I guess I had a right to be worried…
How does one compare of week of jet-setting amongst fabulous friends; three cities, five days, countless faces, places, and spaces to a rainy Panama? One doesn’t. One just rolls with the punches. Which I did. Since I’ve been home for a spell, I forgot that every minute on the road isn’t perfect, that it sometimes HAS to rain, and that I’m not going to love every city I go to. Panama was one of those experiences. Not entirely bad, as I really came to like Panama City. But, overall, not my favorite.
I arrived into Panama City after lots of Ecuadorian goodbyes and checked into a marvelous little hotel near the center of Panamanian night life (little did I know…) After stopping for a delicious dinner at restaurant that was exactly how one might imagine a Panamanian restaurant (banana-leaf wallpaper, plastic wicker chairs, high cocktail tables with basketed candles atop (I wanted to steal one), khaki safari and white “Panama hats” strewn lazily on high shelves), I turned in early. I was
a) exhausted from Ecuador and
b) had an early day on the Panama Canal in the AM.
Little did I know, I didn’t need rest. I’d get PLENTY of that over the next few days…
So, they never really reveal to you all the details of day-trip excursions to tourist traps like the Panama Canal. After a 6 AM cab ride, where the cabbie got lost getting to the Canal Zone (Umm…this is your country’s ONE tourist attraction, we’re LOST! Are you KIDDING?), I opted on a half-day Canal trip ($105, meanwhile!). We’d be back in the City by 2 PM. Great, I tend to get a little bored on these learning excursions. As I settled into the boat (comparative to maybe, a Circle Line ship), with my Miami Herald and a book of stories (that I randomly, and thankfully, grabbed on the way out of the hotel), I was eager to start the day. Grannies with straw hats, Chinese/Japanese tourists posing at bow/stern/starward/leeward sides BEFORE we moved away from the pier, solo 50-year old men with bad teeth from Minnesota in fisherman caps, young backpacker couples making out in between free-empanada-from-downstairs-in-the-buffet-bites, and a family with 7 rowdy, dirty blond kids toting Dr. Seuss-in-Spanish readers, made up my cruising partners. It looked to be a very long day. At around 8, we pull out into the water. We must, as our roving-guide-with-a-mike tells us, wait for our Canal appointed pilot (all vessels that pass through the Canal have a licensed Canal pilot steer the ship through the Canal) to come on board and give us our “passage time.” 9-10-11 o’clock. No Canal Pilot. I’ve finished the Miami Herald and passed it on the periodical-less Minnesotan with poor dental hygiene, and I’m on page 100 in my 200 page book. I’m a little warm under the collar, a little stiff from the lack of cushions on the seats of the Pacific Queen, our ship. Then, the people around me start to applaud. Our Canal Pilot is coming aboard. Wa-hoo! Like a mock-celebrity, he swings from the Coast Guard boat to the Pacific Queen’s deck. Our passage time is…..12:30. NO! REALLY? More waiting? Oh my god. This sucks.
Yes, I finished my book before we went through the Canal, and the passage through was, at best, semi-interesting. Considering that the Canal was built in 1914, and is still completely functional today, it’s pretty crazy. Going through the Miraflores Lockes, being raised 27-32 feet higher by increasing and decreasing water levels and pressure, was wild. Slowly, we are raised three times, and then voila! we’re Canal bound. Of course, the whole thing is mildly anti-climactic, but nonetheless, I can now say I’ve traveled the Panama Canal alongside the huge, huge Maersk (what up Nemeth!) tankers carrying loads upon loads of cargo from places far off and distant. By our 4 PM delayed return to the city, I was wiped. I took a quick tour of Old Panama, called Casco Viejo, and while I’ve never been (though secretly long to go) to Cuba, this is what I think Havana would look like. Colorful, two story buildings boasting intricate iron balconies rimmed with half-dead floral vines; the buildings falling apart, but at the same time, vibrantly alive. Spanish music drifting from doorways, men smoking cigars in soiled undershirts and ladies in layered dressed casually swaying their hips around them, stray dogs bark at passerby. It’s a cool scene, in a dilapidated kind of way. Past Casco Viejo, Panama City is modern and brimming with business. The whole city sits on the waterfront, so the view is surprisingly pretty. The nightlife is full-of-action, the various parts of Panama City have their share of trendy restaurants, hotel bars and, even a few swanky lounges. My friend China, from Ecuador, put me in touch with her friend, Alexandra here in Panama. So, my luck, I had a partner in crime to prowl the town with. I know – who comes to Panama and has friends? Me, I guess!
Post-Panama City, I went to two other cities to explore. Pedasi, on the Pacific Coast and Boquete, a mountain town that sits in the middle of two rivers. Unfortately, I left my new friend Alexandra in Panama City, and brought along my old friend, the rain. In Travel and Leisure magazine, I had read about a project on the coast called Azueros. A French architect found the most beautiful palm-tree-lined beaches, and had a vision to build a town in the isolated area. He turned his self-made residence into a hotel, and it looked gorgeous. So, I decided to go to Pedasi to check it out. A four-seater plane ride and one-barely-there dirt road later, I’m at Villa Camilla, a visually stunning estate in the rolling hills of Pacific Panama. But, alas, I am the ONLY guest! With my staff of five men, feeding me, cleaning up after me, getting me anything my little heart desires, I felt weird, not to mention completely isolated. I was literally the ONLY sign of life besides my caretakers in the whole region. The town, about 3 miles off, was merely a sign announcing “Pedasi” and a general store (if you can call it that) and a hostel (for who, exactly?). I had planned to go scuba diving, but the rain and the swell of the sea nixed that plan. The beach was breathtaking, but off-limits because of the rough waters. So, there I was, puttering around my villa, with invisible servants at my beck and call. After two days of elaborately served meals at solitary tables in the study, two more books (I was technologically barren in Pedasi), and a LOT of time to think, I had a car service take me to Boquete.
Boquete, a mountain town where I was SUPPOSED to white water raft and horse back ride, suffered the same fate as Pedasi. A rainy one. So, while my little B&B that boasted the town’s best restaurant and spa, was lovely, and there were plenty of retirement age folk to talk to (Boquete has become, seemingly a haven for American retirees…) about the cost of living in Colorado, Arizona, and Florida versus Panama, I was again, bored and devoid of fun activities, and headed back to Panama City, my savior city, called Alexandra and had a fun Thursday “parting-Panama” party for myself. My big moment finally came when President Chavez of Venezuela (who was staying at my hotel) and I were leaving at the exact same time for the airport. Him, flanked by local media, photographers, press agencies and TV cameras yelling “Presidente, Presidente,” and me, backpack in hand whispering to a nearby bellman “Um…un taxi, por favor.” We’re standing thisclose, only separated by his bodyguards and hotel personnel, flashbulbs bursting all around us. I’m telling you, the Panamanian CBS, NBC, ABC news outfits have their 5, 6, and 10 PM news leads, and I’M ALL OVER IT!
Marie and El Presidente Chavez. BFF.
Onto Bogota today, meeting more friends of China (and Alexandra). Then, Cartagena, which I think will provide more exciting stories and adventures. Sorry so bland a tale this week. Panama just didn’t provide as I thought it would.
More soon…
~ M
Showing posts with label Panama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Panama. Show all posts
Friday, June 23, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
"Marie Elena...Como Estas?"
After a month plus of New York City, wherein I came to find that manicuring, lunching, gyming and gossiping with people you run into who ALSO don’t work on the Upper East Side wasn’t doing it for me, I decided to head back out for a quick June trip. Itchy feet, right, Sar? I debated on the possible wheres over and over again in my head; it needed to be somewhere close because I needed to be home over July 4th, it needed to be stimulating both culturally and intellectually (Belize just left a bad taste in my mouth), and it needed to be Latin (b/c as you all know, I’m pretty Latin obsessed these days). So, after settling on Panama and Colombia, I found myself back in touch with Ecuadorian legend, Jose Luis, and after much prompting, decided to make a quick first stop in Ecuador for five days to see him and the Galapagos friends who helped me start this whole adventure eight months ago.
I was able to book my flights on miles, thrilled that they only space left open on the flights were in first class. So after a night without sleep, I headed onto my five hour flight to Panama where I was completely ready to doze for the duration. But, alas, the first class mantra on Copa Airlines (Panama based) isn’t at all what one might expect. That being, leave the passengers alone, keep the noise to a minimum, and do not encourage inter-passenger friendships. Yeah well, I guess I have to remember that the Latinos are a bit different. First of all, the stewardesses (stewardi?) had a practical convention in the galley of first class. They were rat-tat-chatting like a Telemundo soap opera about the misdeeds of their muchachos the entire trip. Dish your dirt in the coach galley, senoritas. Not here, chicas, not here. Add to that, a rapper (who I cannot place) who had his ‘wo-man’ (as he referred to her) sit in the row in front of him with his child who screamed and cried the whole time, giving the rapper-I-can’t-place the pass to lean over the seats every few minutes (did I mention he was as big as a house and when he moved, the whole plane moved?) to try to get the wo-man to quiet the kid. Why are children allowed in first class, mind you? All people traveling with kids, the rich and rap moguls included, should NOT be allowed to purchase a first class ticket. It should be coach all the way. You have a kid, you’re in coach. I mean, fancy boutique hotels in fabulous places don’t allow children under 12, why not first class on the airlines. I didn’t sleep a wink, I was irritated the whole time
Now, the upside to my first class Copa ticket was the VIP lounge in Panama where I got to spend my 10 HOUR layover to Quito, happily ensconced in their overstuffed chairs, using their internet to plan my next legs, watching the World Cup, eating their muffins (AM) and crackers and cheese (PM), and loading up on their excellent Panamanian coffee. Had I not had the first class ticket, I would’ve been stuck in either the crappy “Lo Siento Por La Construccion” war zone of a terminal or spent the day schlepping around Panama, possibly a Canal Zone tour, lugging my overstuffed backpack and sweating my ass off in an outfit suitable for the 60 degree Quito climate, rather than the 99 degree Panama climate. Yeah. All of this would NOT make for a pretty sight when greeting Jose Luis upon exit from the plane. Thank god for Copa first class. Funny how fast it all changes, right?
Arriving in Quito, I found myself smiling out the window. This was where my whole trip began last year. Here was where it all started. I remember feeling unsure, apprehensive, elated and anxious at the same time when the plane touched down last October. I remember my first hours in Quito, in my little hotel room in a strange South American city, sleeping off the anxiety of what I had embarked upon. My phone rang while I feigned slumber, it was Cohen calling, making sure I landed alright, wishing me luck and love one last time. The relief of seeing a familiar number, name at that moment had me immediately emotional. I remember staring at the stucco ceiling for hours afterward, paralyzed by the decision I had made, semi-scared to leave the cocoon of the room, Quito beckoned but I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. I remember wondering how I’d make each day count, how I would achieve a sense of place, culture and education in each new surrounding, how I would be received by people, both natives and other travelers, how I would survive feeling lonely. And yet, by the time I arrived in the Galapagos, I had realized I would succeed in my adventures, I would make new friends, I would accomplish all I set out to do.
Ecuador holds a special place in my heart for that reason. It was in Ecuador, in Galapagos specifically, that I started my trip. I made friends who I am so excited to see this week, who are excited to see me. Over the past eight months, we’ve been in touch, we’ve kept up. They helped me understand how strong I was, how anything is possible once you set your mind to it. They embraced me in a way that I hadn’t expected, especially that early in the game, and helped set the tone for the future travels. Sometimes it’s that initial tone that can make or break a situation. And, I truly feel that my first experience in Ecuador helped me to experience the rest of the world. All of the fears I had that first day in Quito never resurfaced, and it’s been smooth sailing since. So, now, landing in Quito, I’m ecstatic. It’s just fitting to be starting the second half of my travels back here. It feels right. Going through customs, getting my baggage, walking out of the doorway to a sea of Ecuadorian faces greeting their loved ones. And there, off to the right, pokes a familiar face from the beginning, eyes welcoming me back to Quito….
“Marie Elena... Como estas?”
I was able to book my flights on miles, thrilled that they only space left open on the flights were in first class. So after a night without sleep, I headed onto my five hour flight to Panama where I was completely ready to doze for the duration. But, alas, the first class mantra on Copa Airlines (Panama based) isn’t at all what one might expect. That being, leave the passengers alone, keep the noise to a minimum, and do not encourage inter-passenger friendships. Yeah well, I guess I have to remember that the Latinos are a bit different. First of all, the stewardesses (stewardi?) had a practical convention in the galley of first class. They were rat-tat-chatting like a Telemundo soap opera about the misdeeds of their muchachos the entire trip. Dish your dirt in the coach galley, senoritas. Not here, chicas, not here. Add to that, a rapper (who I cannot place) who had his ‘wo-man’ (as he referred to her) sit in the row in front of him with his child who screamed and cried the whole time, giving the rapper-I-can’t-place the pass to lean over the seats every few minutes (did I mention he was as big as a house and when he moved, the whole plane moved?) to try to get the wo-man to quiet the kid. Why are children allowed in first class, mind you? All people traveling with kids, the rich and rap moguls included, should NOT be allowed to purchase a first class ticket. It should be coach all the way. You have a kid, you’re in coach. I mean, fancy boutique hotels in fabulous places don’t allow children under 12, why not first class on the airlines. I didn’t sleep a wink, I was irritated the whole time
Now, the upside to my first class Copa ticket was the VIP lounge in Panama where I got to spend my 10 HOUR layover to Quito, happily ensconced in their overstuffed chairs, using their internet to plan my next legs, watching the World Cup, eating their muffins (AM) and crackers and cheese (PM), and loading up on their excellent Panamanian coffee. Had I not had the first class ticket, I would’ve been stuck in either the crappy “Lo Siento Por La Construccion” war zone of a terminal or spent the day schlepping around Panama, possibly a Canal Zone tour, lugging my overstuffed backpack and sweating my ass off in an outfit suitable for the 60 degree Quito climate, rather than the 99 degree Panama climate. Yeah. All of this would NOT make for a pretty sight when greeting Jose Luis upon exit from the plane. Thank god for Copa first class. Funny how fast it all changes, right?
Arriving in Quito, I found myself smiling out the window. This was where my whole trip began last year. Here was where it all started. I remember feeling unsure, apprehensive, elated and anxious at the same time when the plane touched down last October. I remember my first hours in Quito, in my little hotel room in a strange South American city, sleeping off the anxiety of what I had embarked upon. My phone rang while I feigned slumber, it was Cohen calling, making sure I landed alright, wishing me luck and love one last time. The relief of seeing a familiar number, name at that moment had me immediately emotional. I remember staring at the stucco ceiling for hours afterward, paralyzed by the decision I had made, semi-scared to leave the cocoon of the room, Quito beckoned but I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. I remember wondering how I’d make each day count, how I would achieve a sense of place, culture and education in each new surrounding, how I would be received by people, both natives and other travelers, how I would survive feeling lonely. And yet, by the time I arrived in the Galapagos, I had realized I would succeed in my adventures, I would make new friends, I would accomplish all I set out to do.
Ecuador holds a special place in my heart for that reason. It was in Ecuador, in Galapagos specifically, that I started my trip. I made friends who I am so excited to see this week, who are excited to see me. Over the past eight months, we’ve been in touch, we’ve kept up. They helped me understand how strong I was, how anything is possible once you set your mind to it. They embraced me in a way that I hadn’t expected, especially that early in the game, and helped set the tone for the future travels. Sometimes it’s that initial tone that can make or break a situation. And, I truly feel that my first experience in Ecuador helped me to experience the rest of the world. All of the fears I had that first day in Quito never resurfaced, and it’s been smooth sailing since. So, now, landing in Quito, I’m ecstatic. It’s just fitting to be starting the second half of my travels back here. It feels right. Going through customs, getting my baggage, walking out of the doorway to a sea of Ecuadorian faces greeting their loved ones. And there, off to the right, pokes a familiar face from the beginning, eyes welcoming me back to Quito….
“Marie Elena... Como estas?”
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