Jungle Journal 06-16-2006
I left for Panama for a few days, and managed to get there and back, have a
good time, and get almost mugged only once.
From my brief experience, Panamanians are very civilized, pleasant, worldly,
far from poverty-stricken, on the whole, and tolerant of gringos on the most
part. Even though I ran across very few Americans or Europeans in the City
of David (pronounced Dahveed) they hardly gave me any notice as I walked
about town in my natural dress of shorts, sandals and shirt, while they all wear
long pants and button-down shirts to a fault. I was forced to wear my only
decent shirt for three days just not to appear disrespectful. I didn't bring any
long pants and stopped short of buying some just to appease them. In my
neighborhood in Costa Rica shorts have caught on with the natives to some
degree, but still are not considered standard in the cities, it seems. I am not
sure of the origin of this, but can see some sense in it if one is mucking
around in the brush etc, otherwise I think it's cultural thing beyond my
understanding from my relatively brief time here.
Overall, I got a feeling of somewhat amiable tolerance in Panama, stopping
short of open-armed acceptance to my brief intrusion into their world. This is
a reception I get many places, however, so it's sometime hard to put a finger
on the exact reasons for it, even when I am on my very best behavior, which I
was in Panama.
The food was quite good and I gained extra girth which made my short foray
to the hotel pool less an exhibitionist experience and more a necessary period
of exercise, sun-worship, and a bit of strutting through the lobby in my
fashionable swim trunks, tank top and towel. The kids in the pool got a bit of
a laugh at my swimming antics, but the parents watched me closely even while
I was napping.
One important note: PANAMA IS CHEAP! A good Panama brand beer is 45
cents at a local type bar..the taxis will take you anywhere in town for a buck,
maybe two, and you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a taxi anywhere you
go. There are many quite decent hotels to be found for around $20 a night. I
stayed the last night at the Gran Hotel Nacional, which is a top shelf hotel,
for $45. There was a pool, TV, excellent restaurant/pizzaria, coffee shop and
casino. The movie (just around the corner from the hotel) cost $1.80 and it
was $1 for very good popcorn. I watched one movie in Spanish and one in
English with Spanish sub-titles.
My Spanish is improving just enough to get along with most people that have
something I need, and most of them know just enough English to help the
process along. I hope to someday be able to actually converse intelligently
(by my standards) with someone that speaks no English...beyond just
satisfying my personal needs of the moment. It is good to have goals.
I look forward to exploring Panama further.
The near mugging experience was with a large black man that approached
me in the late afternoon and gave me a bunch of Rastafarian BS as I was
going to check out the Cineplex. He spotted me a mile away and hit me up for
a few bucks, while treating me like a long lost pal from some other life. The
painful part was I had 45 minutes till my movie started and not a clue of where
to go or how to ditch him in the meantime. I finally just went into the movie 30
minutes before it started, and movies there never start on time either.
The movie was Eight Below, a Disney flick, in Spanish, which didn't seem to
make a difference to me..but it made me feel bad about leaving my three dogs
alone to fend for themselves for four days.
ANYHOW..when I came out of the show and was toddling back to the
hotel..wham..he's BACK! Right alongside, like we'd been traveling together all
our lives, and where I go; he goes. I saw no happy future in this, especially as
the street was becoming less populated, and a bit darker ahead. Subtleties
were disregarded, swatted off, and basically treated with total disdain.
I spied a cab coming my way, the wrong way, but who gave a shit. I hailed it.
It stopped. I went for it. He grabbed my hand very firmly. I turned to him as I
shook loose his grip and he said "I want some money!" I opened the cab
door and told him something like, "Kiss my ass!" I really don't remember, but I
doubt that it was very clever. I was just happy to have an escape that
eliminated having to find out who could beat up who etc etc etc. He was a
large, desperate fellow that I almost liked, but didn't feel obliged to share my
money with. I wonder if he had a knife or something...
The Panamanians all looked at him with fear and loathing, which he tossed off
as a hatred of blacks in general. If all blacks behaved as he did, i could
understand their feelings, but since he was the only one I crossed while there,
my experience is severely biased.
The bus ride home was interesting.
While standing in a line a voice behind me said, "Fucking Gringos are
everywhere!" I turned to see a face that strangely resembled my own, yet
without the nuances and distinguishing characteristics of mine I have come to
know and love over the years. Yes it was the face of another baby-boomer
grey-haired Gringo! Instead of a full beard, there was a goatee, and there
was a hat covering a ponytail, but there was no mistaking the tribal similarities.
I replied, "Yeah, but I am really surprised there aren't more of us in these
parts!" He agreed and said that his only previous sighting was of me, walking
down the street yesterday. We chuckled and decided to be friends.
In the course of our travels back to Costa Rica, it became a bit unsettling how
similar we actually were, besides currently living just a few miles apart, we had
lived in Berkeley in 1969, crossed paths in San Francisco, Crockett, Point
Richmond, and even Bethel Island. I decided I had to kill him.
We hooked up with a nice Dutch gal on her way to San Jose and helped her
change her course towards the beach here in Uvita and I got her settled in at
the Tucan Hotel after we all shared a taxi from Palmar Norte. I will see if she
is happy about her choice today.
tsdaly



I bought a cool new camera while there.
Panama One, The Beginning
By Thomas Scott Daly