Flight out of Panama

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Terry and I piled into a cab outside Alison’s apartment building at four in the morning. The streets of Panama city were relatively quiet. At the airport there was a long line at the American Airlines counter. Why were they all up so early for? We waited to cheek our bags. Security was the usual hassle, removing shoes, getting the tablet PC into a separate storage bin to go through the x-ray machine. My assortment of art supplies usually sparks curiosity and a second search. This time I just had to put up with a pat down. Terry said the female security officer felt up her breasts.

Terry is usually nervous flying so she took a prescribed tablet to calm her nerves. We checked into the Admirals Club which is much quieter than waiting at the gate. Terry was out like a light. She slept while I sketched until a patch of sunlight crawled along the wall and then shined right into her eyes. At the gate people pushed and formed a long line when section A was announced for boarding. I stood at the back of the line and Terry walked up to the front of the line. She waved me up. She asked several people if they were in section A. They weren’t. We cut in front of everyone. Terry explained that she had lived in Venezuela for a year and in Latin America everyone pushes to the front of the line. Bureaucratic courtesies like road signs were ignored.

Terry immediately fell asleep on the plane. An hour late, the plane taxied out to the runway and stopped. Half an hour later the pilot announced that one of the six fuel pumps wasn’t working. The air on the plane shut off. The cabin gradually started to heat up. I wished I had worn shorts. I started sweating. People stood in the aisle talking nervously in Spanish. The plane taxied back to a runway and continued to wait. Still there was no air. I was getting lightheaded. There was less oxygen and too much CO2. I calmed my nerves. I might be hyperventilating. They could always deploy the oxygen masks, couldn’t they? I was seated right next to one of the exit doors over the wings. I imagined I could force open this emergency exit before I passed out. But what if I passed out first? Terry was sound asleep. The pilot announced that they hoped to get a portable air system trucked in from another airline. An hour later the air turned on. Everyone raised their hands to check the flow of air. Several people stood putting their faces up to the air nozzles inhaling deeply and turning their faces into the breeze.

I don’t know if they ever fixed the fuel pump. Three and a half hours late, we accelerated down the runway and took flight. We missed our connecting flight in Miami and had to get our bags to go through customs and head through security again. This time I had to stand in one of the new full body scanners. A bright light bar whirled around me as I stood with my arms up in the sign of surrender. I didn’t get to see my nude scan, I was curious. At the Orlando airport we waited forever at baggage claim. Terry’s bag arrived early in the process. Everyone else picked up their bags and left. Then an orange cone that said, “Last Bag” showed up on the moving beltway. We went into the office and found out that my bag was still in Miami. I had left a camera in that bag so I didn’t have to carry it. What a mistake! A day later my bag was delivered to my doorstep with several new rips and the zipper handles removed. Luckily the camera, which I never did use on the vacation, was safe and sound in it’s protective case.

Our Guide

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Terry hired a guide, named Rainald Framhein, to drive us around Panama City. The tires on his car had blown out the week before, so he picked us up in a new rental car. Driving in Panama is an adventure. Stop signs and lights seem to be considered suggestions often ignored. Cars merging into traffic would blindly accelerate assuming they would push in. There were several instances when I was certain I would die but our Rainald’s lightning fast reflexes saved us. There was a constant angry barrage of horns honking and curses shouted out in Spanish. Alison spoke fluent Spanish after six months of intensive language studies prior to her posting at the U.S. Embassy. Terry knew some Spanish from having lived in Venezuelan for a year. I knew how to say “yes” and “thank you.” Luckily many of Panama’s citizens knew English. Even better they use American currency.

The first place we explored was the Parque Natural Summit. This natural refuge was established by the United States. We hiked up a two mile dirt road until we reached a grass clearing at the summit where we had a wide panoramic view overlooking all of Panama City. I didn’t sketch since I was exhausted and sweaty from the hike and besides I had just sketched the city skyline the day before. As we relaxed, taking in the view, I noticed a long line of Leaf Cutter Ants as they marched down a tree trunk and then along the forest floor. I laughed when I noticed a smaller ant hitching a ride on a leaf fragment being carried by another ant. It turned out even this hitch hiker had a role to perform by keeping parasites away from the leaf. The constant activity reminded me of the angry traffic on the streets of Panama City. The ants were more organized than the concrete civilization below them. They cultivate the leaves to create a fungus which is their food source. They were successfully farming thousands of years before humans. To cleanly cultivate this crop the ants have been using antibiotics which the human race only discovered some 60 years ago. Research is being done that may help make hospitals more sterile and perhaps new drugs can be found from the never ending work of these tireless workers. When the leaves have been cleaned of their fungus, the ants remove the waste and pile it up in immense mounds which are easily seen on the rain forest floor.

Portobello at San Lorenzo

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Terry loves old forts. Rainald drove us to San Lorenzo. The ruin of the fort was perched on top of a cliff high above the mouth of the Chargres River. It was first built in 1595 by Spaniards to protect all the South American gold being shipped down the river. It was destroyed by pirate Henry Morgan in 1671 and rebuilt shortly afterward. Morgan captured the fort by shooting flaming arrows which ignited the Spanish gunpowder forcing the troops to surrender. The jungle surrounding the fort was used for decades as a jungle training area by the U.S. military. On the drive in we spotted a large falcon feasting on its bloody prey high up in a branch.

Terry and I wandered the ruins together for a while rushing from one shady spot to the next, then she encouraged me to sketch while she read a book in the shade. I was delighted when she suggested I do a second sketch. Rainald was talking to a Scandinavian couple who had pulled up in an RV. They planned to camp overnight at the fort, and they chatted for quite some time in Swedish. I was feeling great after finishing the second sketch and I started walking back to the shady tree where Terry was reading her book. I was surprised when she met me half way in the forts mote.

She held up her cell phone showing me the calender. She said, “Does this day mean anything to you?” It was April 28th, her birthday. I hadn’t looked at a calender since we arrived in Panama. “Oh shit,” I thought. She was visibly upset and I didn’t know how to make it up to her. As we sat in the shade of the crumbling ruins, Rainald cheerfully approached us, and we had to shout out that we needed some time alone. A week has gone by and I still haven’t mended my oversight. I’m not sure I can. I really messed up this time. As I approach 50 I carelessly loose myself searching for the next creative rush. I loose sight of what is most important in life, perhaps overconfident in the impregnable strength of marriage.

Santa Clara Panama

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Rainald took us on a several hour drive to the Caribbean coast. We stopped at a bustling roadside bodega and got some delicious mango and peach shakes. Outside the bodega women were seated behind folding tables selling lotto tickets. The tickets were displayed on an abacus style box, folded over metal support wires. Three policemen stood around a motorcycle with their machine guns slung over their shoulders. I of course wanted to sketch, but we had a schedule to keep. The point of a vacation seems to be to go to quiet, serene places to rest and relax. I seem to have a hard time doing that these days.

When we got to the coast we parked near a short boardwalk that lead to a restaurant and bar with a palm leaf roof. Lunch was delicious. I had some large garlic covered shimp that were finger licking good. People in the bar were shouting over a soccer game on TV. Terry asked our guide about a fishing village that was listed in her Foder’s guide book. He explained that most of the fishermen had sold their ocean front properties. They would be offered large sums of money, like $100,000 dollars, and they couldn’t refuse. 0nce the money was spent, many would no longer have a livelihood. At first I didn’t want to sketch. The place seemed spindly and lonely to me. Once I started however I got lost in the process.

One fishing family remained. A young man untangled a fish net the whole time I drew. Terry relaxed under the shade of a Tiki style beach hut. She checked her e-mails on her iPhone and then read a book before taking a siesta. We walked into the surf, but a very strong undertow discouraged us from swimming to far from shore.

Panama Canal

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The French began construction of the Canal in 1882 but diseases like malaria took the lives of some 20,000 workers and construction stopped just six years later. The United States proposed to finish the job but Columbia rejected the proposal. President Theodore Roosevelt helped spearhead an independence movement along with U.S. Battleship backup. Panama declared its independence in 1903. In return the U.S. was ceded a ten mile wide strip of land in which the canal could be constructed. This area was fenced off with military support. For the next six decades this affluent enclave was separated from Panama. Workers were given housing just outside the U.S. zone and these remain slums to this day.

Protests by Panamanians became frequent in the mid 1970’s. Several students died in these demonstrations. In 1977 President Jimmy Carter and General Omar Torrijos signed a treaty that allowed for the transfer of the Panama Canal back to the Panamanian government. This transfer was completed December 31, 1999.

There is a museum that documented the building of the canal. At 3pm the giant tanker ships began moving through the locks. The ships were guided by large train engines that used rails on either side of the canal. Once the ship was in the lock, the water would be flushed out until the water was down to sea level. Then the ship could sail out into the Pacific. Later in the day smaller ships could go through. It is indeed an engineering marvel and tourists lined up to take snapshots. In the harbors there was a constant line of tankers waiting to go through. When a cruise ship goes through the locks, each tourist must pay $200 so the canal generates a sizable income for the Panamanian government.

Gamboa

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The small village of Gamboa was established by the United States in the early 2oth Century to house workers of the Panama Canal dredging division. Located 20 miles northwest of Panama City, it feels remote since it is surrounded by a tropical rainforest. In the morning Rainald took us to Pipeline Road which is supposed to be a fantastic bird watching area. Terry excitedly started a life list on her iPhone noting each new bird species she saw.We had to wait a while when we first arrived for the rain to slow to a drizzle. We then hiked up the muddy road. Terry spotted a Toucan. Luminescent giant blue moths fluttered across our path. Then Rainald stopped and said, “listen.” In the distance we could hear the crashing of leaves. Something was moving out there. The sounds grew closer and we moved up and down the trail trying to see into the dense foliage. I asked Rainald if I should be looking at the ground or treetops. He said, “look up.”

There was a sudden guttural piercing howl that made my blood run cold. It sounded like an immense mammal on the prowl. I moved my sketchbook over my soft intestines. Then I spotted movement in the treetops. A large group of Howler Monkeys climbed into the tree right next to the trail. They feasted on the leaves. A mother climbed with a baby clutching her belly. One monkey eyed me curiously then went about his browsing. Thank god they weren’t as loud as they sounded.

After lunch at the Gamboa Rainforest Resort, Rainald drove us to the home he first bought when he moved to Panama. It is typical of most of the houses in the village with the first floor being wide open on silts. He has been renovating the home slowly over the years. Now the structure is wide open with the windows removed as he is reworking all the interior walls. Terry was insisting he find me a place to sketch and I just sat on a curb to get this sketch done.

He then drove us to the central town square. Terry wanted to rest so she lay down on a picnic table under a gazebo This fire station with it’s gleaming engine proudly jutting from the garage caught my eye. Rainald disappeared while I sketched. I glanced back and noticed a local man decided to take a siesta on a bench near Terry. As I was finishing my sketch Rainald walked up and introduced me to a local artist and her boyfriend who did research on butterflies. I gave her a sketchbook to flip through and we had an animated conversation about art. She was a portrait painter and she had a show going up on May 6th. She realized immediately that I would probably like to sketch the butterfly research facility. She explained how artists stay connected in Panama via Facebook. For me this chat was a real highlight of the trip, making me realize the unlimited potential in exploring a new culture. It was great to meet an artist in such a remote place. Unfortunately we were on the move and there wasn’t enough time to follow these new leads.

Casco Viejo

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Casco Viejo is the historic quarter of Panama City. It is located on a small peninsula just south of all the modern highrise construction. It is surrounded by slums and we were instructed to never walk into these districts. The old quarters streets are narrow one lane passages. The historic buildings are run down and life is lived in the open. People sit on stoops and lounge on balconies. Windows are all thrown open in the hopes of catching a sea breeze. On the way to a restaurant I caught a glimpse of a woman using her kitchen as a hair salon. A toddler stumbled unattended on a second floor balcony. Men shot craps in a narrow alley. Life bustled everywhere waiting to be drawn.

Alison brought Terry and I to a small outdoor cafe in the Plaza Bolivar. While we sipped drinks and had lunch, I sketched the monument to Venezuelan General Simon Bolivar the “Liberator of Latin America.” An Andean condor was perched on top of the monument. In 1926 Bolivar organized a meeting of independance with the leaders from all over Latin America in the plaza.
At the base of the monument there were wreaths of live flowers. Alison wished the Embassy had given her an apartment in one of the 19th century buildings surrounding the plaza. She imagined lowering a basket from her balcony so the cafe could send her up a siesta snack.

Armed with machine guns and motorcycles, there was a constant military presence on the streets. This was unnerving at first. There were only a few tacky tourist shops. The quarter instead had a sincere lived in history. I could have spent the entire week there and never run out of things to draw.I rushed the sketch so we could drink in more of the sights.

Panama

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Terry’s niece, Alison Brown, has just begun working as a cultural attache at the American Embassy in Panama. Terry and I decided to fly down for a visit. As the plane approached Panama City I was surprised by all the new sky-rises that sparkled like the Emerald City. Alison picked us up at the airport in her sporty little yellow jeep. Getting into and out of Panama City by car is apparently a challenge. Allison couldn’t find the highway back to the city so we wandered the back roads back to the city. Coca Cola signs and Kentucky Fried Chicken joints were everywhere. Housing for many consisted of hastily constucted tenements with tiny balconies where laundry was hung to dry. The cement structures were covered in a dark wet mold that dripped down the facades.

Alison’s apartment was in a brand new sky-rise tower that looked like it belonged on the Las Vegas strip. Her thirteenth floor balcony had a great view of all the new construction so I grabbed a dining room chair and sat outside to sketch. Walking up to the low glass railing gave me vertigo but once I was busy sketching, I forgot the height. Alison’s neighborhood sprouted up in the last year. She lives across from a brand new hospital and a block away from a sparkling mall. Land has been cleared for two new sky-rises behind her building. Little had been done in these empty lots in the months that she has been working at the Embassy.

At night the skyline is mysteriously dark. Most of these new buildings are deserted. Few lights flicker against the starry night sky. There are rumors that Colombian drug money is laundered into the new construction. It is hotter in Panama than Orlando. My shirt was sweat stained before I completed the sketch. Alison took us to the mall for some delicious tapas. The mall looked like any mall in America with its chrome furnishings and giant screen ads.