The Blog of John Patrick Larson

That was the sensation I had as we worked our way through Panamanian customs, phoned to make a reservation, and chatted it up with our cab driver en route to our evening’s accommodations.  In spite of two months of utter neglect of Spanish practice (that’s how delighted I was to be able to express myself in English again back in January, without first mentally checking if I had the requisite vocabulary), it came right back without a hitch starting with my first practical exam of calling a hostel to check for availability, ask the price, comprehend the price (numbers over 30 are still a little shaky for me), and make a reservation.  Tracy, my lovely on-site professor of Spanish vocab and comprehension nodded in approval as I worked my way through the process.

Soon we were on our way.  During the 35 minute long ride from the airport to the city, our cab driver was goodly enough to indulge my (usual) desire to practice Spanish, talking about weather, the city, where to stay, and recommendations of what to see.  He heartily recommended we stay at the Hotel California, and offered to take us there instead of our planned hostel.  Despite its rad name, we decided to stay the course, though whether out of suspicion of what may be an impartial recommendation, or to keep with good karma of honoring the reservation we’d already made, it is not clear.

At our simple hostel I changed quickly, and the shorts & sandals-worthy 85 degree temperatures plus the gecko on the window of our bathroom both made me happy to be in Central America once more.  Especially after the frosty air of Denver just that morning.

Accusations are starting to fly that I’m turning into a total winter bird.  I have no defense. :)