We lit out for Puerto Armuelles at eight in the morning. ("Lit out" is a gift to me from our amigo LJ to whom such expressions come naturally as he is, by his "own account" an old redneck. ) We arrived there some hour and a half later and made our way to the "Country Club" to play some golf. It was closed. We were just determining to play the course anyway when a truck pulled up and a young man hopped out to explain the course didn't officially open until four in the afternoon when people got off work and wandered there to get in nine before dark. We explained that we had driven all the way from Boquete to play so surely there must be some way to make that happen. The young fella, Miguel by name, pulled out his cell phone and fifteen minutes later three caddies appeared to lug our bags, or in Woowoo C and I my's case, pull our carts. We learned that to join the "Country Club" it would cost us an initial fee of thirty dollars and then ten dollars per month. These sums would entitle us to unlimited play on the golf course and use of the swimming pool, tennis courts and bar area. Woowoo C as my wife would be, and here comes one of my favorite Spanish words, gratis and yes you are correct, it does mean free. Alrighty then. Show me the dotted line.

It was in the neighborhood of ten thirty when L mailed a long drive down the left side of the first fairway and C and I hit fifty yard grounders up the middle. I use the word fairway here to indicate we were on an actual golf course despite its lack of even a single green blade of grass. The course appeared to have not seen rain since Noah played there shortly after The Flood. The entire layout was the color of straw with the exception of the palm and coconut trees that bordered the poorways (a more accurate description) and in some cases defined the parameters of the holes. It all looked and felt very very dry, like a tropical desert if such a thing can be imagined. The sun was pouring heat down upon us we ambled along and if you had no understanding of what we were doing I'm sure we would appear to be some sort of lost safari. Nevertheless, we were playing golf and C and I were digging it. L and his caddy were not so sure. The temperature had to be in the mid nineties range which is smoking hot for we who are used to the "eternal Spring" seventies of Boquete and L was suffering from it. His caddy, a stocky muscular guy named Marcos was also having a tough time as L's bag was no light lift. Both called it quits on the fifth hole, L from dizziness and Marcos from exhaustion. C and I plugged on with our caddies, Roberto and Abel. We were playing poorly but learning the course and tidbits about our companions. Abel, for instance, has a brother named Cain. I pointed out that this was not, historically, a good thing, but he didn't seem to mind. Roberto, impressed with my snappy Spanish, talked to me as if I were a native and was baffled my frequent use of the Spanish expression "huh?" I did glean that the course greens up nicely from May to November or thereabouts.

And now, speaking of Spanish, I must get ready for my class in same. I will pick up this narration later today or tomorrow.