Who Killed Casco Viejo?
Who Killed Casco Viejo?
Lovers of Casco Viejo (Casco), I have troubling news. I’ve caught the killer of Casco. Sure, this photo looks like an innocent steel survey platform. But, don’t be fooled. On the portable platform they are plotting to kill Casco. Digital devices stationed here will release data detailing a plan that wraps a 1950s-style superhighway around Panama’s historic peninsula of Casco. This will be the death of the Casco — te lo jurro, aweboa! (I swear to you, a-Panamanian-word-that-I-have-no-idea-how-to-translate).
Some background: Casco is a UNESCO World Heritage site. So too are Stonehedge, Machu Picchu and Vatican City. There are approximately 1000 in the world, and Panama has 5. UNESCO is a prestigious international designation of Panamanian history and culture.
UNESCO has warned Panama’s politicians about the Cinta Costera 3. In fact, they’ve officially sent a 54 page report that specifically mentions it (see page 6). UNESCO frequently interacts with double talk countries. They don’t have time for games. If you renege on your commitment, they simply pull you from their internationally renowned list. Casco will be no different.
UNESCO designation is important to Casco. It has spurred the colonial district’s revitalization. Prior to UNESCO’s arrival in 1997, Casco Viejo was Panama’s forgotten neighborhood. The majority of its buildings were deserted. Civil services had been neglected. Gang violence was rampant. As my local friends tell me, “Chuleta! Antes no podias andar en el Casco!” (Pork Chop! Before you couldn’t walk in the Casco). Casco’s soul was on life support.
Today, times have changed. UNESCO’s designation has reinvigorated Casco. Careful historic restoration throughout the neighborhood is on the move. Don’t take my word for it. Walk the calles of Casco. The progress is palpable, Papa.
This momentum has energized Casco. This once sometimes-shaddy neighborhood, is now Panama’s cultural heartbeat. Come for Jazz Fest weekend or attend an Art Block crawl, you’ll be impressed. Better yet, treat yourself to a Cena Cine at Diablo Rosso, or check out Rolando De Sedas’ trademark ladies painted on the walls of Villa Agustina. Casco has culture. Like a local computer programmer friend who rents a desk at The Casco Station told me, “All the coolest things in Panamanian culture are happening in Casco.”
Technically speaking, building a Casco-killing highway is against the law. Both international accords and local Panamanian law. Killing Casco Viejo is economically suicidal for two reasons:
First, it sends the wrong message about strict Casco’s historical guidelines. If the government itself breaks Casco laws, then why should anyone else follow them? Expect to see builders adding extra floors and other non-historical elements to Casco’s buildings. Once the historical integrity is jeopardized, Casco’s authentic allure will be dead.
Without authenticity, the neighborhood will begin a downward spiral that will only accelerate. Its historical value will be gone. It will no longer attract artists, musicians, writers, or passionate community members committed to pumping Casco’s cause. Its culture will be gone. With no historical integrity or community contributors, the tourism money will go away. Casco will revert back to Panama’s forgotten neighborhood. Que lastima! (What a damn shame!)
Secondly, breaking the law is bad for Panama’s international image. Currently, Panama is running ads declaring, “We Are Open For Business”. The goal is to attract more foreign investment to the isthmus.
However, defying laws and public institutions and instilling investor confidence are mutually exclusive. It reinforces the perception held by two of the world’s most respected news organizations – The Economist and New York Times – that Panama is rapidly becoming corrupt to its core. This small country is turning into a kleptocracy.
If Panama wants to be, “Open For Business” it must have strong public institutions. Laws need to be followed. Otherwise, Panama cannot achieve its stated goal: to become the business hub of The Americas.
Let me give you an example. You are a foreign investor who is interested in investing in Panama. You believe Casco is a good investment. It has UNESCO’s international prestige that will attract tourism for years to come. Plus, its historical integrity is protected by both national law and international accords. You confidently open a business/invest capital in a country that enthusiastically courts foreign investment. You’ve picked Panama.
Suddenly, the government breaks its own laws and international commitments. It unilaterally forces an infrastructure project that removes the UNESCO designation. This has a negative impact on your investment. Your confidence is Panama’s legal system is gone. Investors don’t like countries who presidents act like dictators. Just ask Venezuela.
Bottomline: Don’t kill Casco. It has been reborn. The progress has come too far and means too much to Panama’s history, culture, and general economy to be put to death. Por favor, deja El Casco en PAZ! (Leave Casco in peace).
I arrive in Ocú under the cover of darkness. The town’s church has been designated as my pickup point. I wait on a green park bench with a priest’s sermon echoing in the background. In the foreground, there is a teenage boy giving his girlfriend a ride the bike’s handlebars. A late model yellow taxi pulls up as the passenger window is manually rolled down. A señora pops her head out and shouts, “Vamos pues!” (Lets go!)
The señora in the cab is Virginia. She is Deira’s mother. The driver’s name is Jose, but everyone calls him Sheri. Sheri is Deira’s stepfather. They’re hosting my stay in Ocú and helping me setup a machetero internship. Deria is the co-worker who took my mother to visit her family in Ocú and attend a local festival. The idea seeds of my machetero internship were sown at that time.
Deira: “Porque no te vas con nosotras a Ocú?” (Why don’t you come with us girls to Ocú?)
Me: “Nah, really can’t. I have to do (excuse), (excuse) and then (another excuse).”
Deira: “No! Es porque no te gusta el campo. Eres demasiado fino.” (No! It is because you do not like life in the country. You’re too prissy.)
Me: “I like el campo, plenty. I can throw around the machete with the best of them.”
Deira: “Tu! Tirando machete con esas manitos suaves? HA!” (You! Throwing around a machete with these soft little hands? HA!)
Me: “Oh yeah! I’ll show you. I’ll work that farm, I’ll work it good.”
That conversation sealed my machetero faith. Deira had done what so many have done to me before: challenged my manhood in order for me to carry out a silly dare.
This time the dare was working a day as a machetero. In college, it was a friend daring me to chug a gallon of whole-milk as fast as possible. This ended in disaster. And there countless other embarrassing dares that I’d rather not talk about right now.
The literal English translation of el machetero = machete man or peasant. Yet, el machetero is so much more. Agriculture is the backbone of rural Panama’s economy. Many city dwelling Panamanians were born in el interior (rural Panama). A gleeful smile spreads across their faces when I tell them, “Me voy pa’ el campo.” (I go to the countryside). Panama’s campo is shrouded with a reminisce nostalgia. El machetero is its unsung hero.
Virginia and Sheri live on the outer edge of Ocú. Ocú is a small Panamanian pueblo consisting of approximately 3,000 people in the rural province of Herrera. Virginia and I sit sideways on hammocks on her porch illuminated by a single light bulb. She is verifying the details of my day as a machetero.
Virginia: “Tu quieres ser machetero pa’ un dia?” (You want to learn how to be a machetero for one day?)
Virginia: “Porque? Vas a comprar una finca o estás estudiando agricultura?” (Why? Are you going to buy a farm or are you studying agriculture?)
Me: “Nah. I just want to caminar en los zapatos del pueblo.” (Walk in the shoes of Joe the Plumber)
Virginia and Sheri sit silent for a moment. I can see they are trying to make sense of me. They can’t figure out why a city-boy Gringo voluntarily wants to work as a machetero. They’re both thinking to themselves, “Este Gringo está loco!” (Evan is a crazy man)
Sheri starts making phone calls. He scrolls through a list of farmer friends on his second-hand Blackberry Bold cell phone.
Sheri: “Buenas noches, Eladio. Oiga, usted va a trabajar en la finca mañana siempre?” (Good evening, Eladio. Are you working on the farm tomorrow?)
Eladio: “Si, mañana voy a sacar Otoe.” (Yes, tomorrow I’m going to harvest a potato like plant)
Sheri pulls the phone away from his ear and turns to me: “Sacando Otoe – está bien contigo?” (Harvesting Otoe – ok with you?)
Sheri: “El Gringo dice está bien.” (Evan says it is ok)
Eladio: “Oiga Sheri, El Gringo va a cobrar?” (Is Evan going to charge?)
Again, Sheri pulls the phone away from his ear and turns to me: “Tu no vas a cobrar, cierto?” (You are not going to charge, correct?)
Me: “Nah, this is an internship. Internships are free.”
Sheri: “Si, si, si, el Gringo dice que no va a cobrar. Solo pagele con un lunche.” (Yeah, yeah, yeah, Evan says that he is not going to charge. Just pay him with lunch.)
On my Chinito Internship, the shopkeeper Chen was very clear that he was not going to pay me as well. This is understandable. Sole proprietors must keep their cost down. However, I’m beginning to believe another hypothesis: Locals are fearful of Gringo-ization.
In Panama, Gringos are synonymous with all things expensive. Restaurants and hotels that are frequented by Gringos are pricey. When Gringos start buying land, prices increase dramatically (Pedasi and Boquete). Spendy Gringos inflate prices to levels that are unaffordable to most working-class Panamanians. Many believe that Gringos are making Panama expensive.
For this reason, both Chen and Eladio have trepidations about associating themselves with me – a Gringo. I’m like voodoo to them. Their businesses and daily lives are just fine. They want nothing to become Gringo-ized. Thus, I’m super clear about my intentions: One day, no pay.
My alarm is set for 5 AM the following morning, but I do not need it. Minutes before the alarm rings, a chorus of roosters sound off. Seemingly, they’re having a competition for who can cock-a-doodle-doo the loudest.
Still half asleep, I walk like a zombie towards bathroom. My iPhone flashlight app leads the way. In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. Through groggy vision, I see that the shower is controlled by a single lever. I turn it downwards. In an instant, a blast of morning-cold water hits me directly in the solar plex. The shock of the shivery blast sends me retreating to the back corner of the shower.
From there, I gingerly splash the cold water over soap-laden body parts for quick morning shower. Thanks to the chorus of roosters and ice cold water, I am wide awake.
Sheri waits for me in the car. Before heading to Eladio’s, we make a quick stop to buy some breakfast. I buy a Dixie-cup of black coffee and a bit of dry bread that sets me back $0.65. Sheri mingles with local friends. He knows everyone there.
It’s a 20-minute drive to Eladio’s home. He lives in a smaller pueblito called Rincon Santo. During the drive, there are children in Catholic school uniforms waiting curbside for their shuttle school van. Chickens scurry across the two-lane country road as we pass. This is el campo.
Eladio is the landowner. He sits shirtless on a wood chair inside his zinc roof home. He sips coffee from a tin cup while he sharpens a machete with a river rock. Eladio is 54-years-old. Yet, his lean muscular physique is that of a person 20 years younger.
Eladio: “Vamos a montar caballos a la finca hoy.” (We go to the farm on horseback today)
Sheri: “Dejo el Gringo en la escuela, entonces?” (So, I’ll leave Evan at the school?)
Eladio only has two horses. Both are occupied. So, Sheri drives me further down the country road. I’ll wait for Eladio in front of the single classroom elementary school.
I sit on the steps of the school. In the morning dew everything is cool and thick and wet. I choke down more dry bread with water from my water bottle. I’m going to need these carbohydrates for the long day ahead.
In no time, two horses come galloping up on the dirty road. “Vamos pues!” Eladio tells me. I sling my day bag over my right shoulder and begin walking behind the two horses. Our pace is swift. The horses are setting it.
In route, we meet the 3 additional macheteros. They’re brothers that live in the area. From their look, they can’t be much older than 20. Normally, they’d be working their family farms. In the downtime, Eladio gives them work.
The walk to Eladio’s farm is 2 miles. Eladio’s cattle are grazing when we arrive. The horses are tied up under the shade of trees. We squeeze through a barb wire fence and proceed to the field. From the fence to the field is less than 500 yards. However, it is heavily covered in high grass and bushes. The machetes clear the way.
After nearly 300 machete swings, we reach the patch of land that will be harvested. The plan for the day is to harvest Otoe. Otoe is known as a tuber or root vegetable. Tuber plants have roots systems that grow underneath the soil. Otoe is a starch. It is the color of a red onion with a mass comparable to a potato. Otoe is cooked in soups and is also served like mashed potatoes.
Above ground, Otoe grows two to four stems that reach to about waist height. Off each stem grows a large leaf. I shadow Eladio as he demonstrates how to harvest Otoe:
1) Bend over and firmly grab the stem near the root. Beware of sticker bushes that could prick your hands.
2) Once you have a firm grip, pull upwards and outwards. Rock the Otoe sharply back and forth will help dislodge it from the soil.
3) Once removed, check the plant’s roots for vegetables. Any Otoe larger than a baseball should be harvested.
4) Knee to the ground. Plunge your hands deep into the soil to search for more Otoe.
5) Remove all attached roots and excess dirt from the Otoe. Place the clean Otoe into a neat pile.
Finally rinse and repeat this process for the next 5 hours.
Harvesting Otoe is labor intensive! We’ve started just after 7AM. The rising morning sun is just beginning to evaporate the dew from the air. I have my hands buried into the rich soil. Working the land like this hits me just right.
By 8:30 AM, the sun is beginning to beat down on us. My body is lathered with sweat. My hands and shirt are covered in dirt. I’ve given up on working independently. Instead, I’m now assisting Eladio.
During our digging, I’m asking Eladio about the economics of Otoe. He explains to me that the average plant we pull contains $0.30-$1.00 of produce. Today, the market price of Otoe is $0.50/lb. Five years ago it was only $0.10/lb. This just shows the rise in global commodity prices.
From the field, the Otoe is packed into white sacks. Each sack weighs approximately 50lbs. That 50lbs sack has a market value of $25. Our goal for the day is to harvest 10 to 15 sacks which will gross $250 – $375.
Eladio: “La finca le paga, pero tiene que trabajarla.” (The farm pays, but you have it work it)
Eladio does have significant cost. He has a loan to payback. There is labor. Each machetero earns $10/day plus a chicken and rice lunch. Labor costs vary in Panama depending on the province. Macheteros makes as much as $12/day in Los Santos and as little as $8/day in the Darien. Other costs include things like equipment and feed for horses.
There are also unforeseeable costs which include insect evasion, drought, and robbery. Robbery is the most frequent of these. Multiple times a year sections of Eladio’s farm are pilfered.
Eladio: “Me roban cuando estoy en otro lado.” (They rob when I’m not at the farm)
Me: “Do you know who is robbing you?”
Eladio: “Claro que si, pero no les digo nada. Me da pena. Ellos son más pobre que yo y lo necesitan la plata más que yo.” (Yeah, but I don’t say anything. I feel bad. They are the poorer than me. They need the money more than me.)
Most of my focus has not been not on harvesting Otoe. Rather, I’m primarily focused on asking Charlie Rose style interview questions of Eladio. Absent is Charlie’s trademark set of a round table and black backdrop in NYC. Instead, Eladio and I talk while working with our hands in the dirt in rural Panama.
Me: “So how did you start farming?”
Eladio openly admits that he is not formally educated beyond the 6th grade. So, going off to work in Panama City would have him, “limpiando la casa de un rico” (cleaning a rich person’s house). Instead, Eladio wanted to buy his own farm. He wanted to be his own boss.
The problem was that Eladio had no means to buy a farm. His parents were poor. Eladio owned no land or other collateralizable assets. He had been working years as a machetero. The paid was just enough to survive.
What Eladio did do was opened up savings account 15 years ago with Panama’s state-owned bank – Banco Nacional. Over time, he established credit. 3 years later, he applied for a small loan through a government-sponsored rural development program at the bank. For the subsequent 5 years, he improved his credit by making payments on time.
After he established good credit, Eladio applied for a larger loan. This time it was to buy another larger farm. It’s the farm Eladio and I are currently working. Eladio has the 15-year loan scheduled to pay off in 10 years. A full 5 years early.
Having access to capital has changed Eladio’s life. Eladio had been working the majority of his life as a landless machetero. Through a government rural development program, Eladio capitalized on his hard work. He went from a peasant to a landowner. He went from poverty to the middle class. Today, the banking industry is often demonized – and rightfully so – but the capital markets have given Eladio social mobility. Very Cool!
In the field, Eladio wears a Banco Nacional hat. Its primary utility is not sponsorship, rather to block the unrelenting sun. However, he does prefer Banco Nacional to other government agricultural loan programs, even though Banco Nacional is very strict on their repayment terms.
Eladio: “Los Panameños, somos frescos. Si no pagas tu deuda, Banco Nacional te llame en seguida. No importa tu exusa.” (Some Panamanians are not to be trusted. If you don’t make a loan payment on time, Banco Nacional calls you. No excuses)
Eladio contributes this strict repayment schedule for the main reason that he stayed on target.
By 11 AM, I am extremely fatigued. I barely have enough energy to help Eladio on the Otoe pulls and zero desire to have my filthy hands in the dirt any longer. The heat from the rising afternoon sun is so damn intense. My sweat is sweating. Soil is embedded underneath my fingernails. My sneakers have been obliterated. The underwear I’m wearing is soaked through with swamp-ass. The novelty of workin-on-the-farm is long gone.
Eladio’s man-strength and stamina are impressive. Lifting weights in a gym, there is zero doubt that I’m stronger than this 54-year-old man. But in the field, there is no competition. Eladio is stronger on the pulls and shows no discomfort as he works from a bent over position. I’m basically tapping out, while Eladio is just getting started.
At noon, the macheteros break for lunch. From a seated position underneath a tree, I reach into my day bag and grab a secret stash of peanuts. Lunch is being served. But I know the arroz pelao (plain rice) with a small piece of chicken will not give me enough strength to continue.
I gobble down as many peanuts as my mouth can fit. To wash it down, I chug a jug of river water. The taste is glorious. It’s as refreshing as a fresh slice of mama’s apple pie and a giant glass of cold milk.
The other macheteros sit on top of bags while they eat their lunch. During our 30-minute break, they ask me questions about America. Primarily the questions are about agricultural produce grow in America; Did I vote for Obama; And, do I like the Yankees.
Phase II is much easier. We fill the Otoe into white sacks. The 50lbs sacks are loaded onto the horses and walked to a meeting point. There the loads will be transferred to a truck that picks everyone up 2:30 PM.
During this process, my job is little. I simply walk to the school and wait for the truck. When it appears, I take the lead on lifting the heavy white sacks into the back of the Toyota Hilux. The lift movement is similar to an Olympic-style exercise called a Power Clean.
A thought occurs to me: A day as a machetero would be a fantastic Crossfit workout. They are always posting quirky workouts on their website like bear crawls, fireman rope climbs, and running with bags on your back. The workouts are designed to test both physical and mental toughness. I’m emailing them my machetero workout as we speak:
2 Mile horse-pace walk
300 Machete swings through tall grass
200 Otoe pulls
2 Mile horse-pace walk
20 Power cleans of 50lbs sacks of Otoe into the back of a pickup truck
The day is nearing an end. The other macheteros and I are hanging off the back of the Toyota Hilux as we ride home. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about my day.
Personally, it felt good to work the land. Typically, 70% of my working day is spent behind a computer screen. Farming outdoors was a refreshing change. Sure, the labor was hard. But it gave me a sense of contribution to the earth. Responding to emails all day has never given me that same sense of contribution.
For individuals, farming builds a strong work ethic. Successful farmers wake up before sunrise. Eladio rarely drinks. Not because he doesn’t like the taste of a beer, rather because drinking makes him unproductive. Individuals with industrious habits likes these are good for the community.
Lastly, increasing social mobility is good for society. Macheteros working indefinitely the farm of land barrens returns society back to feudalism. A life like this is a real tragedy because it’s destined to abject poverty. People must see the tangible benefits from their hard work. To borrow a quote from Bill Clinton, “Society must have a connection between effort and reward.”
See more Machetero Internship photos here.
Panama’s Dating Dilemma: Gringa or Latina
My dating life in Panama has a dilemma. Should I date a Gringa or should I date a Latina? So far, my results with both Gringas and Latinas have been mixed. Let me tell ya about it…
We’ll start with Ms. Luna. I met her at Relic’s Pull Pork Sandwich station. The bright yellow wristband and spring dress with flip flops are a dead giveaway that she is a guest of Luna’s Castle. Her hair has that I-haven’t-used-a-hair-straightener-in-weeks natural curl to it. I lean over and recommend my favorite BBQ sauce combination.
Me: “Try mixing Carolina Daddy Mustard, Sweet Jack Daniels, and Spicey Balboa Tang all together. They’ve been designed to work together.”
Ms. Luna: “You seem to know these sauces well. How long have you been staying at Luna’s Castle?”
Me: “Nah, I’m not staying here. I live around the corner.”
Ms. Luna: “You live in Casco Viejo!”
The conversation starts from there. Being a young American abroad for the past 5 years makes my personal story interesting inside traveler’s circles. Most Luna’s Castle guests are shoestring backpackers traveling from 2 weeks to 2 months. While they’re on the road, most travelers will ask themselves, “I wonder what it would be like to leave in this place?” Especially in a place like Casco Viejo. The neighborhood has so much cultural texture to it. I’m that traveler who actually stayed.
The conversation with Ms. Luna continues to flow easily. We share many commonalities: She is from the West Coast. She went to a Pac-12 university and participated in Greek life. She listens to Notorious B.I.G.
Ms. Luna tells me that she flies home tomorrow. This means that I don’t have much time, which is fine for me. I’ve become accustomed to compressed relationships while on the road.
We take shots of rum and dance. Afterwards, we bar hop around Casco. Ms. Luna and I see eye-to-eye on our philosophy that paying cover fees for the privilege to buy drinks is silly. So we skip over nightlife hot spots like Tantalo and Havana Panama.
The night takes us to Plaza Herrera. We share a park bench under a flickering street lamp. There something about Spanish colonial plazas that makes them conducive to kissing. I realized this while living 6 weeks in Antigua, Guatemala. Ms. Luna and I are smooching within minutes of sitting down.
The night is nearing its end. We make one last stop at Mojitos (sin Mojitos). Over national beers, Ms. Luna and I talk about topics like our favorite entrepreneur self-help books, the Daily Show with Jon Stewart and how rewarding it is to dance Gangnam style. I try to pick up our bar tab. But she refuses to let me pay. We’ve been going dutch all night.
At this point, being direct with Ms. Luna seems very appropriate.
Me: “I think it’s a good idea that you stay with me tonight.”
Ms. Luna: “Really? And why do you think this?”
Me: “A couple reasons, actually: A) It’s your last night in town. This relationship only has until daylight mañana. B) You’re sleeping in a dormitory with 5 other smelly backpackers. On the other hand, I have access to a restored colonial apartment containing many leather bound books and that smells of rich mahogany.”
Ms. Luna buys my sales pitch. She stays the night, and we head straight to bed (my mother reads/writes for this blog).
The following morning we wake early enough to allow time for pillow talk. We can talk forever. Ms. Luna tells me that she wants to move. She lives in San Francisco, but is considering a career change. Austin and Brooklyn are her top relocation city choices. I’m pretty sure that Ms. Luna makes more money than I do. I’m for damn sure that she has a higher IQ score than me. Not being the breadwinner or the smartest partner in a relationship does not threaten me. I see it as a positive.
Me: “We gotta go. Your flight leaves soon.”
Ms. Luna: “(sigh) I know… You don’t have to walk me to the hostel. I’m totally independent.”
Me: “Spoken like a true sorority girl. But, I will walk you to the hostel. My mother would be disappointed in me.”
Yes, mom, I walked her home.
We exchange Facebook information at Luna’s Castle doorstep. Then she leaves on a jet plane. History has taught me that there is a 83% chance that I will never see Ms. Luna again.
As I walk back home, I think about the good and bad of the previous night. The good is that I felt a great connection with this girl. Generally, I prefer to date girls who like to travel because they are resourceful and optimistic. They also value experiences over material items. These are all respectable and sexy traits.
The bad is that the relationships end too quickly. Ms. Luna’s case was the extreme example – a one-night stand. However, other Gringa girls in Panama do not stay long either. These Gringas come down here on internships, Fulbright scholarship or work relocation. They stay for 6 to 16 months. Eventually, their internship or contract expires. The novelty of living in a foreign country wears off. Their underlying desire to return home is exhausting in a committed relationship.
Dating Gringas is natural and easy for me. However, they leave me with a re-occuring feeling of unfulfillment.
A Chinito Internship
A Chinito Internship
It has been my dream to work at a Chinito. Since I arrived in Panama 5 years ago, I’ve had a hard to explain fascination with these small corner stores. Maybe it’s because Chinitos are owner-operated. We share a small business man’s mindset. Maybe it’s because I’m curious about China and its culture. I’m itching to travel to Asia more. Or maybe it’s because I admire Chinito’s dedication. They are open everyday, and almost all day. Whatever it is, Chinitos fascinate me.
Chen is the owner of my local Chinito. I approached him about the possibility of working for him for a single day, without pay. Panamanian politicians refer to this as, “caminar en los zapatos del pueblo” (walking in the shoes of Joe the Plumber). I just call it an internship.
Chen: “No te voy a pagar, Gringo.” (I am not going to pay you, Evan)
Me: “I know. That is the beauty of an internship. Business owners don’t have to pay money. My compensation is the experience.”
Chen: “Está bien, loco!” (Alrighty then! You crazy man, you)
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. I got busy with other things. Things included writing my first book as well as operating our rad colonial apartments. The idea of the Chinito internship was placed on the back-burner. Said another way, I procrastinated.
Ten days ago a sense of urgency came over me. My time in Panama was limited. Soon I would be back on the road. This time backpacking around Europe. My plan was to travel until my money ran out. If I was going to intern at the Chinito, it had to be now.
The following morning, I walked into the Chinito. Chen was re-stocking sacks of sliced pineapples. He was dressed casually in a white tank top, Umbro shorts and pair of knock-off Crocs. I made a bee line straight for him. I stood behind him until he felt my presence. I spoke slowly.
Me: “Listo.” (Ready)
Chen turned around. His head cocked to the side as he looked at me confused. Chen had forgotten about our internship discussion months earlier. Instead of reminding him about it, I stayed silent. I proceeded on as if he remembered. My eyes were focused, and my face was serious.
Suddenly, Chen remembered. He, too, did not blink his eyes.
Chen: “Dale pues…” (Do it)
My internship was set. Tomorrow would be the day.
There was one small problem. While Chen and I’s stare off made for great T.V. drama, it left my internship clouded with a tremendous amount of ambiguity. What time do I start? What will be my responsibilities? I asked myself questions like these.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling searching for answers. Finally, an answer came to me in the form of a Chinese Proverb, “He who wakes up before dawn 360 days a year will make his family rich.”
It became clear. I must rise before the sun.
The next morning, I arrive at the Chinito before dawn. As Chen rolls up his store front steel gate, I’m waiting there on the sidewalk. I have a cup of freshly brewed Boquete coffee in my hand. It’s my second. I’m ready to work.
Chen seems surprised to see me. Nonetheless, he immediately put me to work. My first duty is to be the front door watchman. This person sits on a beer grate at the entrance of the store and looks out for shoplifters. It’s an unglamourous position at the Chinito. However, I keep a good attitude. I’ve no problem starting from the bottom of the Chinito’s company ladder.
I ask Chen to demonstrate some of the tell-tale signs of a shoplifter.
Chen: “Busca el Ciclón. El Ciclón es carro, loco!” (Look out for the Ciclon. It is expensive! You crazy man, you)
Chen is referring to the energy drink, Ciclon. The price is $2 for a small can. $2 puts the price near the top of Chinito’s product list. Also, the small can makes it’s easy to conceal under a shirt or pair of shorts. Shoplifters take the Ciclon from his store and re-sell it to the Chinito on Calle 8. This is just one of the reasons Chen and Chinito on Calle 8 are not on speaking terms.
Chen asks me to focus my efforts on securing his energy drink section. I run into an unexpected problem. Most of the shoppers in this Chinito know me. They’re fellow Casqueños (residence of Casco Viejo). My attempts to search them are not taken seriously. Everybody thinks that I am being playful. “Oye, que te pasa, Gringo?!” (Cut it out, Evan!)
Chen realizes my efforts are being counter-productive. So he moves me to the candy section. Specifically, to restocking the Peanut M&Ms. After 30 minutes of restocking items, Chen needs to attend to a situation in the back of the store. He has to accept a beer delivery.
Chen: “Gringo, maneja la caja.” (Evan, take over the cash register)
Just like that I’m operating the cash register. The cash register is the epicenter of the Chinito. Me being summoned to take control of it is like a rookie backup NFL quarterback being thrust into the game after the starting veteran QB goes down with an injury. I had no time to think. Much less time to be nervous. Adrenaline raced through my veins – baptism by fire.
As Chen attends to the situation in the back, I am holding down the cash register just fine. I already know the price of most of the items being ordered. I order them frequently. They include bananas, yogurts and calling cards.
All of a sudden, a rush of 20 MOP construction workers take their mid-morning break. They all jam into the Chinito at once. The cash register is being overcrowded. (MOP = El Ministro de Obras Públicas aka The Ministry of Public Works)
MOP Construction worker: “Oye, Gringo, cuanto vale eso?” (Evan, how much does this cost?)
He holds up a mini liter of Coke-a-Cola. His bright yellow uniform is filthy. It’s covered with mud and bits of dried concrete from the extensive digging they are doing in Casco Viejo.
MOP Construction worker: “Chuleta! Ya el priceo subió!” (Pork Chop! The price has risen!)
Me: “Don’t blame me, papá. I am just the intern.”
Meanwhile, more and more MOP workers are surrounding the cash register.
#2 MOP Construction worker: “Gringo, dame una hoja.” (Evan, give me ‘X?’).
Me: “What is a ‘hoja’?”
Through hand motions, #2 mimics the rolling and puffing on a joint. I learn that “oja” is a slang term for blunt papers.
MOP workers have now engulfed the cash register. From all directions, everyone is demanding that I hurry up. “Muévete, Gringo!”(Move it, Evan)
A nervous sweat begins to drip off my face. My hands are shaky. Anxiety from the demands of impatient MOP construction workers has made me unable to do basic math. The pressure is mounting. I’m falling apart like a cheap suit. Chen is nowhere to be found.
By the grace of God, Carlos comes through the entrance. He is the skinny 20-year-old part-time worker at this Chinito. Carlos is Chinese, but was born in Panama. He is one of the growing number of first generation Chinese born and raised in Panama.
Immediately, Carlos sees me struggling and steps right in. He scoots me to the side as he takes the lead on the cash register. I slowly retreat to the beer crate a few feet away. He has essentially tagged me out.
Carlos is good. His movements are smooth and quick. He charms customers as he multi-tasks. With one hand, he lights a cigarette for a MOP worker. The lighter has been tied to the table to make sure it is not stolen. With the other hand, Carlos returns change to another customer. At the same time, another MOP worker asks the price of the small pack Ritz crackers.
Carlos: “20 centavos, nada má(s)!” (Only 20 cents. What a deal!)
Multi-tasking at the cash register like this continues. It’s an artform. Carlos has an entrepeneur-type of energy about him. I predict he will operate his own Chinito someday soon.
In the meantime, I’m taking notes on a small notebook I purchased right here from the Chinito. Writing information down helps me absorb it more efficiently. I discovered this during college. Hopefully, there will be another opportunity for me to manejar la caja.
MOP construction workers stay fraternizing in the Chinito during their break. They drink .25c Malta (a carbonated malt beverage) and nibble on .15c pancito (bread). Some of them cat-call girls ranging in age from 14 to 40. Other fight for bragging rights over who has the latest and greatest smartphone. The atmosphere is urban masculine and blue-collar.
Casco’s white-collar workers are also congregating. They hang out at Super G, a few blocks away. They sip on skim-milk cappuccinos as they discuss the advantages of vegan diets and Macintosh computers. The two groups are in relatively close proximity to each other, yet their cultures are worlds apart.
After a couple hours behind the cash register, Carlos is summoned to stock beers. Chen’s wife, Erika, has taken over. She sits next to me as she eats a bowl of sticky rice with chopsticks.
Erika: “Tu eres millonario, verdad?” (You are a millionaire.)
Me: “No, no, no… I’m just a small time hotelier who moonlights as an indie writer.”
Erika: “Mentira! Los gringos siempre tiene plata!” (Lie! Gringos always have money!)
Me: “Well, not this one. I’m still paying off student loan debts!”
We chit chat for a while. Then, she asks me if I want to take over the cash register. This time she will stay near just in case. I’m back in the game!
Continue reading Part 2: A Chinito Internship – II
9 Good Gringo Habits
9 Good Gringo Habits
I’m an incrementalist. Small steps or small changes in habits provide an action plan to accomplish my goals. In Panama, one of my goals has been to immerse myself in the local Panamanian/Latino culture. You should too. These 9 good gringo habits will make you…. well, casi Panameño (almost Panamanian)!
1. “Buenas”. You should say “buenas” (generic term for good day/afternoon/night) no less than 10 times a day. When you get into a cab, say buenas. When you walk past someone on a pedestrian street, say buenas. Even when you enter into a semi-crowded room, you should acknowledge everyone by saying an all encompassing buenas. Saying buenas at least 10 times a day is a good habit to get into because it’s a polite gesture used all over Latin America.
2. Drink National Beer. You should be embarrassed if you order a Heineken or Coors Light at the bar. Get in the habit of strictly drinking local beers, preferably Panama or Balboa. Occasionally spice things up with a Soberana. Local beers are cheap and not to shabby.
3. Read the Local Paper. Making a habit of reading the local paper will not only improve your Spanish, but also increase your knowledge of current Panamanian events. Locals will love it.
One reason is because Panamanians are too often forced to accommodate foreigners in conversations. They’ll discuss international events like US Presidential politics, Hugo Chavez, the Olympics, Spanish Premier League Soccer or English Royal family weddings instead of local events because foreigners are too often oblivious to them.
Be a cool foreigner by having knowledge of local events. At the time of writing, here are some newsworthy topics: the controversial 3rd phase of the Cinta Costera, the implementation of the Metro Bus, and bonchinches (rumors) on the latest person in the Martienlli’s Administration being tied to Nacro-trafficking because of the wiki leaks cables.
I personally read La Prensa. It’s Panama’s best newspaper. Stay away from La Critica because it is depressing and La Estrella is too sensationalist.
4. Lead with Spanish. I don’t care if you only speak 3 words of Spanish – which undoubtedly buenas, cerveza and baño - always start conversations by speaking Spanish. In most cases, if the other person has superior English to your Spanish, they will switch the language of the conversation. Otherwise, they might just want to practice their English with you. It is important that they (NOT YOU) make the switch to English.
The habit of attempting to converse in Spanish will be much appreciated.
5. Eat Fresh Fruits and Veggies. Panama produces some of the world’s best fruits and vegetables. Since they are produced locally, the fruit and vegetables are left to ripen on the vine longer. This makes for larger and more flavorful produce.
The habit of eating local fruits and veggies is not only healthy, but environmentally friendly.
There are plenty of local dishes that you can get into the habit of eating. Pick and choose your favorites, and incorporate them into your diet.
7. Memorize the Chorus from famous Panamanian Songs. This comes in handy at bars/clubs and long car rides. A good habit is to type in the song title on YouTube with the word “letra” after it. Most times, you can find the song with the lyrics for easy memorization.
8. Kiss the Girls. This should be an easy habit to practice. Everytime you greet a girl that you know, you should give her a lipless kiss on the side of the check. Do this both when you meet her and when you leave. If you don’t greet girls with a kiss, you’ll be consider El Gringo Frio (A cold spirited person).
9. Travel to the Interior. Too many people working in Panama City never explore the interior of Panama. Que lastima! (What a shame!). The heat, traffic and sometimes the general rudeness of city folk will drain you over time.
The habitual weekend trip to Azuero, Chriqui or San Blas will rejuvenate your soul. Panama’s interior is pristine. Country life has a slower pace and the people seem nicer.
Practice these 9 habits until they are part of your natural behavior. Once you have mastered these habits, I’ll send you your next Successful Gringos assignment…
Ocu With Friends
OCU WITH FRIENDS
I have been fortunate to make several friends while living in Panama. Many are expats who share a sense of adventure that motivated them to leave their familiar homes. Others are tourists from literally all over the world who were intrigued by Panama. The individuals, however, that I am in daily contact are members of Panama’s working class who are employed by Los Cuatros Tulipanes in the heart of Casco Viejo. In spite of my very limited Spanish, their very limited English, and vast differences in backgrounds, we have found ways to effectively communicate. It has been natural for me to form a friendship with each.
It was because of my friendship with Deira, the assistant manager, that I was invited to attend the Festival del Manito Ocueño. I eagerly accepted but knew very little about the festival or what to expect. I was to be Deira’s guest. We would leave immediately after her shift on Friday and return Sunday. I would soon learn how important leaving on time would be. Deira had to spend several minutes locating me at the end of her shift. As a result we were 10 minutes late leaving work. We literally jogged to an area where we could hail a cab headed in the direction of the Albrook Bus Terminal. Several passed us before we found a willing cab.
Once at the terminal, it seemed we had arrived on time since the next bus was in 20 minutes. There was a line waiting for the bus which did not seem a concern until a small bus arrived and the bus was full just before our turn to board. Those precious minutes that Deira had not been able to leave meant that we would wait for an hour for the next bus. It also meant that rearranging when her children would be picked up along the bus route. I had a whole new perspective about willingness to stay a few minutes late.
It took approximately 90 minutes to reach Choerra for Deira’s children, as she exited the bus I needlessly worried the bus would leave with me but without her. Deira soon boarded with her children. Deirita, her 14 year old daughter, sat next to me. Manuel crawled up on his mother’s lap. The journey resumed, with the AC at ice cold and the radio blasting Panamanian folk music for the next 4 hours.
We arrived in Ocu after 11:00 PM. Carrying our bags and drowsy 5 year old, we began our hike to Deira’s mother’s home. It was pitch black outside. We were following a dirt road without a single street light when a cab pulled over driven by Deira’s step father, Jose. We all piled in for a short ride to her mother’s home.
I am not entirely certain of the full layout of the house but believe it had 3 bedrooms separate from the living area. There was a small kitchen in the front attached to larger living area. There was one small bathroom. It was made of cinderblock with a tin roof. Electrical wires were routed along the roof lines.
Deira’s mother, Virginia, had waited up. She served us chicken and yucca with a yummy sauce for our very late dinner. She then pulled out a sack from the second hand store filled with items for Deira and her children. She has a good eye. There were great finds in that bag – Rockport, Naturalizer, Travelon, and Chico. I communicated what the US retail price would be as one bargain shopper to another. Virginia beamed and insisted that I take Travelon leather purse. Muchas gracias, Virginia! I let them all know that it was going to be the purse I take on my upcoming trip to England in December.
Exhausted and no longer hungry, we went off to bed. Deira, Deirita, Manuel, and I would share a room. All three of them slept in a large bed. I was provided the twin bed with freshly laundered Strawberry Shortcake sheets. I woke up quite early to the sound of roosters crowing – indeed an entire choir of roosters. It was still dark outside which does not matter a tinker to Panama’s roosters. Virginia and Jose were already up and busy. I could see now that that the outside living area served many purposes. The large cement porch had a tin roof overhead, several clothes lines, wash machine and tub, dining table, hammocks, and open flame stove. It led into their garden with an area for chickens, including several members of the rooster choir, and dogs. The morning air was pleasant and far less humid than Panama City. I understood I was being asked how I had slept which until waking up before the crack of dawn had been fine. Not knowing the Spanish word for rooster, I crowed, “cock-a-doodle”. Virginia and Jose roared. Indeed it may have just been the funniest word ever heard. The rest of the weekend, Virginia would imitate my crow and laugh.
Soon the day was underway. I grabbed a fast shower which without hot water was quick. Deira’s younger sister Naomi arrived who I had met some time ago in Casco. She, Deira, and I head to the second hand store where Virginia scored those bargains. Next we stopped at a market. I bought apples and sodas to share.
We then drove over to Naomi’s house which is in a lovely neighborhood of new cinder block homes. She was pleased show me her home which has an addition underway. I am reintroduced to her two sons and little girl. Naomi’s husband, Ricardo, has been watching the children. He is an immigration officer who I immediately had declared as best friend when we first met. He commutes between Panama City and Ocu each week in order for his family to continue to live in this idyllic community surrounded by their families. Since the trip takes 5 hours each way, he is only home weekends.
More of Deira’s family has arrived by the time we return for lunch. Attending the festival is a family event and everyone excited as we head out the door to walk to town. Deira and Deirita explain that the festival celebrates tradition. The town has been transformed. There are booths selling handmade clothing, shoes, and food. A large stage with audience seating surrounding it is in the center of town. We find seats for our large group to watch the various competitions. The performances include music, dance, and handiwork. Each is judged on the basis of both skill and adherence to traditional standards.
The competitions continue throughout the afternoon and into the night. There is standing room only by early evening. Each contestant is cheered by everyone in the crowd. Not a single boo or hiss is uttered. Indeed when a 12 year old accordion player who dazzled the crowd with his first two songs, cannot remember the third the whole crowd empathically claps the song’s rhythm to support him. He finishes the song best he can, dissolving in tears as he exits. The announcer makes his way to lad to ensure he has done a great job. The next competitors nail all of their three songs. The crowd is equally supportive of their efforts. Before the winners are announced, the disappointed boy is called to the stage where a compassionate judge again congratulates the young boy on his talent and tells him that everyone who has ever played has done the same including him. The whole town cheered his effort.
The next morning, Virginia made us tortillas for breakfast which she cooked over an open flame. Yummy! Family members were again arriving early. Sunday was an important festival day and it was traditional for children to wear traditional dress. Naomi’s 2 year old was as pretty as could be in fancy white dress. Deira’s nieces wore the calico print skirts of Ocu. The boys were dressed as well in traditional garb. I watched in amazement has each girl’s hair was done in a traditional style without a fidget. Each child also made a special point to say “Good Morning, Sandra” in English, except the little 2 year old, who, simply crawled up into my lap. Nanas are simply universal – no language required.
Before we headed back to the festival, Deira was insistent that I try on her traditional dress. The outfit was beautiful would have been shown off much better by Deirta’s beauty. Nonetheless it was quite an honor to be allowed to try it on. Deira had embroidered hundreds of pink flowers on the tiers of the skirt. It was lovely and would no doubt one day be Deirita’s wedding dress. As soon as I changed back to my clothes and took a few photos of the children in their traditional outfits, we were ready to go back town.
Once all were ready, the family walked to town, greeting neighbors as we passed. When we arrived the parade was well underway. Again the whole town seemed turned out either to participate or watch. There were l classes of children marching, dance groups, and cowboys on horseback all in traditional dress. Groups of men carried replicas of traditional houses. Traditional music played. It wasn’t long before I was in the midst of parading children snapping photos with my iPad and having a wonderful time showing them the results. The parade would last for hours as it wound its way to the stage where each group was cheered.
Before leaving the festival, I could not resist purchasing a white cotton dress with traditional embroidery and handmade sandals for my granddaughter. Virginia and several of her friends carefully inspected each stitch– front and back. They let me know that I too had a good eye. The workmanship was excellent. Isn’t amazing the conversation that is possible without common language!
We needed to leave festival early to return to Panama City. With another long line at Ocu’s terminal, Ricardo drove us to the freeway where more buses would pass. We waited just 15 minutes before we were boarded. I was glad to have purchased a sweater at Virginia’s second hand store and only wished I had thought to bring headphones or ear plugs. Ah, well. It was nearly 10 pm when we arrived in Panama City. Deira insisted she find me a cab from the terminal to Casco when we arrived. I insisted she let me pay for a cab to take her family home to Chorrera and would not hear of them spending another 90 minutes on a bus. I can be quite stubborn about the welfare of my friends.
I will long consider this weekend, one of my most memorable in Panama. I had become a member of loving Panamanian family. I lived with them as they live. I ate the same food, slept in the same room, and played with their children. I joked and laughed with all and managed to bridge a language gap. Everywhere we went I was welcomed and treated as a local and not as a tourist. I was impressed with the obvious bonds of Deira’s family who had evidently made education a priority. Deira and sisters of earned college degrees with the exception of her youngest sister, Virginia, who is studying to be CSI officer – another new best friend. They are all best friends – everyone in the family. I loved Ocu as well. I will long remember the many special moments I had while there.
Joining Neighborhood Watch
Joining Casco’s Neighborhood Watch
I didn’t want to join Casco’s neighborhood watch team. During the meeting it was being formed, I tried to sneak out. I sat for an hour with fellow residents of Casco. My mind intensely focused on decoding the high level Spanish spoken by civic leaders as they discussed the creation of an official Casco neighborhood watch. This made me sleepy. I had planned to quietly creep out and watch an episode of Mad Men. As soon as I reached the exit door, someone called my name.
A friend: “Evan, you should join.”
Me: “Is there responsibility involved? I don’t like commitment.”
A friend: “Yes, but I’ll help you. Just do it.”
Five minutes later I raised la mano derecha and was sworn in. I’m now a serving member of Casco’s neighborhood watch group.
Some backstory: Casco is in turmoil. The massive street and underground infrastructure project is suffocating the neighborhood. Everyone in Casco has been adversely affected. Even long established small business like Platea, Cafe Rene, and Forchetta, are on the verge of going under because they have been inaccessible.
The project began badly with widespread incompetency. Merchants and residents were provided only a week notice prior to the commencement of the 18 month overhaul with no opportunity to provide ideas to minimize impact. New traffic circulation routes were not adequately signaled. Accessible parking has disappeared. To make matters worse, the inferior bricks were initially laid and had to be replaced. People are as mad as hell.
The situation has put SPI in charge. SPI’s core function is to private security – protect Panama’s president. Not community relations. Yet, their commission is to perform damage control.
Approximately one month ago, a meeting was called (see photo above). The people of Casco discussed their frustrations with civic leaders, the construction company, and SPI. Typically, these townhall-style meetings accomplish little. The meetings lack written agendas. Individual rants too often derail constructive conversations. The time spent was often times unproductive.
But this time was different. At the end of the meeting, a neighborhood watch group was formed. These sworn in individuals would directly collaborate with SPI in order to improve the situation. It’s believed that less cooks in the kitchens might yield better results. So far, here is what we’ve been working on:
1. Police Reports: Officially reporting a crime is ridiculously challenging. Every government agency tells you to talk to someone else. It’s easier to dance Passa Passa while twirling a hula hoop than to file a police report successfully.
Community’s proposed solution: Create an online form. This simple field allows Spanish and English speakers to communicate with SPI. Proper police filings are still required. However, this allows residents to access records and therefore keep authorities accountable.
2. Tranque (traffic): Construction has eliminated the use of a significant number of streets. Unfortunately, the traffic volume has not been reduced. As a result, traffic gridlock is overwhelming.
Community’s proposed solution: Step 1 – Shuttle government officials to and from the Causeway/Cinta Costera into Casco. This would eliminate their cars clogging the streets. It would also release spaces in both parking garages, since government vehicles currently occupy the majority of available spaces.
Shuttling government employees was an idea from the government. A rather good one. Casco’s community just wants them to follow through with it.
Step 2 – Make Casco pedestrian only. Many historic districts around the world have successfully implemented pedestrians restrictions (see Europe). In order to preserve the nuevecito laid brick, Casco should be pedestrian only as well.
3. Break-ins: The infrastructure project has increased the volume of people circulating through Casco. An increase in petty crime was bound to happen.
SPI proposed solution: Visit every building in Casco. Propose a list of preventive security recommendations (fortified doors, cameras, etc). In addition, record employee information of those buildings in case they need to be contacted. Great idea.
4.Bien cuidados: Very polarizing subject. Some people see this as extortion. Others see it as part of Panamanian culture. Regardless, some level of organization must happen. Charging $3-$5 to help park cars is thought to be outrageous.
Community’s proposed solution: Register the bien cuidados. Parking assistance is needed. However, there should be some stipulations: Bien cuidados must register with the SPI. They must be identifiable (badge, shirt, etc) and be over the age of 21. Lastly, tipping is not an obligation.
*Note ”Proposed solution” from both SPI and Casco community are not official nor supported by every member. Rather some popular ideas.
Lately, this administration has been accused of not listening to others. That it acts more like a dictator than a president. On the other hand, collaborating with the SPI has been the opposite. They’re accessible and are trying to improve the situation. It has been a delightful experience.
One of the very first things that I changed when I arrived in Panama was my routine. For many years getting out the door to work was my first consideration. There were a couple of things I would add walking a mile on the treadmill or completing a Wii routine before showering, but my resolve never lasted for more than a few weeks before fading. Moreover my gym membership was only active because the dues were paid automatically.
Unfortunately, there was not an automatic motivation system to drive me the 25 miles nor send me upstairs to my treadmill and Wii. The results were predictable. I gained weight, a little more each year until health alarms were beginning to ring. I was pre-diabetic with occasional spikes in blood pressure and cholesterol readings. My right hip throbbed with chronic arthritic pain sufficient enough I needed to take Aleve throughout the day. Indeed when I did venture up to complete a Wii routine, it announced loudly “you are overweight!”
Before I arrived in Panama, my son Evan had joined a local gym. He was so enthusiastic about the program within my first week in Panama, he had signed me up as well. Frankly I was less than enthusiastic and not convinced that exercising would actually do much for me. Afterall, I have limitations – an bad hip, two wrists that were broken a few years ago, and various back issues caused by car accidents. I was not flexible, could not balance on one foot, and easily became dizzy. Indeed, I knew of at least a dozen more reasons why this was a bad idea. However, Evan was insistent, so off I went with the intent of giving it a fair chance if only to prove that 65 is not the new 40 – 65 is 65!
During the first month at the gym, Andy eased me into exercising. He was careful not to have me over do anything. When one exercise did not work, another was substituted. When I teetered, he was right there to hold me up. When the routine was too strenuous, he modified it. Little by little I improved. My clothes fit better and I felt better.
I then decided I could accomplish this on my own by walking. So I gave up the membership which is actually the rationale that has sabotaged me countless times before. This time, however, I admitted that self discipline was not working and too often I found reasons for not walking, i.e. – it is raining! I returned to the gym and Andy’s guidance in earnest as my New Year’s Resolution.
It has been a life changing decision. I begin my day with a 45 minute aerobic and anti-aerobic routine. Every morning Andy lists the exercise series I will complete and the number of repetitions. First, I begin with run/walking to warm up, followed by stretching, and then, the series of exercises is repeated 4 times. Each day the exercise series is different and Andy is there to show both what to do and to make certain that is done correctly. I do this Monday through Friday. On Saturday, I walk and stretch before Andy gives me a massage. The massage increases circulation and takes away muscle soreness. Moreover, it helps Andy determine which of my muscles are responding. The massage routine has worked a miracle on my hip which no longer chronically throbs. On Sunday, I rest.
The results are more than impressive. At my annual examination in March, I had lost a full 18 pounds. All of my tests were normal. My doctor was thrilled and stated that once considered medications were not needed. Upon my return, I resumed the routine and have lost more weight. I now wear medium and have given away most of my previous wardrobe. I no longer need to take Aleve to cope with my arthritic hip. My balance and flexibility have improved so much that balance is no longer concern. I can even bend over to touch the floor! There is muscle definition in my arms and legs. I can run laps and climb stairs without becoming breathless. And at least one of my chins has disappeared.
But the biggest change is that I look forward to working out each day and feel years younger! Perhaps, 65 is the new 40!
I must credit the gym with the results that I have achieved in less than 5 months. Having a personal trainer work with you each day is much more effective than occasional instruction. Having one like Andy who is a physical therapist with an understanding of rehabilitation and aging is a godsend. I am convinced that there is absolutely no other way that would have achieved my results. There is no diet or medication that would have increased my flexibility, strength, and stamina. The arthritic pain vanished because my hip is regularly massage and has become stronger. My blood sugar, bone scan, cholesterol, and blood pressure are impressively in the normal range because the calories consumed are burned more effectively. Prior tight fitting slacks literally fall off me because I am 2-3 sizes smaller.
All of this was accomplished without taking a single supplement or medication which my doctor was convinced should be added to bring levels nearer to normal. Indeed, it was all achieve without giving up ice cream!
I have become a CrossFit devotee because it works. The program is the key to staying healthy, fit, and youthful. It is worth every penny spent both on membership dues and a weekly massage from Andy. So to those of you living near, join me. You will find me every morning at Santa Familia in Casco Viejo! I have complete confidence that I will reach my goals in the next few months and that you can be on your way as well.
The Search For Community In Panama
One of the most comprehensive studies on happiness ever done was recently released. Among its many conclusions, the most interesting deal with the causes of human happiness. The study found that material items such as nice cars, new clothes and luxury homes give off a chemical release in the brain. The release is short-lived and individuals adapt to their new possessions. After a short period of time they are no happier than they were before. Whereas, long-term, sustained, happiness is found in a sense of purpose, close friendships and a sense of community. People who developed a strong sense of community were significantly more happy throughout their life than those who had not.
Foreigners moving to Panama, often overlook the importance of a strong community. They’re drawn to Panama by postcards and Internet advertising claiming that you can “Live in Paradise for dollars a day!” (Highly misleading. “Dollars a day paradises” can be found only if your paradise includes cement walls, dirt floors and inconsistent running water.)
To this group of people, Panama is a pre-defined picture. It’s a search for a secluded bungalow on a white sand beach, a mountain villa with a picturesque view of Panama’s highlands, or a spotless midtown condominium minutes away from a fantastic nightlife. These people believe the sales brochures. Buy this and you buy paradise. The sales agents will not tell you that “paradise” is boring unless you have a connection to other people, unless you belong to a community.
My personal story is a testimate to the need for long term happiness.
My first years in Panama City were spent in a high-rise building. It was located downtown. I had more than ample space and a great view of the city skyline. I was within walking distance to grocery stores, gyms and the nightlife. I had everything a bachelor could ever ask for.
Approximately 20 other families occupied my high-rise apartment building. Besides brief greetings in the elevator, I personally knew only a couple of them. Below my apartment building, there were many shops. However, I frequented few of them. Nearby my apartment building, I had many friends. Yet, I visited few of them. I thought I had found a perfect high-rise apartment. But, after a year of living in it, I became bored.
The void in my Panama life was a lack of community. I had been a person who enjoyed social interaction. Yet, in my bachelor pad, there was practically none amongst my immediate neighbors.
In search of a change, I relocated to Casco Viejo. It was an up-n-coming neighborhood that was rough around its edges. At the time, only a handful of my friends lived in the-sometimes-dodgy neighborhood. Yet, the few that did, were passionate about living there. Intrigued, I decided to give it a shot.
My acclimation to Casco was quick. Within the first few weeks, I was friends with the rich and poor and the young and old around me. I made habit of spending my dollars at local small businesses and attending local meetings. I genuinely care about the welfare and prosperity of the community and its people. My people.
My apartment is a fraction of the size of my former apartment and without any views. I am not centrally located. The nearest gym or proper grocery store is a planned trip away. In spite of what many would consider a drop in my standard of living, I am happier.
Generally, the people who are the most satisfied with Panama have connected with their community. The ones that leave after a year or two, haven’t. Strong communities can be found in places that undertake initiative projects. When people coordinate social events, culturally intermix, start small businesses, and strive to better their neighborhood, real communities and happy people are the result.
What follows is a quick rundown of the places I believe have the strongest/weakest sense of community in Panama:
Casco Viejo – Like previously mentioned.
Pedasi – A throwback to the front porch culture. Everyone seems to rock in their chairs and say hello to neighbors and strangers alike.
Isla Colon in Bocas del Toro – One of Panama’s only true beach towns.
Coronado – Stale high rise apartment towers lining the beach. Very little limited access to outsiders.
Lotted Communities like Altos Del Maria – The biggest complaint from residences is “I feel alone living up there.”
New High-Rise Towers in Panama City – Most likely half the building is unoccupied. The other half of the residence are more likely to sit alone by the rooftop pool than have dinner with their neighbor.
Boquete - Most people would disagree and say that Boquete has a vibrant local and international community. However, what turns me off to Boquete is the fact that most foreigners burrow themselves in the hills. They’re far away from the town center. Cultural interaction with the locals is minimal as well.
Moving to Panama is not easy. It’s a different language and a different pace of life. If you feel like you are a part of the community, you’ll love Panama. If you do not, your time here will not be long.
My Casco Viejo Guide
Casco Viejo is an intriguing place. It is one of few remaining colonial areas of Latin America that is World Heritage site. As you stroll through the neighborhood take in the dilapidated facades, recent restorations, and the barefoot children in la calle. You are witness to Casco’s transformation from Panama’s forgotten neighborhood to its cultural heartbeat. Enjoy.
Dining in Casco:
Manolo Caracol: No thinking is required. Simply sit back and enjoy 10 Latin inspired tapas courses that are always delicious and fresh. Food is harvested locally. Walk-in and make a reservation (required). Located on Avenida Central and Calle 3. $$$$
Las Clementinas: A throwback to the 1930s hey-days of Casco Viejo. (Las) Clementinas is famous for fish and cocktails. Try the Seafood Sampler with the Martini containing freshly picked Basil from the garden. Also, Clementinas has one of the best Sunday brunches in Panama City ($27/per head). Located on Avenida B and Calle 11. $$$$
Ego: Nothing is more quintessentially Casco Viejo than dining late night on a plaza. Look no further than Ego (yellow umbrellas). We love the Fried Ceviche, Ego Salad, Chicharrones, and the brownie that has cheese on it! Located on Plaza Bolivar on Avenida B. $$$$
Mercado del Marisco (Fish Market): This was Anthony Bourdain’s first stop in Panama – so it must be good! It’s located about 15 minutes outside of Casco walking along the ocean pedestrian path. Try a number of the different style ceviches from the booths outside. Otherwise, pick your own fish from the market and have it cooked upstairs at the restaurant. $$
Aye Carmela. We are currently obsessed with this mid range charming restaurant! Portions are big and the prices are small! Try the Greek Salad and Patacones (very Panamanian). Located on Calle 9 and Avienda B. $$
Caffe Per Due. For those that love authentic Italian thin-crust pizza, this will be a treat. Very affordable good food. The desserts are homemade and yummy. Avienda A and Calle 2. $$
Mama Chefa: If Casco were to have a grandmother, Mama Chefa would be it. The 40 year resident of the neighborhood serves lunch out of her very own kitchen (11am-12:30am). You will likely rub elbows with Panama’s government workers as you munch down on lovingly prepared $3 Panamanian lunch. It’s located on Calle 4 between Plaza Bolivar and the Presidential Plaza. $ (Chefa’s has no external sign – so ask, “Dónde está Mama Chefa?”)
Pollo de Papo: Papo is another Casco character. The jolly Casqueño occasionally sings Michael Jackson and steps to Salsa while grilling a mean BBQ chicken! Papo sets up lunchtime shop in front of his house on Calle 3 and Avienda B. Bring $4 and beat the noon rush. $
Coke-a-Cola: A former favorite of American G.I.’s during the Canal Period, Coke-a-Cola has seen better days. For those hankering for a no frills, local place to eat breakfast, this is the place. Buy the La Prensa local newspaper and sip on a cafe con leche. Located near Santa Ana plaza on Avenida Central (follow the trolley tracks). $
Pritty Pritty Fonda: A Spanglish play on the English word “Pretty”. You don’t get more local than their chicken, rice and beans for $3. Located next to Las Clementinas on Avienda B. $
Relic: Cleverly tucked under a youth hostel to throw off those without any sense of adventure, Relic has become Casco Viejo’s de facto late night destination. This underground bar/club attracts a young crowd and those that think young. Calle 9 and Avienda B.
Tantalo: This new addition to Casco has quickly become the place to go. The uncovered rooftop bar offers sweeping views of PTY as well as unlimited space necessary to fit the inflated egos of Panama’s Who’s-Who. Expect to pay a cover. Calle 8 and Avenida B.
Havana Panama: The best salsa space in all of Panama. Expect to pay a cover too. Down the hill from Relic.
Di Vino: Casco’s swanky wine bar is a great place to sip a glass of wine with a special someone or mix and mingle. Avenida A and Calle 4.
La Vecindad: A no thrills local hip-hop open joint. Dip into the $8-glass-of-fine-wine world at Di Vino. Afterwards, walk across the street and dip into the $1.50-national-beer-and-Reggae world at La Vecindad. This polar opposite social-economic situation is the essences of Casco Viejo.
Top 15 things to do in Casco Viejo.
1. Eat something from a street vendor (Bollo, Empanada, Tamale, Quail egg, churro, pina).
2. Watch Casco’s most talented play futbolito at 4pm. Calle 4 and Avienda A – head towards the ocean.
3. Wait outside the Presidential Palace to meet the Panama’s President, shake his hand.
4. Buy a ice cream from Granclement. Ask to try every single flavor. They will not get mad!
5. Get your shoes shinned in Plaza Santa Ana – $0.75!
6. Catch a show at the National Theater (near Plaza Bolivar), or at least go in for a look.
7. Work out at the ocean view, local Casco gym. Calle 4 and Avienda A – kinda hidden inside the Santa Familia building.
8. Buy fresh fruit from overflowing carts on Plaza Santa Ana.
9. Accidentally walk into an abandoned building and ask to see a nice one.
10. Look for 2 of the 5 mansions in Casco Viejo. The other 3 have fallen down.
11. Sit on a bench in Plaza Catedral around 4:00pm while watching the sunset across the building facades.
12. At 4:45pm walk the length of the Cinta Costera while nibbling a Dixie cup of ceviche. See the skyline contrast between the new and the old city as well as teenagers romancing on park benches.
13. Barter with street vendors for souvenirs.
14. Go inside the beautiful indoor plaza at Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores on Plaza Bolivar.
15. Get a massage ($40/hour) from super bilingual Andy: 6145-8064.
5 Casco Viejo Reads: