Cuidado en el bar­rio
Cuidado en la fron­tera
Cuidado ese
Que te anda bus­cando [Peligroso]

Alright. We made it to David, and to Boquete. Lucky us.

We were very care­ful in Panama, espe­cially given our expe­ri­ence in 2002. But it wasn’t just us. I swear it, even though Panama city is often mar­keted as the safest city in Cen­tral Amer­ica, I trust my guts and my guts kept on telling me oth­er­wise. I mean, I have always men­tioned that all win­dows have bars, and that doors are bul­let­proof. But did I tell you that there are secu­rity guards every­where, in front of every busi­ness, and that many peo­ple seem to carry weapons? Indeed, the bar­rios are very dif­fer­ent. You can be walk­ing in a per­fectly fine neigh­bor­hood one minute, and head to the slums as soon as you turn at the cor­ner. That’s what hap­pened to us in 2002.

On Fri­day, we had to go to the bank. We were also plan­ning to stop by the inter­net cafe, so we had the cam­era and our Ipod that needed to be plugged. Well, trust me, we didn’t wan­der too much in the streets.

Another prob­lem in Panama city is the traf­fic. In fact, we have only seen one red light in the whole city. The streets are just a mess of cars stop­ping, cars try­ing to turn, to reverse, to park, all at the same time and at full speed. “Dia­b­los Rojos” (city buses), cars, moto­cy­cles, trucks… just ram into each other con­stantly and never ever give way. No seat belts, of course. Cars are just inches apart and dri­vers seem to be clin­i­cally insane. Or, at the very least, deaf. Gotta be, after honk­ing non-stop all day.

When we arrived at the air­port, we took an offi­cial taxi to get to down­town. But frankly, in Panama, just about any dri­ver can be a taxi. All you need is a car and a sticker that says “taxi”. And of course, be pre­pared to be stopped by the police. Most cars have tinted win­dows, but still.

The other day, for exam­ple, our taxi was car­ry­ing us plus another guy in the front seat that he had picked up on the way. We were stopped by the police nearby the hospital.

– “Who is this guy?”, asked the police­man, point­ing at the pas­sen­ger in the front seat.

–“A friend”, replied the dri­ver, not the least bothered.

–“Oh, I see”, said the police­man, “and what about them?”

–“Friends as well”.

–“Alright, go ahead”.

And we were free to go. As sim­ple as that. After all, a guy can drive his friends around the city, right?

Taxis are still the best way to get around. Walk­ing is not really an option for long dis­tances given the safety prob­lem, unless you know where you are going. And besides, rides are only between $1 and $3, unless you look like a total gringo.

The main prob­lem was that so many roads were closed. On Thurs­day, the build­ing behind our hotel, which was the national lot­tery build­ing, was bombed. Oooops. And a whole C.S.I look­ing team of police­men and mil­i­tary peo­ple was inves­ti­gat­ing (trans­la­tion: 50 uni­forms were star­ing a bro­ken win­dows and glass on the ground). On Fri­day, it was a demon­stra­tion. “they are retired peo­ple”, said our taxi dri­ver, “so no much can be done. They would have been younger, the army would have been sent, for sure”. I see.

But any­way, we are in David, after an 8 hours bus ride. We had con­sid­ered fly­ing to San Blas, on the Atlantic Coast, but it was too expen­sive. And all the South of Panama is basi­cally a no-go. The City of Colon is arguably the most dan­ger­ous place on the con­ti­nent, and the province of Darien, link­ing Panama and Colom­bia… well, let’s just say that few have made it, not includ­ing the drug-traffickers and their poor hostages. So up in the North we go!

Related posts:

1. On The Road Again
2. ¿Y Ahora Qué?
3. Bor­der Cross­ing — Panamá To Costa Rica
4. Buenos Dias Panamá!
5. Panamá, Old And New