Being a stay-at-home mom with a kid who's still just tagging along in your uterus affords ample time for new projects and discoveries. My current obsession is gardening and I find myself absolutely swimming in tomatoes, zucchinis, squash, and herbs. Fortunately I also have time to find new recipes to make use of all this super-fresh produce. My latest discovery? Marinara sauce from scratch. I know, people have been making this for centuries, so maybe it's not much of a "discovery", exactly. But in my house growing up all we ever had was Ragu--which, don't get me wrong, is pretty darn tasty, if not exactly authentic. I've been toying with recipes for an easy (read: doesn't have to simmer all day) sauce for awhile now, and finally got one to turn out right. I thought I'd share in case anyone else finds themselves with way too many tomatoes for their own good. Here's the rough idea of what worked for me:
Ingredients:
8 whole tomatoes, chopped into small cubes
3-6 garlic cloves, depending on how much you like garlic (I used 6)
1/2 onion, finely chopped
Fresh basil
Oregano (fresh or dried)
Salt & pepper
2T Sugar
1/4 C Mushrooms (optional)
Olive oil
First, in a medium saucepan, brown the garlic in olive oil over medium-high heat
Add tomatoes and increase heat. Bring to a boil.
Add onion, oregano, salt, pepper, sugar, and about 1/4C olive oil. Keep at a moderate boil for about 20 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent sticking.
Add fresh basil and mushrooms, if desired. (At this point you could also throw in other semi-soft vegetables you have around the house, like zucchini or olives). Boil for 10 more minutes or until sauce is thick.
Serve over pasta (or do what I did and use it as the sauce on chicken parmesan).
This sauce came out sort of chunky, almost like a bruschetta, and Jeff and I ended up spooning some onto garlic bread to use that way, too. So the texture's a bit nontraditional for marinara sauce, but the flavor was really rich and complex. It was definitely a hit in our house.
Bon appetit!
8.19.2011
7.31.2011
Year One
Last week Jeff and I celebrated our first anniversary. We didn't eat year-old frozen cake or peruse wedding photos or even buy each other presents. Instead we headed to Las Vegas for a mini-vacation of great food, good shows, and stress-free lounging by the pool. We wanted to make the most of our time together while it's still just the two of us. You see, there's something I've been meaning to blog about:
Readers, I'm thrilled to announce that later this year I'm going to become a mommy! Two days after Jeff and I officially moved into our first house, I found out I was pregnant. I'm due in December, and am absolutely over the moon about this. I can't wait to meet our little guy!
Our first year of marriage has been by turns the weirdest, hardest, best, saddest, and most exciting of my life. Never in a million years could I have predicted it would go this way. I don't think we've had one single "normal" month since we got married. And while not all of it was wonderful, the hard parts were made bearable with Jeff to support me. And the parts that were wonderful? Even better because of him. They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, and in some ways I think this definitely rings true for us. But as far as our relationship is concerned, if it really does only get better from here then I'm in for one hell of a great life with this man.
Readers, I'm thrilled to announce that later this year I'm going to become a mommy! Two days after Jeff and I officially moved into our first house, I found out I was pregnant. I'm due in December, and am absolutely over the moon about this. I can't wait to meet our little guy!
Our first year of marriage has been by turns the weirdest, hardest, best, saddest, and most exciting of my life. Never in a million years could I have predicted it would go this way. I don't think we've had one single "normal" month since we got married. And while not all of it was wonderful, the hard parts were made bearable with Jeff to support me. And the parts that were wonderful? Even better because of him. They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, and in some ways I think this definitely rings true for us. But as far as our relationship is concerned, if it really does only get better from here then I'm in for one hell of a great life with this man.
5.14.2011
This.
Source, via A Cup of Jo
I saw this while I was trolling the blogosphere this morning and just had to share.
On another note, I know my posting has been nonexistent lately, but boy do I have a ton to catch up on around here. Expect to see more of me in the coming days and weeks!
3.09.2011
The Reason I Can't Get Anything Done...
...is this guy:
His name is Trigger and he is a big-time attention whore. I have a boatload of s*** to accomplish in the next few weeks with packing, renovating the new house, and doing all the paperwork that comes with a move. But Trigger is thwarting my best efforts. I start packing a box, he climbs into it. I shuffle through paint chips, he tries to eat them. I sit down to type out an email to our agent, he sits on my lap blocking the screen. If I ignore him or push him away, he climbs to the back of the sofa and sits on my head. In short, nothing is getting done.
So what's worse? Being lazy or being a crazy cat lady? I'm honestly not sure, but for now I'm still going to blame Trigger. He sets a bad example.
His name is Trigger and he is a big-time attention whore. I have a boatload of s*** to accomplish in the next few weeks with packing, renovating the new house, and doing all the paperwork that comes with a move. But Trigger is thwarting my best efforts. I start packing a box, he climbs into it. I shuffle through paint chips, he tries to eat them. I sit down to type out an email to our agent, he sits on my lap blocking the screen. If I ignore him or push him away, he climbs to the back of the sofa and sits on my head. In short, nothing is getting done.
So what's worse? Being lazy or being a crazy cat lady? I'm honestly not sure, but for now I'm still going to blame Trigger. He sets a bad example.
3.07.2011
How A Door Almost Ended My Marriage
Or, "The Difficulty with Design"
Big news, everyone: Jeff and I just bought our first house! We close escrow this week, and we're going to spend the rest of the month fixing it up before we move in. The past few weeks have been a blur of signing disclosures, going over contracts, and daydreaming about paint chips and carpet samples.
Well, that's been MY past few weeks, anyway. Jeff's have been spent signing where I tell him to, blindly trusting my decisions regarding contingencies and home warranties and...picking out our flooring, counters, and appliances. On his own. No, worse than on his own: he did it all with his contractor friend/best man Matt.
Now, I should mention that I actually don't mind doing all the paperwork for the move. Yes, it gets stressful, but in all reality I'd be scrutinizing it just as much as I am now whether Jeff looked it over first or not. I'm the paper-pusher in our relationship, and I (sometimes begrudgingly) accept that fact. However...when Jeff came home one night last week and happily announced that he had decided on our carpet, our paint, the texture we'd do the walls, and the design of the interior doors I flipped the hell out. It was not pretty. The conversation went roughly like this:
Me: "I was thinking we could do a dark taupe in the living room, with flecked brown carpet, and we'll remodel the kitchen in a year or so with dark hardwood floors and ecru-buttercup paint". (Please note that this is the first time in my life I've ever used the phrase "ecru-buttercup paint".) "What do you think?"
Jeff: "Oh, about that, Matt and I decided we're going to do white in the kitchen and a really light tan in the living room.
Me: "Okay, well we'll go to Home Depot this weekend and look."
Jeff: "We already picked it all out. We just have to order it."
Steam billowed forth from my ears. I tried to remain calm.
Me: "Jeff, I would really like to help decide how we redo the house."
Jeff: "Well, you didn't care when we picked out the design for the doors."
Record scratch. My eyes began to glow red.
Me: "I'm sorry, who did what now?"
Jeff (all innocence and eagerness): "Yeah, Matt picked out the doors for the interior, they have this cool arched design on them, and they go really great with the carpet we decided to get."
Me: "WhyDon'tYouJustBuyAHouseWithMattAndYouTwoCanMakeAllYourDecisionsTogetherAndLiveHappilyEverAfter! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggghh!!!!!"
Really, really not pretty. From there it dissolved into fits of "This is MY house, NOT Matt's!" and "You're ruining the whole experience for me!"
I know I over-reacted. I am acutely aware of the fact that I have a tendency to overreact when things don't go the way I expect them to. But seriously, even in hindsight, I think I had a right to be irked. While I accept the paperwork and the decisions that come with purchasing a home, the light at the end of the tunnel was being able to decorate it, to make it mine--ok, ours--and finally have a place that's just right for us. And I felt like Matt's tastes were being forced on me. I do understand that, as a contractor, he knows what does and does not work in houses. When he told me hardwood doesn't hold up well in kitchens and that the joist in the ceiling needs to be repaired (huh?) I listened. But when Jeff starts turning over to him all decisions regarding paint color and linoleum-versus-tile, I think that's overstepping the boundaries. At a certain point, the decisions are about preference and not functionality. Right?
That night I made Jeff sleep on the far, far side of the bed. We each faced separate walls and I may have pushed him once or twice when his snoring got loud--how dare he sleep so soundly when I was awake and fuming! But in the light of day, we agreed to stop acting like five-year-olds arguing over a new toy, and make a trip to Home Depot together to check things out.
It started off rocky. He wanted stone tile, I would vinyl wood-look. He wanted beige carpet, I wouldn't budge from tan. There was a moment where I stormed away from the paint chips wall in utter disgust that he couldn't agree to gray paint for the guest room. Every decision seemed like an absolute deal-breaker, and I saw a fissure start to form in our otherwise sound relationship.
Eventually, though, we both began to take little steps. If we couldn't meet in the middle, we would at least take turns winning. He got his beige carpet (with flecks of brown--ha!). I got my vinyl wood-look flooring, about six shades lighter than I preferred. He still nixed the gray, but came to begrudgingly accept cafe latte. Bit by bit, things began to get better. The shining moment that sealed the deal was when he found the perfect shade of muted key lime green for the kitchen, and I miraculously agreed with him. By the time we got home, we had (mostly) agreed on a color palette and flooring design. We drank a glass of wine and tried to avoid pushing for more.
And it kind of hit me: that's what marriage is all about, isn't it? It's not really about drinking coffee on the balcony or cooking dinner together. It's about bringing together two totally separate points of view, two sides that seem impossible to merge and somehow, through compromise and open conversation, actually merging them. I'm certain this is the first of many, many times we will look at each other and think "I don't know who you ARE right now and I can't believe you don't agree with me," and come away with a new understanding of what the other wants and needs, and some sort of mishmash compromise. Come hell or high water, we are going to forge ahead and make a new identity that is not mine or his, but ours.
But we still can't agree on the doors.
Big news, everyone: Jeff and I just bought our first house! We close escrow this week, and we're going to spend the rest of the month fixing it up before we move in. The past few weeks have been a blur of signing disclosures, going over contracts, and daydreaming about paint chips and carpet samples.
Well, that's been MY past few weeks, anyway. Jeff's have been spent signing where I tell him to, blindly trusting my decisions regarding contingencies and home warranties and...picking out our flooring, counters, and appliances. On his own. No, worse than on his own: he did it all with his contractor friend/best man Matt.
Now, I should mention that I actually don't mind doing all the paperwork for the move. Yes, it gets stressful, but in all reality I'd be scrutinizing it just as much as I am now whether Jeff looked it over first or not. I'm the paper-pusher in our relationship, and I (sometimes begrudgingly) accept that fact. However...when Jeff came home one night last week and happily announced that he had decided on our carpet, our paint, the texture we'd do the walls, and the design of the interior doors I flipped the hell out. It was not pretty. The conversation went roughly like this:
Me: "I was thinking we could do a dark taupe in the living room, with flecked brown carpet, and we'll remodel the kitchen in a year or so with dark hardwood floors and ecru-buttercup paint". (Please note that this is the first time in my life I've ever used the phrase "ecru-buttercup paint".) "What do you think?"
Jeff: "Oh, about that, Matt and I decided we're going to do white in the kitchen and a really light tan in the living room.
Me: "Okay, well we'll go to Home Depot this weekend and look."
Jeff: "We already picked it all out. We just have to order it."
Steam billowed forth from my ears. I tried to remain calm.
Me: "Jeff, I would really like to help decide how we redo the house."
Jeff: "Well, you didn't care when we picked out the design for the doors."
Record scratch. My eyes began to glow red.
Me: "I'm sorry, who did what now?"
Jeff (all innocence and eagerness): "Yeah, Matt picked out the doors for the interior, they have this cool arched design on them, and they go really great with the carpet we decided to get."
Me: "WhyDon'tYouJustBuyAHouseWithMattAndYouTwoCanMakeAllYourDecisionsTogetherAndLiveHappilyEverAfter! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggghh!!!!!"
Really, really not pretty. From there it dissolved into fits of "This is MY house, NOT Matt's!" and "You're ruining the whole experience for me!"
I know I over-reacted. I am acutely aware of the fact that I have a tendency to overreact when things don't go the way I expect them to. But seriously, even in hindsight, I think I had a right to be irked. While I accept the paperwork and the decisions that come with purchasing a home, the light at the end of the tunnel was being able to decorate it, to make it mine--ok, ours--and finally have a place that's just right for us. And I felt like Matt's tastes were being forced on me. I do understand that, as a contractor, he knows what does and does not work in houses. When he told me hardwood doesn't hold up well in kitchens and that the joist in the ceiling needs to be repaired (huh?) I listened. But when Jeff starts turning over to him all decisions regarding paint color and linoleum-versus-tile, I think that's overstepping the boundaries. At a certain point, the decisions are about preference and not functionality. Right?
That night I made Jeff sleep on the far, far side of the bed. We each faced separate walls and I may have pushed him once or twice when his snoring got loud--how dare he sleep so soundly when I was awake and fuming! But in the light of day, we agreed to stop acting like five-year-olds arguing over a new toy, and make a trip to Home Depot together to check things out.
It started off rocky. He wanted stone tile, I would vinyl wood-look. He wanted beige carpet, I wouldn't budge from tan. There was a moment where I stormed away from the paint chips wall in utter disgust that he couldn't agree to gray paint for the guest room. Every decision seemed like an absolute deal-breaker, and I saw a fissure start to form in our otherwise sound relationship.
Eventually, though, we both began to take little steps. If we couldn't meet in the middle, we would at least take turns winning. He got his beige carpet (with flecks of brown--ha!). I got my vinyl wood-look flooring, about six shades lighter than I preferred. He still nixed the gray, but came to begrudgingly accept cafe latte. Bit by bit, things began to get better. The shining moment that sealed the deal was when he found the perfect shade of muted key lime green for the kitchen, and I miraculously agreed with him. By the time we got home, we had (mostly) agreed on a color palette and flooring design. We drank a glass of wine and tried to avoid pushing for more.
And it kind of hit me: that's what marriage is all about, isn't it? It's not really about drinking coffee on the balcony or cooking dinner together. It's about bringing together two totally separate points of view, two sides that seem impossible to merge and somehow, through compromise and open conversation, actually merging them. I'm certain this is the first of many, many times we will look at each other and think "I don't know who you ARE right now and I can't believe you don't agree with me," and come away with a new understanding of what the other wants and needs, and some sort of mishmash compromise. Come hell or high water, we are going to forge ahead and make a new identity that is not mine or his, but ours.
But we still can't agree on the doors.
2.01.2011
Babies
Yep, I'm going there. Y'all, I have a serious case of babies on the brain and I'm horrified not afraid to admit it.
Immediately after the wedding--as in, the day we got back from our honeymoon--the dreaded question began surfacing, randomly at first and with increasing frequency ever since. "When are you two having kids?" had replaced the engagement question of "Where's the honeymoon?". We had JUST passed one major milestone in our lives and people (especially our mothers) were already desparate for the next. Even near strangers couldn't restrain themselves from asking this (incredibly personal, by the way) question. And it terrified me. Jeff and I have both always wanted kids, but honestly the ink wasn't even dry on the marriage license yet! We wanted to wait awhile and enjoy married life with just the two of us before rushing into such a life-changing step.
And then everything changed. Let me lay out a little timeline for you that might help explain:
In late November, we had a birth control snafu that caused us both to be absolutely convinced I was pregnant. It turned out to be a false alarm, but the thing that struck us both was that, instead of horrified fear of an unplanned pregnancy, we were...ecstatic. Jeff even went so far as trying to talk to my stomach so the "baby" could hear him. (I know, there are no words for how insane that is. I am aware.) When the tests all came back negative, I honestly felt like a raging lunatic. But also, I felt really really sad. I wanted that baby, and Jeff felt the same. We began serious discussions about having children soon.
In December I went off birth control. Now, something you have to understand about Jeff and me is that we are absolutely paralized by the fear of making decisions. Especially big, irrevocable, life-changing decisions. So we "decided" that I would go off the pill, but that we would try not to get pregnant just the same. Totally logical, right? We passed into early January under this arrangement.
In mid-January, baby fever reached epidemic heights. We wanted babies and we wanted them NOW. So we decided to start seriously trying to get pregnant. We brainstormed baby names and said things like, "This may be the last beer I'll have for nine months!" nearly every night.
And then...we spent a weekend with three couples, all of whom have kids under the age of three. And we loved the kids, had an absolute ball with them. But their parents were another story altogether. With their arms full of toys and diapers and their eyes full of crazy, they warned us--PLEADED with us--to wait to have kids. "It's not worth it!", they said. "Not yet! Wait and enjoy the quiet time!" Their lunatic desparation swayed us. We decided to once again try not to get pregnant.
And now. Now it is early February, and all I can think about is babies. A very large part of me thinks that if I'm so easily swayed and indecisive about this whole thing then I am in no way ready for it. Another, smaller but louder, part of me just incessantly screams "BABIES BABIES BABIES BABIES!" Le sigh.
So, for now, no babies are in residence in our home or in my belly. And who knows how long it will stay that way. Please, tell me I'm not the only crazy one yo-yo'ing on this most important decision.
Immediately after the wedding--as in, the day we got back from our honeymoon--the dreaded question began surfacing, randomly at first and with increasing frequency ever since. "When are you two having kids?" had replaced the engagement question of "Where's the honeymoon?". We had JUST passed one major milestone in our lives and people (especially our mothers) were already desparate for the next. Even near strangers couldn't restrain themselves from asking this (incredibly personal, by the way) question. And it terrified me. Jeff and I have both always wanted kids, but honestly the ink wasn't even dry on the marriage license yet! We wanted to wait awhile and enjoy married life with just the two of us before rushing into such a life-changing step.
And then everything changed. Let me lay out a little timeline for you that might help explain:
In late November, we had a birth control snafu that caused us both to be absolutely convinced I was pregnant. It turned out to be a false alarm, but the thing that struck us both was that, instead of horrified fear of an unplanned pregnancy, we were...ecstatic. Jeff even went so far as trying to talk to my stomach so the "baby" could hear him. (I know, there are no words for how insane that is. I am aware.) When the tests all came back negative, I honestly felt like a raging lunatic. But also, I felt really really sad. I wanted that baby, and Jeff felt the same. We began serious discussions about having children soon.
In December I went off birth control. Now, something you have to understand about Jeff and me is that we are absolutely paralized by the fear of making decisions. Especially big, irrevocable, life-changing decisions. So we "decided" that I would go off the pill, but that we would try not to get pregnant just the same. Totally logical, right? We passed into early January under this arrangement.
In mid-January, baby fever reached epidemic heights. We wanted babies and we wanted them NOW. So we decided to start seriously trying to get pregnant. We brainstormed baby names and said things like, "This may be the last beer I'll have for nine months!" nearly every night.
And then...we spent a weekend with three couples, all of whom have kids under the age of three. And we loved the kids, had an absolute ball with them. But their parents were another story altogether. With their arms full of toys and diapers and their eyes full of crazy, they warned us--PLEADED with us--to wait to have kids. "It's not worth it!", they said. "Not yet! Wait and enjoy the quiet time!" Their lunatic desparation swayed us. We decided to once again try not to get pregnant.
And now. Now it is early February, and all I can think about is babies. A very large part of me thinks that if I'm so easily swayed and indecisive about this whole thing then I am in no way ready for it. Another, smaller but louder, part of me just incessantly screams "BABIES BABIES BABIES BABIES!" Le sigh.
So, for now, no babies are in residence in our home or in my belly. And who knows how long it will stay that way. Please, tell me I'm not the only crazy one yo-yo'ing on this most important decision.
1.07.2011
Honeymoon Part 5: Exploring the City
For the last part of our honeymoon, we flew from the David Airport to the Panama City domestic airport, where we had arranged for a taxi to take us to our hotel. It was a short 15-minute drive back to the B&B where we were greeted by a very friendly bilingual staff and comfortable, though modest, accomodations. Our hotel, La Estancia, was really reasonably priced, so we were surprised by the level of service. They had even held our luggage in their storage room for the three days we were in Boquete so that we wouldn't have to bring it with us on the small prop plane.
This mural in the hotel lobby was cute and cheerful, two words that definitely describe the inn.
Our room was nothing fancy, but it was cozy and we were lucky enough to get our own bathroom. It looked out at trees filled with birds that chirped at us all day.
As soon as we settled in, we decided to take the quick hike up Cerro Ancon, the hill the hotel was situated on. It was a paved walk and not too difficult, but it offered all kinds of bird and bug sightings (sadly no monkeys, which I was hoping to see). At the top of the hill we were treated to amazing panoramic views of the city: old town, downtown, and the canal.
A toucan perched in a tree on the hill. We named him Sam.
At the top of the hill, overlooking the juncture between "Casco Viejo" (the old neighborhood) and the modern downtown Panama City. So many skyscrapers were being built that I can't imagine what it will look like even a year from now!
After about ten minutes at the top of Cerro Ancon, it started to rain. Just a little at first, but we learned our lesson about a little rain in Boquete and began to hightail it down the hill. Halfway down we got caught in a downpour and did our best to stay under trees as we ran back to the hotel. When we got there our clothes were soaked, and the storm was really starting to roll in. We walked into the common area and listened to the rain and thunder out the window.
As we stared through the open sliding doors at the lightning, Jeff spotted a movement in the trees. We moved out to the covered balcony to investigate. I was convinced it was just a squirrel, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw that it was, quite clearly, a sloth. I was so excited and motioned to some of the other guests in the room to come look. One of the desk workers came out to see what all the commotion was about. I excitedly told him "It's a sloth in the tree! Look, he's eating!" to which he replied, "Oh, him again." He laughed at my funny North American interests and headed back inside. I continued to watch as the perizoso (Spanish for sloth) reached one lazy paw out to grab leaves from the trees as he hung draped over the branch. His face was cute, like a little doll, but the rest of him was sort of unremarkable, long and shapeless like those monkey stuffed animals with the velcro hands. It was too dark to get any pictures, but he looked just like this:
Is it wrong if I say they all look alike to me?
Eventually the novelty wore off and we gave up our prime balcony locations to a couple of older women who were dying to see. We had planned to go out to dinner but the rain was INSANE by this point...I have honestly never seen rain this intense in my entire life. We decided it would be better to stay in, and pay someone else to go out in the rain to bring our dinner. The front desk helped us order a pizza and when it arrived we very generously tipped the motorcyclist (!) who brought it, and settled in with it and mini-bottles of wine from the honor bar at $1 each.
With a little travel, a lot of rain, and $1 wine, you too can look this crazy on your honeymoon.
Staying in with pizza may not sound especially exotic or luxurious, but let me tell you: after all the travel, hiking, and exploring we'd been doing, it totally hit the spot. This was one of my favorite nights in Panama, actually, because it was the first night we really felt like us, and not like the National Geographic development team. Oh, and Jeff saw this on our window:
which totally made his night. He has a thing for lizards. (Sorry, he corrected me: this is a gecko, not a lizard. I have no idea how they're different, but apparently it is an important distinction. My apologies to the gecko community.)
The next day we awoke early, to the sound of birds outside our window and a light drizzle of rain. We checked with the front desk and were assured the storm had passed, so we called a cab and ventured out to explore Casco Viejo.
We were following a walking tour of Casco Viejo outline in our travel guide. We asked the cab driver to drop us at our first stop, the Plaza de la Independencia, where we saw this beautiful old church:
and waited out a short rainshower in the historical museum, which was actually really interesting and gave us a lot of insight into the country's history and culture.
Next we hoofed it over to the Plaza Bolivar. This was a small square with a large statue of Simon Bolivar in the middle, and surrounded by old-fashioned-looking buildings:
Behind the whole thing was the Iglesia de San Francisco de Asisi, with this amazing artwork over the double doors:
and meandered the streets until I stopped Jeff at the sight of an ice cream shop sign in a window. Not just any ice cream: this was the French ice cream shop that was touted in our guidebook as the best ice cream in all of Panama. We obviously had to stop in.
And we were not disappointed! That dulce de leche ice cream was the smoothest, thickest, creamiest ice cream I've ever had. I'd give up my pinky finger to have some right now. I may give up my whole hand to have some every day. (Good thing it's a Panama boutique shoppe, and I won't have to live up to either of those bargains).
With a lot of difficult on the unnamed streets, we finally found our last destination: Plaza de Francia. This was an absolutely gorgeous square with an arcade that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, and old brick storefronts built into the curved wall beneath.
We spent some time perusing the art museums and taking in the view. I bought a necklace for $3 from a street vendor who swore it took his mother a month to make. We passed through the bougainvillea-covered archway and made our way back to our starting point, Plaza de la Independencia. Along the way we passed random cafes and galleries, streets too narrow for a car to pass through, and cute little parks:
Finally, exhausted, we hailed a cab and headed straight back to our hotel, where we ordered Chinese food delivery (yes, really. Stop judging.) and enjoyed another peaceful night listening to the rain.
The next day, we hit up the Canal. Jeff was way more excited about this than I was, but I have to admit it was a truly amazing sight. Armed with the knowledge of its construction that we gleaned from the museum in Casco Viejo, I couldn't help but admire the feat of engineering (yes, really), that is still so amazingly active today.
We toured the full Canal museum and had lunch on the rooftop deck buffet restaurant. We were only there a couple of hours, but I really felt like we got the whole Canal experience...or at least, as much as you can without actually passing through in a boat, which we were unable to do.
As we left the museum we were approached by a hoard of taxi drivers offering to give us rides anywhere within the city. It was still early, so Jeff and I struck up a conversation with one of the less aggressive drivers and asked if he'd mind driving us to the artisan's market and ruins 45 minutes away in Panama Viejo (the old old neighborhood). He of course agreed, and gave us a tour of Panama City as he drove, telling us all about the history, different neighborhoods, and everpresent skyscrapers. When he dropped us off at the artisan's market he even offered to wait and drive us back, without charging us for the wait.
We spent about half an hour inside and bought a couple of trinkety tchotchkes to take home. But ultimately the aggressiveness of the sellers and the oppressive heat of the air conditioning-deficient building drove us out and into the park across the street.
Oh sorry, did I say park? I meant amazing culturally significant ruins. This was the site of the first Spanish colonization in Central America, and the capital of Panama until it was burned to the ground by pirates (pirates!) in the nineteenth century. The grounds were gorgeous, and we were even able to walk in and among the ruins.
The next morning we had to leave at 10:00 for our flight home. We got up for an early breakfast and as we sat on the balcony eating our toast and guayabana yogurt, we heard a rustling in the trees. We looked up to see scores of monkeys descending from the roof of the hotel into the branches around us! We watched them jump from branch to branch, eat their breakfast of bananas, and stretch out after their meal. They played together in the trees for almost an hour before quickly and unaminously returning to their home on the other side of the hill.
It was an amazing way to spend our last morning in Panama. We finally felt as though we had seen and done nearly everything we could, and we were ready to go home. As our plane took off from the Panama City International airport, we looked back down at the jungle, the canal, and the towering skyscrapers and breathed a contented, blissful sigh.
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