James and I managed to escape the city and made it to Bocas Del Toro for a week and what now to me seems like months ago. We have been back in Panama ¨shitty¨as the locals affectionately call this black hole and we are really enjoying it. That was sarcasm. Jamey had some unfinished business here in the city and so we came back to walk around and pollute our lungs. Now that I have had a taste of the Caribbean I want to go back! I´m no city gal, that's for sure, but I´m definitely not a Panama City gal. I am yearning to visit a place where there is a waste management system, i.e, it doesn't constantly smell like you are walking around in a toilet. Granted, there are parts of New York that smell like a toilet but you can manage to get away from it. Not so much here. So I guess you could say I´m a bit burned out from this place. Several events have contributed to these feelings.
The week before we left for Bocas we had a brush with the immigration police and one foot in the back of a patrol car, we evaded riots by a bunch of really angry construction workers throwing cinder blocks and we were in a car accident. It was really fun. Then we had to come back and so far we have been yelled at (for basically being from the States), segregated by race on a bus and witnessed a vehicular homicide. I´m ready to go. We are dreaming of the Panama that we fell in love with last year which for the most part was in the Chiriqui mountains or on the Caribbean. In a last ditch effort we are attempting to escape to the Caribbean tomorrow, the day before we leave so our lasts precious moments here are not wasted in this smelly gutter.
I´m not sure when the next time will be that we travel and it may be while Jamey is working again for a book, which is great, but I really hope he gets the country-side and not the city. The city research was crazy and I think that I might kiss the ground when I get to DFW and be thankful for all that I had growing up in Virginia. The woods, the playgrounds without hypodermic needles and an education.
I´ve been trying to think of what to write for a blog to let people know what its like here. I have been at a total loss because I´m not sure you want to know. The poverty is intense, the pollution is deadly and there is widespread apathy for throwing garbage in the actual trash can. Hey, where can I toss this large dirty diaper? oh, there's the river where we get our drinking water, i´ll just toss it in there. MMM, serve me up a cup of water from the tap senor and please dont fish out the unidentifiable floaties.
If anything, this trip has taught me the value of education, if I didn't know before. You want a solution to poverty and environmental issues? go to school. Education. The average level of education for the working class here is probably 8th grade. I am making a sweeping generalization. I have also been told that the average education that a policia or military guard on the street has is the second grade. Now, I don't know if I believe it but I don't necessarily discount it. Imagine that, handing a second grader a gun and a moped and telling them to fill the quota of sending gringos to Immigration. Awesome. It is amazing the ego and power issues that go along with being an under educated, armed and uniformed military man. wow. Let me give you a dialogue of our brush with the military-
note: all from the policia was said in Spanish. Everything kate and jamey said was in broken, bad spanish.
Policia-
Hey, (big bright light on big stupid truck) wait there. Dont go any further. (truck pulls over)
Kate- are they talking to us?
Jamey- Si?
Policia- We need to see your identification or passport.
Jamey- Identification? We dont have it, it in apartment up the street.
Kate- No have it here. We can walk and get it.
Policia- You need to have identification to walk around here. You cant just do anything you want.
Jamey- we have a credit card.
Policia- no, no good, (addressing other policia) well what are we going to do?
Kate- (to Jamey) oh, they want money.
Jamey- I dont have any money.
Kate- (to the policia) I have a dollar. Thats it.
Jamey-(fake looking for I.D. in back pack) Do you want to make a run for it?
Kate- Are you crazy? They'll shoot us with their machine guns.
Kate (to police)- Well, what do you want us to do?
Policia- You need identification, it is illegal not to have Identification.
Kate- (to Jamey) Thats *expletive*. Its not illegal. They can go *expletive* themselves. I'm not *expletive* giving them anything. They can follow us up the street or they can *expletive* off.
Jamey- We dont have money.
Policia- You need to come with us (pushing jamey in police truck)
Kate- No *expletive* way. We are not getting in that truck. (to police) you can follow us up the street. No, we no want to go in truck. No. Where you take us?
Policia- Immigration, Jail.
Jamey- what? Immigration?!
Kate- No *expletive* way, do not get in that car Jamey. (to Police) We did not know that it illegal no have identification. Now we know.
Jamey- Senor, I writer for guide book. I write only good for Panama.
Policia- (after a quiet discussion among themselves) okay. have a good nite.
Kate and Jamey- What? okay??? See ya lata suckas.
Lesson learned. It is in fact illegal not to have I.D. on you as a foreigner. Especially at night. So I dont know Panamanian law all that well but the practical experience sure does help. Let this be a lesson to all who want to avoid a Panamanian jail. In fact if you can, avoid Panama City altogether.
Overall it has been an eye opening trip. The latent hostility towards gringos is grinding away at my nerves and making me very uncompassionate. I have to go somewhere to re-group and center myself. I think being a bitter, angry person only exacerbates the problem. Thanks for reading our posts. And check out the 2008 edition of Central America on a Budget from Rough Guides. You will see Jamey's name in print! yay! And a whole bunch of hard earned information on Panama Shitty.
