It's happening.

i'm on my way...
leaving the lovely east bay, headed out into the vastness of america. moving to boston, starting grad school at harvard!

the long road trip has begun, dan and i weaving in and out of giant trucks, small cities, sage brush and mountains.

Today's small realization

When I walk I make a beeline for my destination. Ignoring sidewalks, paths, steps, I take the grassy hill shortcut.

I don’t notice this until I walk with other people and one of three situations occur: 1. they take the shortcuts with me and everything feels fine, 2. I (almost) bump into them, so they go my way and things are awkward, or 3. they really stick to the path, so I follow, but I can’t help feeling the pull of the diagonal.

Crafty Creatures

My recent obsession with making and sewing felt animals has yielded quite a few scarves.

And I've fallen in love with this origami fox that I made. He just has such a jaunty personality....

The Path to Kuna Yala

It is completely dark when we wake up. No traces of the frantic packing of the day before. I silently say goodbye to my lovely apartment. We meet Rigoberto, our driver, opposite the "God loves tourists" Gamboa church at 4:30am. He drives an old Land Cruiser with bench seats along the walls in the back.

In Panama City the first pink clouds of dawn bloom in the sky as he picks up a haggling, unhappy Israeli couple outside of Super 99. At the next stop we add heavy boxes and a Kuna man, woman, and young boy to our cargo. Then large containers of water and fuel. We stop again for gas and coffee, a couple more people, at a passport checkpoint, and finally for a last pee before turning off the Darien road and heading into Kuna country.

Rigoberto decides to add a woman and her 5 children to our load, much to the dismay of the Israeli girl. Probably used to more comfortable conditions. Now we are 16 in one car. Roxanna and her silent, tiny little brother sit up front with me. They walk 3 hours of mountainous terrain twice a day if no one stops to pick them up.


The views become breathtaking as we ride through the red-pink flesh gashes in the earth deeper into primary rainforest jungle. The road is bumpy and unpaved, and our driver speeds down sheer cliffs and takes the gravelly hairpin turns without flinching. The alleged 2.5 hour ride stretches into 5 hours, but we are thrilled and uncomplaining.

Fancy cameras film a misplaced woman in a small shirt on the edge of a vast panorama of endless rainforest tinged with purple mist. They come over to our car and soon I am being interviewed out the window for Panamanian TV. Channel 2. She asks if I am scared about doing the trek in this car, while another man argues with our driver about how dangerous it is.

We continue on, and now it is even steeper. The Land Cruiser struggles, heavily laden with passengers, luggage, full containers roped to the top. The many children are no longer aboard, instead we have gained a man who clings to the outside of the car as we swerve and jump. Rigoberto calls him "spiderman". The vehicle inches up vertical muddy inclines in the lowest 4-wheel drive gear available, and then speeds down hills to gain momentum for the next impossible climb.

We are approaching a river and I look for a bridge, but instead we plunge straight in. The water comes high enough to pour in my window, but we make it through and soon are at the ocean. A small shack demands entrance and exit fees to and from Kuna Yala.

Our boat is a rickety blue wood canoe with a removable motor. A teenage Kuna boy with a sweet smile is our captain. Salty spray covers my face and glasses as we skip over the water's surface towards white islands. Endless turquiose water surrounds me and I am breathless. A dolphin leaps along next to the boat, joyful and curious.

Chichime (or Wichitub) is the last island, farthest into the Caribbean Sea. Our host, Humberto, welcomes us and the colors are unbelievable. We sleep on hammocks in a palm frond hut, learn phrases of Kuna from our lovely 10-year-old teacher, Lydiana, and snorkel all day. No fresh water, other than what we brought with us, and no bathrooms. A remote paradise.

4 days in Costa Rica

48 hours of bus riding over 5 days. Cold, cold air-conditioning is a shock after hot humid Panama. Border scams and long lines at 7am. My first new unknown tropical fruit juice across the border is sweet and delicious. In San Jose the bus terminal area is sketchy and I haven't changed any money yet for a taxi, but I somehow obtain a free guide who walks me to my hostel. Everyone here is amazingly friendly. In the park, I can hardly write my letter with so many people stopping to talk.


Monteverde bus leaves early and passes through gorgeous green mountains and up a steep dirt road. Hostel owner is pure loveliness: gay, braids, lots of cute threats to punish me if I don't brush my teeth or wear pajamas. Wind whips through my hair as I speed along cables high above the canopy. So fast! Epiphytes drown the tall trees in lush greenness.


Salsa dancing, live music, fun travelers. What the best hostels are all about. Up again at dawn and hiking through the cloud forest reserve. Fairy mists swirl over wooden stepping stones and under mossy fallen logs, strident bird calls are all that pierce the thick stillness.


Missed my stop to Heredia, but still manage to borrow a cell phone and call Andrea to come pick me up. Her mother is deep hugs of warmth and goodness, her house is tiled and tasteful. We drink a beer high above the twinkling lights of the town in a bar of wooden walls lit only by candles and christmas lights. First good sleep in days and a sunny morning walk through the main streets before I head home with my new Panamanian visa in hand (thanks to my Smithsonian ID and my blue eyes).

The Hammock

The lonely empty hammock hooks gaze at me beseechingly. I must do something. Waiting for the bus, I meet a middle-aged man missing some important teeth. I lend him 25 cents and he tells me how amazing it is to do something for others. I agree. The bus fills up quickly and I am jammed against a window with my knees pulled in tight, unpleasant smells wafting closer. I open the window and the crisp scent of wet forest rushes over my face.

I switch buses at Terminal Nacional and ask someone where to get off for Plaza Cinco de Mayo. I walk the wrong way down a crowded street, vendors on both sides, the thick grease of fried meat in the air. A man walks five feet behind me, whistling every few steps. I am not scared, we are surrounded by people, but it is unsettling to be followed. Eventually I stop, turn, and stare straight at him and he slinks away, off the sidewalk, his head down. I realize that I am going away from my destination, and buy some cashew fruits as I backtrack.

The hammock store is open on two sides, covered by a wooden roof. I pass over the bright colorful patterns of fish and triangles, they are all acrylic. I find one of a simple thick cotton. It is cheap, which is why I came to this neighborhood not frequented by tourists. My light eyes and skin stand out as I try to find where to catch the returning bus. A drunk man stops me and asks where I'm from. He tries to grab my arm, a friendly but undesired gesture, and I shake him off sternly. He tells me I'm beautiful, and I cross the busy street with no obvious traffic signals, dodging the speeding buses, trying to find my transport.

I finally find it, near a trash dump. Broken concrete blocks covered in bright plastic and fruit peels, the sweet heavy scent of rot behind a sagging chain link fence. A man hanging out the door of the moving bus tells the driver to stop when I flag him down. There are already people crowded into the aisle; I squeeze on and stumble as I attempt to steady myself with the ceiling rail while still holding my bags. An elderly woman seated next to me wordlessly reaches out and puts my hammock bag onto her lap. I feel so grateful for her compassionate perceptivity.

At home, the hammock is perfect. I drink cold mango juice and take a nap.

Barro Colorado Island Nature Monument

obnoxious alarm at 6:30am on a saturday...why am i doing this? my body aches but i scramble to dress and pack lunch and race as fast as the rusty bike will roll to the dock. a sleepy boat ride, watching the flirtatious giggling interactions of a preteen school group loaded with fancy cameras. coffee surreptitiously slipped from the cafeteria helps and the humid heat hits hard. dim and misty under the tall canopy, the harsh barks of howler monkeys muted. scaly armadillo scuttles ahead and tamarin monkeys drop delicious red fruit at our feet. bright colors spring from a background of rich thick Green and musky browns. fig bats squeak gently to one another, hanging upside-down from tiny wing hooks on the bark of Big Tree. a brook chatters to me, burbling over mossy rocks and under a fallen log. root stairs, flying rectangle, disappearing trails. heavy spider silk catches my face and is strong enough to stop forward movement. jungle treasure surrounds, waiting to be found. cicadas scream, louder than expected when next to an unsuspecting ear. a nap in the sun above the world, indecisive raindrops cool, impromptu picnic. red faced, chigger-bitten ankles, mosquito covered, tick sanctuary, bliss.