Getting There

Yesterday was spent on the road, the Pan American Hwy to be specific after a rushed and somewhat frantic tour of the vertical labyrinth that is Panama City. 

  I have visited many cities in my travels and none top the shear height of this place. Flanked by ocean, mountains, the canal and mudflats, there’s nowhere to go but toward the clouds. The city looks as though it might teeter into the sea.

The afternoon finds us in the old city, Casco Viejo, a broken, rusted crown just beginning to be noticed by her owner. Under renovation, how much plastic surgery does it take to make a lady from the 17^th century look good? Wrought with peril from potholes to panhandlers, she might be able to save the her vertical namesake from losing her spice, her essence of history and place.

 

The Miraflores Locks from the Bridge of the Americas, while speeding along on the Bus in seats 46 and 47.

 

Our hosts, Cora and David met us at the bus. They had secured these beautiful chicken tamales for our dinner. A bottle of Argentinian wine and we were transported to heaven.