Friends: Before I arrived on the isthmus I only knew two Panamanians: Manuel Noriega and Rod Carew. After this first leg though—this first stint in Panama—I now know a few more. My new friends aren't great dictators and they don't have above-average slugging percentages but most of them are like me: having always been allergic to so-called normal jobs and not lasting long behind desks or under management. Tired of following orders. Us delinquents tend to think more clearly down here. Our minds aren't crammed as they used to be. They're not being bombarded by buzzing TV sets or the stress of handing in term papers. My mind is now like a new apartment—spacious and ready and with a really ugly buttermilk beige wallpaper.

Work: We're all living this sort of fantasy life. Don't get me wrong—it's not always cupcakes and birthday parties—we do work all the time. But there's something pretty about life down here. Something unique. I mean, when at home could I take a day off work and drive to the Caribbean for an afternoon snorkel or hop in a taxi for world class fishing in the Pacific? When could I have the culinary world at my fingertips for under $10 a meal or live with century old Indians, becoming part of their culture? The people who live in Panama know it too—they know what a gold mine they're sitting on. In small coastal towns, people ride their rusty bikes down dirt streets, eat fruit off trees, and go about their business with this underlying happiness and secrecy.

Culture: In my first entry about Panama, I tried to explain what a weird sensation it was—with all the contrasts of old and new, of tradition and innovation. Those contrasts have become clearer and more defined. These eccentricities are what have become so seductive about this country for me—the variety, the randomness. For the most part, the Panamanian people have been good to me. I find them to be a little more honest and a little more sincere than Ticos.

Leaving: Supposedly you're only supposed to spend 90 days in Panama on a tourist visa, at which point you are supposed to leave the country for like 24 hours. From what I've heard, that rule is enforced about as much as the “shower before entering the swimming pool” farce. We'll see though. I always keep a $20 and a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit in my wallet “just in case.” In my short, but soon-to-be-continued time here, I've sort of fallen in love with this place. Not like the real kind of love that you get when you're married to someone for 40 years—no—more like a grade school crush. More like the kind of love that will spur me to pull the old “do you like me? 1-yes 2-no” and I certainly have a feeling that I'll miss it while I'm away. What's that thing they say, “all good times end soon?”

Wise words: Steve Jobs said—in a graduation speech at some good school like Harvard or Stanford—that every day he looks himself in the mirror and asks himself “if today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” Whenever the answer is “no” for too many days in a row, he knows he needs to change something. This guy supposedly invented ‘Jobs' so he's got to be pretty smart—and I like what he says. Signing off for this first Panama Progress Report, I can truthfully say that I've been loving life—now I just gotta figure out where I put my passport.

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