Rain and overcast skies, unfortunately a common theme for this trip, greeted me for the first time on Friday morning. My plan for the day was to head out early to The Panama Canal, but the rain put things on hold. Instead I grabbed a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts and hustled through the drizzle in order to hit "Rey", the supermarket on Via Espana.When I travel I like the people I meet and the places I see to be vastly different from what I experience at home; but I like my hotels and anything food related to be right out of Main Street USA. Rey (Photo Below) was a bit suspect with it's windowless walls, dusted with exhaust, and crowd of characters out front which included a dozen ladies hawking lottery tickets and some food vendors selling things that looked neither sanitary nor appealling (Photo Upper Right - Click to Enlarge).
But since I needed only some bottled water, dental floss and a replacement for my "it's only 2 ounces so I'm not a terrorist" tube of toothpaste, I gave the place a shot. Well Rey put my little, snobby Gringo nose right back in place, because it was as nice as any supermarket you'd find in the States. It was white-glove clean and fully-stocked. It also had a pharmacy, bank, beauty department, butcher and a sandwhich shop with tables where a half-dozen people were grabbing a snack. After I paid in $US, in prices comparable to Miami, I grabbed a Cafe Con Leche at the well-appointed Cafe (cherrywood cabinets and marble counter) that was built into the front of the store. "Algunas mas, Gringo?"
Panamanians make their money on tourists. And white guys like me are seen as a sure source of revenue. So when I walked the 2 blocks from the hotel to Rey, I was bombarded with offers for a half-dozen taxi rides, Native Indian jewelry, various kinds of food and an Ecotour. I knew the same sales-pitch minefield awaited me on my walk back; but what I couldn't know was that one of the guys making that pitch was about to make this drab day very colorful.
As soon as I hit the street which lead to the hotel, a guy who was a dead-ringer for Hall-of-Fame baseball player Ozzie Smith, asked me if I wanted to buy some sunglasses. I told him "No thanks. It's raining!" His English was good and we started talking. He asked me how I liked Panama and what I hoped to do. I told him I just got there the night before and the rain was messing with my plans, but I hoped to see the obvious tourist sites but also get a taste of real life in Panama. Without a beat he said: "OK. I gonna chow you!"
Now it's probably not prudent to follow a complete stranger, especially in a foreign country, but I liked Jose's spirit from the start. So off we went. As we walked away from his sunglass stand, the first thing he told me was: "Don't buy no-ding here. This is for tourists. If you gonna buy something, go to Chinatown. "Where's Chinatown?" I asked. "I gonna chow you," he said for the second time of many.
Jose told me he was 57, but he looked like he was 35. "I don't eat meat," was his answer to my surprise at how young he looked. I later found out that he did like his beer. So apparently the Vegetarian-Beer diet is quite effective in staying young. Our first stop was Calle Uruquay, the street where the Panamaians go to have a nice dinner and party it up. On our way there, Jose told me of the building boom, the problems with traffic and his love for America and Panama. All along the way he greeted doormen, parking attendants, cashiers, et al with a laugh, a smile and a comical comment. They obviously knew him and liked him. After about 15 minutes we made it to Calle Uruguay and Jose started pointing out the right places to eat and have a drink. "Go there," he told me of Madam Changs Chinese Restaurant. "Goo' foo'. Cheap."
It started to rain again and Jose flagged down a cab. He good-naturedly, negotiated with the driver and settled on renting the cab for an hour for $12. We were off to see the rest of Panama. We saw the Seafood Market and The Old City (Casco Viejo) from inside the cab. Then we hopped out to check out the President's palace up close while the cabbie swung around and met us on the other side.
From there he directed the cabbie to another area of town about a five-minute ride away. This was obviously outside the tourist area. We drove by beat-down tenements where the people were seated outside their doors on crates and worn-out chairs. And the people who were walking, were doing so slowly and seemed like they had no particular place to go. It was most definitely the wrong side of town. This was the "Real Panama" I was hoping to see so I asked Jose if it were safe for me to come back here and walk around. Before answering he repeated my question in Spanish to the cab driver. They both laughed. Jose turned to me in the back seat and said: "This is like Harlem, man." I took that as a "No".
Our hour was about up as the cab pulled away from Panama's version of Harlem. The cabbie dropped us off at an archway which signified the beginning of Avenida Central, the shopping district of the local Panmanians (Photo Below). It was the equivalent of a bad US flea market in need of an overhaul. I thanked Jose for showing me these off-the-beaten path sites. His response: "I toll' you, I no foe-king around. I gonna chow you." Avenida Central dead-ended into Plaza de Cinco de Mayo. It's name sounded festive. It wasn't.
We were about 2 hours into this jaunt and Jose told me he had one more thing he had to show me. We hopped a 10 minute cab ride to the Allbrook Mall. It was maybe 2 or 3 years old and right out of the American heartland. Clean, shiny and full of hundreds of stores with glittering signs. He told me it was financed by Columbian drug money. We stopped in the Food Court which was enormous. The seating area, with easily 100 tables, was about 80 yards long and 40 yards wide. The entire space was ringed by about 30 eateries which included every US fast-food chain plus a couple of local places. We sat down and had a Cafe Con Leche. On the back of a receipt tape, with a pen borrowed from a cashier, Jose wrote down all the places we'd been and his little notes on each. Plus he gave me his phone number and told me to call him if I needed anything.
Before we left he took the time to show me the new bus station adjacent to the mall. "You wanna have a goo' time on Sunday? Go away from the city. I gonna chow you the goo' buses. With air conditioning. Not the pee-a-schit buses that that the other people take." And he showed me where to buy the tickets if I wanted to go to the Mountains or the Beach to "see beautiful girls in bikinis."
The mall was on the outskirts of town and my hotel was in the middle of the business district. This presented a real dilemna in getting back. Because traffic is so bad in the business district no cabbies wanted to drive there at this time of day and spend all there time stuck in traffic. There was a girl waiting for a taxi a few feet from where we were standing. She was also heading to the same part of town and nobody wanted to give her a ride either. After about 10 denials, Jose finally convinced 1 guy to take us and the girl at the same time. Basically a double fare. He agreed and we were on our way.
Now I knew I was going to pay Jose some money for his time. We hadn't negotiated anything up front, so I really didn't know how much to give him. But a man who can sell sunglasses on a rainy day, has got to be smooth. So he didn't ask me for any money, but asked if I could "help him" buy some Cuban cigars on the black market. Now this box of Cubans, he explained, cost $40, but if he sold them individually to the tourists at the casino he could make 10 times that. He really hoped I could "help him out." Needless to say I gave him the $40. I liked him and we had a good time. Plus $40 was well worth the insight and revelation I received on a morning that would have been otherwise spent in a hotel room staring at the rain.
But wait this story isn't yet over. The Black Market, were Jose was going to buy the cigars, was on the way to the hotel. So Jose was getting out first. The taxi driver took a couple of side roads and wound up in a place that was much, much worse than "the Harlem of Panama." I've been in my share of bad neighborhoods, so I don't get rattled easily with this type of thing. But I was, to say the least, a bit concerned. The car barely came to a stop and Jose jumped out. The girl, dressed like she was going to a job interview, and I were in the backseat and I heard her say "peligroso" (dangerous). This isn't what she signed up for when she agreed to split the cab. The driver, a littled shaken himself, quickly buzzed to the end of the street, made a right turn without stopping at the stop sign and boogeyed his way out of there.
I have to laugh at the memory. But what else should I have expected but an exciting little adventure like that? After all, Jose told me: "I no foe-king around!"
This was only the first part of my Friday in Panama. Tomorrow I'll finish my adventurous day with stories of a little partying and gambling in Panama. A couple of photos are below.
