Dia de Jesus.

On the corner, halfway up Via Argentina, two taxi drivers playfully banter in the shade of a tall palm. Panama City’s quiet, almost deserted. Shops are closed. There’s no tranque (traffic), no hookers, no diablo rojos prowling the streets like hungry dinosaurs. Some have left to watch [tag]Jesus[/tag] get whipped in the streets. He takes a beating in various parts of the country this time of year. Others have fled to parts unknown. As if they got word of a plague. But, I’m still here. If the plague or Jesus comes I’m ready. I’ve got the cure; Glenfiddich over ice. read more»

On Via Veneto a cool breeze tickles the palms in front of the newly built [tag]casino[/tag]. It’s late afternoon. Just before six. And I’m seated outside Manolos watching two young women with flat belies, tight jeans, and [tag]spiked heels[/tag] work the corner. One of them keeps catching my eye. She’s almost hot enough for me to ignore the dead ants swirling in my cafe con leche. They look like little chocolate bits. read more»

Judy from Miami writes: “Is it true english is spoken everywhere in Panama?”

Sure, if by everywhere you mean the expat social. Let me ask you, is it true everyone in [tag]Miami[/tag] has [tag]pink flamingos[/tag] on their lawns? The easy answer to your question is no. You need Spanish Judy. Just because you can order beef burritos from Taco Bell, and like to fantasize about your shirtless Latino gardener, that doesn’t mean you’re ready for Panama. Learn some Spanish before you leave town. I suggest “papi, darme lo que quiero.” is a good place for you to start. read more»