There’s always that adjustment period when you’re in a new country whether you’re visiting or have moved to live an expat life in another country like I’ve done here in Panama after moving last year from the Divided States.

What do you think of when you read the word expat? When I first heard of this term, it was on the pages of Let’s Go Europe, in the mid-eighties when I was planning my first solo trip to Europe. The term expat was cloaked in mystery. I was pretty sure I’d seen some of these curious souls lounging about on the terraced cafes along an ocean cliffside on the small island of Amorgos, in Greece. They were tanned like leather and peered up suspiciously from a tattered paperback book or their midday espresso and cigarettes.

They didn’t look Greek; light hair and eyes clued us that they could be from Germany or maybe Canada or the Netherlands. I figured they were there in hiding from their government. Maybe they’d evaded taxes, had a drug ring or were political troublemakers and needed to flee their home country. Why not spend out their days on a remote Greek island.

I took expatriate to mean that these people were no longer patriotic for their home country and therefore either decided or were forced to leave.

Actually, being an expat isn’t nearly as exotic as I’d conjured up in my imagination. Simply put, an expat is someone who lives outside of their native country. Kind of lacklustre. Though, I will say, here in Panama, there are a few nefarious types who probably wouldn’t be welcomed back to their hometowns should they be bold enough to make an appearance.

One of my first silly gringa moments happened when I pulled into a gas station in the rental car during my first visit to the country. I’d heard about the lower cost of living but was shocked to see the price of gas listed at under a dollar! The digital price displayed $0.75. Why wasn’t this the main selling point for Panama? This should be all over the marketing material produced by tourism and relocation agencies. I took pictures and sent them to friends. I never really paid too much attention to gas prices in my small town of San Luis Obispo, California, but I Googled to see gas prices were over $3.00 a gallon.

Thankfully, I didn’t go so far as to do a FaceBook live and have someone point out the obvious reason that I didn’t see at the time. That metric system thing? It’s here. A litre of gas here is under a dollar. And in case you’re curious, there are 3.78 litres in a gallon.

Oh, silly gringa.

Another realization I was slow to make was the fact that there is no mail system here in Panama. I learned this after I sent an expensive package of documents to the business address on company letterhead for a real estate transaction I was proceeding with. I’d kind of heard there was no mail, but somehow I assumed that if someone was using a business address, they must have a delivery system or maybe it was a mail box rental situation. Surprisingly, that packet of documents made it back to the destination from where I’d sent them. Four months later.

Addresses are a bit arbitrary. Some streets aren’t even named. During the time I dealt with banking and immigration appointments I always felt frustrated when I asked for the address and the response was, you know where the Pio Pio is?

No! I don’t. I don’t know where anything is because there are no addresses!

Surprisingly, the app, Waze, somehow knows where things are and is essential for navigation, survival and sanity.

I was a bit heartbroken when I thought I’d never be able to order anything from Amazon. Though I would have saved money by breaking my Amazon habit, there were certain things I knew I wouldn’t be able to find in Panama. People kept talking about having their packages sent to an address in Miami. I didn’t know anyone in Miami so I figured I was out of luck. Then I learned of the mail forwarding services! What a modern miracle. I signed up for Fast Box and now have my own Miami address where my Amazon orders go and then I pay for the shipping to Panama and the transport fee to the local Fast Box branch here in Coronado. It takes longer but it reminds me of the old days when mail took a while and no one was anxious about it. By the time something arrives, I’ve forgotten what I ordered, so it’s like Christmas.

Another silly gringa moment was when I whipped out a hundred dollar bill to pay for my movie ticket at the local theater. Whoa!! At first the woman shook her head. I pushed the bill toward her, nodding and smiling. A manager was called over. People in line behind me leaned around to see who was the gringa paying with a hundred dollar bill?

To be fair, I had been told not to pay with hundreds but I thought that was just an endearing exaggerated expat story. Nope. It’s true. I had to give my passport and they took a photocopy of the passport and the hundred dollar bill and had me sign it. Were they going to hang it on the wall or submit the information to the immigration department? Lesson learned. Even a fifty is risky.

A few months after moving here I decided I needed to get my hair cut. Silly gringa. I now know it’s better to get a personal referral. I didn’t think the language barrier would be an issue but I had no idea how to say texturize in Spanish. And clearly, the hairdresser didn’t understand what I was gesturing. She held a piece of my hair between her fingers and blunt cut it straight across. My jaw dropped and I was able to let her know not to do that on the other side. My hair was butchered but I was wearing it up in a clip most of the time due to the heat. I let it grow and found someone by word of mouth. Probably had one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had!

I started dog/house sitting back in March when a homeowner couldn’t get back due to Covid-19. One of my responsibilities was to pick up the dog poop in the yard. And I’ll be honest, I didn’t do it every single day. I noticed that there were pieces of poop in the pool after the gardener had been at the house in the morning. For some reason, I assumed the gardener was not so subtly telling me to shape up with the poop pick-up frequency.

But even after I scoured the lawn and cleaned it meticulously, poop still was in the pool! I finally asked the homeowner, what poops in the pool? And this silly gringa learned that iguanas, for some reason, like to poop in pools. Who knew?! A few months later I became quite concerned for the iguana’s digestive health because the volume and consistency had changed drastically. Piles of poop appeared on the stones surrounding the pool. I thought the iguana must be sick, couldn’t even reach the water’s edge - and clearly it had been eating something extremely mushy, not the usual insect and berry scat.

The gardener showed up one morning and pointed to the poop and said, la rana. He held his hands close together and then in perfect charade-game-style, made his hands hop. Frog! Oh, thank goodness the iguana is healthy. But what the heck is this frog eating? And why is it pooping at the pool, too?

It’s been a year of living here in Panama and just last week I had another silly gringa moment. A truck was parked just up the street from the produce stand on the InterAmericana and a sign advertised fresh corn. I’d seen a lot of corn growing on the hillsides when I went for my escape-the-quarantine-drives into the mountains.

I was so excited to have corn fresh from the hills. The guy was a little confused when I said I only wanted two pieces. He obliged and I thought I was getting a deal at two ears for a dollar. I snapped a pic of the truck and shared it in one of the expat FaceBook groups to let others know of the delightful fresh corn that was available.

One guy commented on my post that it was probably field corn, which is meant to feed livestock. It’s not meant to feed silly gringas. In fact, it proved to be entirely inedible. I boiled those ears for almost an hour. They turned a beautiful rich buttery yellow, but never softened at all. I dared to pry out one kernel and taste it. Won’t do that again.

I’m sure I’ll be making more gringa adjustments as time passes. It’s good to have patience and a sense of humor when you move to another country.

That’s all for now. Best wishes from Panama Patty