The morning I was leaving Buenos Aires, it was pouring rain for about three hours. I was ready with my umbrella but was worried about getting my shoes wet for the flight.
Suddenly, it stopped raining so I was able to venture into town for one last breakfast. I went to a cafe I’d seen while walking the day before and had my last medialunas with a cortado, my breakfast mainstay over the last five weeks.
I had booked a layover in Panama City on purpose because I didn’t want to fly 14 hours in one day like I did on the way in. This way it’s seven hours one day and seven hours the next. Not so awful. I’m really glad I did it this way. My flight arrived in Panama at 8 o’clock pm, which is kind of like 10 to me with the time difference.
After I got off the plane, there was a strange situation with taxis. There was an official taxi area with white unmarked cars lined up, and then there were people at the doors to outside the airport yelling “Taxi?” The guys by the official sign didn’t seem disturbed by the guys standing by the doors, so I assumed they were all the same.
I asked the guy at the door, “Official taxi?”
“Yes,” he said, showing me a lanyard that said SUR. He grabbed my stuff and then walked across all the car lanes to a parking garage. The heat and humidity hit me like a wall.
As we were walking, I got a very nervous feeling because this reminded me of exactly what happened in Santiago. I said, “Wait, why is your taxi in the garage?”
He mumbled something in Spanish and put my stuff in the trunk. I said, “But you’re not a taxi.”
He said, “Yes I am,” and he showed me his lanyard again. Then three other guys came up to vouch for him. “We are official taxis,” they chimed, holding out their SUR lanyards.
“All Official Touristic taxis are white,” my guy said.
I said, “I don’t want a touristic taxi. I want a yellow taxi that says the word taxi on it that will take me to my hotel. Please give me back my suitcases,” I said politely.
He pretended not to understand what I was talking about and went to get the parking ticket to exit the garage.
I yelled across the garage to him, “Cancel!” loudly and repeated “Give me my luggage” in a stronger and meaner voice. They all were talking with each other and again I stood in front of the car trunk, pointing, and said, “GIVE ME MY LUGGAGE.”
One of the guys told him to give me my luggage, which he finally did.
When I walked away, all the men were shaking their head at me like I was crazy. Two of them followed me half the way back to the front of the airport, arguing, saying that they have a friend with a yellow car. I completely ignored them and kept going to the Official Taxi line.
I was still nervous and a little shaken. Even though the car was white and unmarked, at least this driver’s shirt said “Taxi” on it. I asked him about those other people and he said they are pirates.
Rattled, I decided to use the strategy of being nice; that way if this guy was to murder me and dump my body somewhere on the side of the road, he might feel guilty if I was at least nice.
On the drive, there were beautiful Christmas displays. along the waterfront.
I made it safely to the Viajero Hostel in Casco Viejo, or Old Town, at 9:00 pm. The hostel is part of the same chain as the last one I stayed at in Buenos Aires, so I got a 15% discount. Viajero Hostels are all over South and Central America. The place has a beautiful pool, bar, and restaurant on the rooftop.
To help prepare my body for the five hour time difference from Buenos Aires to California zones, I forced myself to stay up as late as possible. I headed out to explore.
Panama City is all dressed up for Christmas.
I felt uneasy walking around for some reason, maybe because of the taxi situation. There was a sketchy vibe to the neughborhood. Staying within two blocks of the hostel, I decided to get a snack.
The next morning, I went out to breakfast at a place called the Coca-Cola Café. Prices of breakfast were really cheap, and I got some patacones (fried plantains) which I haven’t had since the last time I was in Central America. They were delicious.
Then I walked around a little bit and took some pictures of the Christmas decorations in the tiny parklets all around.
While I was walking, I heard some men yelling and a banging sound around the corner behind me, so I took two steps back to see what was up. Some guy was chasing another guy with a tree branch. He was swinging at him, and when he missed it made a big CRACK when he hit the sidewalk or side of a building. Another guy had a 2 x 4. The guy with the branch knocked the victim to the ground and the guy with the 2 x 4 came to hit him while he was down. While the victim was on the ground, they each hit him a couple of times. There were some men across the street shouting NO, NO! Finally, the victim got up and ran. The two guys ran after him.
I was luckily on a street perpendicular to the one they were running down, but I didn’t know if they were going to turn up my street.
I walked as fast as I could around the corner and got out of there. It was pretty terrifying.
I could have watched a man be beaten to death in front of my eyes. I went back to my hostel where I would stay until it was time to go the airport at 6:30 pm.
Now I’m at this beautiful pool just hanging out.
The second I jumped into the pool, all of my silver and my new brass ring immediately turned black. I googled what to do and it said rinse and wash with soap. I carefully did so in the bathroom, then wrapped everything up in toilet paper and stuffed it into a pocket in my fannypack. I was worried about the ring because I just loved it so I put it into a separate toilet paper and into the main part of my fannypack.
I had three free hours to blog, swim, and relax.
About an hour before leaving, I took a shower and washed my hair in the pool bathroom. The water was cold, but it was nice to get the chlorine off before flying home.
As I sat down for lunch, the clouds turned dark, and a powerful rainstorm came in. It was amazing. It was so loud on the plastic corrugated roof, the waiter and I could barely hear each other. There was thunder and lightening and it was beautiful. It cooled off to a perfect temperature.
I ordered two tacos, which were absolutely delicious and had a fresh-squeezed Maracuya juice, which is passionfruit juice.
As I got ready to leave, I put on my fannypack. I heard a small thud and looked down to see that my little bar of soap had fallen out of the fannypack. The fannypack was upside down and unzipped.
I put the soap back in, fixed the fannypack, and went down to get my luggage to head to the airport.
At the airport, I checked to make sure my ring was still in my fannypack. It was gone. I went to the bathroom and ripped through my purse and my backpack, dumping everything out onto the counters and couldn’t find it. It must have fallen out when the soap fell out. It’s on the ground at the hostel, dammit! It was my favorite ring.
After security, I bought a bottle of water for the fight. The store clerk told me that people flying into the US in Canada are not allowed to bring liquids on planes any more. What? When did this start?
I was thirsty and needed water, so I still bought it. I didn’t think the guy knew what he was talking about.
It turns out to be true. At the gate, there was a second security check with scanning machines and everything. I have never seen this before. They did indeed take the almost full bottle of water away.
So the only water I was able to drink for seven hours were the tiny cups of water they pass out on the plane.
The guy in the window seat and I got lucky in that there was nobody in the middle seat. He talked my ear off for the first two hours. My neck got tired of turning to face him so I told him I was going watch a movie. He was a really nice guy, but very young and dumb . He had a “girl“ in Medellin, Columbia that he goes to see every one to two months. It sounds like he pays for everything including her rent.
Upon arrival to SFO at 11:00 pm (which was like 3:00 am to me), I took a taxi to my airport hotel.
The next morning after breakfast, I took the free shuttle to the airport to get to BART which I would ride to El Cerrito where my Aunt was picking me up.
After visiting for a bit, I started the four hour drive to Oakhurst. Getting home took three days. It was a great trip overall. I just wish I were still there.
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