23.3 degrees centigrade and 67 percent humidity; I'm far from adjusting, but it's only our second day (and first morning) in Panama. The airport was about like any airport anywhere, and customs might as well have not existed for all the trouble we took to pass it. The weather is instantly reminiscent of the South in the summer, although it's not nearly as hot. The pervasive humidity makes up for it handily.
Of course, the first thing I noticed was the cars. The vast majority of vehicles are ordinary compacts like you'd see anywhere else, but loads of them are diesels. Some of those are tiny little things, but mostly it's just a car that looks like it's about to die. Nope, that's just a diesel being wound out past the point where it's making power. Ambulances and some of the shorter buses have snorkels, implying that a lot of stream crossing goes on in the rainy season.
The city itself could easily be compared to either Oakland or Tijuana. Cracked sidewalks and tall buildings dominate; our homey little hotel (of several stories) has casino hotels for company, as well as a nice little brewpub tapping right off their dented fermenters. A walk around the (long) block revealed about five cellphone stores, two jewlers, a large supermarket, a 24-hour Greek restaurant, and an outlet mall, a well as a Steakhouse reputed to be the best in the Americas. We intend to test this theory tonight.
For dinner we wound up at a spot called Van Gogh, an upscale kind of spot with futbol on the television and trip-hop that sounded an awful lot like Thievery Corp coming over the PA. The food was impeccable and the service was phenomenal. We had calamari rings for an appetizer; they were voluminous, fried in a perfect, crispy batter, and they were the tenderest rings I've ever eaten, easily competition for a fine, delicate squid steak. I had clams and crab over ravioli in an ideal bechamel cream sauce. We had three beers. The bill came to thirty-three dollars. Try this at home, then do the math.
Our hotel Casa de Americas looks to have once been large condominiums, or small apartments with common areas. Rooms have their own small air conditioning units and their own small beds. A second bed in our room turned out to be an amazingly uncomfortable fold-up couch, but I managed to locate a mattress standing up in a side room that served to provide the second bed we needed; there's no way we're sleeping in one twin or even double, especially not in this climate. Another huge benefit is that this hotel not only has Wi-Fi (which is common) but also has a Vonage phone from which you may call the states for free, at least as far as the hotel customer is concerned. Cellular phones are ubiquitous and cost about what they do in the US or less, so we anticipate picking one up for the duration of our stay. Even some businesses use mobiles, and land lines can't call them for free here.
It seems early, and I suppose it is, but my last period of wakefulness lasted from 4 AM the previous day. We flew Continental from SFO to Panama with a switchover in Houston, with both legs made on 737-800s. I spent the trip to Texas cramped up like the guy who pops out of the other guy's stomach in Total Recall, but managed to juggle seats on the way from there to Panama city. Which, by the way, is just called Panama. Much confusion ensues. Continental's waiting areas and terminals were dirty, and we had to stop after leaving the gate for a last-minute infusion of luggage, but they otherwise seemed competent enough, aside from the luggage bags they provide to hold lumpy items like backpacks, which themselves are not capable of holding 50 pounds (or even 40!) unless you tie off the bottoms as well as the tops. Okay, so it's a minor nit, but things like that always make me wonder where else incompetence is lurking.
If this all seems flow-of-consciousness, it is. I don't promise not to edit it into something more sane at a later time, though.