at night there’s “[tag]Lord Jim[/tag]” the fantastic Conrad tale. I read about “men who live in a crazy maze of plans, hopes, dangers, enterprises, ahead of civilization, in the dark places of the sea, and their death was the only event of their fantastic existence that seemed to have any reasonable certitude of achievement.” Is that me? No doubt.

Every day, at the crack of ten I go to [tag]Spanish school[/tag]. I leave my noisy, semen-stained room on the fifth floor of the Hotel California (about $500 a month) and hit the streets; stumbling over crack addicts, and the after-birth of the Panamanian night. Contrary to all predictions, I have yet to perish penniless in a Panamanian whore house. It’s not that I’m not trying.

Today I am nursing a shrill hungover. The kind that throbs like a bunny fucking in the noon day sun. Still, I cant help but think that even when I feel like this, Panama is still a fucking far better place to be than Boston or Cape Cod. I still remember the mile high drifts of yellow-brown snow, the ankle breaking dog poo-cicles waiting for spring thaw, the nasal burning salt dust swirling in the streets, the gale force winds that felt like needles on my skin. I remember.

My professor at the school is a friendly Peruvian. He’s impressed with how well I speak Spanish. He tells me he has students who have studied for years but can’t communicate like me. I can’t tell if he’s sucking up. He only speaks spanish. But this does not come easy for me. I struggle. I speak poorly, but I try everyday. I have no other option. I have no English speaking friends here. I learn or perish.

After school I spend the days hiking, eating and drinking in the barrios of Panama City, looking for a place to touch down. This is all part of my crazy plan. An [tag]expat life[/tag] in Panama. Total immersion. No more nine-to-five.

I begin in Calidonia/Central (funky old buildings selling cheap, bargain shops, pedestrian walkway filled with shoppers, dangerous after dark), move on to Punta Paitilla (expensive water views, wealthy Rabi Blancos, new mall built with coca money, big smelly river filled with sewage), Casco Viejo (views of ships exiting canal, wonderful historic overpriced buildings, some properties cheap to buy expensive to restore, dangerous after dark), then on to Dorado (an ugly car filled suburb), San Francisco (mid-priced, some water views, big park nearby, suburban), Bella Vista (centrally located, mid to overpriced, nice park, some views of ships exiting canal, lots of restaurants, heavy traffic), and later I visit Balboa (old army base, barracks-like homes and landscaping, mid-priced, outside the city), and Allbrook (another old base with barracks-like homes, and some newer homes, great mall, bus terminal, small airport nearby). But its [tag]El Cangrejo[/tag] that I return to again and again. Centrally located, quiet, historic, safe, neither poor nor wealthy, Cangrejo seems middle class. Perhaps most importantly, Cangrejo has Manolos my favorite cafe.

I stop in for another thick [tag]coffee[/tag], and a “rollo de canela gigante”. Loosely translated that means big-ass cinnamon bun. The coffee in Panama is the best I have ever tasted. Better than Dunkin D’s or Starbucks. Most of it sells for $.50 a mug. They say that the best coffee gets shipped overseas, but I just dont believe it. I sip my cafe con leche and think about an apartment around the corner.

The apartment overlooks a quiet tree lined street. It has 2 bedrooms, a balcony, is on the 4th floor and is selling for 40k. That fits my budget. If the papers can be believed the average apartment sells for 70K here. The new ones are well over 100K. This one’s selling cheap. But it’s scruffy. Paint peels from the walls, all the wood cabinets, doors, and closets have insects. The wiring, plumbing, stove, water heater, fridge all need to be replaced. It needs to be gutted, a wall needs to come down, another built. I will spend at least 15k to upgrade the interior and furnish it. But the location is right. I feel it.

I won’t need a car to live in Cangrejo. I can walk or taxi ($1-2) anywhere I need. This could be an excellent home base. The city is modern, the health insurance cheap, the country stable (for Latin America). And unlike San Jose Costa Rica I can afford it. Decision made. I call my lawyer, settle my tab, step out onto Via Espania, and lose myself in the half mad noise of the streets.

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