into the lesser-travelled streets and each time I've been warned of the danger. The red zones are where there are no police, and many many robberies. Panama City has a even more sinister edge than San José, Costa Rica, it's like the back side of its charm. The cops are like SWAT team guys, there are cops on mountain bikes that are chingon.



Panamanians are wonderful. Speaking what Spanish I can opens doors, and leads to conversations. The young backpackers are great ambassadors, they make their own way on the cheap, and blend in. Each time I step out of the hotel, I have this feeling of joy and adventure, it's that kind of a city. I said to a streetside tailor, who sewed two buttons on my shirt for $1 this morning, that P.C. was, like San Francisco, a city with soul. Con alma…

I booked this room (with good wi-fi!) for 2 nights, this morning I extended it another two days. Total hotel bill for 4 days: $60.

Barbecue Beef and Coconut Milk in the Street and a Log Cabin Made of Earth and Wood

I got hungry after a few hours of shooting pix, but each restaurant I found had buffet style, which means the food has been sitting all day with heat under it. No thanks! On the central avenida, I spotted a trio of ladies barbecuing thin slices of beef and serving them with fried plantains, so I got a plate — $2, They insisted I sit in their only chair. A guy selling cups of cold coconut milk was next to them, and he handed me a cup. Boy, was it good! 60 cents. (In Panama, currency is US dollars.) I ate the beef with my fingers and one of the ladies, black and from the Dominican Republic, sat on a box and talked to me. She was greatly amused when I told her that Central Americans and South Americans were Americanos just like US citizens. What about Canadians, she said, and I said they were Norte Americanos, just like us USA people. Big smile

Tonight I had a great dinner at the Coca-Cola Cafe: broiled Corvina (sea bass), fries as they're meant to be, a plate of watermelon chunks, a cup of excellent cafe au lait, and a simple rice pudding that was pure genius, with hints of cinnamon and rum. Total bill: $5. There were about 50 people in the restaurant, about 3/4 local. A bunch of 20-year-old trekkers, an old black guy with a battered Panama hat and a rumpled purple suit and white shirt sitting picturesquely by the door. A huge black guy came in, the 290 lb variety. 3 old straight locals (yikes, my age!), a creole-looking family, the mother (probably grandmother) sitting regally at head of table; surfer dude in flip-flops getting take-out; 60-ish looking woman with t-shirt saying "Bebe" in sequins. Like in Costa Rica, the women wear tight clothes, regardless of their weight, comfortable with their curvy and often ample bodies. Pleasant hum of voices, no one loud, everyone cool. Not a "tourist" in sight. Wonderful place.

I met an English ex-pat on the street today, a witty guy, said he'd been all over the world, and this — Panama City — was it for him, hands-down.

Overheard at a cafe in Costa Rica a few days ago: "I was a lawyer until a few months ago. Now I'm a backpacker."

I've been surprised by the level of Spanish skills of English speakers in both Costa Rica and Panama, The gringos and Germans in the jungle were all pretty fluent, and the trekkers seem to be multi-lingual. Way different from Mexico, or from the typical insulated package-trip tourist trip. I was pretty shy in Spanish until some years ago when I met an American named Pancho in Mulegé, Baja California (I suspect he was on the run from the law), and he said, don't fall back into English. Just throw Spanish words out there. Stay in Spanish. Don't worry if you don't get tenses or endings right, keep at it and you'll improve, plus people love it when you make the attempt.

I'm writing this while sitting on my bed with a nice breeze from the fan and open window. From the courtyard below, Chuck Berry singing Johnny Be Good. Hey a little lizard just ran up my wall.

Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods among the evergreens,
There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B Good,
Who never ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play the guitar just like ringin a bell…

Panama City/The Old City: Casco Viejo


Oh the wonders of the web. I found a backpackers/trekkers hotel in the old part of Panama City two days ago, the Hospedaje Casco Viejo, and the website was so together I decided to go for it. A single room $15 per night; bathroom down the hall. Turned out to be great. Clean, bare room, ceiling fan much nicer than air conditioning, breeze blowing through tall open windows, nice people here, good vibes.


I got into PC at noon, a $3 cab ride to the hotel, which we eventually found, rested a while and then set out once again in a strange city. Lord, is this place exotic. I've only explored a small part of it, but it's richly textured in people and buildings and music. There's an undercurrent of fear because of so many street robberies. I started shooting pictures as soon as I walked out the door. Later this afternoon, I started to walk down a narrow street off Avenida Central and a local guy said, no, don't go down there; there are areas of the city that police don't patrol, so, yes, there's danger here, but like Phnom Penh, the city has a great heart beating along with layers of history and danger.



Houseboat on the Kentucky River: The Moron Brothers


Two brothers float down a river in a homemade shack, catch catfish, tell bad jokes, and play good blugrass music. This is SO good! (Link sent me by Kevin Kelly.)

"There's somethin' about the smell of coffee perkin',
and coal-oil lamps a-burnin',
Just reminds me of when I was a kid.
I could come down here and turn the radio on, and light coal-oil lanterns, and build a fire in the stove,
And listen to the Grand Ol Opery on Saturday night.
Man, I'm tellin' you, makes me feel like I was a kid again…"


Posted from Panama City…