Alright. The
computer is back in action and I finally have some time to sit down and
knock this blog out. It has been a little over a month since the last
entry (I know I have been really slacking) and a lot has happened
between then and now. So whats been going on in my life? Well, to sum
it up in a single sentence, too much to fit into one blog. Thus, I have
decided to break my chronological order of entries and start writing
blogs when time is available. In other words, to avoid smacking you in
the face with tons of information, losing my readers of the blog, and
maintaining what little writing credibility I have, I am going to try
and focus more on the “one of a kind” experiences rather than the ones
I deem “eh, not so cool.” The meat and potatoes of Panama if you will.
Now I know what you are saying, “But Aaron, you are awesome and we need
you to continue writing these blogs. Its the highlight of our week.”
Well first off, let me say thank you for reminding me of my awesomeness
and I want to let you, the reader, know that you are awesome for making
me even want to write these entries. Secondly, the blogs are not
stopping, nor are they going to slow down. I am simply trying to keep
the quality of the blogs decent and want to take some time to focus on
each event rather than slamming tons of them together. And seriously,
how many times can you read an entry about a beach. You get it. Its
pretty, really pretty.
So to start off this new theory, I figure the question still
pressing on everyone’s mind (if they have seen the video) is how I
managed to involve myself with a bull. Well, like most stupid ideas I
engage myself with, it all began with beer. Florida State felt
obligated to put together a little trip for the students (maybe the 8
thousand dollars had something to do with it?) and drove all of us
halfway across the country out to the Azuero Peninsula for a local
Panamanian “carnival” weekend. Here are a few facts about the peninsula
to help you better understand the place: Azuero is divided into three
major provinces, Herrera, Los Santos and Veraguas. Most of the people
live on the east coastal region. The southern tip is sparsely
populated, and the western area (the Veraguas area) is just now opening
up to development. The largest towns are Chitre, the capital of Herrera
and the lovely spot our motel was located, and Las Tablas, where this
“carnival” took place. The main road connecting the eastern part of the
Azuero to the Pan-Am Highway closely resembles the surface of the moon
and to get through it you basically need one of two things: a tank or
some luck. Fortunately, we had a little bit of luck on our side and
safely navigated our way into Chitre.
The motel was actually one of the nicer places we have stayed
considering it was literally in the middle of a random field and was
surrounded entirely by large cows. Ironically, the food was absolutely
fantastic and it should not be too tough to guess what we had. Beef?
Wrong. We had seafood every meal and some of the best seafood I have
had on my trip to Panama (even better than San Blas and the damn things
are literally pulled from the ocean and slapped on your plate). I ate
the best seafood I have ever had at a friggin motel. Lobster and
patacones the first night, octopus and plantains the second, and a
home-made paella that was out of this world to wrap the weekend up. The
motel also had a huge lake in the middle of it with paddle boats that
seemed to become the focus of our entertainment as we stumbled in from
the “carnival.”
Now, at this point it has to be driving you crazy and I know you
want to ask “Aaron. Why is carnival continuously in quotations? Did you
go to some metaphorical festival?” No. But it was definitely not what I
expected. Because when I think of carnivals, I think cotton candy,
funnel cake, ferris wheels, and maybe a clown or two. Panama
essentially throws out any preemptive ideas of this American standard
and creates carnivals consisting of cock fights, bulls, a ton of beer,
homemade fireworks, and a little dancing. Not exactly the most kosher
carnival if you get what I am saying but for sure a much better one. It
is almost impossible to describe this thing other than simply saying it
was chaos, beautiful chaos. The streets were packed with
thousands upon thousands of thirsty Panamanians in a sort of diluted
Mardi Gras simply enjoying each others company and celebrating for no
reason at all. The nights of carnival are late and generally do not
even get started until around 11 lasting until 5 or 6 in the morning.
My hypothesis behind this is they want it to last as long as possible
because the people who make it to the afternoon’s festivities the next
day still need to be drunk enough to make dumb decisions. Insert bulls
here.
Saturday morning was probably one of the worst wake ups I have ever
had in my short 21 years. My head was throbbing and I am almost certain
that at one point I heard the faint sound of my liver crying. As our
group slowly came to and indulged in a quick breakfast, we headed
straight back out to the streets to enjoy a much more exciting day. The
second day of celebration began a lot like the first, a huge amount of
people, beer (great hangover cure by the way), and the ever-present
feeling that you are probably going to end up doing something you
regret. In case you have never really been around me, I always have a
knack for involving myself in terrible situations (my friends can
definitely vouch for me here). This one just so happened to take place
after a few beers (like 75% of my terrible situations) when convincing
me to do something is probably easier than convincing a fat kid to eat
a piece of cake. I had heard talk about bullfights the previous night
and my drunk ego decided it would be in my best interest to make a
complete ass of myself by telling the entire festival that I would
definitely jump in the ring with a bull if I had a chance (I guess I
was trying to impress girls? It didn’t work for the record). So, as
Saturday progressed, I had been stopped at least 3 times by random
Panamanians asking me if I was the “American.” At first, I was
completely lost but then progressively I began to realize that these
people were talking about me, the stupid gringo who thought he could
face a bull. On an empty beer-less stomach, you would almost think they
were insulting me but as I began to lose my sobriety and gain my
“liquid confidence,” the rants turned into much more hopeful cheers.
And so, my time finally came to put my money where my mouth was and
the bulls began to arrive by the truckload. Bullfights in Panama do not
consist of one or two bulls. They release a new bull every 5 minutes or
so when the old bull grows tired and quits wanting to maul people
(Great system. Spain might want to look into it instead of letting all
of them go at once). The ring that the bulls are released in is made
entirely out of sticks and nylon rope and looked like something I could
have built when I was 10 years old. There was also a giant palm tree
smack dab in the middle (I made the tree my goal to touch it every time
a new bull came out). The Panamanians really only give you two rules
when jumping down in the bulls territory: 1) Stay away from the bulls
with horns 2) Never go in the ring with a black bull. Remember that
part of the blog when I mentioned how often I get caught in terrible
situations? Well, I had seen several bulls come out of the gate and
each was entirely different but nothing I would claim as blatantly
dangerous. The first bull was white with no horns, the second gray with
short horns, and the third was brown with fairly large horns. As they
prepared the fourth bull I decided it was my time to go, totally
oblivious to the completely obvious pattern in how the bulls were
released (retrospect is a bitch). The gates ripped open and literally
as soon as my feet found their way into the ring, a giant black bull
with horns the size of baseball bats emerged. Oh, did I mention the
bright green tank top I had on? Yeah. Bulls are not exactly fond of
bright colors and this one seemed to pick me out immediately. My life
has never flashed so fast before my eyes. I took off running in a dead
sprint and the bull was soon to follow. The crowd roared in applause
and to this day I still cannot figure out whether it was for the bull
or my safety. I am just going to assume it was for my well-being. My
heart raced as my feet hit the dirt below me and for whatever reason
the beast eventually decided to give up and look elsewhere. The second
the bull took his eyes off of me I made a quick escape out of the ring
where I was immediately greeted by several locals who told me they had
never seen a white person run so fast. A kid even asked me for my
autograph. Yes, I am being serious. The day continued in the same
fashion as more and more bulls were let go and slowly the afternoon
faded into night to the conclusion of the festival. We headed back to
Clayton with a load of souveneirs and some pretty serious hangovers but
I left with a memory I would never forget.
And there you have it. My encounter with a bull and basically one of
the major highlights of my past month. I will get working on the new
entry very soon and I promise not to slack as badly as I have been.
Thank you again for reading these things and letting me know you enjoy
it because if you didn’t, I honestly would have no motivation to write
them. I hope everyone is doing well and I look forward to seeing you
all when I get back home. Take care.
“Expecting life to treat you fairly because you are
a good person is like expecting an angry bull not to charge because you
are a vegetarian.”
