I will go back to the beginning of this trip. Took the red-eye out of LAX on Jan. 2 and 6 1/2 hrs (+3 hr. time zone loss=9 1/2 hr.) later Sudarshani and I stepped onto the tarmac of Panamá city’s international aero puerto (just a few hundred feet from the Pacific Ocean) at 10 AM Sunday to a nice clear, warm and humid winter (dry season) day. The contrast to California’s cool night hit me but not hard. Not like arriving in August in the wet season-mucho mas hot and humid. After all, this is an unusually warm and rainy dry season due to El Niño, just as I suspect the rains in California are affected this way. I was in a daze and was glad someone came to pick us up and drive us directly to my mother-in-law, Wilma’s house in Colón, about 50 miles northwest, on the Caribbean coast.
Edgardo picked us up in his nice newer car. I think it’s a Hyundai. He is a strapping specimen of the universal mixture of Spaniard, Indigenous, and African genetics. With lighter skin, handsome face and tall, muscular build, I would presume that he enjoyed access to the perks of the upper class. But due to the strictures of class and to his own predilections, Edgardo finds himself in humbler circumstances; but not hopeless by a long shot. He and his wife, Magaly had been rooming from Tuesday through Thursday nights at Wilma’s for a year while teaching school in Colón. They would then return home on weekends to a neighborhood (barrio) on the outskirts of a pueblo (town) called Arraijan about 15 mi. west of Panamá city (just called Panamá).
The name “Arraijan” comes from the gringos’ description of how to get there: “Take ‘a right hand’-off of the Pan-American highway at mile marker #—.” This custom came from the days of the US Canal Zone. Magaly said that three years ago she won the national lottery TWO WEEKS IN A ROW at $2,000 a pop to help pay for her house in cash. What else can you expect from a former nun (married to a former priest)? We will displace them by moving into Wilma’s so they will have to find another free room or rent one when school resumes in March. Right now is the summer vacation for schools and they live at their home full time. Currently in their room is our son, Elijah, who has been living with grandma for a couple of months before we got here.
Edgardo told me that there are five vacancies in the local public schools for English language teachers. They pay $100 a week and that is truly the low end of the professional scale. I surmise that tradesmen and other skilled occupations (private school teachers) shoot for twice that to be comfortable. Our housekeeper, Esther, makes $1/hr. and she comes in three full days a week; then she works at another house on the other three days. Sudarshani has declared that I need a Spanish tutor, and none better than a small kid who does not mind endless repetition and slow talking about mundane things Español. Esther’s 10 yr. old, Damian, may come with her to spend some of the time with me, especially if I offer to pay him a dollar for each session. Hope he wants to come and forego play for a while. Besides, he needs to catch up with his class in English, but the $ may be the better incentive.
We walked over to the Free Trade Zone port, called Colón 2000, on the east side of town and saw a big cruise ship docked there. It was attached to an overhead gangway that led directly into a shopping center that is gated and guarded to keep out undesirables. From there, the sheepish gringos venture out in taxis or horse-drawn carriages to tour a bit of the town. I’ve not seen them on the west side—the commercial main street/ ghetto, so they must not venture far. Too bad, because that is the most interesting looking part of town, by far. Admittedly, I only travel there when escorted by locals, or I might get mugged. Nonetheless, I usually carry nothing but a few dollars to spend–and my knife.
Back to the shopping center: there is a gym there and Elijah has a membership of $40 a month and he uses it every day, all day it seems. In the afternoon the director, Christian, teaches Latin dancing and Elijah takes that too-a good use of money. Christian lives in Panamá but works all week here in Colón, returning home on weekends. It seems that a lot of locals are displaced in this way. We found some decent food items here, but certainly no natural foods, such as real peanut butter, just Peter Pan. The outdoor markets off of the main street are the only places to get fresh veggies and fruits. We plan to walk there soon, about 8 blocks south and west of Wilma’s house.
