Pixie in Paradise

To be fair, Kevin wasn’t that bad. I was just not thrilled with his brand of customer service. By this time in life we should know that there are different personalities and lifestyles everywhere we go and love, tolerance and patience goes a long way. Once in a while my less attractive traits still show up, I haven’t hit my enlightenment stage yet. I have many of the tools in my emotional and psychological toolbox to deal with adverse situations and human behavior, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. That brain-to-mouth filter still has huge holes in it. Shit just comes out without censorship. Working in Corporate America has always been such a challenge for me: Most days I just wanna come off mute and say, “Loretta – if you ask one more fucking question during this 30-minute meeting right before a lunch date with my cat, I will call the IT department and say we think your computer has a virus and shut it down immediately.”

After Ed taking us on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride to Puerto Viejo I assumed we’d have smooth sailing the rest of the way, and it really was when it came right down to it. The 12-hour trek from Costa Rica to an island in Panama was safe, nobody sneezed or threw up on me, no excessive coughing or loud talking on the buses and everyone was in a good mood. Of course they are, they’re barely 23 years old. Little assholes.

When our lunch break was over in Puerto Viejo Anna and I lined up early to grab the shuttle. It looked like there were a lot of young backpackers also going to Panama and I wanted to grab a seat toward the front – no need to test the therapeutic level of meclizine in my system by sitting in the back on curvy roads. After our suitcases were stored in the back we settled in and the driver let one more person on: this was Kevin. Wearing a shuttle company shirt he introduced himself and asked if everyone could speak English. Kevin had an interesting set of teeth and was from Miami, not the typical employee for a Central American shuttle service. I bet Kevin has a very unique life story; I also bet that I wouldn’t be able to sit through it. Not sure Kevin’s a great storyteller, but according to himself, he owns two businesses besides moonlighting as a coyote for this company. I use the term “coyote” a little tongue in cheek, not meant to disrespect or disregard anyone, but I live in Arizona and that term is part of our official/unofficial dictionary as it is anywhere in the US in border states. To me it just means that Kevin’s job with this company was not as a driver but as second in command, yelling instructions to us, explaining the whole border crossing and paperwork process. He took roll call then the driver pulled away as Kevin stood facing us, to explain that we needed to pay country exit and entrance fees, what to expect at Sixaola, Costa Rica and how we’d continue on afterwards to Almirante, Panama to catch our ferry – you read about this in the previous blog post. (If you didn’t, go back and read about it here. If you’re still reading my blog, THANK YOU, and leave comments at the end of posts so I know someone is out there. My mom doesn’t “do computers,” but I know she’s on here, on someone else’s machine.)

Kevin now tells us we need to get online to a Costa Rican bank website, register our names, passport numbers and other information, pay an $8 exit fee, download the receipt and take a screenshot of it. From our mobile phones. This is normally not a problem, but they’ve just pulled away from the restaurant we ate lunch at, where the internet connection was. Now we’re headed south toward another country and you expect us to keep WiFi connectivity and do all of this with a ton of screen lag, while your driver is bouncing my stomach around? Not today, Kevin – not today.

I almost instantly get a little queasy and my phone’s internet has dropped, both the shuttle internet and my personal mobile eSIM. After trying repeatedly, I’m motion sick, clammy and Kevin is not being helpful. Meaning, my non-positive mood is elevating and Kevin isn’t helping me as fast as I want him to. I get frustrated and exclaim out loud that Kevin needs to get his shit together – if he’s such a great business man – and realize we should have done the website and payment stuff on the bus while still sitting in Puerto Viejo where we aren’t all trying to talk at once and have decent internet connection. Oh Kevin. I’m trying not to throw a tantrum or make a scene but I’m really frustrated. Anna tells me to give her my information and she’ll do it for me. Me being stubborn prevents this from happening for at least ten more minutes until the young British chap behind me politely lets “us” know we only have 15 minutes before we hit the Panamanian border. Well shit. I reluctantly let Anna do it for me as I still have no WiFi.

During this experience I get really agitated and expect Kevin to use the same logic that I do – which of course I also think is the best logic. This is not a healthy way to move through life and it’s an assumption and expectation that is hard to meet in general. It sets me up for more stress than I deserve – and a lot of let down – and it sends too much bad juju toward Kevin who may actually be doing the very best he can. I believe we all have the power to influence others and it truly is a power some of us possess more than others. If you’re tuned in enough to yourself and the world around you, elevating your vibration and whatever greater beings and higher powers you believe in, even mere humans can influence and be influenced by forces of nature and energy – for example in nature, the ocean, the tides. Exhibit A, the full moon: it is strong enough to change the tides and since humans are around 60-70% water as well, it explains why a majority of us go a little loco during a full moon. I’ve said this before: if you don’t believe that, feel free to work a night shift in the emergency room at a hospital on a full moon night. I still have nightmares of 15 years of shifts on full moon nights.

That was the life lesson I call my Kevin Moment. I have them once in a while, fewer and further between as I get older, recognize them for what they are and try to mitigate them in healthy ways. My Maria Moment came a couple of days later as I had started to explore Bocas del Toro, Panama, an island grouping in the northeastern corner of the country. We were staying on Isla Colon and for $1 USD I hopped a water taxi to an island 30 seconds away, Isla Carenero. This is a tiny place and I’d be surprised if more than 200 people live on it. I walked north along the east coast of the island greeting people along the way. Stopping to ask for directions or restaurant recommendations on one occasion because this is their low season for tourists so many businesses are closed one or two days of the week. A little theory called causation is probably how I met Maria. Cause and effect: I wanted to go to a great cafe with an excellent view on the water, solid internet and delicious food but they were closed on Monday so I had to head north. Instead, I found the most exquisite restaurant and tiny boutique resort on a relatively private beach. However, unlike the island I live on in Belize, the staff did not forbid me to use their lounge chairs because I was a local and not a resort guest. They served me fresh juices, let me use their one hammock and let me photograph their stunning interior and exterior design. To me this place had Cuban meets Miami vibes and decor which is one of my absolute favorite looks. After a passionfruit juice I promised the waitress a return for lunch after exploring further north. Not too far from that resort was the sweetest house at the end of a long deck. I didn’t realize that was what I had stumbled on because I was on a sand path walking through a tropical forest and saw some brightly colored signs for surf lessons, yoga, jewelry and ice cream. Incidentally, if you want to know how to kidnap me, put brightly colored signs with those words on it, on the side of a white windowless van. Add the words “free cats,” and throw in “chihuahuas,” and I will get into any vehicle with anyone even if they are bloody, still wearing their orange jumpsuit and one handcuff from a recent prison break – no questions asked.

I turned to follow the signs which pointed to this house at the end of the dock but I was looking ahead and not to the right and I jumped when I saw a man in an outdoor shower. He was a big man, belly and very long LOCD hair, bright surf shorts. He quietly apologized for catching me off guard and I apologized for walking in on a shower. I remember seeing him in the water from a distance when I was at the restaurant. He was in the water for a while then came out and raked seaweed away from the beach and now I was apparently about to walk into his house.

At the end of this long dock was the pretty, dark brown wooden cottage, potted plants everywhere along with two large blue water or septic tanks. Island life seems tricky with the whole ‘no toilet paper down the toilet’ rule. It’s not my favorite rule. I prefer the unwritten rule about island bartenders making cocktails extra strong, rather than going to the bathroom and having to collect used toilet paper in the trash can next to me. Paradise has its downsides too, folks. I mean, dengue fever and saving your poop paper is high on my list, along with not being able to drink tap water or use it to brush your teeth. Not everywhere, but a lot of these places.

I wasn’t sure if I should peer into this house with large windows, glass door and very open floor plan. It was a modest but breathtaking home to me, truly built for a mermaid – if mermaids needed to get out of the water and chill for a bit or use a six-burner stove. I was greeted by Maria, a voluptuous woman with a big friendly smile, the wife of the man whose shower I interrupted. She invited me in and quickly explained in English that it wasn’t surf season right now. I looked over her shoulder and saw the sweet house, adorable pit bull dog wagging its tail and a table full of displayed jewelry. The jewelry was colorful, made from beads and crystals and looked like the typical adornments that others were selling to tourists. We talked for a bit as I gazed around her small house. It was decorated with images of Hindu gods, yoga symbols and brightly colored tapestry blankets. She offered yoga classes and played crystal singing bowls, in addition to making jewelry. As we talked about yoga, island life, the power of the full moon and manifesting for what you truly want in life – you know, small talk when soul sisters meet – my eyes zeroed in on a beautiful necklace. It had translucent iridescent stones taking on the appearance of many different colors: moonstone.There were also long pointed pieces of seashell hanging down that were iridescent. The color combination was calming and everything about it reminded me of the ocean and these places I’ve recently been and now live. I don’t wear much jewelry and currently only wear an ugly medical alert bracelet with one of my best friend’s contact information from the US on it, and also Boyfriend’s phone number in Belize. I had this made before moving to Central America in case I went unconscious in the jungle and someone cared to look at my wrist. 

I told Maria I had to have this necklace and almost immediately looked around for earrings to match. She had some with the same dangling shells, but a different crystal in them so she handmade a pair of these shell earrings and put moonstones in for a matching set. When she was finished she helped me put the jewelry on and it felt great. What an odd thing to say really, but to me having the extra vibration of earth and ocean energies from those two sources on my physical being just felt good. I don’t really have another explanation and I’ve been wearing them ever since I bought it from Maria four days ago.

The only time I’ve taken that jewelry off is this morning, in anticipation of a two-day journey from Panama to Costa Rica to Belize. I took it off and wrapped it in paper, placing it in a hidden spot on my purse until I land in Belize City on Friday and can put it back on again. That is, after I breathe through my next Kevin Moment which inevitably happens in the Belize City airport Customs line. They love me there.

UPDATE: Guess who was on my shuttle today to escort us from Panama to Puerto Viejo? You guessed it: my new best friend, Kevin. I smiled and said I was glad he was bringing us across the border again. At least it’s a familiar face and since he’s from Florida, he speaks English, so I’m not always confused for an hour of the day.