PANAMA CITY

We were ferried from the Norwegian Jade at the top of Gatun Lake in the ship’s sardine box orange tenders to an empty park lined with green stone picnic tables and white benches.  There were several large buildings with red roofs and it had the feel of a place that was probably rented for parties.  A line of smiling — but bossy — guides met us like drill sergeants greeting new recruits.  “Keep moving!  Stay in line!  If you need to use the restrooms, please do so quickly.  Proceed to the parking area and your assigned bus.”  Inna needed to get some water.  It was hot and she was feeling lightheaded, and we had been herded around for over an hour.  She was initially rebuffed but stood her ground and demanded water.  It was a Panamanian standoff until a cold bottle of water was produced by one of the guides.  And that’s exactly why I hate shore excursions on cruise ships: they are over-priced, usually involve a long bus ride, and once you’re on one you can’t get off.  But we had no options at the Panama Canal.  Either we signed up for one of the guided tours, or we couldn’t leave the ship.  And we really wanted to see the Pacific side of the Canal.  So we bit the bullet and signed up for the “Shaping of Panama” six hour tour to Panama City.  It would prove to be a roller coaster ride.

Our tall, silver-haired guide was Luis Felipe Ramos and our mute driver was Hymy.  The man never said a  word.

It took about an hour and a half to drive from Gatun Lake to Panama City.  And Luis did his best to keep us entertained, handing out brochures and pointing to the attractions along the way.

They have a great two lane, high speed highway between the oceans, but along the side roads the looming jungle was littered with trash.  I’m talking mountains of trash!

Most of the hills along the highway had been terraced to prevent erosion.  They looked like ancient pyramids covered by the jungle.

Luis worked for a company called Paradise Green Panama and he seemed to genuinely like what he was doing.  There was no superfluous bs and he peppered us with facts and figures about Panama.

https://live.vcita.com/site/paradisegreen

The average income in Panama is about $750 a month and they have a flat tax of 7%.  A public college costs $26 a semester.  Public transportation costs 25 cents.

The general rule in Panama is that public anything — schools transportation, health care — is pretty much free and it sucks, and private services are very expensive but quite good.

Panama has no army, just police.  And they are everywhere.  Along the highway they have very realistic cutouts of cops standing with a radar gun next to a motorcycle.  That said, there was barbed wire around all of the nicer houses and it didn’t look or feel very safe to us.

Panama historically — and no doubt at the instruction of the U.S. — supported Taiwan, but now they’re in bed China.  And as we entered the city, it became clear why.   The Chinese have started several big construction projects in the last six months, including a massive convention center that looks like an undulating snake.  An excellent metaphor if you ask me.

Panama has no industry to speak of.  They are a service country.  Their primary sources of revenue are the Canal, banking — Putin and other kleptocrats launder their money there — and medical tourism (dental and plastic surgery).  Johns Hopkins even has a major medical facility there.

Along virtually every main road you will see the Red Devil public buses.  They are wildly painted U.S. school buses with dual chrome stacks jutting off the rear roof.  The drivers are notoriously reckless.  We got cut off by the crazies several times.

Toyota, Hyundai & Kia are the most popular cars.  Ford trucks are the most popular American vehicles.  And BMW and Mercedes are the most popular luxury cars.

The Pacific side is the busiest side of the Canal at the port of Balboa, handling Asian goods heading to the east coast of North America and the Atlantic.

There are 1,500 islands around Balboa and the area is renowned for its fishing, holding more records for sport fishing than any place else in the world.

Many movie stars call Panama home, and have so for a long time.  John Wayne was married to a Panamanian lady and they owned an island near Balboa where he hung out in between films.  After the Duke’s death, the island was bought by European investors who built a very popular western-themed resort.

After a little side tour to see the third and final lock facing the Pacific, we drove past the impressive, white erector set Bridge of the Americas at the Pacific entrance to the Canal, and then headed across several lovely causeways to the Fuerte Amador Resort and Marina, sitting at the end of a spectacular point on Flamenco Island, overlooking Panama City.  We hit the banos and snapped a few pictures before piling back into the bus for a short drive past the fancy football stadium at the edge of Panama Bay and then into town.

As with all of cities we had visited on our voyage, the Old City was separated from the New City by a glittering expanse of water.  The new part of Panama City sits like a glittering jewel along Panama Bay.  I was shocked to see a city skyline that surpassed Miami.

Here’s a little known fact.  Panama City has the third largest number of skyscrapers in the Americas after NYC and Chicago.  The Hilton is tallest at 71 stories, followed by Trump Tower at 66.

Our destination in Panama City was the oldest section called the Colonial City where we walked around for the next two hours with our super knowledgeable guide Luis on the narrow, red brick streets from a time long gone.   The center of the old city seemed abandoned.  There were no tourists or locals.  After the crush of Cartagena, it was disorienting, to say the least.

The first stop was the stunning Iglesia San Jose with its golden altar and weird biblical
diorama donated by some rich old lady.  The opulence of the  Catholic church never ceases to amaze me, especially given the incredible poverty of Latin America.

The Colonial City showcases many different architectural styles, not just Spanish like you see in every other city in Latin America.  A lot of it closely resembles the balcony houses in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

Manuel Amador Guerrero was the first president of Panama.  He is revered to this day for starting the 1,000 Day War of Independence against Columbia, so the US could finish building the canal.  There are no roads connecting Panama and Columbia because of a huge, impenetrable jungle; so the war probably made sense from a practical standpoint, but it was really just about some bidness.

  
Luis took us to the a genuine Panama hat store where we learned another interesting little tidbit: Panama hats were actually invented in Ecuador.

The city of Panama (it was originally called Panamá Viejo) was founded on August 15, 1519, by Spanish conquistador Pedro Arias Dávila.  It was the staging area for the expeditions that conquered the Inca Empire in Peru.  And most of the gold and silver that Spain took from the Americas came through its busy port.

On January 28, 1671, the Welsh pirate Henry Morgan sacked and then set fire to  Panamá Viejo.  The city came back online two years later on January 21, 1673, on a peninsula located five miles from the original settlement.  But subsequent fires and earthquakes have continued the demolition job.

The site of the previously devastated city is still in ruins and is now a popular tourist attraction.  There are some lovely “new” buildings, and there is a vibrant street life where you can find some of the most valued real estate in all of Panama City, but the primary historic structures, like the Arco Chato (Flat Arch) and Iglesia de la Compañía de Jesús (school and university), are still gutted.

There is a lovely walled promenade along the water overlooking the new city skyscrapers where Mayan craftspeople sit silently like little dolls in bright native garb, selling an incredible collection of handmade trinkets.  We bought some jewelry from a young Rasta who fashioned recycled materials into shiny stuff.

Our final stop was Catedral Basílica Santa Maria la Antigua de Panamá (Sacred Heart Cathedral).  It is, of course, a Catholic church, and was consecrated in 1796, although construction work began in 1688, 108 years earlier.  Next door sits a lovely off-white convent whose nuns service the church.

On our way out of the Colonial City we passed the Panama White House where the President lives.  The entire block was encircled by green uniformed, no nonsense, special police.

There is a monstrous ghetto right outside the trendy Colonial City highlighted by a red cobbled street which serves as the dividing line between rich and poor.  The poverty is extreme — somewhere between southeast D.C. and the favelas of Rio.

The five days of Carnival had just begun and the barrios were rocking on a Friday afternoon.  It looked like a badly damaged beehive, with the bees buzzing slowly around wherever we looked.  And to be honest, everyone looked happy and relaxed.

The drive back to Colon was a gridlocked traffic nightmare due to the fact that the medical emergency on our ship had put us behind schedule and right in the middle of rush hour as all of Panama City was escaping to the countryside after work to party for Carnival weekend.  

Driving through Colon was like traveling through Mosul.  It looked like it had been bombed.  Thousands of workers were streaming through the gates of the Duty Free warehouses and heading for home.  It had the feel of a zombie parade.

We didn’t get back to the Norwegian Jade until dark and by that time all we wanted was a stiff drink and a dip in the hot tub and pool.

As we steamed out of Limon Bay, the ships awaiting their call to transit the Canal looked like a city of lights.  At first, I thought if I was looking at the opposite shore until I realized that the opposite shore was Jamaica, 2,000 miles to the northeast.

It had been a most amazing day indeed, but as we cruised north to Costa Rica, a nagging question kept bothering me.  How could the country of Panama, with such a money making revenue source as the Canal, be so horrifically poor?