I sit in my hotel room in Panama City. Music channel on the TV, typing on my new netbook, tanktop and jeans on, long frizzy hair hanging over my shoulder. Empty cup of batida de chocoalmendra (chocolate almond milkshake) on the counter next to me. Georgie and Nga, my fellow medevacs, are in rooms on either side of me, we knock on each others doors and discuss our medical developments and issues, check to see who wants to go up to the pool on the roof and what we'll have for dinner.
Nga JUST got word that her test results came in and were sent to the doctor and PC office. Georgie has finally gotten cleared to go back to site; she'll leave tonight. We're happy for her.
Today, after the lab appointments at the hospital, and a walk across the street to a small local outdoor cafe that sells a platefull of local food for $2.50, we went to a bookstore that had books in both Spanish and English. We bought some young adult books in Spanish for the practice and entertainment. It reminded me of going to Borders or B&N or Half Price Books with Brittany back in KC. Books and Spanish, two mutual passions of ours.
The cleaning ladies putter around our hotel floor and we tell them if we want our room cleaned today or not. Today, the dog that a guest has in the room across the hall from me surprised the ladies. We all chat with them about it in Spanish.
Oh good gosh, this scene is getting a little too enduring...
Three Peace Corps Volunteers, from Guyana, Peru, Nicaragua, all accustomed to the outdoors, to taking care of ourselves with the minimum and knowing how to work work with our local community vibes, we all sit in a hotel room in Panama City for days/weeks on end and wait for any new developments on our health status, and when, just when, we can return to our homes, our jobs.
Sit. Hotel room. Wait. Not words that bode well with PCVs, I'll tell you. Welp, who's up for another batida de chocoalmendra?
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