Most people, upon hearing you are traveling to Panama, think of the Canal and ask if you are taking a cruise.   My wife and I were more interested in the Panama most tourists don’t see - the rural interior.   We decided we would start in the Azuero Peninsula, the heartland of Panama that bulges into the Pacific halfway between Panama City and Costa Rica.   Thinking that someday we might live in Panama part of the year, we wanted to see if it was the kind of place we would be welcomed and if it fit our lifestyle.  We stayed in Panama City for a few days, planning to see the Canal’s Miraflores Locks and Casco Viejo, the old Spanish Colonial city tucked on the edge of modern Panama City.  Unfortunately, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez was visiting Panama and both Miraflores and most of Casco Viejo – where the Presidential Palace is located - were shut down for security reasons.  Instead we spent our time hanging out at the Amador Causeway, a roadway stringing together small islands in Panama Bay.  The Causeway has many restaurants and bars where we ate well and compared the merits of Panamanian beers, settling on Atlas as the best of breed.  We stayed at La Estancia, a B&B on Cerro Ancon.  Cerro Ancon is a sizable hill on the western edge of Panama City that is also a forest preserve you can amble through to the top for great views of Panama City.  Being in a tropical forest was nice but, because La Estancia is on the edge of the city, you have to take a cab to get anywhere with more people than monkeys.  When we later returned to Panama City, we stayed in El Congrejo the central business district that abounds in restaurants, nightclubs and vibrant – human - street life.  With the idea of mingling in mind we decided to take a bus from Panama City to Chitre, our jumping off point into the Azuero Peninsula.  This turned out to be a pleasant trip on a small, 28-passenger bus called a “Chiva.”  The key concern when taking a bus trip in Panama is to ensure that it is air-conditioned; if the bus is not air conditioned, and if you are not acclimatized to hot, humid air, and if there are 27 other passengers on the bus, you will die. It was a three hour trip with a rest stop about halfway where we got out, utilized the clean bathrooms, bought a good, cheap lunch and practiced our limited Spanish.  The problem with becoming fluent in a few useful Spanish travel phrases is that people will rapidly respond back and you won’t have a clue what they said.  For example, when I went to pay the bill I said “Cuantos” (how much?).  The cashier said “Dos setenta-cinco” (two seventy five).  I expected to hear “dolares” and “centavos” as I had been practicing, but I couldn't understand his answer.  He was looking at me as if I was an idiot until my wife, a better Spanish speaker than me, said “Give him two seventy five.”  They both smirked when I handed over the money. Because my wife and I aren’t fluent in Spanish our contact with fellow bus passengers was more by observation than dialogue;  they ranged from young, college-aged students to an older couple with their granddaughter.  Most of them appeared to be of modest means and many carried big plastic shopping bags bulging with goods purchased in Panama City.  One of the last people to board was a middle-aged man whose legs were severely deformed and walked with crutches.  He was unable to climb on board unaided so the driver’s helper, the guy who stows the luggage, wrapped his arms around him, lifted his feet of the floor of the bus, and carried him to a seat across from me.  No one giggled, no sighs of impatience were heard, the only notable reaction was self-conscious laughter from the man with the crutches.  He later asked, as I finished the last of my lunch on the bus, what I had paid for it.  I elaborately said “Dos dolares y setenta-cinco centavos.”  He nodded his head with a smile while unwrapping a homemade sandwich.  When he disembarked the bus he was once again lifted from his seat and carried out of the bus, laughing shyly as he bumped against a pretty girl by the door.  In a country with few amenities for disabled citizens the tolerance of Panamanians for this man’s needs was heart warming.  When we arrived at the bus depot in Chitre we hired a cab to take us to Budget Rent-a-Car.  The man at Budget didn’t speak any English but we were able to transact the rental of a small, economy car to our satisfaction.  We asked if he could direct us to the Hotel Rex in downtown Chitre.  He tried to give us directions but could see that either our Spanish or his English would need to be much improved to have any success at getting us ensconced in the Rex.  Instead he gestured for us to get in the passenger seats of the car and proceeded to drive us to the Rex, about five minutes away.  After ensuring we could get a room he thanked us, hailed a cab, and returned to his office.  One problem in giving directions in Panama is the lack of signs with street names as well as no directional signs for things like one way streets.  Driving could be an adventure. We were lucky to get a room at the Rex because, unknown to us, the Fiesta of San Juan Bautista, patron saint of the cathedral across from the Rex, was to begin that very night.  We got the last available room.  We could see from the activities going on just outside our balcony that it would not be a silent night – the setting up of the Atlas Beer tent and the jocking of various street venders for good spots on the street below foretold of much partying in honor of the Saint’s birthday.  That evening, as the bands began to tune up, we joined the procession of San Juan Bautista and walked the streets of Chitre until fatigue and sweltering heat drove us back to our air-conditioned room.  From our balcony we could watch the milling crowds below feasting on grilled chicken, cotton candy, pizza, and cold beer.  From our vantage we could also watch the clusters of young men and women slowly gravitating together and then falling apart as flirtations were conducted - success or failure constantly changing the dynamics of each group.  It was a sweet, poignant night, punctuated around midnight by a lengthy barrage of fireworks fired from the Plaza below us. The next day we headed south, down the Azuero to Pedasi.  To get to Pedasi you have to go through the sizeable city of Las Tablas.  As became a pattern for us we got lost when the main highway turned into a maze of roadways near the town center.  We traveled some back streets but we soon found our way by using the hand-held GPS I purchased just before we left the States.  The GPS was a boon for an American male who is loath to stop and ask directions – especially with only rudimentary language skills.  Getting lost also proved to be a great way to see neighborhood life you might not see if you stuck just to the commercial streets that pass through a city.  As the trip progressed my wife’s pleas to stop and ask for directions when we got lost lead to less use of the GPS and more use of Spanish phrases like “Estoy perdido” (I’m lost) and  “Donde esta el camino para Pedasi“  (Where’s the road for Pedasi).  Getting lost led to meeting many friendly, helpful locals.

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Regretably, President Moscoso didn’t lavish any money on the Hotel Residencial where we stayed for two nights.  We only paid $20 a night but the dripping air conditioner, single channel TV, cell-like architecture, and lack of power for half an evening were not typical for accomodations in this price range.  Air condtioning became the bench mark for hotel quality in the low lands of the Azuero.  If it worked well and quietly it was a great hotel – even if the mattress was lumpy and the bar next door was loud.  If it didn’t cool sufficiently and made excessive noise the place was a dump despite the perfect bed and tranquil setting.

About a mile from Pedasi, on a paved road, is Playa Arenal, a long, wide expanse of brown sand beach.  When we arrived, there was one other couple that looked to be Panamanians and a few local fishermen gutting and washing their catch of the day at a nearby shed – the only structure on the beach.  If you were a dedicated sun bather this would be a great place to lather on the sun screen and laze about in tropical breezes coming off the Gulf of Panama.  My wife, who thinks of sun bathing as a form of torture, dragged us off into some shaded forest edging the beach where we enjoyed a lazy afternoon gazing out to sea and the nearby Isla Iguana, a preserve touted for snorkeling.  You can take a boat to the island but choppy seas and the small boats dissuaded us from going there. 

When we returned to Pedasi later that afternoon, we stopped at a Chinese restaurant.  Even in a small town like Pedasi, tucked away in rural isolation, you’ll find Panamanians of Chinese descent manning cash registers at small, family owned “tiendas” (small stores) and, as in Pedasi, Chinese restaurants.  Before we ordered our food I asked if anyone spoke English.  A young Chinese-Panamanian stuck his head out of the kitchen pass-through and mockingly said, “They should learn to speak Spanish.”  The $3.00 tab for our two meals salved any resentment I had for this remark.  The following day we stopped at a small bakery renowned for its cakes and its cook, an elderly lady who, judging by the photos on the wall, does regular business with Panamanian celebrities with sweet teeth.  No movie stars showed while we were there but the cake was good and a steady flow of locals dropped by for a morning fix of cake and coffee.  One little girl, sitting near the kitchen, beamed the widest smile I had ever seen, when I said “Buenos” to her.  I’m guessing that adults may not often acknowledge children in greetings but I never failed to greet anybody I crossed paths with in Panama, it being such a pleasant but little used concept when encountering strangers in the U.S. 

After coffee and cakes we headed to Tonosi, further south and west on the Azuero.  Our travels were unscripted beyond an occasional glance at the Lonely Planet guide for Panama.  As we drew closer to the Pacific coast of the Azuero the hills became more pronounced and mountains began to appear in the distance.  The coast here looks like Southern California might have in the 1930’s but the heat and humidity remind you that you’re not in California latitudes.  On the way to Tonosi we spotted a sign for La Playita, a small resort next to the sea.  We decided to check it out and turned onto the resort’s rutted, muddy road.  We wandered around with no one paying us much attention.  Most people were staying for just the day, paying $6 per person for use of the well maintained, sheltered beach and shaded ramadas.  We decided to stay for a few days since the rooms were well appointed and the place had an engaging quirkiness with a menagerie of ostriches, turkeys, macaws, parrots and howler monkeys – all having free range of the resort grounds.  One group of English speaking day visitors were cavorting in the surf wearing shorts and baggy t-shirts over their swim suits, a degree of modesty that led me to believe they were some kind of fundamentalist Christians doing good works in Panama.  While traveling in Panama I encountered a number of people and situations that showed Catholicism was being challenged by Protestant missionaries working amongst poverty plagued Panamanians.

After the modest beach crew ate lunch and departed we had the resort all to ourselves.  The resort had a dual personality – on the surface it had a polished, tropical feel you would expect for a beach resort but there were no room phones, no cabana boys, no buffets, and not much personal attention from the small staff of five.  Since we are low-maintenance people this was not a problem - it was a plus.  We spent our days there walking the beach, lazing about, and occasionally striking up a conversation with some American or Australian expatriates who lived nearby.  We really liked the place, especially after having some of the best seafood cooked in the outdoor kitchen that also, surprisingly, doubled as the front desk. 

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With regrets we left La Playita and pressed on to Tonosi.  It was a beautiful drive along the coast with glimpses of untouched beaches, small barrios, grazing cattle, and an occasional passing truck on the highway.  Cars are seen less than trucks and SUV’s in this region because you often need four-wheel drive once you leave the paved roadways, especially during the rainy season.  Of course many Panamanians don’t have cars or trucks so you’ll also see lots of folks ambling down the road on foot or riding bikes.  Pedestrian traffic gets even heavier as you enter small towns.  Since there are no sidewalks in a typical Panamanian town you weave your car from one side of the road to the other as you meander around bevies of people walking on the roadway.  Even out in the countryside you encounter people of all ages walking on the road.  No one seems concerned that young kids are all by themselves, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  In many ways driving in rural Panama was like driving back into 1950’s America, back to a more innocent past.  As we neared Tonosi we stopped and picked up two young boys hitchhiking to school.  Most school kids in Panama wear uniforms.  The boys wear blue pants and white shirts while the girls wear blue skirts and white blouses.  Regardless of how poor a family might be, they always seem to ensure their kids go to school in clean, crisp uniforms. 

After dropping the boys at school in Tonosi a three way fork appeared in the road where we spotted a small restaurant next to a bar with blaring salsa music.  The music was bearable and we were hungry so we went in.   It was a small place with a seedy ambiance best described as basic, a little tattered here and there, but clean and welcoming.  We ordered pollo asado and bistec from the menu scribbled on the wall.  Each meal included an ample serving of rice, a small cup of pinto beans, and the respective chicken and beef.  The chicken was pretty good but the beef was a little chewy, the way Panamanians seem to prefer it.  Both had been cooked in tasty sauces with onions and garlic.  The total bill for both meals was $2.75.  In Panama, if you don’t mind bare concrete walls adorned with outdated calendars, no air-conditioning, and basic, home-style cooking, two people can eat for less than $10 per day.  Add some beverages and a dessert and it might add up to $15 a day. 

After our meal we had to decide which of the three roads leading out of town we should take.  We wanted to go to Macaracas and then back to Chitre for a night’s rest before driving into the central mountains.  I asked some policia lounging in front of their station which road goes to Macaracas and they pointed to a pothole filled, crumbling street that that was the least likely candidate for a regional highway when compared to the other two choices.  However, as we approached the edge of town the street morphed into the well maintained highways we would encounter all over Panama.  I guess that former President Moscoso was not as generous to the town of Tonosi as she was her hometown Pedasi. 

The 33 miles to Macaracas passed through green valleys bracketed by rolling hills to the east and high mountains to the west.  We passed the usual roadway denizens, folks going about their daily business on foot and less often a bicycle.  We also noticed metal milk cans, about 20 gallon size, in groups of three to four, waiting in front of homes along the highway.  Eventually we were stopped behind a flatbed truck that was being loaded up with cans, I assume to be pasteurized at some local dairy.  Most of the houses along the highway were modest but in seeming good shape, reflective of an industrious people who made ends meet by milking a few cows and farming a few hectares of land.  There is much poverty in Panama but it is not of the downtrodden variety, at least in the Azuero region.

Macaracas presented the usual dilemma of forking roads – this time bracketing the town cathedral - with no indication of where they were headed.  In seeking directions we met the owner of a busy restaurant who invited us in and peppered us with questions on what it would cost to visit his sister in Houston.  His English was about as good as our Spanish so I’m not sure if he benefited much from our conversation but his good humor and welcoming attitude made the effort worthwhile for us.  It is worth noting, as we had seen elsewhere in Panama, that the basins for washing hands were just outside the restrooms in open view of the clientele, not a bad idea – lack of good hygiene can be noted by all your fellow diners. 

The drive from Macaracas to Chitre was less visually engaging as the land became flatter and the mountains receded on the horizon.  As we neared Chitre we stopped in the small village of Los Santos, noted for its colonial architecture and Carnival celebrations.  We parked near the central plaza and leisurely toured the old church, sidling along the interior walls so not to disturb the few worshippers inside.  Even to a heathen like myself, these old colonial churches had a quality of grace and tranquility that always made me want to sit down and seek sanctuary from whatever troubles simmered in the world outside. 

After leaving the church we walked across the plaza to a small tienda/restaurant with some outdoor tables.  There was a table of young people next to us and various locals passing by but no one seemed to take any particular interest in us as we ate our meat-filled empanadas.  Not that we expected any special attention but we were tourists in a rural town not known as a Mecca for foreign visitors.  I think this may have been due to the fact that we had purposely decided to dress like Panamanians on our travels, i.e., no shorts, no Hawaiian prints, no t-shirts.  Also, Panamanians have cross bred for generations with immigrant Spaniards, Swiss, Croatians, and Brits so my light brown hair and blue eyes didn’t automatically brand me a foreigner.  My wife on the other hand, being a Filipina, and being a deeper shade of brown, should have been more intriguing to the light skinned natives who, I had read, took great pride in the purity of their Spanish blood.  Perhaps the folks in Los Santos were just well mannered people who knew better than to stare at strangers. 

Back in Chitre, we decided to stay at the Hotel Hong Kong, located on the main road out of town, rather than the centrally located Hotel Rex where we had stayed before.  It was a sort of upscale hotel by Azuero standards with its own restaurant, pool and even an Internet room where we could e-mail family to let them know our whereabouts after a week of silence.  We planned to leave the Azuero Peninsula the following morning and head into the central mountains so we just wanted a quiet night in Chitre – not that you would expect much else – with a good dinner and then to bed.  The hotel Hong Kong had a restaurant, Chinese of course, in which we were the only diners except for one lone young man.  As we entered he never raised his eyes, never glanced askance, never moved a finger as he awaited his meal.  The restaurant matched this sterile sociability of our fellow diner.  The walls were beige, the decorations forgettable, the waitress lacked animation, and no odor of cooking wafted forth from the kitchen to whet our appetites. 

When the food arrived, it was neither good nor bad – just unremarkable.  It was a strange, somewhat surreal way to end our visit to the Azuero Peninsula.  The Azuero had been an engaging, beautiful, intriguing place with people that were welcoming, open and interesting.  Perhaps things would pick up again in mountains that lie ahead.