Panama Memories

Layne and I spent the summer of 1999 sailing the west coast of Central America. We had a 34 foot Gemini 105 catamaran and traveled with with two large dogs as we spent two years traveling from San Francisco to Key West because I had the dream and Layne had the grounding to get the details sorted out. 

We rented out our home in Santa Cruz, Layne took a leave of absence from her law firm and I quit my job driving a truck and off we went. We arrived at the Panama Canal in August 1999 after a year harbor hopping Mexico and Central America. 

The hand over of the Panama Canal was scheduled for noon on December 30th 1999 and we wanted to transit well before that date as no one quite knew what the new Panamanian administration would be doing with small pleasure craft, vessels that cost more to transit than we paid. Panama was counting down the seconds until the US flag came down in front of the Canal Administration building and a big party was planned across the country. 

A way of life was ending and the signs of withdrawal were everywhere. The United States created Panama in 1903 with the complicity of some wealthy families in the renegade province that belonged to Colombia. The idea was to annex a slice of land to build the canal as a reward for making the Colombian province its own country.

Except it wasn’t really. The new country was cut in half by the canal a zone exclusively American where cabal employees live outside and apart from Panama, a zone where locals were not allowed. Panamanians could cross the canal at two points and at limited openings a constant reminder there country wasn’t all theirs.  

The treaty of 1977 restored sovereignty but it wasn’t until 1999 that the United States finally withdrew. We moored our boat at the Balboa Yacht club and started the process of preparing to transit the canal.

To drive through the old Canal Zone last week was a reminder of that past even as we were stuck in traffic trying to leave the city on the Bridge of the Americas over the canal. 

The administration building is still there, the US flag is gone as is the monument to George Washington Goethals who supervised construction of the “Eighth Wonder of the World” and became the first Governor of the Canal Zone. Below is the shell of the shopping mall under Ancon Hill where to our astonishment there was a Blockbuster Video Store with all the latest hit movies and which accepted our California membership cards. I don’t recall what hits were showing in 1999.  

In 1999 the boundaries of the canal zone were still visible with duplicate streets on either side of the sagging fence that had marked the border of the state within a state. The border had gone by then but the scars of separation were still visible. 

The peculiar style of Zone architecture stands out and we inched slowly through these places where we had walked nearly 25 years ago. 

It took about an hour to inch up into the Bridge of the Americas so we had plenty of time to reminisce about our 40 year old selves as we recalled our office visits to get our boat measured, to hire line handlers and recycling lines to secure our boat in the huge locks.

It was a jolt after a year of total freedom to come and go as we pleased to find ourselves at a bureaucratic roadblock and to be obliged to ask for passage cap in hand on someone else’s schedule. The American bureaucrats still oversaw the process which was efficient impersonal and not terribly interested in our needs. Panama immediately hiked the transit fee to a flat $500 in 2000 and made it clear small boats no longer shared equal billing with big ships. 

I wouldn’t have minded an ice cold Coke at this stage of the traffic jam but dared not lose our place in line. I did notice the name of the store with its bod to the past. 

Nowadays small boats are no longer measured for transit but we had to submit to an arcane measuring system that calculated the capacity of the vessel to transport cargo. It’s an obscure measurement particular to the canal and our Admeasurer was a pleasant man whose name I forget but who is probably recorded in the photo album where I store these pre-digital images. 

His plan was to take his pension from the outgoing American Administration as offered to all employees and stay on in the job when the Panamanians took over and carry on as before. He was quite content and no wonder! 

No dinghies were allowed to land and we had to honk our horn to attract the attention of the free launch service offered by the Balboa Yacht club. The club house had burned down but this was the only place you could stop in the Canal to prepare for transit so the club services continued uninterrupted! Many boaters complained of slow service but we made sure to tip a dollar every time they came out to us and we never kept waiting when we needed to go ashore. 

We paid our transit in full, the sun I cannot recall but it was inconsequential, a couple of hundred dollars maybe and we advised we would be staying at Pedro Miguel Boat Club and pausing our transit after we got through the Miraflores Locks. On the appointed day our Advisor arrived. 

He was a young Panamanian pilot in training and he advised us what to do in the transit. It was nerve wracking of course and somewhat awe inspiring but we got it done. 

Emma napped on one of the long lines we had to rest in case we needed to tie up directly to the walls of the chambers of the Miraflores Locks. You had to have four line handlers and four 125 foot lines for the transit. We had a mixture of friends and hired professional line handlers onboard. 

Debs was Layne’s dog and he was the alert member of the family while Emma slept. 

We had to hurry up and wait our turn to get into the locks: 

We left San Diego in October 1998 as part of the Baja rally to Cabo San Lucas and we got this aerial photograph of our boat  as a result. 

And a year later we were tied up in the middle of the canal for a few weeks while Layne flew back to California her leave of absence transformed into quitting with no plans to return. 

Pedro Miguel Boat Club was a recreation center for canal employees and open to small boats in transit. The Panamanians wanted  nothing to do with it and forced it to close. They opened a new marina near Portobello but we did get to enjoy the club in its waning days, a unique experience. 

It was a weird island of what we had left behind when we took off across Central America, an oasis of the familiar in an alien landscape, sailing talk, traveler talk among people who understood each other. 

I sent out emails from Internet cafes along the way but at Pedro Miguel they had an Internet connection all their own. Pretty modern in 1999.

Emma and Debs had the run of the place except the clubhouse and it was a break for them also to be in a compound without other dogs where they could roam at will. We had rescued Debs in Santa Cruz from a neighbor who kept him chained up so he lived being free to chase monkeys and explore the club grounds. He and steady quiet Emma were inseparable 

I for t six weeks in the club in the rain and heat of the typical Panama climate. 

We line handled for friends and I ended up transiting the canal at least three times as I recall. 

It was an experience watching ships lock up and down all day and all night from the comfort of your own home. And it’s all gone now. 

Anton Valley

Panama is a strange country and I say that having sailed here in 1999 with some inland travel by rented car. This week we have done some more driving, a lot of driving actually and set aside some time for touring.  And yes it is still an odd country. Outdoor urinal anyone?

Rusty hurried on by but Layne was using the indoor one, it was dark, it was in back of the gas station and I had to go. But damn, that is a little too French for my taste.

Most of Panamá is very American, not least because they use US currency and call a buck a “Balboa” which they only mint as coins. The ones with the gold colored centers are one Balboa while the big one at the top is a 50 cent coin. They also use American coins mixed in but paper currency is only the familiar greenbacks which they call dollars or balboas interchangeably. 

The coin machines for laundries as we shall see later are identical to what you see in the US, and they love what we think of as old fashioned malls. Panamanians are relatively prosperous with few motorcycles and bicycles on roads routinely jammed by cars. Traffic is horrendous and every city intersection requires jockeying and shoving to get into the flow of traffic. Road infrastructure is desperately overwhelmed in every city, where left turn lanes are too short, stop signs are at back to make them invisible and traffic lights are so rare and yet so necessary. Traffic circles? In a culture devoted to texting while driving roundabouts would be death traps. You also have to get used to traffic pulling out in front of you and instead of speeding up they slow down as they handle their messages. Oh and sound your horn frequently. You are now a fully qualified Panamanian driver as long as you don’t use turn signals and maneuver at random.  

Panamanians are reserved like Costa Ricans and are largely indifferent to our presence whereas Costa Rica does have a tourist infrastructure. I really do miss the friendliness and culture of Mexico and have to force myself not to compare every country to my favorite. Just because they speak Spanish doesn’t mean they are Mexicans! Like in the States they don’t make eye contact here with anyone, they don’t exchange pleasantries with strangers and have no curiosity about foreigners in their midst. This has the advantage for an introvert like myself of not needing to talk to anyone except Rusty on our walks but it makes it difficult to extract information when you are stuck and don’t know how to behave in public. 

The assumption is we only speak English as most Americans in Panama can’t be bothered to learn Spanish so even if we speak Spanish they don’t hear us. It’s weird and alienating because in Mexico if I make an ass of myself in public I get to laugh it off lightheartedly. Here I get filthy looks if I accidentally break protocol or jump a line or commit some other tourist act of stupidity. In my defense asking for help most often gets a grunt in reply. Unlike Costa Rica Panamanians are not interested in tourism. I don’t blame them but it’s just the way it is. 

The good news is services in Panama work well. There are no import duties so things can be shipped easily to this country and stores have everything you might want if you know where to find it. And generally the quality is good. Tap water is potable in cities and electricity is reliable and of course banks are very efficient as the country is a money laundering hub. So for us buying parts to fix our van has been relatively easy for a model not imported to this country. Next week we shall see if they fit and if they fix our front wheel braking wobble! 

I took my Promaster part numbers to Servicios Carlos in Panama City where they sell parts for Fiats, Peugeot and Renault, brands that sell Promaster type vans.

And Gianni below with his Dad the owner matched the Mopar (Ram/Dodge/Chrysler) number to his stock as best he could. They were incredibly helpful. And friendly! Break the stereotype!! 

So that has been our life and the underlying stress this week. To make sure we don’t make things worse GANNET2 has been parked at the campground which has all facilities and is very convenient but our friends have left and for people like us who like to move there has been a bit of a cloud hanging over the expedition while our mechanic is on vacation with his family in Colombia. Layne met the campground manager Kati and her pet Japanese chickens to break the routines… Luckily Rusty the former Key West dog knows not to chase them. Canelo (“cinnamon”), Kati’s dog has had to learn the same lesson: 

In the spirit of getting out of the house we took an overnight trip to El Valle (“The Valley”) which is a town located in an extinct volcanic crater a couple of hours outside Panama City.

The decision was to rent a car while GANNET2 is stationary but the Toyota Yaris does lack amenity as it comes without a bed kitchen or toilet.

So we rented a $40 room in El Valle at the dog friendly Casita de Don Daniel, a five hour drive from our campground. 

It was very pleasant except the owner has a very energetic and bored six month old dog who was desperate for attention from Rusty. 

…who wasn’t interested. In order to avoid being around Music, Rusty the elder grump dog smartly chose to stick to our room which was not what suited us, to see him miserable. We had breakfast, skipped all plans to hang out in the garden to rest a bit, and got back on the road. 

The town of El Valle seems to rely on tourism and we did see a bunch of foreigners including French and American visitors at the market.

We wandered around for a bit somewhat stymied as our home refrigerator was five hours away…

Unique in Panama so far El Valle has lots of street dogs. Rusty did not like that.

He had to be on the lookout here…

… for dogs wandering…

…monoglot American residents…

…and in this very organized town, bicycles on the bike path! Leash required to keep him safe, obviously. 

Back to the market after I left Rusty in the car. 

Panama hats actually came from Ecuador. I don’t wear hats but you can check it out on Google. Apparently they got their name as Panama Canal workers wore them to protect themselves from the sun as they dug the ditch. But a tourist will buy a hat of that name in this country obviously! 

Did I ever tell you about the time we hunted for Tupelo honey in Tupelo? Yes we were that stupid we didn’t know the honey is supposedly made from Tupelo flowers and not specifically in the town in Mississippi by that name! The locals were very polite and gladly sold us the honey never claiming it was anything to do with the name of their town. Stupid things tourists do. And the pods below are called Sarina in Panama which we know as Jamaica in Mexico or hibiscus in English. 

Layne bought some yuca to fry in our air fryer the most adaptable tool in our kitchen. 

Animal faces: 

Shortly after our arrival in Panama we bought scarlet doughnut type pastries from a roadside vendor. These are drier and crispy but with their unique sweet exterior. I think they will do well eaten with a cup my Yorkshire Gold tea so I had to try this version we found at the market, and saved the rest to take home. 

We honeymooned on a boat in the Grenadines thirty years ago and we sailed all over the southern Caribbean checking the islands out. One day we bought some pastries and as we ate them we asked each other what we thought. Silence. Not great we decided but not terrible. Nowadays if we find ourselves eating something odd or dubious we call it Grenadian to avoid offending anyone overhearing us. The red ring pastries are a bit Grenadian as it happens. 

And then there are the roads. El Valle is on a loop road from the PanAmerican Highway. We drove the whole loop. None of it was what you would call good and much of it was far worse than Grenadian, it was downright awful. 

The grades were ridiculous though those are hard to express in photos. 

It started out all right close to town then it went through the poorer areas  of the Ngabe-Buglé indigenous tribes and that was that, the grades got atrocious while the surface crumbled.  

The views were spectacular but we could only see them in passing.

The road has been surfaced so many times the edges were at least a foot high were we to try to pull off it…

For extra fun you could hope to encounter a collectivo bus on a tight hairpin. They apparently lack brakes to slow down their hurtling boxes. 

Dodge the potholes while taking the grade as the car struggles on the incline. Layne caught the dilemma: 

Much much steeper than it looks: 

Fences and padlocks are the norm in Panama. As in the US fear of neighbors is the rule here. Even for churches. 

There are a few speed bumps in Panama but they are well marked and usually in front of schools which seems entirely reasonable. 

On every vaguely straight stretch I would slow and wave a following car around me. 24mph was their first gear speed limit while we crawled along. 40kph was out of reach for us. 

Wealthy residents of Panama City keep vacation retreats in these mountains to escape the heat at sea level. 

As poverty goes I’ve seen worse than cement block houses with tin roofs and electricity…

Finally we got down to sea level and pretty much decided we could either test GANNET2’s new brakes with a return visit or we could skip the whole thing and be glad we got to see the valley in a small rental car. 

Finding lunch in Penonomé (pronounce that anyway you want!) was an adventure as we were looking for local food “comida criolla” and the first place we went to they refused to serve us. No seriously, we stood in line and asked for pork chops in Spanish and the woman disappeared into the back while her cohort took the next in line behind us. We walked out. 

Our second attempt looked pretty gloomy with the usual anti theft precautions but the crew inside were really nice. The diners at their tables looked up at us from their food and looked away when I smiled, but the servers enthusiastically explained the food in the buffet. “Chicken!” she said shyly practicing her English. Layne took the beef steak and I took the stewed chicken. And yes, you get American style potato salad and but was good too.  $3:75 per plate. It does kind of fill you up though. As they say the trouble with local Panamanian food is five days later you are hungry again… 

Layne had found a fancy modern air conditioned laundry in Penonomé so while she chatted with the attendant in the cool indoor air Rusty took me for a hike in the heat and humidity. 

I felt Layne should have saved a couple of bucks at this, the other laundry:

But she felt she had to go upmarket…

Just wasting money…and it was pretty hot out there walking Rusty who was unaccountably energetic. I would like some sympathy. 

Then I was back at my job driving three hours back to Davíd which involved as usual some rain, some police checkpoints that slow everyone down and wave most people, including us right through. Police corruption as a way of life in Latin America just has not been true so far. Then Google announced an accident with a delay but they had an alternative route. It worked beautifully…

…if you don’t mind a little mud. A lot of mud really. 

And then we were back on the highway as the rain gods let loose. It became a long drive on the dark in one of those tropical downpours that you see in Florida. It poured and poured and on we went in the dark. Usually I don’t drive after dark but Panama is not at all different from the US at least on the highway. There are no animals and hardly any pedestrians or bicycles and they keep out of the roadway as they have their own sidewalks. 

So around eight o’clock we got to Davíd, Panama’s second largest city and just 20 minutes from GANNET2. We filled up with gas at around $3:43 a gallon and this was where I encountered the infamous but very useful urinal. 

And so home to bed; my own bed. Lovely.