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Leaving Panama City for our next lodging, we detoured to the Atlantic side where we watched the Gatun Locks admit a large cargo ship with its top deck laden with containers. A young lady meticulously outlined the myriad details of the lock's operations. A coati mundi visited the adjoining train tracks to see us off before we headed back toward Gamboa, our next night's lodging. Beyond the major tourist attractions were the quick sightings that included iguanas, turtles, and a couple of crocodiles. One fleeting sighting of a Blue Morph butterfly instantly took me back to my childhood in the American Canal Zone, circa 1940. Back then, someone spotted a flitting 'Royal Blue' butterfly. Six kids of mixed ages and sexes pursued that butterfly for at least fifteen minutes hoping it'd land so someone might capture it. We believed it to be worth five dollars. However, it didn't alight anywhere close enough. For if it had, any smudging of the brightly colored scales nullified its value. Back then, we didn't know that. Nonetheless, as the credit card commercial extols, that recollection, that memory of our fruitless pursuit, "is priceless."
By now, readers should sense that the tour involved many locations, countless attractions, and varied environments. Some highlights entertained me more than others, whereas this or that side trip contained periods of downtime. For example, we took two boat rides on Gatun Lake and one to "Monkey Island." If you've never seen a capuchin monkey before, that'd be a plus. The other boat ride transported the group to an "Embera Indian Village" up the Chagres River that empties into Gatun Lake whose waters feed the locks and by gravity raise and lower all ships within. It might be rude and insensitive of me to suggest the tribal members and their housing offered the stage trappings of a Potemkin Village, but their presentations of music and dance were likely genuine. One musician played a primitive pipe constructed with a length of 1" PVC pipe, explaining through an interpreter that he preferred the sound from that material rather than one carved from bamboo. I admired their weaving skills, and bought a black howler-monkey reed mask for twenty-bucks.
Our next departure took us to a developed area called Playa Blanco. Had it been so named for its miles of sandy beaches with glistening sands or from the extended clusters of white-coated condos, time-shares, and hotels? Either one qualifies. From that location, we bussed to El Valle for a day trip. Nestled in the caldera of a dead volcano, that area had been known as a resort for wealthy Panamanians even before WW II. We there visited a refuge for selected animals, especially the golden frog of Panama. (The full golden frog once indigenous to the Costa Rican highlands has become extinct in our time. The golden {spotted} Panama frog is endangered.) After returning to our original Panama City hotel, the next morning we returned to the Gamboa Station on Gatun Lake and readied ourselves for a transit of the Pedro Miguel and Lake Miraflores Locks. As a Canal Zone Cub Scout, my brother Bill and his pack had the opportunity to ride a ship through the locks. I had not done so when in the Boy Scouts. Consequently, I enjoyed taking passage on the "good ship, Isla Morada," that might have been owned by a wealthy American financier before Errol Flynn, before Steve McQueen, and before the current unknown registry. An ancient wooden ship for sure, but well suited for our band of mixed citizenry. We shared passage thru the Pedro Miguel and Miraflores Locks along with a mid-sized ferry laden with tourists, plus a thirty-foot (+/-) sloop with a four-man crew out of South Africa. Envisioning on screen or videotape the mechanics of a massive lock system ain't the same as living' the process up close and personal wherein you become a part of the action, more a participant than a second-hand observer. El Señor Palma arranged for entertainment to conclude each day's trek. High school and college students may have performed most shows, but the lively acts elicited grateful applause. The belly dancer certainly commanded my attention. At the last night's farewell dinner–held at the dining facility overlooking the Miraflores Locks–a dancing troupe subsequently put on a dynamic performance. In that "Carnaval" Season lay but days ahead, a time for the national costumes to be displayed, the troupe fittingly and lavishly outfitted themselves. The four women wore colorful, meticulously embroidered polleras (po-yerr-us = dresses); the male partners wore montunos (mon-toon-ohs = simple white tops and calf length trousers). As the ladies swirled, the men slapped the floor with their shod feet while accompanied by the three-piece band: a drummer, a mini-accordion player, and a stick striker. ¡Olé! And it came to pass that four siblings eventually headed back to the U.S. Family mission accomplished. I can't pretend to speak for Bill, Lilian, or Lucille. Nor offer what the trip meant for the bird watcher from Canada or the three middle-aged ladies from the Midwest. Certainly we sisters and brothers shared elements of the past along with a review of our respective lives over many decades since departing the old Canal Zone in 1944. That sharing alone validated the trip for me. After writing the first draft of the above adventure, I quickly realized that an eight-day expedition from California to a Central American Republic posed a difficult challenge in extracting selected highlights and then trying to describe them entertainingly. Friends offered competing suggestions. One suggested photos. Another desired more flashbacks, such as the recollection of the Blue Morph. A few encouraged my adding some family discourse. However, I chose to stay with my smattering point of view, but I do think two photos might enhance the tale.
Therefore, much as New Orleans has its Mardis Gras, Latin American nations have their own pre-Lent celebrations. In my mind, Panamanian polleras and montuños displayed during Carnaval fittingly symbolize Panama, the costumes pre- dating the French and the later American canal construction eras. For those readers desirous of seeing examples of Panama's national costumes, check out Chagres.com. The website offers many albums with an easy to click Index. I met the photographer, Dino Barkema, in Florida while attending a 1999 Canal Zone Reunion. We kept in touch even after he relocated to the El Volcan district of Panama close to the Costa Rican border. Like my siblings and I, he also had an American citizen father and a Panamanian mother. The darling picture of his latest child illustrates how even youngsters sport colorful outfits during Carnaval. The b&w photo of two girls comes from the Zidbeck family album. It shows Lilian (in white dress) when five years old standing beside her neighborhood friend, Jeanette McKeown, also dolled up – both ready to be taken to Panama City and be admired during Carnaval. ¡Olé! Finally, I'd like to tell you that my return to San Luis Obispo County comforts me. I've cross-countried this good old U.S.A. a few times; lived in Texas; stationed in Japan during the Korean War; plus, lived over nine months in three parts of Mexico during the mid 1960s. Additionally, my olde bod has domiciled in four CA counties. Listen up! Ain't no place like San Luis Obispo County. 
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