"In Your Country, You Play Football with a Coconut"

Santa Marta was our final extended jaunt in Panama, and it, much like every other trip, was awesome. We left El Cope and after climbing a few big hills (in a truck, thankfully), our group arrived in Santa Marta. We split up into couples and spent a few nights with our Panamanian families. My family was comprised of an extremely nice couple with three sons. We spent the first night kicking a soccer ball around and staying up late talking about Omar Torrijos, as the next day we were to go on a 4-hour hike to see where his plane crashed, near the cloudy top of a mountain. The view was stunning, as our walk took us from peaks of mountains into rolling valleys that housed ranches and community farms.

The next day we played soccer against a local team...of children ranging from 10-12. If we were their size, they would've totally whooped us. Even with our gargantuan size, they managed to stick it to us. We played a few more games, winning one. My Panamanian dad, Maximilo, said that the series ended with Panama on top 3-1. When we talked about other sports later that night, Maximilo noted that American football seems stupid because we throw around a coconut and don't really use our feet. Point taken.

The next day we went hiking (again) to these gorgeous waterfalls that poured out into pristine swimming holes. That night was a community dance; I danced with my Panamanian mother (twice), and with a heavy-set, light-footed primary school teacher (once). The last day was spent in the community; a small group of us went out to see where they get their fresh mountain water, and afterward we all helped to construct a wall of a mud and grass house. After washing up, we had lunch and hiked back to La MICA, our home base.

This was a great trip, and I still feel connected to the family that opened up their home to let Paul and I stay with them. I enjoyed the late night bingo, the talks about Panamanian politics, and the discussions about agriculture in the area. I came away from this trip with a greater appreciation for what we have in the States, but I also developed a deeper sense of what it takes for people to live out in the Panamanian countryside. Life there is not easy, but they enjoy it as much as anybody I've ever met. As Maximilo said to me as he let us into his house, "We're very poor, but we're very good people."