First, I need to admit that I didn’t take a scientific survey. I went to the places where I might be expected to go, by my customary means of transport. I didn’t go to many upscale hotels or any resorts, and I did my best to simultaneously celebrate Panama’s centennial and boycott Mireya, for example by attending the Rubén Blades concert but not the official Centennial Commission festivities other than the Independence Day and Flag Day parades. Where I did go, however, I kept my eyes and ears open.
For example, I paid attention on the afternoon of October 31, while at the bus terminal to catch a ride to Colon, where I’d be attending that night’s boxing show and catching the following day’s parade. At the terminal I noticed a number of young European backpackers, generally headed toward the beaches in the Interior. I heard plenty of English spoken, some by relatively young white Americans with that military bearing and coupled with Panamanian women, most by black Americans, often in extended family groups.
Some of the latter were on the bus to Colon. I think I was the only gringo fulo on the bus, and maybe the only one who could fully appreciate the movie, about a suburban US high school where the cultural norm was bullying and the teachers were vicious space aliens. I’m absolutely positive that I went to the school upon which the screenplay was based.
At the boxing matches and the next day’s parade, there were a lot of black families back from the states to wish the old country well. I didn’t notice any old Zonians, American soldiers married to Panamanians or European backpackers, but there were a few yachties from Cristobal in the mix.
Back in the capital for Independence Day, I made my way down to the Via España parade route. Along the way there were plenty of black New Yorkers with Panamanian roots, a few old Zonies, a bunch of young Europeans, some Chinese and Japanese visitors and a sprinkling of tourists from other Latin American countries. Sitting in the shade, a family of recent immigrants wave the Panamanian flag and talked among themselves in a Chinese dialect.
That afternoon I hooked up with a friend visiting from the States and staying at the Gran Hotel Soloy. That locale was jam packed with Americans of Antillean roots that traced through Panama. We took off for the Rubén Blades concert, where there didn’t seem to be as many foreigners as at other centennial events, but where I did come across a young German couple, some Brazilians and a group of Puerto Ricans.
Down in the Casco Viejo for the Flag Day parade the next day, my gringo friend and I stuck out. Maybe it was the warnings about the neighborhood in some of the tour guidebooks, or maybe competition from other centennial activities, but it seems that this was an event that few tourists attended.
That night the casino at the Hotel Continental was, like the Soloy, full of people from the States who had come to celebrate their Afro-Panamanian roots.
All through the long weekend, I was constantly approached by Panamanians asking me, usually in English, where I came from. These were universally friendly inquiries. Several times, people whom I didn’t know noticed my press card from The Panama News and offered unsolicited words of appreciation and encouragement.
At its centennial, Panamanians who would be the first to admit the country’s serious problems were nevertheless proud and optimistic, and in a mood to turn foreign guests onto the charms of our little isthmus. This was a major tourist event, by its nature unique, but nevertheless a good indication of the present and possible futures for an important part of our national economy.
