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If You Build It, They Will ComeWhat Teddy Roosevelt Knew a Hundred Years ago,
Still holds true in Today’s PanamaBy Stephen G. HendersonAs 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 CityWhat 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 SeasEarly 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. WaterworldMy 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 ThereWhen calling any of the telephone numbers in Panama listed below, first dial the international network access code of 011. Where to StayIntercontinental 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 EatLimoncillo, 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 DoCraft 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 InformationPanama 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 Day9:00 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. Back to TravelLady Magazine |
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