Some Things Are Missing Here In Panama
Coronado, Panama
We’ve been on a very restrictive quarantine here in Panama since the middle of March. I moved here almost a year ago. Even with four months of quarantine, the time has flown by. Some days I feel a bit of malaise, but others I’ve managed to focus on my writing and taking a few online classes. And on occasion, I stay out past my time and drive into the mountains for a change of scenery.
Since I’ve been here in Panama I have noticed the absence of things that were present in my home country of the United States. Pavement is the most obvious. Of course the InterAmericana Highway is paved, as are some main tributary roads leading into the districts, but many roads are dirt, rock, gravel and the holes are often filled in with excess construction debris like clay roofing tiles.
You might think that dirt roads are a pain in the ass but it’s one of the things I actually love about being here. Of course, I haven’t gotten stuck yet, but so far, I feel like a bad-ass Indiana Jones adventurer when I drive into the mountains and navigate down steep hills in search of a waterfall.
And even in the neighborhoods, nothing says you’re living in a developing country like a lack of pavement. Yup, this brings flooding with the heavy rain and that backs up traffic, but if you’re not in the city or not in a hurry, it’s not a big deal. I’ve been in the city, stuck in traffic from the rain and it was not pleasant. That’s why I prefer the less populated communities.
Another thing you won’t find in most of the Chame district are traffic lights. It took me a few months to realize this after I moved here. I’d drive for miles to the east and west, exploring different areas and one day I noticed I hadn’t seen a single traffic light. At all. Other than when traffic is congested on the weekends, I kind of like not having traffic lights, too. It’s also a reminder that I’m not in Kansas anymore. The United States roadways are mapped out, signaled, signed and painted, which I was especially grateful for when I did my 8 month RV trip across the US. And, it’s one of the reasons you don’t see RV’s here in Panama, the infrastructure just isn’t built for it.
People often describe living in Panama as the Wild West, and though they mean on a sociopolitical level, there is something that feels a bit lawless and free when there aren’t any traffic lights. It’s as if the people are still exploring and deciding whether to have that much order when it’s simpler to block off left-hand turns for miles during the heavy weekend traffic. Sure, there are some cops on motorcycles near the coned off turns, but they don’t direct traffic. And no, it doesn’t make sense and has felt frustrating, but post-quarantine, I think I’ll happily drive the extra few miles in order to turn around.
One day I decided to avoid the stress from driving into the city and took the bus. Quick lesson I learned was to have earplugs at all times. The music on the bus was blasting like it was a pub-crawl. And that’s where I noticed another thing missing here in Panama; baby strollers. Throughout that whole day in the city, from the bus to waiting in line at the government agency, to taking a taxi to the shopping center, I noticed that babies are carried, not pushed in a stroller. Women either held them or had some type of cloth, wrapped around the baby and tethered to their body. Not a baby bjorn. Just a piece of material. I thought how beautiful that was and must be healthier for the baby to be so close to another human. I also thought about how difficult it must be for those moms to get multiple things done when one arm and hip is solely dedicated to holding a baby. Where do they put the baby when they want to text or sip a coffee as they’re walking? If my bag gets too heavy on my shoulder, I can just throw it down on the ground. And these baby-holding Panamanian women displayed great patience while waiting in line at the government office. I looked to them for patience when I felt my grumpy-gringa arise.
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
I may not always have the following opinion about the inconsistent utility connection, but on occasion, it’s kind of fun. Not when it’s out for days at a time, that’s not fun at all. Unless you have a generator, but those are loud. Having the power go out during a heavy thunderstorm reminds me of the snowstorms that wiped out the electricity when I was a kid growing up in Connecticut. My brother and I had no idea if our parents were freaking out. We just thought it was kind of thrilling that the weather could disconnect us from the outside world. And we always had hot cocoa because the stove was gas. So perhaps the thrill is a memory connection back to childhood.
There’ve been occasions where the power outage was not fun, at all. Like when I didn’t have any charge left on my phone or laptop. Or when there was no water to even cool off in a shower during the power outage; I was grumpy that day. But, it’s not like that multi-day blackout in Manhattan years ago during an August heatwave. Here, the ocean is right by your side from the border of Columbia to Costa Rica. And a quick drive into the mountains brings the body temperature down as the elevation climbs. I’ve always tended towards thinking it was easier to cool off just a bit than warm up. When I felt too cold in California, I knew a warmer climate was the right choice.
In this little haven of Coronado, we also don’t hear police sirens and only rarely do we hear a helicopter. I can’t recall ever hearing an airplane. Years ago I’d spent time on a small Greek Island and one day the people throughout the village stopped what they were doing and all looked to the sky above where a helicopter was coming in for a landing somewhere on the island. To them, it meant someone was likely injured and needed a medical evacuation. That’s how rare it was to hear a helicopter. Here, it’s usually either a real estate developer bringing clients out from the city or a wealthy resident with property by the beach or in the mountains.
The other things that are missing are likely due to my very limited comprehension of Spanish. I don’t hear complaining, doom and gloom stories, boasting or bragging, gossip or divisive hatred. And even though I may not understand the spoken language, the warmth comes through loud and clear. Even behind a mask (yes, EVERYONE wears one respectfully), you can tell when someone’s smiling. I love the kindness, the simplicity of life, the ease and peace.
