Mares Eat Oats, Does Eat Oats, and Little Lambs Eat Ivy...

Q: What do goats eat? A: Everything in sight. Rancho Tranquilo is much more than a beauty pageant for waterfalls. However, I don't know exactly what else is there because it's mostly covered in thick brush and tall grass. Even at Latin American labor rates, it's going to cost lots of money to clear one hundred acres. I've been brainstorming lately on how I can raise capital, to begin work on infrastructure. I've also been seeking ways to reduce my expenses. After mulling this over, I may have come up with an option that potentially can alter the entire plan for Rancho Tranquilo. It involves a herd of goats and a family friend, Let's call him Jim (not his real name) who happens to live on an island in a South Pacific archipelago.

It's funny how ideas originate. They seem to develop somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. Triggered by something trivial someone mentions in passing, then mixes with various memories and stored bits of information, until it begins to take form. Like an air bubble rising through water, the idea changes shape and form as it rises to the surface of my consciousness. Once it breaks the surface, I can't seem to shake it until I act upon the idea in some way. Usually, I need to run the idea by someone with the pertinent knowledge, to test its validity. In this case, I turned to my brother Brad's former roommate and friend. Jim has likely had various careers over the years, but his current position as Operations Manager of a certain goat dairy/farm on the slopes of a volcano, makes him the undisputed expert on the topic of goat farming on a mountain in the tropics.

I first met Jim five years ago while visiting my brother Brad on the island. Jim was in competition with two other farmhands for the coveted position of running the entire dairy operation for a couple of entrepreneurs. The objective was to create a dairy farm to produce high quality gourmet goat cheese and forge a unique "Ag-Tourism venue" on the slopes of the Volcano. Jim's laid back style, and strong work ethic naturally made him the winning candidate. Five years later, Jim has become the goat dairy maven of the South Pacific. He knows the business inside and out, from birthing kids to milking females, to making phenomenal cheese. Also packaging, marketing and distributing fresh product around the world are well within his realm of expertise. He's clearly "The Man". Last night, I spoke with Jim on Skype. He gave me a condensed tutorial on the complexities of goat farming. I, in turn, briefed him on all the wonderful things Panama has to offer. We both agreed to explore further the options and opportunities that could be achieved by working together.

Originally, I thought Montana Azul, would be the prime location for a goat farm. However, consulting with Jim, I was informed that goats need pasture space, and lots of it. Mantana Azul, although a massive piece of land, is covered mostly in pine forest. Rancho Tranquilo, with it's vast overgrown pastures, is actually more ideal for this purpose. Plus, it's on the main road, and can more easily become a tourist destination. If we could get a herd of milking goats on this property, and build a dairy facility relatively quickly. We could theoretically start a global distribution of high quality goat cheese from the mountains of Panama. Taking advantage of Panama's position as a shipping hub, I can foresee selling product in North and South American cities, from Quebec to Buenos Aires. From Vancouver to Rio de Janeiro. Rancho TranquiloTM will be a globally recognized brand in gourmet goat cheese. Even Europe and Asia are in reach due to the multitude of ships that pass through the canal each month. Bistro chefs in Tokyo, Singapore, Seoul and Shanghai will request us by name. Culinary schools from Madrid to Stockholm, and as far as Istanbul will share our name with top graduates. It's one of the many twists and turns we encounter on the road of life. You never know from what idea the next inspiration springs from, or where it will lead.

Ok. Admittedly, I'm getting a little carried away. However, If this idea can come to fruition, The immediate benefits are numerous. First, my brother's friend, Jim, will be able to further his career in dairy farming, with his own Ag-tourism venue...in Panama. Secondly, he and I could qualify for an Agriculture Visa, allowing a path to permanent residency. Third, Rancho Tranquilo can slowly be cleared of it's over grown brush. Fourth, the goat herd will be fat from all that good eat'n. Finally, Rancho Tranquilo will eventually be able to generate the needed cash flow to finance further development on the remaining land. Oh wait, I'll first need to raise capital to build the goat farm....Sigh...it's a vicious catch 22.

Wandering Historic Casco Viejo

If you're like me, and have a photography fetish for very old dilapidated architecture, you'll simply be in heaven when wandering the streets of Panama's old town. No visit to Panama City is complete without a trip to the historic district known as Casco Viejo. This area of the city is jam packed with history. You can feel it oozing from the numerous four century old buildings and cobblestone streets. Long neglected, the area became a notorious slum for what seems a century. Once UNESCO inscribed this area as a World Heritage Site, someone had the bright idea of creating a massive restoration project. As a result, Casco Viejo is currently caught in a funky time warp. The distant past, the recent past, the present, and the future of Panama co-exist in this remarkable location. The restoration projects are plentiful, and provide a glimpse of the future of the area. Swank restaurants,
boutique hotels, gift shops and art galleries pepper the cityscape, lending an upscale urban chic vibe among a vast poor local residential area, that for generations have called this barrio home. Walking down any one of what seems an infinite number of narrow streets, I'm treated to a voyeur's delight. The huge arched front doorways are left open, as local residence go about their daily lives, oblivious to (or just ignoring?) the many camera toting tourist.


The french and Spanish colonial style is characteristic of the area, and photo ops are abundant. I am particularly fond of the massive abandoned architecture completely gutted out at least a century ago. Ferns and vines climb walls and fill staircases. Whole rooms, once grand parlors or cathedrals, now reclaimed by vegetation. The flora now call these buildings home. This can only be viewed from the street, through an elaborate cast iron gate. It's actually the coolest urban landscaping motif I've ever seen. It seemingly exists as an unplanned byproduct of decades, if not centuries, of neglect. One of the many dichotomies I contemplate asIwander these streets.






As long as the investment money continues to flow, and the restoration projects continue onward, Casco Viejo is shaping up to be one of the hippest urban neighborhoods on the planet. It took only a few hours hoofing around these cobble-stones alleyways for me to fall in love with this section of Panama City. Prices here have skyrocketed in recent years, due to heavy speculation. It appears there are more buyers willing to hold or flip property, rather that get their hands dirty and make something out of that three century old ruin. Kudos to the visionaries who scale the scafolding to restore 30 ft. arched door ways, recreate 17th century tile work and install modern plumbing. Future travelers will owe a debt of gratitude to these folks for creating a world class destination.

On the other hand, the poor being displaced from the massive gentrification are likely far less grateful. One can only hope, the investment taking place here opens enough opportunities for the people of these barrios to thrive allong with the sawnky clubs, fine dining, and art galleries. It's the energy of the local culture that contribute greatly to the charm of Casco Viejo. Remove too much of it, and the place runs the risk of becoming a contrived tourist trap. It's a fine balance that I hope can be achieved.

Personal Survey of Rancho Tranquilo

I´m grateful to have had the foresight to bring along some rubber boots. They are essential for hiking during the rainy season. I have a laminated map of Ranch Tranquilo which I will use to navigate this rugged piece of land. This is my first real chance to walk the property, since my last attempt ended with me losing my footing on a rock and falling into the river. This time my new camera is in a plastic bag. I brought drinking water, a machete, the aforementioned camera and map. (note to self: next time bring toilet paper)

The previous owner of this land is a big cattle rancher and I agreed to allow him to keep his cattle on the land. The cattle help keep the grass low and they tend to make nice trails through the brush. There must be fifty head of cattle out here and every one of them is staring curiously at me as I pass by. There's a bull trying to get aggressive with me, but I stop, brandish my machete and growl loudly (something about wanting steak for dinner tonight.)

I picked up a cattle path leading toward the back of the property. I forgot how steep these hills are. A short hike is a major gain in elevation. Soon, I have a view of the entire area. It´s truly spectacular yet I have barely climbed. The back of the property is essentially the north slope of a mountain which can be seen prominently from the road for kilometers. I do not know if this mountain has a name, but it should, based on its prominence in the landscape. The peak is somewhat cone shaped and covered in pine. Rancho Tranquilo´s property line ends where the pine forest begins.

I won´t be hiking that high today. It´s a serious haul. I was up there with Jose on my last trip. He tried to convince me that there were human remains in a cave behind a waterfall. When we arrived, I was impressed to find a beautiful waterfall that cascades down a staircase of boulders. There was, indeed a cave behind the waterfall, but as far as I could tell, the bones were not human. Probably some type of deer. The views from up here are simply stunning and the pine forest gives off a scent that is nearly intoxicating. Perhaps it´s the lack of oxygen in my brain. The hike up there is a rigorous challenge. On this day I´ve decided to locate my boundary to the East which is a creek that flows into El Nance. I was under the impression that the fence that marks the property line was on my side of the creek. This means the creek belongs to my neighbor. Following the creek for a while, I find that the fence jumps sides. From this point onward, the creek is on my side. I´m ecstatic, because of what I find along this creek. A huge rock formation that seems to form a natural dam, thus creating an idyllic swimming hole. It´s an awesome find and nearby the topography levels out making it a prime building location. I envision a a spa/yoga retreat out here with this setting on the grounds. The sounds of the babbling brook fills my head.

It will be dark in about an hour, so I decide to cut my way, in a bee line, toward El Nance to photograph the falls and follow the river back to the road. The brush is unbelievably thick. The grass is tall and I´m getting nervous with no more than a few feet visibility. I know the river is straight ahead, so I press forward swinging my machete at everything in my path. I finally reach the river bank, but it´s a steep rocky climb down to the water. I support myself with trees and vines as I slowly descend. Once at the river, I´m again stunned by the beauty. The river has carved its path through the rock, which form the banks. Massive boulders break up the flow of the clear water, like islands. At places, the rock also form natural dams. Tranquil pools are created and spaced periodically between the rapids. Lush tropical flora frame the river on both sides. I imagine my young children as teenagers making this their playground on some future summer vacation. I took many photos, which will appear on my website when I return home.

After jumping stepping stones and wading through the shallow rapids, I arrive down stream at the bridge. This is the main road. I Climb out and walk back to Carlos´house. I´m soaked with both sweat and river water. My rubber boots are sloshing with each step. With my trusty machete in hand, I´m feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.

(note: a future post will include more pics of the river, and waterfalls)

Redemption is a Beautiful Thing

I was in the car on the road to Santiago. I needed to replace my bike´s handlebars, and the major retailer who would have such an item was soon closing. My bike and I were passengers with Steve. Once we picked up the handle bars, we were to meet Carlos, Fred and the boys for dinner. After dinner, they were all going back to Santa Fe, while I got a room at a hotel close to the road. I planned to bike the entire road from Santiago to Santa Fe. Specifically, Carlos´house, which sits about fifteen km, south of Santa Fe. We agreed to plan for my arrival around noon.

That whole mineshaft situation really delivered a blow to my ego, due to all the jokes I had to endure. Further, the jokes were in Spanish, and I haven´t the faintest idea what they were about. I had lost face....my ship was not sunk, but I was now taking on water. My ego was just as bruised as my body.
I had already planned this ride months earlier. With my bike intact, I could finally get on the bike I had lugged along. Just in time to replace the story of the day with one that put me in a much better light. Besides, I had been training for this at the Y for months. It was a foregone conclusion that I was going to make this ride, but the timing of events, were such that it upped the stakes.

I awoke around 8:30 and was on the road by 9:30. I took the right turn off the Pan American highway to the road to Santa Fe. It´s Sunday morning in Santiago. The road here in the lowlands is relatively flat with a gradual steady incline. Great road for pacing myself and working up the stamina I had trained for in Spin class at the YMCA. Soon the road would climb into the foothills and up the mountain itself. This was to be the glorious Sunday morning bike ride of all time. At the end of this ride, a glorious reward,saving face.

The road from Santiago to Santa Fe is essentially 57 Kilometers of rolling hills and pastoral ranch land peppered with pueblitos. It´s a challenging ride for the avid cyclist. A variety of hills and dips, curves and scenery gradually gaining elevation. The incline steeply increases, as you approach Santa Fe, creating a real challenge toward the end of the ride. The towns along the way are spread out in near perfect distance for rest stops. My stops at local roadside stores, usually brings with it odd stares of curious locals. They are not used to seeing gringos around here. And a gringo riding a bike all the way to Santa Fe, induces exasperated sighs, along with marvel at my bravery. I enjoy chatting with the locals, but at every stop, I am asked if all the scrapes and cuts on my arms and legs were from the bike ride. I told them I was hiking del monte with a machete and forgot to wear long sleeves and long pants.

None of my friends are expecting me to complete this ride. Carlos said He would come looking for me if I don´t show up by noon. By noon, I´ve hit the steep incline of the mountain, with several Kilometers to go. Panama is 9 degrees north of the equator, so the mid-day sun is directly overhead. Comforting shade is a rarity now, and I´ve greedily sucked down all my agua. I´m suffering now... and struggle to peddle my bike up the long steep hill ahead. Carlos gave me his cell number to call if I needed help, but I don't have a cell with me, and there is no phone until the next town.

One great thing about rural Panama is the bus service. Plentiful and efficient, the locals rely on the bus system to travel across country in a few hours. A bus was coming my way, so I waved it down. There was just enough room in the bus for one person and one bike. I was a sweet ride, but came to an end two stops later, where several people wanted to board. I was obligated to disboard the bus. The bus ride was short and sweet, and shaved close to three kilometers of killer incline that I would have been difficult to tackle in this sun.


The hot sun problem changed into a wet road problem soon after arriving at a plateau from what was left of the big climb. The rain clouds that gather every afternoon are ahead of schedule. It´s a shower not a downpour, and I´m kinda digging it. My body´s cooling off, and I´m getting my second wind. I just need to watch my speed on the wet road. Nothing I couldn´t handled countless times before. I knew I was getting close and watched for el Rio Nance, a.k.a. home.


I arrived at Carlos´house about one o´clock. Just as a houseload of visitors were sitting down for lunch of homemade chicken soup, local style, and rice. The timing is impecable. I came strolling in as nanchilant as possible, but still sweating and breathing heavily, and ask the group at the table if I am late for lunch. Everyone was impressed, to the point where it has now become an act of bravado, a measure of strength, and soon to become a bonefied right of passage for the young men of Santa Fe. It was great. Most importantly, nobody was talking about mine shafts anymore. As Sunday morning bikerides go, this one was epic. dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

Weird Scenes Inside the Goldmine

If you listen to"The Doors", I don´t need to explain the title. It´s a line in the classic song "The End". For those who never delved into this legendary band´s music. The only connection here is a gold mine and the end....please let me explain.

I mentioned in my last post that I was going out to explore properties with a lunatic, Jose. Let me set the scene. Aside from Rancho Tranquilo, I am 50% owner and business partner in a massive piece of land known as Mantaña Azul which is located smack dab in the middle of one of the largest gold deposits in the world, known as the Veraguas Gold Belt by geologists. Before my partners (Panama Dream Finders) purchased this property, a gold mining company was actively exploring the property for it´s gold content. This includes a mine shaft cut directly into the side of the mountain, and drops about 30 meters straight down. Basically, a great big hole in the rock. Jose took me to see this mine, but because of the language barrier, I thought he was taking me to a cave. A cave that he had already explored, and knew his way around. We had packed gear for this, including ropes, flashlights that strap to your forehead and a metal detector.

When we arrived at the "cave" it became clear that 1. this was not a cave, but an abandoned mine shaft

2. It did not bore into the mountain horizontally, but vertically...straight down about 30 meters. 3. Jose had not previously explored this hole in the ground, and had a burning curiosity to do so. To prevent any second thoughts from taking hold, Jose threw his machete into the hole. I´m guessing this act had a dual purpose. 1. to gauge the depth and 2. to insure that he could not be talked out of going into the hole. I capitulated, and before knew it Jose climbed down and was encouraging me to do the same. Now, the irony is rich here, because two posts ago, I sanctimoniously declared "You gotta listen to your gut". It can take you to some interesting places, I wrote. However, I failed to mention, that it can also get you into some really F´ed up situations if you don´t use proper judgement. Hungry for adventure, I cast aside my reservations repelled down into the mineshaft with Jose.

Within seconds of reaching the floor, I knew I had made a big mistake. The hole just narrowed down into a crawl space that believe it or not, Jose wanted to crawl into. I was more concerned with how high the surface was, and how tired my arm and legs were from all the hiking. At that moment we heard a fluttering of air come from deep inside the hole. I thought it might be an air current, indicating another opening somewhere. Jose said it was an animal, and at that point we both got spooked, and decided to split. Jose, being 150 lbs, and used to this kind of shit, scampered up the rope to the surface in no time flat. When I tried to pull myself up, I noticed the fatigue in my arms and legs. I attempted to get some footing , but my boots were covered in mud and wet. They must have added ten pounds to my body weight. Because I´m chalupa eating "MF"er, I already have a lot of body weight to pull up. Several tries later, I became deeply concerned. I had somehow become stuck in a mineshaft in a remote wooded area, with only one other human being aware of my plight. Then it began to rain....hard. Water was pouring in from the surface and down the walls making them covered in slippery mud. I was beginning to feel like the woman in Mel Gibson´s Apocalypto. As the rain increased intensity, I knew we had better figure something out fast, or I´d be spending some quality time with myself, down here while Jose drove back to get help. That scenario would take several hours and it would be dark, wet and very, very uncomfortable.

Jose, from the surface, signalled for me to wait. He had an idea, and disappeared from my view. I could only hear him hacking wildly with his machete. I would yell for him to hurry up, and he just kept hacking away for what felt like an eternity. I just kept myself calm with a Buddhist prayer. Eventually, Jose re-emerged with a tree about 5 inch in diameter and lowered it down with the rope. I was impressed that he had hacked away deep notches in the wood, about every two feet, for footing. That guy may be loco but he´s also ingenious. I positioned the post at a secure angle, and climbed up the notches. The first attempt got me close to the top, but there were not enough notches to get me where I felt comfortable grabbing Jose´s wet hands. A slip from this height would cause severe injury. I was too close to salvation, to take that chance. I climbed back down to the bottom and told Jose to carve two more notches at the top. He pulled the tree up and hacked away while I chanted a Buddhist prayer and tried to keep my wits.

I remembered the leather belt I had put on earlier even though I didn't really need a belt . (if you know what I mean) "You can always use a leather belt " I remembered thinking to myself as I took the time to run it through the loops. Now, this belt may be the difference between life and death. I pulled the belt through the loops and wrapped it like a lasso around my right wrist. Having the tragic vision of the buckle breaking just as I was being pulled up to safety, flashed through my brain. I wrapped my wrist twice with the belt. In my gut, I knew this would be my last good chance to get out safely. Another fall back into the hole could cause injury, and I would be stuck. I again chanted Nam Myo ho Rengea Kyo as I shored up this log. My bare feet found footing on Jose´s makeshift ladder. With each rung, I got a closer to the top. The two new notches made all the difference, as I was just high enough to slap my belt toward Jose. He missed my first attempt because he was unaware of the belt. Once he understood, he grabbed the belt and pulled with all his might, allowing me the support I needed to make a lunge for the closest tree trunk, which happened to be the tree the rope was tied to. I got it, and slid my wet, tired and muddy body to the surface. I laid there in the mud for a few minutes as the rain pounded my exhausted, but deeply relieved body. It was a harrowing experience I won't forget. Thankfully, I was with someone who could think on his feet in a crisis.

Indigenous peoples believe that mountains are living entities, with a consciousness, and a spirit. Often, permission is asked of the mountain before entering for hunting etc. A mountain´s wrath is unforgiving, as has been demonstrated by countless deaths of hikers and climbers caught unprepared for the mountain´s mood swings. I have been humbled, and feel a new respect for this mountain known as Mantaña Azul. I guess you could call it a reverence for this mountain, because this mountain could easily have been unforgiving and taken my life. After all, I had recently, in all my human naive arrogance, become part owner of this mountain. In a higher reality, this mountain politely reminded me that it is the other way around. When entering into a mountain´s sphere of power, that mountain owns me. A lesson I will never forget.

Mantaña Azul could have swallowed me whole, but instead spared my life. Although I am half owner of this piece of land, I am now indebted to, and have a personal relationship with the spirit dwelling in Blue Mountain. As long as I am affiliated with this mountain, I will have to remain true to its spirit. Since pre-Columbian times, humans have walked the same trails I walked on this day. Later, the Spanards combed through here, looting its minerals. Even today, a gold mining company covets this mountain's wealth. As holder of the title on this land, I, along with my partners, ultimately decide it's fate. Perhaps, the spirits that dwell here were trying to tell me something. I'm not sure. I do know, I am not taking anything lightly.

The Tao of Este'ban

When I'm discussing my Panama ranch with friends, family and acquaintances, the two questions I'm often asked are; “Do you speak Spanish?” and "How did you get to be known as Esteban?" I’ll tackle the language question first. The short answer is, “not very well, but I try…and that goes along way”.

The long answer goes something like this; When a foreigner, like myself, shows that he is making an honest effort to communicate in the local language, and is failing miserably, people tend to admire that. It’s as if they’re willing to give you a break because you're willing to allow yourself to be seen in such a pathetic and vulnerable position. While the person you’re communicating with is reveling in their sense of superiority, it's then that I brandish my secret weapon…charm. Charm is the universal language, it is understood among almost all cultures.

I’ve used charm as a secret weapon all over the world, and it’s saved me from some rather sticky situations, and also enhanced some other experiences. For example; I once disarmed an angry Chinese gangster in a casino in Macau. A situation, based on a misunderstanding, which could have easily ended badly...for him. In India, I was not merely invited to wedding by complete strangers, but bestowed the seat of highest honor at the celebration by the bride’s father, who publicly expressed it was I to whom he wished his daughter would be married. To my dismay, the entire wedding party agreed....including the groom. In Tijuana, I avoided getting beaten senseless in a darkened alley and thrown in a feces encrusted jail cell by corrupt police officers…all because of a well placed twenty dollar bill. Granted in two of the three examples, the other person spoke fluent English, the point still remains; You can go a long way just by being a likable person, and communicating in the universal language of charm.

When I'm in Latin America, I take on a different persona, I introduce myself as Esteban. It seems to work, because it allows me to step into character with the language and the culture. It also helps to minimize the distinction as a gringo or foreigner. It's like the Chinese. Ever met a Chinese person who goes by their traditional Chinese name? No, they all have the the most common of American names, Frank, Lynn, Bob, Jenny. They do this to fit in, and the Chinese are brilliant strategists. It's all part of the cross-cultural immigration game taking place these days. I've torn a page from the Chinese playbook.

Anyway, I've found in Latin America, there's something inherently charming about the name Esteban. It's spell is cast across all age groups, both sexes and the entire socio-economic spectrum. I haven't figured out exactly what it is about this name, but I don't need to know how this computer works, to get the benefits from it...do I? I just know it works like a charm.