Fun in the Sun Continued

Sleep lay on me like a sack of something heavy when I forced myself to wakefulness este manana. Must have been the same for Gus as he did a lot of stretching before leaping to the floor and leading me to the door. He's usually off the bed like a cat the minute I swing my legs over the side, afraid, I surmise, that I might actually open the door and not let him out. I'm fully awake now though, having poured several cups of my caffeine delivery system into my welcoming maw. I am in fact lit up which is somewhat different than lit out. "So," I say to myself and hear Morey Amsterdam finish the question, "self, where was I when I left off ayer?"

Let's see, we had killed the camels and opened their bellies for the water stored there and then trekked to the sixth hole only to find the oasis dried up. The green, which is of course a laughable name for what our golf balls located after several wayward attempts, was surrounded on three sides by, what a surprise, sand. Sand that was in fact so sun burned, it had tanned up nicely. Brown sand. I looked about for Shaharazade, Cleopatra or Dorothy Lamour, but they were apparently off on Wednesdays. I asked my caddy, donde esta los cart ladies? and he, being a fast learner, came back with his latest new word, "huh?" so we moved along gamely. Or was it gamey. We were, after all, pretty sweaty.

Eventually we found the tee box for the ninth hole, a five mile, par 200, straight away to the clubhouse adventure that challenged both our reserve and our resolve. Nevertheless, intrepid troopers that we are, we finished strongly with triple or maybe quadruple or quintuple bogies, I mean who was counting at that point, and reunited with our pal LJ who had recouped. Beers were in order and our new best friend Roberto had the keys to the bar. Abierta la puerta Roberto! Panamas all around.

After that, well, there's not much to tell. We stopped at the nifty roadside restaurant we'd found last Mother's Day where the food is good and the service slow which is pretty much the description of every eatery in Panama. We all had, in one form or another, the corvina, a nice white fish and possibly the name of a car model. Now on showroom floors everywhere, the Chevy Corvina. It has a ring. Then it was on to Boquete to cool down and watch the latest episode of American Idol.

The guy singers on AI are totally mediocre and should be voted off forthwith. That though, is a blog for another day.