Panama by Luis

I awoke at 11 thinking it was 5. There was next to no light coming through the frosted slatted windows of the room. How the hell could it be 11? I cranked the handle to see that the window did not really open to the out of doors but to some strange corridor.

After a quick examination of the bathroom, I decided just to wash myself from the sink.

Down two flights of stairs, my pack banging against my poor ribs.

A quick $2 taxi ride to Mamallena, a trek up the stairs. No room? I suspected so and probably won't be for weeks. The staff is a score of clones of a really hot young woman and all friendly as hell. "Well, can I use your internet to find a place?" "Absolutely."

So I got online, looked around and found the number three rated spot in the city had room, wrote down the address, thanked the women and headed back down the stairs and down the street to find a taxi.

I hailed a taxi who stopped in the second lane, what the hell? So I opened the door and handed him the the address to a hailed taxi. "Quento?" "Cinco." All right, five bucks and we are off. As I crawled into the front seat the door, open into the curb side lane was about to be rammed by a bus, who wasn't about to swerve or slow down. I managed to close the door with a half second to spare. Now the road rage, my driver took off chased the bus and the two yelled at each other for three minutes.

Then he took off to begin the most aggressive driving I have ever witnessed taking off full throttle, breaking just in time to avoid impact, swerving in and out of traffic. Panamanian intersections are generally just a game of balls no traffic signals, no stop signs no round abouts four lane roads intersect and are crossed with just a horn and a large set of testicles. Sometimes the traffic drove on the left, sometimes the right. I could never drive in this city. Corners were negotiated at a speed that peeled rubber off the tires. Half an hour later we arrived at what he thought was the destination.

Addresses are more like descriptions, there are no street numbers. He tore around and pulled next to every security booth and person standing on the road and asked for the location of our destination. At least a dozen times he followed and grew increasingly frustrated. Finally we located the place.

I rang the buzzer and a bald headed guy leaned over the landing. Despite what the web availability had said, there were no private rooms. To hell with it, I'll take a dorm. Fortunately I secured a private room for the next three nights.

The common area was filled with scores of backpacks. Seems this place also runs a lot of tours to San Blas. Little is needed in San Blas and it is nothing but sand and salt water so a prudent person sheds everything possible. The furniture consists of three couches, a computer table, a coffee table and a TV. Using a laptop on a couch sucks, especially if one must use a detached keyboard. At least its chilly. I booked my room, sight unseen and Omar showed me around. To get to the kitchen one must merely go down a flight of stairs, around the front of the building and up the other side. It's the rainy season. Even more special, the dorm is located 70 meters away.

I passed the time, chatting with my fellow guests, the reason I much prefer hostels over hotels. Who wants to sit in one's hotel room alone day after day?

Intermittently I tried to catch up on my sleep. While lying in my bed an Indian walked in, threw his pack in the corner and went off to take a shower. He came back and started to go through an elaborate toilet. When he was done I opened my eyes and said, "Hi, my name is Jim." Man this guy looked familiar. "I'm Tony." Ahh, it was all coming together. You come from Franklin's Island? That's the other half.

Ok, this guy is a legend. Two different groups of Indians share an island in Kuna Lana. Tony's half is, let's say, pretty damn wild. He was coming to Panama City for a month to find some tranquility. This is city of honking horns and insane traffic. This guy is so crazy he lives at Aqua Lounge when he is in Bocas. This a place where you have about a 25% chance of getting robbed on any given day.

At 5:30 in the morning a flashlight was flicking about the room, I asked him just to turn on the lights. In ten minutes he was done packing and I was able to see where my stuff was. "That was a quick month. Bye" He shook my hand and headed out the door, the room filled with the smell of alcohol.