Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The ferry trip back across to Panama was very pleasant. Sitting and chatting above deck we
had a great view around us, and the morning sun felt wonderful in the salty breeze. I met
the American couple who, along with a few other people, had banded together to brave
lawless Panama City in order to do banking and shopping for their boats.
Alighting from the bus which took us into the city of Panama, we were met by a policeman
in a khaki uniform wielding a large knife and an even larger smile. “Come, we go to bank
and shops; I take you, no problem from banditos,” he assured us, waving his vicious look-
ing dagger through the air, his black eyes flashing with fun. We followed obediently behind
him like a group of tourists following a tour guide.
Everywhere were signs of trouble, strife, and crippling poverty. The downcast look of the
unemployed, the pitiful optimism of the young, and the ugly prostitutes were shocking. Yet
everywhere the children played like happy rats around the ruined buildings. Beggars were
ever present, and there was a dangerous bravado look about some of the young and hungry
men.
We followed our guard cautiously through all this crumbling, ghetto grime, trying to make
sense of the angry, wall-strewn graffiti and found the Banco de Panama where the Amer-
ican boating couple did their business. The bank was guarded like a fort by zealous look-
ing, armed guards patrolling with automatic rifles, uniformed, humorless men with mean,
clipped, black moustaches, men who wouldn't think twice about mowing down any law-
less intrusion.
It wasn't hard to imagine weekly armed robberies. I looked about nervously at the once
grand, old building with its high domed ceiling and beautiful, glass skylight and saw traces
of broken plaster and peeling paint. Machine-gun bullet damage I wagered. The graceful,
architectural age of this building had departed long ago. The city was in survival mode and
seemed to brace itself for when the Americans would pull out and hand back the reins of
the canal to the local authorities.
With some relief we went out into the welcome sunshine and made our way to a large
outdoor market, our personal guard proudly leading the way, his wicked dagger the only
weapon between us, the soft target, and the naked streets of Panama. The market was in full
swing. We immediately forgot the dangers of the street and entered into the colorful and
noisy throng of vendors and buyers all haggling, laughing, yelling, bargaining, and pur-
chasing. Stray dogs swayed about on rickety legs, shaking flies from half-open eyes and
scabby ears. Ragged kids squealed and darted about, as oblivious as the preening, mar-
ket cats in sunlit doorways. Pigeons fluttered on blurry wings through the open rusty roof,
wings flashing in shafts of sunlight. Home-made, brightly painted, and heavily overloaded
