Panama City is confusing in the way it names itself. As always in a Latin American country when the capital has the same name as the country itself, when referring to “Mexico” or “Guatemala” or “Panama” in that country you are speaking of the capital city.
When we arrived at our apartment before we loaded GANNET2 into the container we took a look around our neighborhood in what is called Casco Viejo which means “Old Town.” I snagged a couple of pictures with my phone whose quality will explain why I prefer using my dedicated Lumix cameras.
Casco Viejo refers to a promontory overlooking the Pacific dedicated to preserving the intricate colonial architecture of old town. It’s a tourist magnet and full of police whose job is to make you feel safe.
You can buy Panama hats if unlike me you enjoy headgear (I find hat bands constricting). Panama hats are made in Ecuador but got their name from their use among workers building the American canal here in Panama. Americans saw hats being worn in Panama therefore Panama hats they were, country of origin notwithstanding.
Casco Viejo is another work in progress in a country weighed down by large projects not making money as intended. One wonders how they will build a tourist economy with inadequate capital investment.
Don’t confuse “Old Town” (Casco Viejo) with Old Panama (city) which is all part of the many similar names used in this city. Panama Viejo is a neighborhood and also refers to the ruins of the five hundred year old Spanish administrative center which may be in ruins now but once was busy with the export of silver to Spain and control of the Pacific Ocean sea for the Spanish monarchy.
There was a road from the silver mines of Peru and Bolivia to the city of Portobello (beautiful harbor in Italian) on the Caribbean coast. It’s still there like an old Roman road where vast fortunes were carried to waiting ships for transport to Havana and from there to Cadiz. Panama has been a trading crossroads forever. Too bad our van repairs ate into our tourism time.
We are paying $44 a night for a one bedroom with air conditioning and decent WiFi (note the number of pictures uploaded!) and a washing machine. There is a Mr Precio supermarket nearby and the fire house is a block away. On Sunday evening we three fly to Colombia with Rusty in the cabin on Copa Airlines.
I’m not sure what to think of this neighborhood that is trying to become gentrified. I can’t help but feel that we are displacing a potential local family that have lived in our apartment but at the same time the building wouldn’t be renovated if we weren’t paying for it. Does renovation matter? We’ve seen in Key West what gentrification has done for locals.
Rusty started clicking around with his loud nails tapping on the tile floor at 5am so I knew my duty and got up and tried to stop ruminating about the meaning of travel.
I know it’s dangerous to go out after dark but before you start having a fit consider this: I wasn’t drunk and looking for trouble, I had a large dog with me, and cops are everywhere.
I met a group of cops standing around on night shift but as bored as they were they exhibited none of the curiousity or good humor or even malicious sense of humor I’ve seen around the world. Panamanians reek of insecurity and unhappiness and it’s a shame. I’ve had other travelers say the same to me and the unhappiness here is making us look forward to Colombia a country everyone seems to love. Below the sign reads “life is what happens while you are making plans.” I enjoy the irony of these aphorisms when people tell me to be scared of Mexico or expect to die in Central America, but my plan is to live life to the fullest, to not waste a minute , to be true to myself on the dangerous road. Clearly if you are still here you know by now it’s not true in any blanket form, this road through Latin America is not inherently dangerous.
No one expects a tourist out here at five am so one shouldn’t expect groups of bandits lying in wait for victims who will never appear. I saw a few early workers walking heads down to jobs that probably don’t thrill them. I got a few Panamanian smiles, those blank eyes and occasional sullen stares from the few that even acknowledged the gringo and dog ambling aimlessly.
It’s funny because the people I have met here who are happy to be here are immigrants. I’ve met Venezuelans grateful for a new start from their messed up communist homeland, Costa Ricans happy to work here in more affordable Panama, and even Nicaraguans eager to escape the oppressive Sandinista political blanket of oppression but of Panamanians not very many cheerful ones have we met.
After a lifetime of struggling to make a life I’m glad I followed my own desires which led me here to this road. But I’m also glad I earned the pension that freed me in Key West. I used to like the sidewalk greetings between strangers, the briefest of acknowledgements that we were there and perhaps glad to be there at that moment in the Keys. We said “hi!” to each other, strangers passing on a sidewalk acknowledging the good fortune that is being alive and in Key West. The more I travel the more grateful I am to have spent my twenty years in the Keys at a time in a place where I could earn a living.
One of the young Frenchmen at the container loading expressed astonishment that we were traveling in retirement. He said he wished his parents would do that. (Note to self I am old enough to be his father). What do they do? I asked. Nothing he said looking sad. I think that comes down to an absence of curiosity because that’s the quality that keeps us young.
Some travelers who are already in Colombia, and loving it, said they invited family to visit in Medellin but they got no takers. Apparently the city enjoys a fearsome reputation still and yet every time we have talked to who has been there loves the place.
We walked for half an hour or so without incident and when we got back to the apartment I engaged the deadbolt and eventually got to sleep some more.
Just four more days in Panama. Excellent.
“Don’t Urinate” but the smell said people were ignoring the request at this fine spot. Gentrification please!
