Into Panama City

We loaded our gear into a couple of pick-up trucks and station wagons and left the airport. It is always strange driving into a new city, but doing so at night is more disorienting. Doing it jet-lagged, and in a different country adds to the surreal nature of arrival. We could see billboards advertising unfamiliar products next to those typical of the United States. It is difficult to avoid the economic tentacles of the United States; McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Johnny Walker are everywhere.

The dark estuaries of the bay of Panama along the highway reeked of the sulfide and decay of marine mud. Most people do not like this odor, but it made me wonder what organisms were out there, in particular if there was any good algae. The tide was out, and across long black mud flats, the waters of the bay reflected the lights of large cargo ships. They line up to wait for the chance to go through the Panama Canal. The lights and skyscrapers of downtown Panama City were in front of us.

We entered the traffic of Panama City close to midnight. As in any large city, there was still considerable activity despite the late hour when we drove into town. The hubbub of crowded streets had a definite Central American flavor. There were cabs and busses painted with brightly colored murals of various religious and movie themes plying the streets. The cars and trucks were from all over the world. People had kept some very old vehicles alive and they belched exhaust as they noisily drove down the streets. We were entwined in hectic traffic; even though there were many older vehicles, there were some very expensive luxury cars as well. This provided the first taste of the juxtaposition of wealth and poverty of Central America.

Hotel Acapulco was tucked into a block of commerce and most businesses in the area had a parking lot surrounded by barbed wire. We pulled in, parked and carried our luggage (at least everybody else’s luggage) into our rooms, a guard watched over the lot and the front of the hotel. The gate was locked to protect the vehicles as we drug our luggage into the hotel.

What followed was the usual hour of haggling with the front desk. The uncertainty ensued because of lost reservations and changing “hotel policies”. Even with several of our party fluent in Spanish, the rooms took a long while to sort out. The extended discussion at the hotel desk always happens; nothing is simple in Central America. The rooms were not new, but they were not particularly dirty. Once we settled in, it was time to get something to eat. I will never understand why it makes me tired and hungry to sit around in airplanes, airports and taxis doing nothing all day.

Our hotel was across the street from a large casino and adjoined a 24-hour restaurant that catered to the late-night crowd associated with this active part of downtown. We took over several outside tables and ordered Cerveca Panamá (obviously a local beer). We ordered several types of ceviche (shrimp and corvina (a white sea bass) marinated with lime juice, cilantro, onions, and chilies). Ceviche is traditionally served with saltine crackers. We ordered streamed clams, some cooked octopus and more beer. Seafood is good in a port town, and we were not about to pass up the chance to have the real deal. Particularly me, coming from winter in a small town in the Midwest, appreciated it. Fresh clams are generally not on the menu back home.

Of particular interest to our group was a carousel inside a closed case that held pies. It was not that the pies looked so great, but the velocity at which the stacked lazy susan was rotating was astonishing. It must have been set on high, and we, being science nerds, referred to it as the “pie centrifuge”. At the time it seemed hilarious, but we were probably delirious from travel and beer. The food was excellent and it was entertaining to watch the street walkers and other characters of the city passing by.

After a bit we went up to our rooms, bleary eyed and travel worn. I brushed my teeth with my finger and water, splashed water on my face, hung my clothes to air out and got in bed. Matt had set his hair brush by the sink. This is a brush he has had since middle school and it is absolutely disgusting. The “brush” is decades old and just held together by the hair bonded to the remaining bristles. I am convinced he brings it when we room together just to bug me. The sound of the city below continued to seep in through the barred windows as I drifted to sleep with the gentle breeze and whirring sound of an overhead fan.

In the morning Matt and the others left to take care of business at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, not far away in Panama City. Right after lunch we were to leave for El Valle, the jungle and the frogs, so I had till noon to get a few things. The normal travel precautions (no valuables left in the room, passport and extra cash in a hidden pocket) were taken before I left the room to replace essentials that were in my luggage.

I walked down the street toward a department store. Rapid fire Spanish surrounded me and I purchased an orange from a vendor for breakfast. Conveniently, the Panamanian dollar is tied to the US dollar and there is no need to exchange currency.

I found the department store and purchased the basics. On my way back I saw what turned out to be my favorite hand-painted city bus, it had a Harry Potter theme, but made Harry look deranged. Matt and the gang returned and we had a quick lunch in front of the pie centrifuge, loaded the vehicles and left for the El Valle.