Blue Bayou; the Visionary's Wager

With magnetic compulsion, Panamá City's Pacific waterfront has lured foreign assailants for almost half a millennium. When Vasco Núñez de Balboa first crested the Continental Divide in 1513, and laid eyes on the "Mar del Sur," chronicles thereafter declared that he discovered what traceable local populations had known since 11,000 B.C. or before.

Over recent centuries, apparent disregard for anything or anyone from the past has partnered with greed-driven opportunity, authoring a costly heritage. Legacy conceived when a Spanish tyrant had Balboa beheaded so he could establish the city, that would soon become essence of New World wealth and power. History has continued to repeat itself, and modern-day Panamá City is littered with evidence of these infamous, if not fatal, attractions that would eventually "frame" a country.

Founded in 1519 as a Pacific seaboard cache, excavated gold and silver were counted and stored for the Spanish Crown. Rascals and raiders flocked in droves to where it all began. Visitors should, too. Rambling around La Vieja Ruins, immeasurable riches are left to the imagination compared to modern prosperity that now sprawls beyond. However, gilded can't compare with grit! Sir Henry Morgan may have made-off with all the spoils in 1671, but his pillage and destruction sanctioned the greatest treasure.

Casco Viejo became the entrenched proxy that proved impenetrable to incursions, unlike overland trails used for transferring acquisitions to Caribbean ports. Tolls were so immense, Spain rerouted shipments around Cape Horn by the mid-1700's. Negligence came with a steep price, that only one supremacy could negotiate. Reimbursements involved obligatory independence for Panamá in 1903, with exhuming kick back. At the time, Panamá City was Casco Viejo. 100-years later, it virtually still is!

With obtrusive skyline on the left, and influential Canal to the right, heart and soul of the capital still predominates amidst revival. After generations of malignant demise, transformations are gradually refreshing the depraved splendors. This Colonial diamond-in-the-rough is worth more than all the Fools' Gold. If looking for authentic Panamá City, Casco Viejo is a "must-see" mission.

Approximately 8km of waterfront segregates the foremost colonies; tides least of what sparkles these days. Malecón monuments of contemporary fortune overshadow Balboa's towering statue; all positioned for splendid overviews of the Pacific's blue bayou. Tinged with stains of desire, let them have and plunder infinity! The only thing that's endured, still worth seizing, are remnants of yore.

Quick Tips:

Panama City's "Golden Rule"
Unfortunately, if travelers believe everything they read and hear, there's a good chance of avoiding the historic areas altogether. That would be an immense loss! Tourism officials and law enforcement have stepped-up measures for drawing visitors back to the basics. That's not to say that perceptions have changed, or that safety issues still aren't invovled. Ghetto savviness recognized the implied high-alert predicaments, as well as hidden windfalls waiting to be found.

Staking your claim requires nothing more than determination, a good "treasure map", and a leaning towards adventure. Awareness that potential hazards lurk is a safeguard for prevention. Never underestimate personal demeanor, or Panamanians' justifiable love-hate enigma for Americans. Otherwise, a healthy sense of respect accompanies the most basic rule for subsistence -- 'Do Unto Others...', and even the most covert areas become accessible.

For the timid, there should be nothing to fear within confines of La Vieja Ruins, nor reason to stray towards perimeters where destitution awaits beyond the fence. Casco Viejo requires more vigilance but is well worth perseverance. Tourist police and guides are everywhere to offer assistance. For independent explorers here's other things to consider for thwarting mishaps.

-- Amid the attractions are unavoidable residencial areas. Buildings are lined with balconies, and while most people go about their everyday lives, there were also those unmistakably serving as look-outs for mischievous cohorts roaming below. However, the "good guys" are watching, too and won't hesitate to issue warnings or redirect pathes as needed.

-- Having camera out felt uncomfortable, from more than just potential theft. While Casco Viejo is photogenic, it's also a place to absorb through mere presence. Be respectful and/or discreet when photographing locals. Considering the daily tourist influx, resentment has obviously grown towards feeling like caged animals in a zoo.

Budget Bangers Beware!
Most bargain accommodation listings are in Casco Viejo, and I was impressed with the newly renovated Hostales de America, by day. The problem arises after dark! The traveler, which recommended this place, said police escorted him back on several occassions, with stern warnings not to be wandering around at night.

Even with major improvements, this area will likely never be trustworthy because it's pinned by impoverished and crime-ridden districts. Venturing anywhere in the downtown area at night is not advised without local escort. If looking for cheap and safe, Here It Is.

Best Way To Get Around:

Walking is the prescribed measure for getting around within the downtown area by day, though cautious folks should likely use taxis.

From La Vieja Ruins, (for extreme walkers), or El Cangrejo, Avenida 6 Sur/Balboa runs along the Malecón before splitting at Calle 24, across from the Japanese Fish Market. Continuing along the waterfront is shortest distance to Casco Viejo, but streets become a labyrinth passing through questionable areas.

Take a right on Calle 24, and follow this as it hooks around to the left. This feeds into chaotic Plaza Cinco de Mayo. At southern edge begins the pedestrianized Avenida Central through Calidonia/Santa Ana. Needed directions for reaching Casco Viejo are in the reviews.

--The waterfront, bordering La Exposición community, is surest stretch to keep from getting turned around along busy streets hemmed by Via España. By day, safety isn't an issue though expect approaches from well-meaning locals and law officials with warnings to be careful. Make sure to always have passport and tourist card with you at all times!

Los Diablos Rojos
Most city buses pass through Plaza Cinco de Mayo. While these might be convenient for arriving, I don't recommend them when leaving the area. Buses seem to head in the opposite direction, and there are no official stops or markers. Also, I don't recommend trying to figure out the system for proceeding further towards Casco Viejo as buses pass through very speculative areas.

"¿Dónde está...?" Old vs. Old
Here's a basic Spanish lesson that confuses most guidebook and travel information authors, as well as visitors following their wayward advice:

Panamá La Vieja are the ancient ruins of the "city"; ciudad a Spanish word of feminine gender. Panamá Viejo is the general "neighborhood"; barrio considered masculine. That "a" or "o" makes significant difference for where you might end up!

You'll see numerous Diablos Rojos and transportation markers listing Panamá Viejo, but never any with Panamá Vieja. Most Viejo buses don't pass anywhere near the ruins, and the surrounding neighborhood is said to be risky.

Surest and safest bet is to catch a Panamá Viejo bus along the waterfront's Avenida 6 Sur/Balboa, which extends to the ruins before cutting inland. The bus will stop across from entrance to the museum. For departures, walk a few short blocks back along the Avenue until two-way traffic resumes. The one-way fare is 25¢.

Since inception of independence in 1903, and efforts resumed on building the Canal a year later, Panama's brief history has largely been written by the United States. No place reveals this more than the Panama Canal Museum, where collections unfolded more like a who's who of U.S. presidents.

Beginning with Theodore Roosevelt and the Canal labeled "Teddy's Pet," details of succeeding, where the French had previously failed, are largely lost with information given only in Spanish. Jimmy Carter receives greatest fanfare after making good on the long-running promise to sign gradual full-control back to Panama. A person could spend all day reading encased global newspapers regarding this event, alone.

Documented sour-spot with Panamanians are the Reagan-Bush administrations, aided by Oliver North, for empowering military dictator Manuel Noreiga. Bush Sr.'s small-scale war, to remove him in 1989, was justified after Noreiga's ironic classification as the first "terrorist threat" against America. Yet at the heart of a century's worth of bureaucracy is undoubtedly the greatest Man-Made Wonder of the Western World.

Perhaps the Canal receives greater attention at the Miraflores Visitor Center, which I didn't visit. It's certainly overshadowed here, but was far from disappointing.

For English speakers, a virtual tour of the Canal has been filmed from upper-deck of a cruiseship, and provided anything I cared to know. Whether as a source of pride or jabbing embarrassment, repeat emphasis champions Canal as the only major U.S. government endeavor completed ahead of schedule, and under budget!

Period groupings, photos, and artwork speak for themselves, ranging through opulence of orchestrates, unfortunate conditions of work camps, and overbearing presence of our military. Historic relics and artifacts trifled with interest, but don't miss the series of bonds that supported project funding. They're worth close inspection as is the distinguished collection of Balboa coins; the original currency replaced by U.S. $-bills.

For all the meddling, Panama has undeniably benefited. While most of Latin America languished during the 20th century, the U.S. established infrastructures that also included education, health care, and the first potable water south of our borders. Knowing that ahead of time will help 'read between the lines' if you don't understand details, or have an English-speaking guide.

The technology groupings were something to marvel. The Canal mandated electricity and contact to the outside world. Comprehensive displays were probably the most enlightening; especially spools of giant communication cables which threaded ocean floors. Progress is laid-out from rudimentary to advanced, before everything went high-tech satellite.

-- This, and the surrounding Casco Viejo neighborhood, provided my favored experiences; entrance fee the best $2 I spent while in Panama City. History buffs won't want to miss this, though kids will probably be extremely bored.

-- The Museum is closed on Mondays, refreshingly air-conditioned, and totally handicap accessible. Photos aren't permitted inside, and there were ample security guards to insure nobody sneaks one, either.

-- Attached photos are from other points of interest next to the museum, around Plaza de la Independencia.

Coming to Panamá City, and not paying homage to the ruins of where it all began, was met with indecision - something like going to London without a peek at Big Ben, or NYC without bothering to at least glimpse the Statue of Liberty. Perhaps it was too much like homework from recent cultural studies, but it had to be done.

The piles of ruins are just that, scattered over a mostly shadeless expanse that's baked for almost 500-years under the tropical sun. Unlike Rome, Athens and other cities that glorify wreckage from past civilizations, this rubble was somewhat uninspiring; even with diagrams which featured drawings and comprehensive details in English and Spanish.

Perhaps a greater sense of appreciation would've developed from first touring the new museum complex across from the bus stop. Listings include excavated artifacts and related displays from Spain, as well as a scaled model of the original city. Unfortunately, the facility was closed on Easter Sunday.

From the museum, a path outlines the self-guided walking tour. Lonely Planet says there's a 50¢ admission, but I never found a collection point. There's also precautionary advisories regarding the surrounding neighborhood, but the park felt quite safe; emulated heat stroke the only thing to warrant misgivings. Bring bottled water.

The belltower of Catedral de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción is what defines La Vieja. Dominating promotional photos, the structure was under renovation, observation deck closed. Quite honestly, the half-finished project had already modernized this icon to the point of looking out of place compared to crumbled surroundings. Considering distant vistas, it was only keeping pace.

Foundational ruins of the Casa Reales; the governor's residence and storehouses where plundered riches were counted and stored, are worth the walk across lawns towards the coast. Standing where it all began, while looking towards the city's newest fame and fortune, is paradoxical with how the new Corredor Sur Expressway races towards the hereafter. Whether from the highway's construction or it being tail-end of the dry season, the inland bay area was now also in ruins.

The park has a newer, air-conditioned building with a couple of inexpensive eateries and a local handicrafts market. This was one of the better souvenir shopping opportunities in Panamá City because similar places were all but nonexistent.

Molas, colorful cloths made by Kuna indians, and tagua carvings of the Emberá, dominate selections. No one expects you to pay the exorbitant asking price, but be fair in haggling. When figuring in competition vs. number of limited sales, these people seemed almost desperate to take anything offered without actually giving stuff away.

My lackadaisical impressions are what they were, but that doesn't mean others won't have greater appreciation for la Vieja Panamá; not Panamá Viejo. The crucial Spanish lesson needed for getting here is in the Getting Around section.

After Sir Henry Morgan sacked and destroyed the original settlement in 1671, Casco Viejo (also known as San Felipe) was Spain's answer to fortification. Second, but to none, the subsequent attempt at establishing Panamá City engrossed the grand colonial capital I'd came expecting to find. Including this historic district on itineraries should be inescapable, but cautious travelers could easily skip the City's defining attribute.

Casco Viejo is listed as one of Panama City's most erratic neighborhoods. Permanence has decayed into nothing more than housing slums over the last 300-years. While that fact is unavoidable, daring to visit here was not. Edged with fascination, wandering the maze of cobblestone streets was the only place which captured repeat visits.

Massive renovation projects are reviving lost splendors of government and municipal buildings. Wealthy capitalists are transforming entire blocks with affluent sidewalk businesses, crowned with overhead balconies of upscale apartments. "For Sale" signs, everywhere insinuate where the area is headed. For now, it's all the in-betweens of where it's coming from that should cause greatest concerns.

In addition to heavy presence of military and law enforcement, Casco Viejo has an active force of tourist police. Licensed tour guides are also roaming. Between these, and well-meaning locals, expect to be frequently coddled and hovered around to insure well-being at all times.

Based on reputation alone, my hesitant approach casually faded into self-guided privilege. The Photo Tour visualizes why's. Here's other considerations for the how's:

-- Understanding local Fears and Paranoia in-general helps prepare for legitimate concerns of Casco Viejo, including redirected paths if straying towards unsafe areas. The Tourist Traps segment lists specific instructions for strollers.

-- There's so much to see crammed within this compact area, back-tracking is inevitable. Some intersections had signs with arrows pointing towards numerous attractions in all directions. Lonely Planet does have a comprehensive Walking Tour Map with sufficient details, which alleviated need for a guide.

-- The Panama Canal Museum, located across from Plaza de la Independencia, is definitely a "must see", but hardly the extent. In addition to listed points of significance, I was allowed to go poking around several interesting administration and private buildings simply from asking. Speaking Spanish obviously helped. Some buildings required security clearance.

-- The Presedential Palace, known as Palacio de las Garzas, is sealed-off only to traffic. Heavily armed soldiers will redirect paths, amid friendly conversation, towards the appropriate side street where another group searched belongings. Beyond this point, feel free to walk right up to the front steps and look through gated entry.

-- Trendy expat-owned cafes and dilapidated corner bodegas are rivaled by sidewalk vendors hawking foods and drinks. By day, the overall ambience is rather subdued, whether by suspicions or intense heat. However, it leaves no doubt that this is not a place to be after dark unless accompanied by a local.

Latin America's coastal cities always have a seawall malecón bordered by a popular promenade. Panamá City's is more of a necessity and reference point than an attraction, but there are numerous things worth mentioning; especially for travelers staying anywhere in La Exposición.

The Avenue is the surest stretch to keep bearings within the confounding maze of streets. Taxis and buses heavily ply the only midtown artery with traffic running in both directions, but walking is just as pleasant. Day or night, the malecón stays active with bikers and joggers. Despite precautionary warnings, safety shouldn't be a cause for concern though awareness should rise after dark.

Balboa Statue and Park commands center of attention with a circular drive that takes on a carnival atmosphere at night. Sidewalk vendors hawk treats and flowers for lovers congregating on scattered benches. Actually, there's something dreamy about the malecón after dark; especially with how mosaic blue tiles of the seawall enliven like tidal waves off headlight reflections.

Heading north from the statue, inland side of the Avenue is lined with numerous parks, which were quite active of an evening with families. The larger drive-in esplanade along the waterfront had a vagrant contingency by day, and suspicious feel by night. Walking anywhere towards Punta Paitilla's luxury towers, this is the only place to likely avoid.

The Panamá Yacht Club, just north of Balboa Park, may hold the all-time Best Hidden Opportunity of the country! Other travelers reported sailing the Canal for free. Yachts are required to take-on additional crew. Hang around, and wait to get signed for the following day. Apparently, there's more eating and drinking involved than actual work. Drop-off is in Colón, for returning by public transportation.

South from Balboa Park heads towards downtown, with impressive views of distant Casco Viejo hooking-out into the bay. Across the street, Restaurante Boulevard Balboa (off Calle 31), and El Rincón Tableño (off Calle 27), were highly recommended for their inexpensive local specialties. Unfortunately they were closed during the holidays. These offer full-service, rather than a cafeteria, and are places easy to pin-point.

The Avenue forks at Calle 24, and you'll readily smell the Japanese Fish Markets along the waterfront. Numerous seafood restaurants are scattered around the complex. Unless planning to dine, there's little to see worth coming here for, including a newer version of The Local Market.

These cinder-block halls had a sterile feel with individual boothes lined side-by-side. The place is clean, well-lit, and sectioned-out with goods like aisles of a supermarket. With abundance of munchables found everywhere else, only the curiously bored would actually plan to come here, as nothing souvenir-related was available.

-- These markets have replaced the older wooden structures surrounding Muelle 10, included on Lonely Planet's Casco Viejo Walking Tour. The piers are decayed, and area fairly seedy but there's no denying the old place still harbors the ambience.

For Optimum Viewing

"No matter what you do, this year or in the next hundred,
you will be dead forever." Gabriel García Márquez

Once bitten; twice shy. And the third time, just because. Gritty city streets that offend most people are like an irresistible obsession; enticements to my vagabond spirit. Finding myself in places most won't dare or care to know even exist is beyond observance. And then, there was the disreputable haunt of a place like the Casco Viejo district; billed as one of Panamá City's most alluring but speculative attractions.


Walking along Avenida Balboa's malecón on my first jaunt through the city, arcing shape of the bay imparted a distant sliver cleaving the hazy blue canvas. Pinned between sky and sea, the mélange of ponderous structures was consummated with a terra cotta sprawl, ruptured only by Cathedral spires. A frontage of withering piers gave way to the fortified city; ominous bulwarks once a source of protection against outsiders.

Close but yet so far, the waterfront vistas groveled with inclinations during those first days. Information and local advice were unanimous about potential perils of visiting this barrio. Frankly, sketchiness of Panamá City seemed to be ripening everywhere else, almost to the point of dread. If this was the norm, exactly how sinister would the admonished be?

Traipsing around ruins of La Vieja on a radiant Easter morning, an American college student crossed my path to enliven desolation. Trying to force his final hours, the "second city" was all he'd yet to check. I recognized the same sense of hesitancy, and jumped all over the prospect of mutual escort. If third mugging in a lifetime was destiny, the safety in numbers tip-off would only sweeten culprit spoils.

Passing along Avenida Central, the pedestrianized shopping-mecca of the equally chancy Calidonia and Santa Ana districts, sacrilegious multitudes had converted the Holy holiday into a bandy of indulgence, stewing since Fat Tuesday.


Clutching backpacks, we dodged through the circus with dastardly purpose; the paleface beacon-in-tow my greatest consequence. Pausing to regroup amid the chaotic Santa Ana plaza, we'd come to edge of the frying pan; jumping into the proverbial fire waiting beyond the busy intersection.

Just a Coca-Cola Homeboy
Armed with nothing more than cold beverages and concealed cameras, we immediately fell prey to what would prove to be the greatest cause for alarm - Mother Nature. Yes, when she forged this most innocent peninsula of the Panamá isthmus, there was no intent towards future ramifications involving crook by hook.


Standing in front of Café Coca-Cola, sharp coercion of the terrain was indecipherable for knowing the historic district waited to the left. Shabby enticements baited adventure to the right, and I conceded to the puzzling layers of poverty and decay. Barely getting a couple of photos, an older gentleman endorsed a scathing reprimand to get out while we could!


Taking advice as yet another paranoid alarm, we dallied along sidewalks under rows of disheveled balconies. Dank, inanimate laundry concealed the screeching birds in cages and vigilantes surveying our every move. Allure was nothing more than a read-between-the-lines No Trespassing sign. Yet I was in my element reliving glory days of NYC and ghetto decorum.

Callous poise was the badge for turf invasion, exempting the callow deputy as well. Infringement was the least of worries even parading through a corner swarming with riff-raff. The most brazen accost was from another well-meaning individual, more than eager to guide us beyond the menacing neighborhood of El Chorrillo.

The three-block walk, presumably separating good from evil, would determine more than just a turning point of appropriate direction. Panamá City's saving graces were about to be rescued, too.

Philandering with the Phantoms
Prowling suspects left behind, the dispossessed sovereignty of Casco Viejo began to extend in a manner which ignited apprehension. Streets and plazas were utterly deserted. Venturing into the crumbling labyrinth hinted towards entrapment of the most gullible kind. My carrot-top comrade stuck close, but otherwise didn't seem the least bit bothered. Perhaps ignorance was bliss.


At high-noon, the only ambush was executed from a scorching sun; conceivably the sole ally of this immortal enclave. The wide-open expanse of Parque Herrera, looming more like a forsaken battlefield, was a valid place to take cover while figuring out exactly where we were. I thought it safe to expose ourselves as "tourists" by pulling out the guidebook; not that anyone was watching except a bellicose General.

Quickly strategizing our invasion, the dead give away was stashed and substituted with something declaring a bit more fire power. My accomplice followed by maneuvering his palm-sized digital. What ensued was a sharp-shooting exercise, camouflaged with a flurry of touristic impetuosity. Making quick work of the abandoned maze was under defense of his pending flight.


As if standing under a magna fine glass, vulnerability shimmered while watching the compatriot's taxi vanish. Sweat dripping down back of my neck generated a chill against the saturated shirt. With no sense tempting fate, I headed the same direction, on-foot.

The map would later divulge all that was missed in tainted haste. There was no second-guessing what had to be done. Waiting until Tuesday morning once museums reopened, I conscientiously retraced the paths of least resistance, though little about them was familiar.


Hosts of everyday people were now associating with the heat and history, enlivened after the holiday defection. At first, the vibrant transformation was abrupt. Trying to distinguish between friend or foe, along busy streets, was a futile mission until coming to terms with my own insignificance. I wasn't even a blip on the radar.


Alien contour was clearly translucent thanks to voluptuous sirens neutralizing co-workers, construction verracos, and other capable aggressors. I had to snicker. One of these temptresses was worth an entire posse of gun- wielding escorts for insuring safe passage. False pretenses were eventually stripped; melting away in the fervor of hot pursuit.

After almost a week in the capital, the indubitable Panamá City was unveiling itself block by block to finally captivate genuine expectations. Resurrection had occurred two days late; hardly preposterous in a frivolous nation where time seems to have little relevance, and Casco cathedral doors weren't even unlocked for Easter. Besides, other than cool respite, the hallowed caverns fostered nothing more than passing dogma -- betrayed by memoirs emblazoned beyond.

Eventually, wandering for the sake of wondering was embroiled with imminent turmoil brewing on the afternoon horizon. Spain's subsequent endeavor on the Pacific had proven invincible to marauders of yore, and distinc