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After the gruelling 9 hour wait in Lima airport I finally boarded my flight to Panama City early in the morning. Those nerves that seem to appear whenever I move on to a new country popped up again. It felt that this finally leg of my trip (my money wasn’t going to last for me to see any of the US) was going to be the most challenging. I had been with Kieran and Jordan in SE Asia, the GAP group in China and travelling in the English speaking countries of Australia and New Zealand had been easy. In Central America I was by myself and I was equipped with a very limited amount of Spanish. This part of the trip was going to be the most genuine travelling experience. It would be less travelled than South America and Asia and hopefully very rewarding to do it solo.
When I arrived at Panama City airport I was kindly told my bag would be following me on a different flight. Not a problem, it would arrive sometime that afternoon and be delivered to my accommodation. With that understood I jumped in a taxi and checked in at La Jungla House Hostel. The journey from Auckland had totally destroyed me. I had been on the move for over 40 hours and caught less than 3 hours sleep. Understandably I crashed out immediately at the hostel and a couple of hours later I woke up and played poker with a group of Kiwi guys. I decided to call the airport at 8pm because I still hadn’t received my bag and I was told it would be arriving the next day on the same flight I came in on. Not a problem. I could wait an extra night to receive me belongings. The next day I called again and the airport said they still hadn’t received the bag but they would be in touch when they did. Not a problem. I discovered on this trip that I am quite a chilled out person. I like to be organised, know where I am going and when I will be there but if complications arise I tackle them in a laid back manner. By 9th March however I was starting to get frustrated. Numerous phone calls to the airport and trips to the travel agency had shed no light on the situation. My bag was somewhere between Auckland and Panama City but apparently nobody knew where.
I was no closer to an answer come 11th March. I had called the airport a few more times, asked the British Embassy for help, taxied back to the airport where they gave me a measly $75 for my troubles (the taxis there and back cost $60), the recently discovered calmness was very much being put to the test. So I decided I had had enough and left the hostel to explore Panama City. It was strange being in a city with a Caribbean feel, it was something I hadn’t associated with travelling but walking through the city streets and seeing a nix of Hispanic, European and Caribbean identities was extremely refreshing. The city itself is known as the ‘Miami of the South’ due to its abundance of skyscrapers and everywhere you look more are popping up. A walk down Via Argentina and you will witness sports car after sports car and the country is also very popular for retired US citizens. All this points to a tourist destination that will shortly be aiming for a low-volume and high-income so it is good I visited when I did. All this doesn’t hide however the obvious poverty that inhibits the city. A walk down Avenidas Central, past the hundreds of street stalls where Panamanians sell pineapples for 50C and raspados for 25C and you see the poorness of Latin American you are used to.
I visited Casco Viejo (Old Compound), the location of the old town after Henry Morgan destroyed the old, old town in 1671. This peninsula was easier to defend which is how it got its name. The area is a world heritage site with cobbled streets, crumbling churches and abandoned houses that give it a warm, charming beauty. Another place I visited was of course the Panama Canal. It stretches for 50 miles across the country, connecting the Atlantic and Pacific. Watching a huge tanker literally squeeze through the two Miraflores locks was very impressive and after visiting the canals museum you have to marvel at the engineering achievement.
After waiting around for a few more days I finally received the call from the airport telling me my bag had arrived. It was 8 days late but I was just happy that I finally had it with everything intact. The extra time I had spent in Panama City meant I had to change my plans and cancel my proposed trip to Bocos Del Toro. Instead the day after receiving my bag I jumped on a 15 hour bus to San Jose, Costa Rica with Sam and Dougie, two British guys I met at the hostel.
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