Part of what we do here is indulge my nostalgia for the Peace Corps days — like going to Pippa’s bar on the beach in Farallon. Pippa’s was there in 1967 — much simpler version — and it’s there now, changes of ownership notwithstanding over the years. You don’t go to Pippa’s for the food, really, or God knows for the service. You go because of the experience, and because it’s important to Tia Pamela. Glass of wine — four bucks, after a long wait for them to find the bottle opener. Cuba libre with Panamanian rum, five bucks. Local beer, four bucks. You get the idea. Menu big on fresh grilled fish and patacones. Ocean a few steps from the tables.
Pippa’s attracts an eclectic clientele, including a couple traveling in a battered van from Argentina to Alaska. They apparently sleep in the van. They put the van on a boat to transit the Darien jungle, and they flew by small plane — to avoid having to take malaria meds I imagine.
The barstools could well be the same ones that were there back in the day. Now, that’s nostalgia.