The Lost Paradise of Panamá

Welcome to The Lost Paradise. My name is Timothy Davis, and I’m the host of this blog. I’m a family man, traveler, and writer. I chose the title because of my keen interest and love for the country of Panama. This blog won’t be exclusively about Panama, but I do hope to post many stories and pictures to give visitors a realistic flavor of what it’s like. My wife has dual citizenship, and my three children have cedulas.  I live mostly in the US, but I travel to Panama often, so this will not be a place for day-to-day news from Central America. There are other sites for that.

On my website I have a tagline, Some Battles Never End because there are numerous injustices that take place in the Americas, things that you’ll never read in a newspaper. There are many people a part of the underground that are fighting right now to free the oppressed. My wife lost two cousins along the Panama – Colombia border, killed by narco-terrorists. Sometimes we need to take a stand, whether it’s losing our land due to a bad judge’s ruling, or the tearing down of a historic building.

I also like to write. Please check out Copper Penny on my website. Through the winding, cobblestone lanes and quaint parks of Casco Viejo, Panama, Copper Penny materialized. I watched the street vendors, especially the raspadors as they served snow cones or cold drinks to anyone that had the money. You never knew who would be stopping by. It might be the President of the Republic, a General, or a peasant. Mostly, it was the poor. The one thing they all had in common was the price. The rich paid with nickels and dimes. The “shirtless ones” paid with copper pennies. There was always loose talk on the streets, and one raspador in particular seemed to know when the next riot would start–or even a coup d’etat. If he stopped selling early, especially with ice left over, you knew something explosive was about to happen.

My first trip to the Republic of Panama was when I was assigned to the US Army Airborne Rangers. I viewed the jungle from 1200 feet as I prepared for a parachute jump from a C-141 jet. The thick trees looked like broccoli stalks bunched together, covered with a layer of steam. We passed over a field and I was given the command to jump. As I floated down under my large canopy, I remember seeing other rangers disappear into the tall elephant grass and I wondered, what’s in there? I soon found out. It was the rainy season and there was water—a lot of water—and thick, sucking mud. Three short weeks of jungle training and a visit to Colon and Panama City was just enough to get me hooked on Panamanian culture. A year later I returned for an assignment with an Airborne Company in charge of canal security, and I became thoroughly entrenched with an amazing country.

Thanks for stopping by, and check back again soon.