I´m writing this in a mall. A mall. Yes, those three-storey monuments to capitalism, with bright lights, escalaters, dunkin doughnuts, and clean (oh, so clean) toilets. This is definitely the most surreal experience of my entire travels. One day ago I boarded a bus in dodge-mcrodge San Jose, the Costa Rican capital. As with all Central American capitals (or, so I thought), the bus station was dirty, threatening, and I clinged to my belongings for dear life. Panama City bus terminal could not be more different. For the first time in five weeks, I haven´t hurried to padlock my bag and I feel like I can use my IPod publicly. This whole place feels bizarrely first-world-like. We don´t have malls this big and fancy in Ireland. (They even have special escalators that speed up when you stand on them, and slow to nearly a stop when nobody´s using them).
Taking a walk in the newly-rejuvenated (and heavily gentrified) Casco Viejo quarter of the city with Robyn, I have genuninely never before seen so many SUVs, BMW, Audi TTs, etc, concentrated in such a small area. Casco Viejo feels much more like Sloan Square than another part of Central America. There´s more evidence of prosperty and wealth in this city than in Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala combined. Even Costa Rica, reputedly ´the Switzerland of Central America´ looks decidedly down-on-heel compared to this place. My dollar (and the official currency is the dollar, known locally as ´the balboa´) doesn´t get me much further here than it did in DC. I suddenly see why the border crossing here from Costa Rica took much longer than any other of my border crossings - Panama is the shop window full of sweeties that teases the other Central American countries, illustrating in brilliant technicolor all that they don´t have.
Speaking of.... the border crossing. One. big. nightmare. We left San Jose at 1pm on Monday. Then spent five hours crawling (literally) around bendy corners on mountainous roads. I then nearly get left behind at our rest stop. (Racing after a moving bus while wearing flip-flops, carrying a backpack, in the spilling rain, I somehow manage to get the bus to stop). We run into a big delay very close to the border, which I subsequently learn was a motor accident (it being Central America, nobody actually tells you anything. Instead, you´re expected to divine this information). We finally get moving again, but arrive at the border too late to make the crossing. Seven (yes, SEVEN) hours later, we get moving again, as the border has finally reopened and we get the assorted stamps and searches required to enter Panama.
After such an epic journey, you can probably now appreciate my enthusiasm for the first-world comforts of the mall. I´m glad that I´m finishing my Central America travels here, and not starting them. This way, clean bathrooms with toilet paper and soap, and endless amounts of hot running water in the shower, seem like the greatest luxuries I´ve ever experienced.
Right, I´m off to cycle the banks of the Panama Canal, just as soon as I can bring myself to leave the mall...
