Panama As a Birthday Present

Well, I know there is much to write about, but I thought I would first write about my recent trip to Panama and Colombia. The Boy and I left on my birthday and a number of people seemed to feel badly for me that I had to travel on my birthday. Since I have had a lot of birthdays, my taste in what constitutes a good day is relative. Taking a journey to a new experience – my son with me – was a great birthday present. Besides, I still got all the loot I wanted, including a Body Bugg™ from the Mrs. that has been very helpful in tracking my exercise and giving me important data on my nutrition. It was, in fact, a great birthday, so no need for concern.

I had one other memorable gift from Sladed: an 8 X 10 glossy of Diane Lane! I think it’s a good idea to mention this gift just in case she or her lawyers are monitoring my site.

Panama was completely unexpected. I have been to other cities in Latin America before (far less than the Boy) and was shocked by the difference in how quickly and how impressive Panama City has developed in such a short time. There are hundreds of buildings taller than 20 stories and hundreds more planned including a 107-story building being built by The Donald.

None of this is to say that there isn’t the kind of poverty in the country that exists in much of Latin America. We were told that within the city, in the shadows of these tall buildings, lives 250,000 Panamanians without water. It must be especially dispiriting to these people that Panama is one of the few countries with hundreds of reservoirs filled with an abundant source of clean drinking water (even we weak-stomached Americans can drink out of the tap) and hydro-electric power. So, like much of Latin America, there is a huge disparity between the Haves and the Have Nots. We mostly met with the Haves.

Taking into consideration our limited sample of Panamanians, we found them to be highly sophisticated and seemingly more European than traditional Latin Americans. Many of the people we met had Ivy League educations and spoke perfect English. We met a number of locals who had more money then we could imagine, including a new friend who just sent his son to Portsmouth Priory School, the same Rhode Island prep school attended by Robert Kennedy. To be able to have a place to stay when visiting his son, our friend purchased a Manhattan penthouse – something I am sure we would all do.

Where does all this money come from? There is huge investment in Panama because of the Panama Canal and a free trade zone that has made Panama so,ething like a Latin American Hong Kong. The Canal takes in transport fees at the rate of $3.5 million per day, about half of which goes to various government officials, so we are told, and the balance to the people of Panama.

The Boy and I watched a ship go through the Canal and it was quite an amazing thing to see. A huge container ship, nearly 1,000 feet long and 40 feet wide, went through the Canal with 24 inches to spare on either side. The ship was lowered through two docks that each dropped 27 feet to take it from the Pacific to the Atlantic. All in all, it’s an incredible feat of engineering and a huge savings in time and money for the tons and tons of products that are delivered all over the world.

We heard one interesting story with some historical significance. We were invited to the shop of a highly-respected French fashion designer. The shop was clearly the place where one of our hosts had her clothing made by well-treated and talented Cuna Indians who stitched together the French woman’s designs. As a quick aside, our host usually wore three very fashionable and unique outfits each day, explaining that the humidity and heat in Panama required her to make the changes to stay fresh. I can only confirm that my undershorts got a bit uncomfortable after too much walking around in the weather.

I was instantly bored in the shop because not only was the designer's taste not of my liking, I liked even less the price tags – blouses, though pretty, for $400. I can’t imagine that Mrs. Laz would have wanted me to spend so lavishly on her. The Boy and I followed our host and the designer into her office so she could show us an old photo of Rosalyn Carter who had purchased items at her shop, no doubt when her husband was signing over the pink slip to the Canal.

She showed other photos of her long career and one in particular struck my curiosity. It was a photo of a pretty young runway model having a wardrobe malfunction. Of course there is a better story to it than just a glimpse of something you can see on HBO any night of the week. The photo was shot at a fashion show at the height of rebellion against military strongman Manuel Noriega. Protests were common at the time and the protestors wore only white, I suspect to make the blood following the beatings show up better.

Because white clothing became synonymous with opposition to Noriega, most intelligent people wore other colors. Now I heard her say that Noriega had outlawed wearing white but the Boy heard it that wearing white clothes only cast suspicion on the wearer and was like a sign asking for a beating. Whatever the reason, the French designer was holding a high-brow fashion show one evening and had flown in a famous French model. While she never told us the background behind her design for the finale that night, we all guessed she was not a huge fan of General Noriega.

I first heard Noriega called “Pineapple Face” on Rush Limbaugh’s show but it is possible he got the name elsewhere. Wherever it started, the nickname stuck to Noriega back home and he was none too pleased, banning the use of his infamous nickname and frowning on anything that looked like a pineapple. Of course at the night of the fashion show the designer had made the finale dress all in white except for a large pineapple in the center of the dress and two pineapple leafs on the shoulders of the dress, looking quite a bit like military garb. The people attending the fashion show were at first holding their breath when they saw the model walking quickly down the runway until she turned and the wardrobe malfunction caused her dress and the attached pineapple to fall. The crowd stood up and cheered the Spanish version of “The Pineapple has fallen, the pineapple has fallen.”

The designer went home that night assuming the police would be at her door the next morning to arrest and beat her. To her surprise the U.S. marines had arrived in Panama at dawn and taken Noriega, without habeas corpus I might add, and Pineapple Face’s regime had come to an inglorious conclusion. So, the designer added with simplicity, she was responsible for the coup.

Speaking of the marines and the coup, the Boy and I were given a great tour of the city by a young man named Sirhan who completely understood his rather unfortunate name when he was hanging out with Americans. Name aside he was a great and knowledgeable guy who shuttled us through the old center of Panama, which had a decidedly different look and feel to the multiple high rises in the distance. Much of the colonial architecture was still prevalent in the old town and the life there seemed more vibrant. On the day the U.S. Marines landed they came ashore in the center of the old town, fought their way to Noriega and left shortly thereafter.

At the time, President Bush’s Defense Secretary, Dick Cheney, was pleased with the ease of the operation and relative small loss of life; a mere 19 Panamanian civilians by his count. Sirhan had a different figure, telling us without trying to cause us discomfort that the number was probably closer to 2,000 Panamanians killed during the liberation and many more from what he explained were chemical weapons fired into the city as the marines came ashore.

Not sure where the truth lies, but I did ask Sirhan why he and most Panamanians like Americans. After all we had not been invited to nab Noriega, we fought hard and with little mercy to keep the Canal and likely had our CIA murder President Torrijos (the father of the current Panamanian president who approaches Americans a bit more warily) over the fact that that he wasn’t as compliant on giving us the Canal back as we wanted. Sirhan told us that Americans were always liked in Panama because we are always happy and we helped them win their independence from Colombia in 1903. So goofy-looking Americans in cheap Panama hats with a dumb smile and the fact Panamanians don’t have a “yeah, what have you done for me lately” attitude keep us welcome down there. And, I guess, that’s a good thing.

Next, I will write about our travels up above the clouds in Bogotá. Assuming something doesn’t strike my fancy first.