After last nights’ fiasco, the both of us had just about had it.

We were both really looking forward to this place, knowing it was a “step down” from where we were, but also that it was right on the beach, the only thing really missing was A/C, and there was almost always a breeze near the ocean.

It looks a little run down, but it sort of a surfer place, and they don’t usually ask for much.

Luxuries such as a complete roof are considered unimportant, so why repair it? Yes, on the roof on the left there, you can see daylight right through…  Nice.   But hell, it’s right on the beach!

After we checked in, got all set up, and spent the day in hammocks out under the sun screen (I’m not sure what they’re called here), we thought we had it made.  One thing this place does have is a great internet connection throughout the site, so it was neat checking in on things while we swung in the hammocks by the beach, but when it came time to mosey back to the cabin to shower off before dinner, we found there wasn’t any water…

@#$%^@%*(^))(*^#@##%$^##@^%#^^&%%%…..    take a breath…

@#$%$^%^&!@#@$%$^%?>@!~$%^&… fer chrissake.

What the hell is it with this water curse?  Everywhere I go in Panama, it seems to follow me.  Curse the Gods, and poke ’em in the eye… Yarr.

Anyways, because of the extensive experience accumulated piecemeal over time in all aspects of water disaster, I had it solved shortly, and not just for us, but for every other guest there on site.  Hey, turn on the pump at the well.    Oh, ok.  Hey, there’s a water lock, so just purge it here, ok?  Ok.  Right then, on with the day.

It wasn’t two hours later and the water was gone again, not to return for us anyways.  The owner has volunteers running the property, see?  They get to stay for free, while he goes into David to take his dog to the vet, and leaves clueless grunts at the wheel.  Ok, I get it, the dog had to go (some asshat had cut the tip of it’s tail off with a machete), but c’mon. I’m a paying customer and I’m in the hands of volunteers that don’t know how to run the joint?

Three unconnected people now have told me the owner has a drinking problem, and has been letting the place go to hell for years.  So, in the morning, one of the guys, a stereotypical surfer dude, was struggling trying to get the pump on the well to work.  Trying his best, he had that confused look in his eyes like he just didn’t get it, so I came and had a look.  There was a valve right beside the pump you had to have closed to prime it, and it was still closed.  Hey, open the valve and water runs into the tank.  Ta-dahhh.  I don’t know how long he had been struggling with it, but regardless, it wasn’t his to struggle with.

That effort earned me a free coffee, which I was grateful for, and once I had my own pot brewed, Cass and I had a chat.  After my next cup of coffee, I got in the car and started off further down the road by the beach, searching, hoping, longing for anything else along the beach that could maybe, just possibly, finally get it right.  Please, God, please…

The hop-scotch, pin-ball, hacky-sac route that ended us up here is one of those tales best told in person but, not too surprisingly, is often the way the best places are found down here.

I found a beach house we could rent, one amongst three to choose from.  These are not advertised.  No signs.  Furnished, with a kitchen, hot plate, microwave, coffee maker, pans, etc… hot water shower, parking in the shade (nice), and a beach… yes, a beach not 200 ft from the back door.  All this for not much more than what we were paying already, and less than the place before with the power problems. The only thing “missing” is A/C, but there are 3 ceiling fans.

I suppose you could say it’s a little sparse, but you better be out of kicking distance if you do.  Anyways, poor Cass will have to start cooking again, as we have only a few restaurants within walking distance on the beach, which is what we did for dinner last night.

A few days from now is the full moon, and I’m afraid I just won’t be able to describe what that is really like here.  It is already quite bright at night, but it’s as though you are in a black and white movie, thrown back in time.  The waves warm around your ankles, there are only a few lights dotting the strip, while a haze of humidity frames the glow of a campfire raging away miles down the beach.  The sound of the surf is at once everything, then followed by nothing, while the breeze over your skin is warm and friendly, and I can’t believe this collects here effortlessly every night.

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for some to lose themselves in Margaritaville down here, as our pal down the way seems to have.