Panama City
As our plane is touching down, I excitedly take pictures – the sea, backdropped by black silhouettes of mountains appears to be flowing inland – up a brown river into green jungle.
The second we disembark a whiff of humid air hits our faces; excitement is simmering in my fingertips – the smells are different (a mixture of air-conditioning and sweat) I could be skipping despite the weight of my backpack on my shoulders. Adam and I have decided to go on our world trip with nothing but our carry on luggage: a backpack each and my red faux leather purse. I will soon learn that is still too much stuff. Immigration seems familiar – fingerprints, try not to look too tired in your picture, what kind of food did you bring? – I did not expect Central America to remind me of the States.
For the last week we have been going through our respective kinds of panic. I struggled with leaving behind a warm nest of friends and family for a great unknown – why leave, I thought, if we are happy here? Is exploring the world really better than building strong, meaningful relationships? Seeing my best friend start journalism school and soar to new heights? Witnessing my nephew’s first steps, first big words (Bar-be-lies),and first tooth? Adam (I think) had similar doubts, yet he had already made a big leap by moving to Germany two years ago. He worried about the trip itself, what if we leave and we get bored? What if we are not made for it? What if I forced Babel to leave her home and we end up miserable? What if I promised her a world of adventure and it rains the whole time? (He did not force me to do anything, of course. But the well-being of those we care about often worries us more than our own.)
To soothe our anxieties, Adam booked us a hotel room for the first three nights in Panama City and – too overwhelmed to figure out the buses – we take an Uber to get there. I am glad we do, but at the same time feel like we’re starting off the wrong way – weren’t we supposed to hitchhike into the city or sleep at the airport if necessary? As I settle into the comfortable backseat of our air-conditioned ride, I decide that we’ll have plenty of time to be more adventurous. For now it’s nice to be a pampered tourist.
Ciudad de Panama
The next morning we venture out to find breakfast. To our dismay, we find few street vendors and endless American fast food chains: row upon row of Wendys’, Subways, Burger Kings. The city is void of people walking and brimming with the noise of cars. Taxis honk tirelessly to catch our attention (it seems you do not call a taxi here – they call you), skyscrapers tower left and right, sidewalks are a rarity. I’m hot and (unreasonably) disappointed. I keep hoping that we’ll turn a corner and discover Panama City’s charm: a quirky neighborhood maybe, or a busy market, yet the feeling of wading through grey, sticky, loud nothingness persists. After several hours of trying to explore the city on foot, we finally cave and try to take a bus. We discover that there are no ticket machines at the bus stop (let alone a map of the bus system or even a schedule) and the bus driver can’t sell the “tarjeta metro” either. Luckily, a woman on the bus helps us and lets us use hers – it seems like we are not the first tourists to struggle with the bus system.
We make our way to Casco Viejo, Panama’s old town center. The architecture is significantly more beautiful, old colonial buildings and the cleanest streets in Central America, but even this tourist center seems quiet. We explore the souvenir shops, pop into a cafe for a deliciously fruity smoothie and admire the beautiful churches of the district. Many of the colonial buildings are reduced to their facades, others were completely restored and stand as luxurious mansions next to their more run down neighbors. The result is a beautiful juxtaposition of a long gone history of colonial occupation by the Spanish and it’s reclamation to make the city more attractive to coveted, economy-boosting tourists.
Everything changes when we find Avenida Central: this is where the entire population of the city was hiding! The pedestrian zone is bustling with people – fruit stands selling pineapples and papaya, stores trying to catch customers’ attention with loud music (Despacito is everywhere), street vendors offering anything from flip-flops to switch blades. The side alleys boast colorful graffiti and we finally feel like we found our adventure. It is a relief to see some character in this otherwise bland metropolis, some liveliness in contrast to the concrete and glass towers of downtown or the eerie cleanliness of Casco Viejo. We happily join the crowds in the shops, browse though isles of colorful sandals, cheap tshirts and beach toys. On our way back, we finally find a subway station that sells the metro card – the key to the city’s incredible system of public transport. At 35 cents a ride the subway certainly beats taking a taxi and we feel a little bit more like world travelers rather than hapless tourists.
