Life in the Slow Lane

We stared out of our hostel window, watching the rain gush over the roofs' edge and the brilliantly colored birds dart in and out of tree branches searching for a drier perch. Below us lay the cracked streets of Casco Viejo, the older – and perhaps forgotten – area of Panama City. Perhaps it was the gloomy weather that seemed to enunciate the sad drooping windows and doors of collapsing buildings. Plants crawl their way through cracks in the cinder-blocks of what was once a gorgeous house or storefront. To our left lay a stretch of water, the crystal surface broken by the skyscrapers of the newer city. Why is Casco Viejo falling apart? Why has Panama City seemingly forgotten about what it once was, and left it's past in a pile of rubble, broken buildings, and crime?

The land where Panama City now lies, at one time fell along the trail of El Camino Real in route to the Caribbean. With the passing of gold through the region, Panama City was pillaged often by pirates drawn by the rumor of treasures lying among the coastal town. In 1674, the people of Panama decided to build Casco Viejo on the small peninsula that juts into the Gulf of Panama, this way being able to better protect their new village by ship. Once the Panama Canal was built, the city's growth shifted towards the new commerce and away from the old history. While several artists and also wealthier residents are moving into Casco Viejo in an attempt to pull it out of ruins, the city remains unsafe at night and largely still decrepit. (Yes Mom, this is the part of town we stayed in. Yet we were tucked away into our hostel by 3 p.m.,mainly being too tired to do much of anything.)

Friday we found our way into the skyscraper region of the city; but only after annoying a taxi driver to the point that he denoted us helpless and left us, and our money, on the street to wait for another cab. (Sadly, we failed to know what a Balboa is. It is the currency of Panama. Yet to our defense, everyone but this driver speaks in dollars). Dropped off at the Albrook Bus Station we wielded our bags through the terminal and to the small shuttle leaving for El Valle.

After an hour and a half of both frequent curves and stops, we arrived in El Valle de Antón, where life seemingly slowed to a crawl. Instead of cars, there were bikes. Lots of bikes, and lots of rain.

Things are silly: Failing to realize that we are traveling through Panama during rainy season, and arriving in Central America in October sans raincoat (cough: Amanda). Yet I really can't talk, for had it not been for my dad convincing me through a half-hour conversation in Eddie Bauer about being better safe than sorry, I wouldn't have one either.

El Valle is situated in the second largest inhabited volcanic crater in the world. Eons ago (scientific dates were never my specialty) the top of the volcano blew off and a lake was formed within the remaining crater. Now, the lake is dried and replaced with a green, lush valley that is constantly covered by clouds creating the perfect habitat for many plant species. Yay for orchids!

We began working Monday morning with APROVACA, a not-for-profit organization that is designed to conserve endemic orchid species, while also educating the public about the environmental threats many Panamanian species face. We plan to give it a couple days for further commentary on the project . . .

If anything, the next three weeks will be a complete unwinding and a learning experience in the act of just . . . being. It is nice weather from sun-up, which the three roosters roaming our yard like to inform of us, until noon. Then the clouds roll in thick, and the rain begins. When it rains hard, the internet cuts out. And when your main job is helping design a website for a grassroots organization on orchids – a topic I know nothing about and continuously need to research, productivity slows. Thus, the main activity during the afternoon is watching the rain. And commenting on the rain. And wondering when the rain will stop.

Or not really wondering at all.

To leave the hustle of two jobs, of city life, of late nights followed by early mornings, and to arrive at El Valle de Anton, is actually more difficult than it seems. Seemingly a blissful vacation, (what more could anyone want but to do nothing?), in reality, it is a stark contrast that will take some getting used to. Yet, with the pace here, it should at least be no problem to practice.