From the dark skies above the Caribbean, the plane came in over Panama with a great view of the canal, the Bridge of the Americas, and the impressive sky line of the capital city running along the Pacific. Out in the water, like little islands, ships waited to cross the isthmus. It was nearly midnight by the time I collected my luggage and my bike. I wandered out of the airport and ran into the eager mass of taxi drivers encountered at airports all over the world. Usually I avoid them, but this time I needed a ride because the airport is many miles east of Panama City. I had worried about the bike, but the cab driver put down the back seat in his little station wagon and it fit comfortably. After a brisk ride on the deserted streets we wheeled up to the Hotel Centroamerica which I had booked via the Internet.  For $20 including tax I got a luxurious room by my standards: it boasted a view, a private bath, nice towels and air conditioning. I maneuvered my bike into the tiny elevator and soon luxuriated in the comfort and safety of my sanctuary after a long day of travel. 

The next morning I awoke early, too excited to sleep and looked out from my room at the Pacific. As I walked down the street hunting for breakfast the humid heat of Panama felt like the lead blanket the dentist puts over you before an X-ray. The sun seemed to be rising over the Pacific and a review of the map showed that though the country runs east-west and the canal north-south. The land tilts a bit there so I was looking southeast into the Pacific. I ate pancakes and ham at a nondescript place. While they call their currency the Balboa, it is exactly the same value and denominations as in America. The coins were either U.S. or Panamanian but the paper currency was always the familiar greenback.  Breakfast with coffee was $2.25.  

Then I took off on my bike discovering in a hurry that Panama City didn’t favor bicycles. They have an obvious overage of cars and busses along with a shortage of traffic lights. Motorists compensate by relying on the bluff. They approach intersections aggressively stopping only if the other vehicle doesn't. That assertive approach to travel is difficult when you are riding a little piece of steel and not surrounded by it. However, the only way to get around is to ride down the road like you belong there, and I got better at that over time though never feeling really happy about it. My first outing took me down to Casco Viejo, an old portion of the city built after the first settlement fell to pirates in 1671. The colonial area was rundown in many areas and consisted of narrow streets, clogged with cars and a hopeless maze of one-way roads that never seemed to go the right way. The area got worse as I wandered along. I saw a couple of fellows refinishing furniture at the edge of an empty lot and then I stopped to take a picture of a colorful advertisement painted on a drab wall. As I finished I looked at a well dressed man who gave me the signal of a finger across the throat. I noticed the neighborhood was looking rather shabby and assumed he was giving me advice so I left that area. Later I learned that I had rambled to the edge of Chorrillo, a rather notorious slum.  Still there were some pretty parts of Casco Viejo including the area around the French embassy. I also got a nice view of the city across the bay. The plaza still has some of its old glory and I came upon a group of school children in uniforms all waiting to go to a museum.    

I happily escaped the traffic and made my way to the causeway which the engineers built to protect the canal from the ocean swells. It consists of four islands connected to form Fort Grant which was once a very important Army post and off limits.  Now it is a park and popular with walkers and bicycle riders. A marina sits on the last island and I watched equipment work as they added on to the breakwater. One of the islands hosts a Smithsonian laboratory studying marine ecology. The causeway also offers a great view on the Bridge of the Americas, which crosses the canal and connects North and South America. It seems very modern to spend a huge fortune digging a canal to separate the Americas and then a small fortune to reconnect them. After my ride I went for a walk along Balboa Boulevard, a main road that runs along the waterfront from Casco Viejo to the area of the city where skyscrapers tower over palm trees. It's one of the best places to walk in Panama City because cars don't cross it. It affords nice views of the islands at the end of the causeway and ships and boats at anchor. Christmas decorations lined the boulevard and a manger scene with camels and horses sat at the bottom of that statue of Balboa commemorating his arrival here in 1501. Not being sentimental I didn't mind the odd combination of tropical weather and Yule reminders. 

As I looked up a the luxury housing overlooking the bay I never imagined that I would spend the evening up there, but I did. Through some common interests I ran into a fellow named Kevin, and despite his being an Aggie (Texas A& M) and me a tea sip (University of Texas), we struck up a friendship. I met his girlfriend, Yolandre a native of Chiriqui province and a delightful person. That evening Kevin took me to an alcohol-free party on the 35th floor looking over Balboa Boulevard. I met an eclectic mix of non-drinkers including retirees, embassy personnel and ex-patriot adventurers. One lady and her husband had spent years refinishing a 37 foot sailboat and were now "in transit" around the world.  The food and fellowship helped me feel very much at home in Panama at the end of my first full day. 

The next morning I started out bright and early to see some of the famous Panama Canal. Having recently finished The Path Between the Seas, David McCullough's captivating description of the construction of the canal, I was eager to see the locks, Gatun Lake, the Chagres River and especially the Gaillard Cut. The canal took ten years to build and opened in 1914. The U. S. turned it over to Panama December 31, 1999. Because it takes some 52 million gallons of water to take a ship through the canal's six locks, it is important to protect the watershed, and the Panamanian constitution defines 552, 761 hectares (1,365,320 acres) as watershed. The good news for a guy on a mountain bike is that dense forest exists near the capital. To my surprise the canal runs north-south. About six miles north of my hotel I found the Miraflores locks which have a nice viewing stand. As I approached the locks I looked across an expanse of marsh and saw the superstructure of a ship; it seemed amazingly out of place on land. When I got to the Miraflores locks the friendly hostess told me that no ship would pass for several hours so I pushed on and encountered a container ship at the Pedro Migel Locks. I took a side road that went about eight miles through jungle and a park to dead end at the tiny village of Gamboa on Gatun Lake. The lake was created by damming the Chagres River and forms the middle portion of the canal. Ships come up three sets of locks to the lake, sail across it and descend three sets of locks. Gamboa was very quiet and the only human activity was 15-20 young men loitering around a store. That didn't feel like a comfortable place for a break so I went back down to a resort hotel built on the Chagres River right where it enters Gatun Lake. My meal cost a little more than I usually pay but came with a seat on a delightful deck overlooking the river. To get to Gamboa I crossed a treacherous bridge of the river. It was made of wood and had one lane for cars with a light for taking turns, one lane for a train and a pedestrian lane. As I started back a container ship passed me as it entered the Gaillard Cut I had read about. 

On the way back toward Panama City I finally found an side road without the ubiquitous entrada prohibida (no entrance) signs. I pedaled down it into the jungle hoping to find a quiet place away from traffic and see if I could hear some birds. I saw fleeting glimpses of a few birds and after a while heard some noise high up in the trees. Soon I could make out monkeys jumping, climbing and swinging. Shyness made them want to stay away but curiosity brought them back and I saw little white faces looking at me from behind leaves and vines. A big canal company truck came by and spoiled that moment but friendly waves from the cab made up for it. As I heard a train and got ready for a picture. The engineer gave me an especially enthusiastic wave.  From there I went across the street to the Summit, a nature preserve and zoo. I saw a harpy eagle, the world's most powerful bird of prey, but mostly it made me sad to see animals in cages. I decided I would rather catch a fleeting glimpse as I did of the monkeys than watch them pace in a cage. I stopped to take a picture of the grounds and some energetic kids in the background began jumping and shouting "otra" telling me to take another picture of them. As I waited for the ready light in my digital camera the boys pushed aside the girls and got in the front of the picture. They seemed to be having a really good time and got to practice "thank you" and "my name is .."

To be continued ........