Day 3: Carnival Panama City.

it’s early afternoon, cool, and my head throbs. Did I get my ass kicked last night? I’m not sure. There’s no blood or bruising. Just crusty sore eyes and a ringing in my ears. Though it’s day I can already hear music in the breeze. The palms seem to dance. And I can see [tag]semi-naked partyers[/tag], walking home to Curundu and Calidonia, wet from the tanker trucks. read more»

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Or Why I Won’t Eat at Macdonalds

saint Valentine’s day is big in Panama. I’m learning that in many ways this is a [tag]traditional society[/tag]. Men are kings here. And god forgive the king who doesn’t make some sort of [tag]romantic gesture[/tag] - because your girlfriend, the queen, surely won’t. I know of a Canadian who balked at the high (for Panama) cost of dinner at the Hotel Panama and took his date to Macdonald’s instead. I assure you that was the last time he ever saw her.

With that in mind I took My girlfriend out for dinner at Cafe Pomodoro, a cool Italian restaurant around the corner, with a breezy plant filled courtyard. The food was decent (and by that I mean they didn’t overcook the pasta), but unspectacular. Dinner (I had pasta en salsa de hongos, she had fillet de res) with a couple of cervezas, and desert, was about $24.For those of you wondering about the cost of living here that’s more than I normally pay when I’m out on the town. Would I go back? Probably.