Interests:Music, beetles, mantids, coding, 3D printing, propmaking, reading, gaming, the list goes on.
No trip is complete to Panama city without spending time in the famous Panama Viejo. The ruins of the much maligned city are closely linked to the European discovery of the Pacific ocean, Spanish expansion, the history of piracy and the bullion lifeline to Europe. We were excited to see the ruins and at the same time dreading the throng of tourists happily snapping their selfie photos. To find the ruins you can follow these simple driving directions (or have a taxi):
Not for the direction challenged Dmitry it was not. Upon arriving on the outskirts of Panama city, we made one of countless wrong turns and ended up in opposite direction from the ruins. We then decided to try to get on Corredur Sur. The new route that was controversially built around the downtown core. It is a toll road and it costs $2.5 one way however, there are no exits along the way and we drove past the ruins again…
After wasting more than hour to get to fabled ruins, we somehow made it to Mercado National de Artesanias. The first remnants of the ruins are there. I strongly encourage to sign in and walk along the stalls of this market.
There is also Museo de Sitio Panama Viejo. We did not go as we were eager to climb our way to the real ruins and explore the Dmitry and Elena way.
We were incredulous to discover that apart from us, there was no one at the actual ruins. A very nice lady sold us the entrance tickets ( $5 each) and upon receiving the map, set us on our way. As you make your way deeper towards the tallest structure standing, the hum of the cars fades away. The honking and worn out brakes get muted and replaced by the incessant chirping of parakeets and other birds calling the park their home. We walked along what was one of the bastions of Spanish rule and could not help but envision what life must have been like 400 years ago here. The sun has reached its zenith as we made our way around the slaughterhouses, the residences of the wealthy citizens and cathedrals.
The rays of the sun touched the darkest corners of ruins, illuminating them as we explored. I couldn’t help it but stop to try to envision how hard life must have been. The diseases, the threats from the sea and land, the rigors of living so far from their homeland and to do it all in the name of their king. We wandered among the ruins free to shoot any way we felt like. (Note: If you are the type that wanders of the marked path and wants to explore the grounds a little be mindful of snakes. We saw one slithering away).
The highest point in the ruins is the bell tower and the park staff has done an incredible job of building stairs and guardrails to reach the top. As we were the only people there, bats adorned the walls, looking with their small, beady eyes. They made no attempt to fly away and just hung there like some ornaments. I resisted the urge to grab one! With every floor upwards, the view of the downtown stretched. The view from the upper floor was breathtaking.
Words were useless. The wind from the ocean burst into every crevice and a very entrancing sound emerged. We stood there entranced by the flapping wings of pigeons above, the howling wind and the magnificent view of the city. This was by far the best $5 dollars spent!
To here explore this part of the city, one must be prepared for an quick, easy one hour of leisure walk or you can do it our way. To do explore the “befree” way is to rid yourself of stereotypes and fears. It is to open your soul to new experiences and meetings. So many times upon returning do we wish we could have done more, said more and experienced more. Our goal is to break those barriers down and live life the way it is supposed to be. Free and open to new challenges.
We decided to leave the ruins when a horde of students descended like an avalanche on us. There were more than a 100 kids in the group, yet they were very kind and smiled non stop. I remember my high school field trips in Canada…They were a definitely not educational. The midday heat was relentless and with me losing the water bottle, we decided to head into the city to check out the financial district. As we were driving away, I thought that this city had its share of bad luck and is still standing so no wonder so many banks call this place their home.
Parking is a challenge to find in the city. We drove in circles trying to find a spot where to ditch the car and lucked out when Elena spotted a spot beside one of thousands of banks that make up the financial district. The so called restaurant street is undergoing a massive reconstruction with construction vehicles, closed businesses and an open restaurant here and there. The guide book I had, was published in 2010 and surprisingly 3!!! restaurants on calle 5A that we wanted to check out no longer existed. I thought that maybe we were on wrong street but a cop told us they were in fact closed. Either the competition is ridiculous or the food sucked.
We saw a tree house cafe and since it looked architecturally interesting and had a wall of foliage inside, we went to check it out. It turned out to be a regular coffee house and while this is not worth mentioning there was a small incident that happened to us there.
This place was tucked away in the financial district and not easy to find. I did not see any other tourists there and I guess our cameras gave us away as the staff took notice. The staff thought it would be funny if they served us at our table rather than ordering at the cashier and there was a steady stream of cooks, cashiers and even the manager that brought something to our table. It was very sweet of them and only when we were leaving we realized that we were the only ones served at the table. So green house cafe is the spot for us!
While we were downtown, I noticed how nature was trying to live symbiotically in urban setting. Huge trees created natural shade and pathways and sidewalks were created to avoid damaging the massive roots. Parakeets were chirping everywhere and to me it was a surreal scene. To see a parakeet sitting on a telephone line chirping, while a throng of business suits flows by. Cacophony of car horns filled the air yet the lonely parakeet just sat above it all and sang his chirping tune. To find this beautiful bird among huge concrete skyscrapers was surreal.
While looking for souvenirs, we decided to check out the malls. Let me tell you, with parking rates like these, this mall is already the best one in my books.
We didn’t find any souvenirs there as Panamanian malls do not differ from the ones back home in Canada. The same prices for clothes and the same brands like Victoria secret, Guess and others. They are cleaner and there is less people.
Through our website, we want to share our stories, photographs and hopefully the information might help someone on their trip or even awaken their own wanderlust.
My plan was that nobody else would die. Ever. My plan was to leave the death-and-dying biz to someone else; give someone else a turn. My plan was that enough was enough. At least for this year. My plan was that only the elderly die, and that sometimes it’s a blessing and an end to pain.
But this kind of pain comes to all ages. How could I have forgotten that? It’d been some years since I’d had a friend with suicidal ideation. One of them was successful at it. And one of them suddenly snapped out of it, just like that. Awoke from the nightmare, and there he was—suddenly fully alive, vibrant, and whole. With hope and joy in his heart instead of bitterness and despair. Finally.
Yesterday she sent the terrible email. Suicide note by email has the strange immediacy of someone hitting SEND and the word goes out, well, everywhere. And hers began with an apology and said without flourish or beating around the bush simply that she was ‘gone.’ And spoke about her pain and what she had done.
We tried to find her. The police were slow. Treated it as a ‘Missing Persons’ for a while. Facebook was slow (she’d posted an edited version of her email there)—because of the privacy issues involved. The whole planet felt slow. But a few hours later she was found. By the CA Park Service. By the rocks at Stinson Beach.
Amy was always meticulous. She was thorough. She got the job done. You could depend on her—but she did it her way. Whatever the task was, she could stick to it. Those are the qualities it takes to get a PhD in Anthropology or any other subject, for that matter. They were also the qualities it took to put on our conferences for the Society for the Anthropology of Consciousness. To keep up our mailing lists. To remind us when it was time to vote (or run for office). Remind us to submit abstracts to present at conferences. Remind us to register. She was good at herding cats.
Being meticulous is how Amy handled her own demise, too. She was thorough. She made sure that these obligations were taken care of—without letting on that that’s what she was doing. This time, procrastination might have served her better. But Amy, when she set her mind to it, she got things done.
She asked me to help put on next year’s spring conference—and I agreed—not to do it myself, but rather to help her with it. To do it together. But now I see, that wasn’t what she had in mind.
Last week she asked me to get together. We live, after all, not that far from each other. But each date didn’t seem to work for her. She was going away on vacation, she said. She wanted to see me before she left. I wanted to see her after. Only looking back can I see the urgency in her words. I missed it at the time. I wonder if she would have talked or listened if we had had that time together.
I would have told her about L who felt himself beyond hope, redemption, or any rehabilitation. He’d go to the Bridge, and the waters below the Golden Gate would open and invite him in. We kept a watch on him. Took turns bringing him food. As long as that frig was full he wouldn’t be so wasteful as to jump into the icy water. We kept him alive with a frig full of groceries. Perishables kept him from perishing. One day at the bridge, when he looked down—the waters below had shut their gate. He was no longer invited in. No longer welcome. And that was it—after so many months, his suicidal episode was over. He’d call us each year on the anniversary of that day. He was downright unrecognizable from the agony he had carried. He’d worked it out. Worked it through. Worked with it. Worked around it. I think the point may be that whatever it was, it worked.
I wish I could have told Amy about L, his pain, and his ultimate survival. For if L could find his way out of the wilderness, even Palestine has a chance of finding peace.
“I love you, honey!” Amy signed her penultimate message to me. However she may have meant that lovely salutation (formulaic or heartfelt), I’ll treasure it. I’ll keep it with me always. Thank you, Amy, for all your gifts. What can I say, but that you’re sorely missed.
Mira Z. Amiras is Professor of Comparative Religious Studies and founder of the Middle East Studies Program at San Jose State University. She is past-president of the Society for the Anthropology of Consciousness, and has served on the Executive Council of the American Anthropological Association. She is co-founder, with Ovid Jacob, of Beit Malkhut, a study group in Jewish sacred text. She's most attached to the creatures of her body and her household — first and foremost, her kids, of course: Michael and Rayna — and then the other folks large and small of various species, including Roshi and Vlad, a whole lot of hummingbirds, the old parrot who lives next door, and a beautiful garden that does what it will.	
This entry was posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony and tagged Amy Smith, death and dying, grief, loss, Society for the Anthropology of Consciousness, suicidal ideation, suicide. Bookmark the permalink.	
A conversation between an anthropologist and a musician along with a growing virtual minyan, on themes of death and dying, grief, ritual, and the interplay between music and words.
Paula Deedee Quale Swanson on occasional kaddish: for Josephine Selvig Anderson (11 April 1915– 22 January 2012)