The Lost Paradise of Panamá

 My first visit to Panama was via parachute. A drop zone on a map. I had no idea then as I floated down under a silk blanket what effect this country would have on me. Italy was in my sights, but I gave it up. Why? A few weeks later I knew the answer. Europe is fine, but Panama was different. It’s when I first came to know—and love— the people. Their lust for life. Their sincerity, their caring for anyone, friend or stranger. I had to go back. And I did.

I had stayed away for the most part when Noriega took over, until near the end. I had to leave, due to the ongoing turmoil and death threats. It was painful to see the transformation that had taken place, where tranquility was replaced by a living nightmare. So many close calls. So many riots. Running from the PDF in gas filled streets; hiding my daughters in the back of lavamaticos, and searching for my wife, Elia, through choking smoke. But now, all of that was behind us.

I was returning to the Panama I once knew. Hopefully it was back to normal. I stared through the airplane window and saw the familiar jungle canopy with steam rising through the high branches, brushing the colorful wings of toucans and macaws. Suddenly, a strip of concrete split the green and the Boeing 737 landed.

I was back at Tocumen International.  

Our relatives were waiting. After going through customs, gathering luggage, stepping outside and taking a deep breath, I knew I was really back. 

Make no mistake. Panama is not for everyone. It’s not a first or second world country. Put down the travel guide books. In time, I hope to give you an idea of what it’s really like.