"Señor Josh, Señor Josh!" My landlord's shouts woke me up. I squinted. It was morning. The sun was shining and reflected from the water. I was sitting on the terrace, half a bottle of bourbon beside me. "Señor Josh, have you slept outside again?" Maria Luisa Mendez, a vigorous 70-year-old Panamanian, looked at me reproachfully. Since I rented the apartment on the upper floor of her house, she has been treating me like a son. "You know how much I enjoy the view of the sea here, Señora," I offered. Not really impressed she looked at the bottle of bourbon: "When was that, after midnight? Not really much to see, is there?" I tried to look as remorseful as possible. "Yeah, got a bit late last night. Say, have you heard of the drowned Australian?" I asked her, trying to change the subject. "Yes, terrible, just terrible. Already the second one this week. The sea is furious," she said, looking deeply worried.