Travel Musings

?Por Que Panama?

Panama (April) 2008 Travelogue

"Why Panama?" They ask me, flummoxed. Less flummoxed than when I went to Dubai, but still somewhat flummoxed.

I don't know. Maybe because I wore a hot pink Panama Jack t-shirt in eighth grade. Because David Lee Roth pines for it. Because I fell in love with Canopy Tower back in 2003 when I read about it in Travel + Leisure. Because my sister raved about her family's Panama vacation last year. Who knows what random events influence and determine these decisions?

Of course the weather -- sunny and 80's every day -- factored in. Crossing no time zones is nice. And the cheap prices (a buck a beer, 3-star lodging for less than $100, etc.) didn't hurt. And the people are friendly (although far from effusive). Plus, it's "safe." And pretty, verdant: we haven't seen a speck of green in Chicago for a good seven months now. So that pretty much decided it.

Oh, and: the diversity. Panama, geographically, lacks for little. In the span of a week I will visit a rainforest (Canopy Tower in Gamboa), a metropolis (Panama City), the mountains (Boquete), and an archipelago (Bocas del Toro).

So that's my answer, and I'm sticking to it.

 

The Essentials

2:30 a.m.: Fucking alarm clock!

1:00: p.m.: I arrive in Panama City, the full afternoon stretching before me (worth getting up for).

I charged my flight instead of paying with points this time. At $529 (Continental) vs. 35,000 frequent flyer miles that I'll use another time, cash (and accruing points) seemed like the better way to go. I used Seatguru for the first time to determine the best seat, then reserved it immediately on the Continental website. Nice system.

No line at Customs, but my agent makes me walk around the corner to hand someone $5 for my U.S. Visitor's Pass, which I spaced during my short stop at the gate in Houston. Panama entry is easy for U.S. citizens: no visa needed, and US Dollars are the currency.

I booked an appointment with the Passport Health travel clinic a few weeks ago. I opted for a yeller fever vaccine, although it wasn't required for the areas I intend to visit. However, I had read that Panama may change their yeller fever vaccination requirements at a whim. I'd previously been vaccinated for Hep A & B, tetanus, and typhoid vaccinations, so I purchased only a dose of Cipro for $10 and some Malarone, which I started two days ago. My consultant suggested that I invest in some prophylactic rabies shots (at about $280 each x three: Passport Health is a for-profit entity) but I declined. I'll risk it for $900. That leaves dengue fever, sunburn, and pastiness so I stocked up on deet, spf 50, and fake tan. Oh, and Pringles. Always Pringles.

My driver meets me outside the arrival area: I booked the ride from Tocumen International Airport to Panama Tower ($33) through Golden Frog, a transportation company.

So far, so good.

Canopy Tower: for the Birds

If Panama is the Mecca of Birdwatching, then Canopy Tower is its Grand Mosque.

Canopy Tower is located on the top of Semaphore Hill in Soberania National Park, a 30-minute drive from Panama City. The US Air Force built the structure in 1965 to house radar used in the defense of The Canal. From 1988 to 1995 the building was used to detect airplanes suspected of carrying drugs from South America.

Canopy Tower offers two suites (with private baths), five double rooms (with private baths), and five single rooms (sans private baths). Management typically requires guests to book a minimum of three nights at the property, but they were gracious enough to offer a single room to me for one night for $150, which includes my room, meals, and a bird tour.

A staff member greets our car, gives my oversized luggage (Bagzillo) a double-take, then leads me into the lobby, dragging Bagzillo behind. How...rustic. He hefts Bagzillo up the metal staircase to my single room on the third floor. How...spartan. I follow him out to the corridor, and he points to the communal shower and bathroom for the single rooms, which I had blocked from my mind until now. I pantomime to my host (my Spanish is limited to "bano", "cerveza", "zapatos", and "bolsas": all I needed to know to survive one month in Spain) that I'm missing the key to my room. He gestures back that there are no keys to the rooms.

I plop down on my bed with a huff, chin in hands, and pout. I don't want to share a toilet. I want a key. There's no place for my stuff. I hate Canopy Tower.

Canopy Tower: Fabulous

I reluctantly pull-on my new, egregiously masculine hiking shoes (apparently even remotely feminine hiking shoes don't exist -- at least not in Chicago) and gather with my fellow guests for the daily afternoon guided trek. I join two senior gentlemen from England on a bench in a modified truck bed, our guide at the wheel. We spy irridescent blue morphos and flamboyant toucans (which I recognize -- proudly -- from the cereal box) and we have not yet left the property. Maybe Canopy Tower isn't all that bad.

I desert my group ten minutes into the walk: they go TOO DAMN SLOWLY. Five meters: stop, binoculars, scope. Five meters: stop, binoculars, scope. The birds are pretty and everything, but I have been housebound for the past six months (endless winter of '07-'08), and crammed into planes for the past eight hours, and I need to MOVE.

Back at the Big Blue Silo I replace my offending footwear with a pair more feminine, grab my book (Sacred Games: brilliant), and retire to the common area on the top floor. Blissfully supine in my hammock, I read a page, gaze out at the treetops, read another page, and gaze out at the treetops again. At 6:00 the staff sets out beer, wine, and fresh guacamole. I love Canopy Tower!

The other guests trickle in and mingle with one another. I really should be social -- plus, my wine glass is empty -- so I roll out of my coccoon and pull up a chair. Just as we finish our informal introductions a guide breaks the circle, and, as if on cue, everyone whips out their Sheet. But I don't have a Sheet. I longneck at my neighbor's Sheet: column upon column of small-point font. One by one, the guide itemizes the birds listed on the Sheet as the others check-off the birds spotted today. One of the nice men in my trek group stops by to inquire politely about my solo hike. I begin to reply, but I'm quickly SHUSSSSHHHHed by one of the checker-offers. I can't believe I've just been shusssshhhed.

Dinner is pleasant: the food is good and my company amiable, although I have little to contribute to the Blue-Footed Booby vs. Brown Booby debate. The woman seated next to me, in an effort to include me in conversation, inquires as to my favorite bird.

"I'm really not that into birds," I reply.

The room goes silent.

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee

6:15: By the roar of the howler monkey: my second-favorite way to awake. Their guttural bellows slip through my window and echo around my closet of a room.

I climb beyond the common area to the circular rooftop deck, grab a fresh cup of (premium) coffee (all coffee in Panama is premium), snag a chair, pull my knees up under my jacket, and observe birds and birders alike as they make their appearances. The woman of my age from Texas films flocks as she narrates into the microphone. The couple from Cincinnati position a telescope and share their kite sightings with me: my fellow lodgers welcome me -- the interloper among them -- for the most part, although with a tinge of wariness.

I ask the lady who shushed me -- more out of politeness than curiousity -- about the big black birds circling overhead.

"Vultures!?" she clips. I don't think birders like vultures, as a rule-of-thumb. I add vultures to my Mental Sheet. I review my Mental Sheet: toucan: check; vulture: check. Not bad.

I ride with the others to Plantation Trail: they go their way (slowly) and I go mine (briskly), with mutual waving.

I can't figure out the source of the path through the leaves: I encounter the occasional mountain biker, but I doubt that they're conforming to so precise a line. Upon closer inspection: the line moves. I stop. Upon even closer inspection: tiny green leaves flow down the line. I crouch down. Upon even more closer inspection: thousands of ants, marching in a row, carry the leaves, forming a wake among the golden petals as they go.