Dear Graham,
Another amazing day—bliss and blisters all wrapped together.
The morning began with my phone refusing to work. I had business to take care of and couldn’t get any of it done, so I started the day frustrated. Still, we had plans: a major shopping trip to Santiago, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from our home, to visit PriceSmart—Panama’s version of Costco. Just a little way outside the neighborhood, we spotted a monkey sitting calmly on the side of the road. What a delight. I had never seen a monkey in the wild before, and it was both Tom’s and my first Panama monkey. We were absolutely tickled by the little guy.
The drive to Santiago was lovely. We pulled beneath the enormous PriceSmart carport, so much like Costco in Superior, Colorado. I’ve never really been much of a Costco shopper, but in Panama, stocking up at PriceSmart is practically essential. Tom and I filled out the membership paperwork, posed for our photos, and thankfully found an English-speaking employee who patiently helped the gringos through the process.
Then came the shopping marathon. We wandered every aisle with our growing list: a mop, cleaning supplies, sponges, a yoga mat. Food too—pistachios, almonds, almond milk, coconut water, granola, butter, tofu… the cart filled quickly. I kept thinking of my friend Rohini in Boulder, Colorado, and her love for Costco. Afterward, we headed to Do It, Panama’s mash-up of McGuckin’s and Home Depot. By the time we finished, the rental car was overflowing. We grabbed pizza at an American chain called Athens and finally started the long drive home.
The AC was blasting, the sky partly clouded, and we were relaxed—talking, laughing, admiring our haul. An hour and a half, maybe two, passed before Tom suddenly said, “Oh no. Oh no… shit.” You must remember: my phone still wasn’t working, so I had no Google Maps. Tom realized we had missed the exit for Highway 2 toward Chitré more than an hour earlier. Instead, we were headed north toward Coronado and El Valle—at least two hours beyond where we should have turned.
It was now dusk and turning darker quickly. And so, in the dark, guided only by Google Maps and the vaguest sense of direction, we tried to find our way back to Highway 2. It took nearly two hours just to reach the turnoff to Chitré. Once we finally got onto the highway, it was another forty-five minutes or so into town. By then it was pushing 8:00 p.m. We’d started the day around 9:00 that morning, and exhaustion was settling in.
We knew Chitré—or thought we did. We had rented the car there. We had eaten lunch there a week earlier with our friend Joseph. As we drove into town, I recognized the rental place and the restaurant immediately. We knew where we were—and where we needed to go.
And then something strange happened. It felt as though we had slipped into another dimension.
Suddenly we were driving down a long boulevard lined with palm trees wrapped in white Christmas lights spiraling up their trunks. The whole scene felt mystical, almost unreal. We had never seen this part of Chitré before. There were no streetlights, only the glow from the palms.
People filled the streets—walking, laughing, talking. It was Saturday night, and everyone seemed to be outside, drifting through the warm evening air.
Then we came upon the town square: a gazebo in the center and a stunning Catholic church, white adobe crowned with a steeple. Tom kept driving before finally pulling over. That’s when we realized we were heading in the complete opposite direction from Highway 2, nowhere near
where we were supposed to be. We studied the map, but it offered no real clarity.
So Tom simply drove—blindly, intuitively. And then, suddenly, fireworks exploded overhead.
Great fountains of light poured across the dark sapphire sky. And just like that, we found ourselves directly in front of the church. A wedding party stood gathered at the open doors—the bride and groom framed by the glowing altar, the congregation spilling into the street, everyone gazing upward at the brilliant sky.
And there we were too—lost in time and space, dazzled by the magic. ✨
I looked down at my iPhone and saw the tiny blue dot hovering beside the road that would lead
us back to Highway 2. “Turn left,” I said. And then we both saw it at once—we were finally on the right road.
“Stay on this road. This is Highway 2. In another hour or so, it’ll take us to Pedasí.”
We continued through bumper-to-bumper traffic and realized some kind of festival or celebration
must have been happening. Cars and people were everywhere. We passed a police blockade with
flashing lights and officers directing traffic through a detour that pulled us briefly off Highway 2. Tom followed the maze of back streets until, finally, we were back on the main road toward Pedasí.
I cranked the AC higher—partly to cool us off, partly to keep Tom awake. I kept calling out the
changing speed limits like a strange little chant: 60, 80, 40. Back and forth. We passed a couple of police officers leaning against motorcycles near the roadside brush.
An hour later, familiar landmarks began to appear: Bohemi Pizza, the French bakery, and finally
the road leading home to the Lofts of Destiladeros.
And then we saw something heartbreaking.
About fifteen minutes from home, a group of Panamanians stood gathered along the roadside—some standing silently, others sitting on rocks. At first we thought it might be a party or gathering. Then we saw the car. An older gray sedan lay overturned, crushed almost flat, as though it had folded into itself. We realized we were witnessing the aftermath of what looked like a fatal accident—family and friends mourning beside the wreckage.
Our journey had become a true odyssey: a monkey by the roadside, an epic shopping spree, getting lost in the dark, slipping somehow outside of time. We witnessed a bride and groom beneath fireworks—and perhaps, only miles later, a husband, a son, someone deeply loved, being mourned beneath the same night sky.
Graham, you are only two years old, and I wish for you a life filled with wonder, joy, and as few sorrows as possible. But life will always bring both bliss and blisters. My hope is that when the difficult moments come, you meet them with courage, grace, and an open heart—and that you
never lose your sense of wonder for the mysterious beauty woven through it all.
Love,
CC
