The Corona commercial´s aren´t quite like this

I met Rochy while hanging out at the local Panamanian tobacco store fueling my newly found Cuban cigar habit. Rochy is originally Colombian but in Panama right now and seemed kinda impressed that I knew my way around Colombia a bit. She gave me some tips for places to visit next time I was in Colombia.

So when I ran into her two days later and told I hadn´t been able to do anything in Panama but go to the Brazilian embassy and try to figure out my next set of flights, she quickly agreed to show me one of the beaches outside of Panama City the next day. Finally!

Around noon the next day we headed to the Albrook Terminal. The bus terminal in Panama was equally confusing as all Latin American bus terminals are. I think there just not designed for gringos. I guess that makes sense, why would they be? And I was thrilled to have a native spanish speaker by my side as we tried to figure out what bus to take.

But without too much trouble we found a bus leaving for Gorgonza which we were told is a little fishing town with a beautiful beach about an hour and half outside of Panama City. The bus was pretty typical of the busses I´ve take in Latin America. No air, the seats sucked and there was some guy with a 32" TV as a carry on. But as soon as we crossed the Bridge of the Americas and got on the Pan-American highway none of that really seemed to matter.

The bus let us off in Gorgonza on the side of the Pan-American highway which was aparently still a ways from the beach. As we started walking towards the beach I spotted an obvious gringo looking in distress. He sputtered out in his pidgin spanish ¨¿perdon, puedes ayudarme con los direciones?¨ I replied ¨Do you speak english?¨ He seemed very delighted to find a fellow gringo to give him a hand.

Turns out Ned is a semi-retired airline pilot kinda bumming his way around Panama. Funny all the people I meeting bumming their way around Latin America are either semi-retired or dirty smelly hippies. How come there aren´t more burnt-out software engineers down here? But we got Ned squared away with directions and he offered to give us a ride to the beach, sometimes things just work out perfectly.

The beach was spectacular. A strange mix of white and black sand, but virtually undisturbed. There was a little restaurant right on the beach which had shower and bathroom facilities, and lots of salsa music of course.

We lounged around for a bit in the hammocks and then decided to test the waters. A perfectly refreshing warm Atlantic current had me hooked. We swam for a bit and Rochy thought it was wonderfully amusing to try and dunk me under the water repeatedly. Colombian women, go figure.

Just when I was convinced I was in paradise both Rochy and I met the business end of a jellyfish. Damn! Those little bastards hurt, ¨chucha tu madre!¨ After recovering on shore for a bit we ventured out more cautiously painfully aware of the ¨aqua mala¨that was waiting for us. Every little bit of seaweed or fish we stumbled on caused a high-pitched Colombian shriek (and maybe a lower-pitched yelp from the gringo) that soon convinced us it was time to get out of the water.

Back on shore we enjoyed the speciality of the day, a couple pieces of freshly caught and fried fish and the local fixins. Then the hammocks were back on top of the agenda. By the time dusk fell and the mosquitos came out we decided it was time to head back. But of course there was a bit more of bad news...aparently the busses back to Panama City only run until 8 PM. Well it was about 7 PM now, it only took 5 minutes to drive down here in a car, so we should be fine, right?

We started walking back up and after 20 minutes we passed a Chiva, basically a local bus, heading back to the main road. ¨Damn, where were you when we needed you?¨ I exclaimed. Now we were so close it´s not even worth it. Well 20 minutes of walking later I was asking Rochy why she didn´t stop the bus. But Rochy was a good sport and just laughed.

We finally made it back to the Pan-American highway 45 minutes after we started, and my feet were killing me. Between the jellyfish sting and my sore feet Rochy said I had plenty to remember this day. And it turned out the busses ran 24-hours after all, so our haste in hiking up the road was for naught. A short 15 minute wait later and we were heading back to Panama City. Reality is seldom as perfect as you might imagine it to be, sometimes it´s even better.