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If You Build It, They Will Come
What Teddy Roosevelt Knew a Hundred Years
ago,
Still holds true in Today’s Panama
By Stephen G. Henderson
As I hailed a taxi at Panama City’s Tocumen
International Airport, an affable young man named Patricio asked to share a
ride with me. A travel agent, he’d just returned home from several days of
meetings in the United States. While we sped towards downtown, Patrico
explained the purpose of his visit north. “I was trying to let people
know that Panama City isn’t the boonies,” he said. “We have tall
buildings! We have cell
phones!”
Indeed. Visitors are usually shocked that Panama City
is so large – nearly a million people live here, 2.7 million in the whole
country – and cosmopolitan. Chief among the city’s charms is how
nonchalantly it accommodates both old and new. Plantation-style houses with
clapboard siding and corrugated tin roofs are built in the very shadow of
mirror-sided high rises. Whereas much of South America looks to Europe, and
Spain above all, for a sense of cultural heritage, Panama is unique in how
much it cleaves to America. To my great surprise, the U.S. dollar is the
currency of choice, the Miami Herald was dropped outside my door each
morning at the Intercontinental Miramar, and nearly everyone I met spoke at
least some English.
In other words, there are many tall buildings, many
cell phones, and many gracious citizens so thoroughly conversant in American
slang, that they can use a word like “boonies.” Patricio may have his work
cut out for him convincing Denver, Chicago and Atlanta of this, but he’s
absolutely right: Panama City is hardly the boondocks.
Outside of the capitol, though, things are wilder, more
on the eco-edge. Which explains why several versions of “Survivor”
been shot in Panama’s dense forests, volcanoes, mountains, deserted islands,
and beaches. As this year marks the centennial of yet another
interesting feature of this country – in 1904, Theodore Roosevelt led
America in taking over the construction of the Panama Canal from the French
and, in the process, helped Panama declare its independence from Colombia –
it seemed an ideal time to visit.
A Day in the City
What I immediately discovered is that it’s easy to get
disoriented here, especially for Americans who may be inflexibly accustomed
to regarding the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans as the East and West coasts.
In Panama (which, stay with me, is slightly east of Miami) things get turned
around, so that the canal itself runs north and south. That Panamanians use
the words “Atlantic” and “Caribbean” interchangeably only adds to the
puzzlement.
When I told my hired guide, Nelson Forbes, about this
confusion, he just laughed. Forbes was a tall black man with an imposing
physique and a lilting British accent. His ancestors, he told me, were from
Barbados and had come here to work on the canal. We got into his van and
drove off for a day of sight-seeing. Forbes deftly maneuvered in between
dozens of privately-owned buses that are gaudily spray-painted to suit their
owner’s whim. These vehicles are called “Red Devils” for the mischievous
way in which they’re driven.
To get oriented, we headed east to Panama Vieja, the
old town, where a conquistador, one Pedro Arias de Avila by name, built what
was the first Spanish City on the Pacific Ocean in 1519. Gold that went
from Peru to Spain was stored here in a small garrison that was sacked in
1671 when Captain Morgan (yes, there really was such a personage -- I’d
thought he was just a rum mascot made up by Madison Avenue) came overland
and attacked the fort from its rear. What remains are a few stone
buildings, including a tower of the original cathedral.
Talk to a Panamanian for longer than a few minutes, and
the name of Manuel Noriega, Panama’s former dictator, will invariably come
up. Pushed from power nearly 14 years ago, Noriega’s ghost still hovers.
Nowadays, he’s often derided as “The Pineapple,” because of his bad skin.
“He was a weird guy,” one man told me. “Noriega was both a sadist and a
Buddhist.” As we walked back to his van, Nelson confided to me that
Noriega’s prison cell in Florida had a living room, dining room, two
bedrooms and a DVD Player. When I expressed my doubts, Nelson held his
ground, though he couldn’t say exactly how he’d learned such details of
detention decorating.
At Casco Viejo, where the city was eventually rebuilt,
there is a collection of ornate Spanish- and French-influenced architecture
so extraordinary that in 1997 UNESCO declared it a world heritage site.
Imagine a combination of New Orleans and Havana, with a stucco wedding cake
of a Presidential Palace towering over all.
Just a few steps from this immaculately groomed spot,
buildings begin to crumble, doorways are sealed up with cinderblock and
walls are stained muddy green by sea moss. The squalor, though, is
strangely picturesque. Sleeping dogs lie in the gutters, but the streets
are cobble-stoned. Shrubs that are nearly trees grow from abandoned window
sills; bougainvillea climbs up walls and blooms with ferocious intensity.
That others see diamonds in Casco Viejo’s rough is
evident by the number of realtor signs posted on buildings and the influx of
young professionals who are renovating them. There’s much to savor in this
neighborhood. Iglesia de San Jose, a popular church for Panamanian
weddings, is famous for its massive, solid gold altar. Legend is that a
quick-witted priest painted it black and so managed to save the altar from
Captain Morgan’s plunder. The Teatro Nacional, an Italianate opera house,
is currently being restored to its late 19th century grandeur. And, on
what’s called French Plaza, a tall marble obelisk is surrounded by bronze
busts of notable Frenchmen who were involved in the building of the Panama
Canal.
At the very center is the estimable Baron de Lessups
who, fresh from his triumphant completion of the Suez Canal in 1869, had the
even more hubristic idea to dig a trench through 50 miles of some of the
most forbidding jungle in the world. Alas, the fates wouldn’t smile on de
Lessups in Panama as they had in Egypt, a story well told in David
McCullough’s fascinating book, The Path Between the Seas.
While eating dinner later at Limoncillo, I chatted with
the restaurant’s chef/owner, Clara Icaza, and her brother Gabriel. As it
happens, Clara got her start in cooking at the Baltimore International
College’s School of Culinary Arts. She named Limoncillo for a local herb
she uses frequently in her cooking that has a pure, vital taste like a cross
between lime juice and cilantro. Both her brother and she expressed pride
over Panama City’s growing popularity, especially among Americans, yet they
were somewhat at a loss to explain why. “Unquestionably, this is the most
sophisticated city in Central America,” Clara told me, “yet it’s
conservative, too. You don’t walk around in flip flops and bathing suits.”
“We are a people descended from pirates and
prostitutes,” said Gabriel. “Our interest is money, and always has been.
The difference of late is that we are learning to be nice about getting it.”
The Path Between the Seas
Early the next morning, I boarded the Fantasia Isla
(Fantasy Island), a smallish, 80 passenger boat, for a trip through the
Panama Canal. It was 7:45 a.m. on a late December morning, but my
shirt was already glued to my back with perspiration. Happily, as we
left the dock, a breeze picked up.
Nearly all the mechanical equipment one sees along the
canal is original to its opening in 1914. There are three locks (each is
1,000 feet long and 100 feet wide) at both the Pacific and Atlantic side
that raise and lower boats a total of 85 feet at either end -- separated by
a long cruise through a mountain lake formed by damming the Chagres River.
An estimated 87% of the world’s ships pass through each year, and most of
the cargo is headed to North America. Passing ships from India, Chile,
Germany, Australia and South Korea, I imagined them filled with digital
cameras, cheaply-stitched pajamas and containers of pineapples or Kiwi.
Last year, a total of 13,000 ships paid fees of nearly $850,000,000 in order
to save the time it would take to sail around Cape Horn at the tip of South
America.
If you crave statistics, a Panama Canal cruise will be
your box of bon-bons, as a microphoned guide continuously offers such facts
and figures, most of which become numbing in their enormity. One
sticks in my mind, however. With all the dirt that was removed from
the Panama Canal, a structure equivalent to the Great Wall of China could
have been built stretching from New York to San Francisco.
It is nightfall, by the time we arrive at Colon, a port
city on the Atlantic…er, Caribbean. Here, I board a bus which takes me to
the Gamboa Rainforest Resort, a hotel that overlooks the Chagres River where
I spend the next couple days. One sees peculiar new sights in the tropics
of central Panama, such as flowers that resemble pursed red lips, or
“sleeping grass,” a ground cover that’s like a miniature Venus fly trap, its
tiny leaves snapping shut when brushed against. Turquoise butterflies
flitter past, emerald green lizards crouch immobile, and toucans squawk in
high branches, visible only by their lemon-colored heads. There are also
what Panamanians call “tourist trees,” so-called because the bark peels off
in thin, nearly translucent layers that’s gruesomely similar to sunburned
skin.
As I exulted over such exotica, a hotel concierge said,
“this is nothing.” I should visit Boquete, he insisted, a Panamanian town
where over 1,500 varieties of orchids are grown, as well as some of the
world’s most flavorful coffee beans. (Note to self: Plan a trip to Boquete.)
A group of native Indians called the Em-Bera live
nearby and one day, I watched as a man stepped into a narrow “dug out” canoe
and paddled off standing up like a Venetian gondolier. Crocodiles live in
this water, yet he didn’t seem put off balance by this distressing
knowledge. I’m told the Em-Bera are renowned for making baskets from palm
fronds that are so finely wrought, they can hold water.
Another morning I went on an animal-watching cruise,
what I came to think of as “Monkey Rise and Shines.” If you want to
see this area’s famous white-faced monkeys playing along the shorelines, you
have to get up early, for they recede deeper into the jungle as the day’s
heat increases. After skimming through a misty fog, we dipped into a
labyrinth of waterways between islands that appeared to be fantastic
topiary, as thick vines had covered everything in their path. I could
hear the scampering animals, yet it wasn’t until the boat’s driver
practically ran us ashore and held up a peeled banana, that they came flying
forth. Literally. A half-dozen monkeys of varying ages leapt
from higher branches, limbs spread wide and catching themselves many feet
below, only to hop again. With amazing speed, they scampered out the
edge of a branch to grab this taste treat. Wow.
Waterworld
My stay in Panama ended when I flew north to Boca del
Toro, a beach town popular with surfers. As we landed, a group of teenaged
American boys with faces glued to their windows, loudly proclaimed, “dude,
those waves are sick!” From their excitement, I inferred this was high
praise. I stayed in town just long enough to meet a porter who soon steered
me across calmer seas towards Punta Caracol, a dreamy resort comprised of
six huts with palm frond roofs.
As you arrive by boat, these huts appear to float on
the water’s surface, because each two-story structure is built up on stilts.
They are connected to one another and a dining pavilion by a long teak
boardwalk – all of which is quite a ways from a mangrove thicket at the
shore line. I could jump from my back door directly into the water
and, while swimming, peer down to enormous starfish clustered at the sandy
bottom. In short: Heaven!
Soon after arriving at this oasis, however, I hopped on
another boat and was minutes later was dropped on an island, where piles of
fallen coconuts were many feet deep around palm trees, and beaches were
completely empty, save for the stray bits of serpentine coral washed
ashore. My driver dozed in the sun as I walked up the sand for miles
without seeing another human. I felt like Robinson Crusoe. Unlike this
castaway, however, when I got hungry for lunch, another short ride took me
to Coral Cay, a boat-in restaurant. I dined on a pair of enormous lobster
tails, fried breadfruit (which tasted like a cross between a banana and a
French fry) and more cervezas than I can now recall. The meal didn’t put
much of a dent in a 20 dollar bill, even with a fat tip.
Back at Punta Caracol, I dined later with Jose Luis
Bordas, the hotel’s owner who is a 26-year-old native of Barcelona, Spain.
Bordas informed me that he’d built this elegantly simple place himself as a
“senior thesis” to graduate from college. Feeling quite a slacker in
comparison, I brooded over his precocity, and wondered what it might be like
to be such an overachiever. I was quite disturbed for about seven minutes.
Then, I relaxed back into the sheer pleasure of the environment he’d
created. Would I like another rum? Please! More flan? Oh…maybe just a
midge.
The following day, and the next, were much the same. A
bit of snorkeling, fish eating, and sunbathing, punctuated by the occasional
field trip. To buy jewelry made from seashells by the Guami Indians. To
the Island of Red Frogs, where the eponymous amphibians are the size of a
quarter, and mottled with symmetrical black spots that put a lady bug to
shame.
At this island’s beach, it began to drizzle. Because
the precipitation was slightly colder than the ocean, I sought refuge in the
surf. This seemed a nearly obscene luxury – when had I ever gone swimming
during a storm? Usually, one runs for cover at the first drop. Yet, here I
floated about, as water gently pelted my forehead and chest till the clouds
cleared. As they did so, an extraordinarily vivid rainbow arched towards
the horizon and the sun flickered brilliantly on the water, as if its entire
surface was covered with doubloons. I felt lucky as a Leprechaun to see
it. Who would have guessed that it was in Panama where I’d finally find a
pot of gold?
Getting There
When calling any of the telephone numbers in Panama
listed below, first dial the international network access code of 011.
Where to Stay
Intercontinental Miramar, Miramar Plaza, Balboa Avenue,
(507) 214-1000,
www.miramarpanama.com. High rise luxury hotel facing the Bay of Panama,
rates start from $225.
The Bristol, Avenida Aquilino de la Guardia, between
Calle 50 and Via Espana. (507) 265-7844,
www.thebristol.com. A small European-style hotel, with concierge and
room service available 24 hours. Rooms start at $325.
Gamboa Rainforest Resort,
reservations@gamboaresort.com Toll-free US number 1-877-800-1690.
Approximately 20 miles north of Panama City, Gamboa overlooks the Chagres
River and Panama Canal, and is surrounded by 340 acres of wilderness. Rooms
start at $200.
Punta Caracol, Calle 3 between Avenida F and G. (507)
612-1088,
www.puntacaracol.com. Accessible only by boat, five wood cabanas built
on stilts over the water near Boca del Toro, on the Atlantic Ocean side of
Panama. Rooms start at $175.
Where to Eat
Limoncillo, Calle 47 and Uruguay, (507) 263-5350.
“Nouvelle” Panamanian cuisine. Make sure you try to mushroom Napoleon.
Entrees start at $18
Bucanero’s, Fuerte Amador, Isla Flamenca, (507)
314-0880. Seafood and exotic cocktails overlooking waterway near entrance
to the Panama Canal. Entrees start at $12.
Manolo Caracol, Avenida Central and Calle Tercera in
the Casco Viejo, (507) 228-4640. International cuisine fused with
Panamanian flavors. Entrees start at $14.
Mi Salud, Calle 31 near Avenida Balboa, (507)
225-0972. Translated as “My Health,” this cafeteria serves wonderful
vegetarian dishes and fruit juices. Entrees start at $4.
Things to Do
Craft Market, behind the Old YMCA Building, no phone.
Molas (embroidered cloths), carved wooden sculptures and masks, and other
native handicrafts. Daily 10-6.
Church of San Jose, Avenida A and Calle 3, Casco Viejo,
no phone. See the golden altar, which was the only thing left behind after
Captain Morgan pillaged the original Panama City. Open daily at variable
hours. Free.
Plaza de Francia, “French Plaza.” Bottom of Avenida
Central, Casco Viejo. No phone. Dedicated to Frenchmen who died in the
19th century, while trying to build the Panama Canal.
Mi Pueblito, Avenida de los Martires and Calle Jorge,
(507) 228-7154. A museum depicting life in Panama in the 1800’s. Daily
10-10
Panama Canal, Take a trip or just visit the Miraflores
Locks, near Panama City. (507) 272-3202,
www.pancanal.com, or contact Canal & Bay Tours (507)314-1350
www.info@canalandbaytours.com
For More Information
Panama Tourist Office, 5201 Blue Lagoon Drive,
Penthouse, Miami, Florida, 33126, (305) 629-3644,
www.panamainfo.com
If you’d like help in arranging a Panama vacation,
contact: Elegant Adventures, 1820 The Exchange, Suite 750, Atlanta, Georgia,
30339, (770) 850-6890.
An Ideal Day
9:00 a.m.: Wake up at Punta Caracol. Open back door
of your cabana and jump into the water for a wake-up swim.
10:00 a.m.: Walk down boardwalk to dining pavilion for
breakfast.
11:00 a.m.: Take a boat ride to an abandoned island,
or to see the dolphins swimming.
1:00 p.m. Have lunch at Coral Cay. Deep question:
will you have one lobster tail, or two?
2:00 p.m. Visit the Island of Red Frogs. Stop and
smell the rose-colored amphibians.
5:00 p.m. Tour the town of Boca Del Toro. Buy some
Panamanian chocolate -- the coconut variety is incredible.
7:00 p.m. Watch the sunset from your porch, then walk
down boardwalk to dining pavilion for dinner.
10:00 p.m. Fall into bed with hopes for another ideal
day like the one you just had.
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