Panama 1
Being in Panama felt a lot like going back to the states. Gas Stations, hotels, and the straight four lane highway’s all reeked of Stars and Stripes; even the old green back dollar reminded me of home. We breezed through seemingly endless lush, green fields towards the city of Colon, on the Caribbean coast. On our way we drove over the Panama Canal. I have read and heard a lot about the famous Panama Canal. It is said that it is one of the greatest Engineering feats in modern history. Bombings and political assassinations, have been executed because of the wealth and strategic potential created by the canal. When I finally saw it, I was under impressed with its size; it looked like a small
river. The Mississippi river would put it to shame. Even still, I have to marvel at its accomplishment of saving ships thousands of miles of transit. Not to mention the sheer mechanical muscle and technology necessary to shred, a ship passable waterway through a whole country. After crossing over the Canal we found ourselves in a wealthy neighborhood. We pulled into a familiar Dunkin Donuts and were astounded to find ourselves smack dab in the middle of “American Suburbia”. The families that came to enjoy the donuts were all Americans. The only Latin Americans we saw were the ones serving the donuts. After our delicious, Dunkin Donut we drove North East to Colon. We chose Colon because of its strategic maritime proximity to Colombia: we hoped to sell our car and find a boat to Colombia, all in the same city. We thought we could pull off this maneuver quite quickly and easily but the reality was shockingly difficult. As luxurious and familiar as the Panama Canal sector was to us, was as foreign and impoverished as we found Colon. This was our first time on the Caribbean coast and also our first encounter with a predominately black population, much of whom are descendents of slaves. Beyond the difference in race there seemed to be a
distinct class differenc–the city had a poor dilapidated look. It seemed as though revenue from the lucrative canal completely bi-passed Colon. The people didn’t have their normal Latin warmth, they were more calloused and careful– but they were just as kind and helpful. (Several guidebooks suggest not visiting Colon because it is considered incredibly dangerous. Being that we didn’t have a guidebook, we weren’t warned until later.) So there we were combing the streets in our little red beast, looking for a reasonable hotel. We found a grungy, back ally hotel, which charged by the hour or by the night. We creaked our way to the second floor and found ourselves in a dingy room with two reasonably comfortable beds. Outside the streets were teeming with life and we managed to hit the streets exploring our strange new world, before returning and surrendering to sleep. I must add we may not have experienced the city had we used the travel guidebooks. The guidebooks are infinitely helpful in logistics and they can also help a person learn the history, culture, and demographics of a place; however, they tend to create well-beaten “Gringo” paths, as many travelers’ guidebooks become their bible. I am proud of rarely using guidebooks on our trip because it has brought us more wrangling, authentic experiences, adventures, and surprises.
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