A Not So Shitty City

It's not an enormous claim to fame, but having spent a bit of time in Guatemala City and Managua, Panama is, if not diamond in the rough, then at least a smooth bit.

I would have been astonished by Panama logic but for one experience. When I arrived at Panama City airport, I intended to be parsimonious and take the bus to the city, thereby saving myself precious balboas. Unfortunately, the Panamanians have recently invested in an 'Oyster'-style scheme of pre-pay cards. “You can't take a bus without a MetroBus card”, insisted the tourist information woman, a pov reinforced by the guy that sold me a Panama simcard for my phone.

“Where do I get one?” I ask?

Seductively sallow stamen with sweet scent of sewage

Downtown, was the answer.

“Hang on,” I ask. “They don't sell them here but you can't take a bus without one?”

That is so.

“I must say, that's quite the silliest thing I've ever heard”.

The only way to get downtown to buy the bus card that would get you cheaply from the airport is to take a taxi for $30.

But not to be too hard on the Panamanians, I do recall arriving in the US to find that their airport buses only took exact change, and that no-one in the airport would give you any. Someone, somewhere, has made it their life's work to make things difficult for new arrivals. Possibly someone from the Guild of Taxi Drivers.

Aesthetically, the Panama City that my overpriced conveyance revealed to me was a cross between Kuala Lumpur and Torremolinos. If Boris Johnson needs a warning about the visual impact of too many skyscrapers with too little design imperative he need only take a city break here. It's all very shiny and looks moderately impressive with the tall reflections plumbing the depths of the bay, but it has all the character of a Tom Cruise leading role. There's no danger of a crook in the neck – I stopped bothering to look up very quickly.

WALL-E interrupts the view across the bay to Casco Viejo

Casco Viejo, on the other hand, was unexpectedly delightful. Built in the 17^th Century as a more secure location to defend against (mostly English & Welsh) pirates, the Old Compound has pots of old world charm to rival somewhere like Granada, if a little more down at heel. Although the Panamanians have only recently cottoned on the tourist-trap potential of this little slice of colonial Spanish America, by some luck they didn't use that ignorance to demolish it and build hideous tower blocks on it. So instead it sits like pleasant foothills at the base of the mountains of the rest of the city, as it slowly gets reinforced and repainted to make sure it doesn't fall down on any passing Germans.

Casco is small enough to wander round easily, though not so small that it doesn't contain about 15 Panama Hat shops. Apart from a sticky moment trying to explain that I wanted to buy deodorant at the local store there weren't any great challenges to overcome.

Those challenges only really started with my determination to buy myself an elusive MetroBus card. I asked for directions to where I could buy one – apparently at the nearest bus station and not at local shops (given their scarcity, a bit like only being able to get an Oyster at mainline train stations). And, of course, en-route to the first station I manage to get lost, and by the time I realised this was so far off my original path that I just continued for a pleasant walk along the bay front, which looks very pretty with its curving shoreline, palm trees and multicoloured shrubs but occasionally smells like a backed up toilet. Eventually I restarted my quest, learned the Spanish for “Where can I buy a card for buses?”, practiced saying it properly a few times, and then deployed my killer Spanish skills on the locals. 

Dawn over the delightful shabbiness of Casco Viejo

Unfortunately, as is always my problem, I could ask the question but struggled to understand the reply. I was pointed generally in the same direction by each helpful person, but when trying to follow their instructions I ended up in an auto repair shop in the middle of a busy road intersection with not a bus in sight. Finally, a taxi driver I spoke to offered to drive me directly to the bus station for $2. Since I had just walked for several hours in a pair of sandals made of string this proved to be too good to resist. Minutes later I finally held my orange MetroBus card (after researching the words for “I would like to buy a new card”, and then failing to understand the follow up question which may have had something to do with how much money I wanted to put on it).

As it turned out, it was the most pointless of quests. The next day I decided to go and visit the Miraflores Lock of the Panama Canal. I tried to beep through to the bus with my lovely orange card, only to be told I actually needed a different kind of card, and only got on the bus because of the kindness of a German woman, who beeped me through with her card in return for half a Balboa.

So, Panama City. Not that bad, but a bit like the Crystal Maze. With that Tudor-Pole bloke and not Richard O'Brien, of course.