I'm a foreigner now

Well, well... I've wanted to travel to exotic places for a very long time, and here I am in Panama City. To my friends and family, I'm doing well, very well! I've ony been really concerned once, on my cab ride from the airport last night. I'm staying in a hostel in the old part of town called Casco Viejo which is well know for its colonial architecture, culture, beautiful views, and, unfortunately, poverty and crime. I negotiated a decent cab fare from what i could only describe as a taxi hustler last night, loaded up in a big old beat up Mercedes, and prayed that the guy...

A. wasn't intentionally going to take me somewhere and rob me
B. would be able to find Hospedaje Casco Viejo, my hostel
C. that the hostel would be safe and at least moderately sanitary.

I'm glad to report that, while the neighborhood got pretty scary towards the end, the driver took me right to the hostel, and it's actually better than I expected. I have my own private room and bathroom with shower for $11 per night. I like it so much I'm staying tonight as well.

The cab ride from the airport afforded some nice views. as we approached the downtown area from the east, the road became a causeway, and the whole city came into view across the reflecting waters of the bay. It was what one of my students refers to as a "movie moment", when you feel like you are inside of a movie. I suspect there will be more of those to come.

After a good night's sleep, I explored Casco Viejo. After wandering around for a while, I got recruited by a tour assistant named Andres from the national institute of culture. He speaks no English, and I speak very little Spanish, but we still managed to communicate decently. He was a hell of a nice guy, and very patient with my horrible spanish.

Andres showed me a lot of interesting things, but the highlight was getting to go into the international affairs building and getting to see the man second in power to the President whose name I didn't catth, Simon Bolivar's ceremonial sword, and the articles of independence from Spain.

Casco Viejo is on a narrow peninsula betweeen the modern downtown of Panama, and the causeway adjacent the canal, so the views form the shoreline are very nice wherever you are. The old town itself is a rapidly gentrifying semi-slum packed full of very old buildings in every posiible state of repair, from perfectly restored showpieces to crumbling ruins. The heartbreaking part is the terrible housing the dilapidated buildings provide to the many obviously poor residents. Even the Presidential residence has such a tenement directly across the street.

The people here are attractive, running the gamut of all possible blends of the historical mix of African, Indiginous, Spanish, and Oriental people. The really amusing thing to me today was that I was usually the only remotely Caucasian-looking person around. The only exceptions were in the area where the diplomats and Panamanian officials do their thing, and when I ran across the rare American or European tourists. I'll get used to that situation, especially since the locals don't seem to pay me any special attention...

Late in the day I was once again recruited by a local diplomat, of sorts. Conrad Grant is a seventy year man who was raised near a U.S. base, therefore he received an American education, for which he says he is very greatful. He showed me around the Avenida Central area north of the historical district. He told me about the indiginous Kuna people, who can be seen selling their distinctive handcrafts on the streets and in shops. He said that Jimmy Carter screwed up giving back the Panama canal, because while the money is all going to Panama now, it isn't helping the common people as much as the impact the Americans used to have. He blames this on Panamanian corruption. He also encouraged me to find a Panamanian wife, because they are proud, honest and aren't only after guys with money. Oh yeah, and Grant told me where to find the clean, reasonably priced prostitutes. A charming man, Mr. Grant, but I think I'll take all of his advice with a good dose of scepticism.

He says his wife was killed by U.S. forces when they came for Noriega. He says Operation Just Cause was just like what's going on now in Iraq, that Americans didn't get the real story then, and aren't now.

We had a beer at a local bar, where I was shocked when the bartender gave me back the extra dollar I gave her. She thought that I had overpaid! Grant had to explain to her that this was a tip. Grant says that the locals don't typically tip, so this was unusual for her, since we were in a bar waaaay off the tourist track. When we left, it was time for me to return to the Hospedaje before it got dark. Grant asked me for some money so he could buy some beans and rice for his family on the way home, an I happily obliged. I don't know how much of what Grant told me this evening is true, but some of the greatest truths are in fiction, verdad?

On my way back to the hostel, I passed by a demonstration for the expansion of the Canal, which is a devisive issue that is coming up for a referendum soon. It was good to get back here tonight, relax, and write about the day.

Until later,
Eric

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