review

A casino is a place where people indulge in risky behaviors,  to the extent that they don't let kids in.

Gambling is the bottom line, with the odds always in favor of the house but generally not so lop-sidedly that nobody ever wins. So many gamblers, apparently figuring that they're pressing their luck anyway, drink and smoke while playing at the tables or with the slot machines.

The Via Veneto Casino, more so that most others, is prowled by prostitutes and if one wants to run the risks of that sort of sexuality, the connections can be made there as well.

(Has that changed under the new management? It does seem that the hookers' come-ons are less aggressive now, and there are also fewer obvious panhandlers and outright thieves working the premises than was case when the place first opened.)

What else happens in casinos these days?

By and large, that's where Panama's musicians are most likely to find work.

There are good and bad things to be said about this. The good thing is that it's more possible for more of these performing artists to make a living by developing their work, instead of having their energy and creativity drained by "regular" jobs. The bad thing is that minors and those adults who for their various reasons steer clear of the vices practices in casinos get increasingly cut out of the nation's cultural scene.

This is by no means a uniquely Panamanian dilemma.

On this particular evening, however, the entertainment WAS uniquely Panamanian, the Godparents of Cumbia, Samy and Sandra Sandoval.

Cumbia is not unique to Panama, but we have a distinctive style, especially as the closest cousin, the Colombian variant, has morphed into Vallenato. All music is an acquired taste, and for Zonians who grew up in a cultural bubble in which Panamanian musical traditions were generally denigrated as "ping-ding" (from pindin, the Panamanian Spanish word for a party with traditional music) it may have been harder to acquire. But maybe not. After all, the Zonies loved Lucho Azcarraga, who played a version of cumbia on the organ and a lot of people who grew up knowing where "Peter McGill" is have matured into fans of Samy y Sandra, Osvaldo Ayala, the Plumas Negras et al.

On this particular night many members of the local American community were next door at the Hotel El Panama to catch a very fine blues band, Bitches Ghost. I had been thinking about that one myself. However, I had caught that act a few weeks ago and hadn't heard Samy and Sandra live in well over a year.

So what would this brother and sister act (he on accordion, she the lead vocalist) do at a place like this? "Don Dinero," of course, and most of their big hits, which had a lot of the audience singing along.  If you get into that sort of thing --- and I do --- it was a great concert.

The audience was huge and the band was on a stage well above the casino floor. Me? A year ago on Halloween night I had been compelled to jump out of a cab as what appeared to be a set-up to rob me --- the guy taking me to La Loceria instead of Perejil where I was headed from Via Veneto, and I'd been hearing too many tales of just this sort of detour to a robbery scene in the preceding weeks. What it meant was that I felt uncomfortable taking my good camera with me. I just took my little Kodak, which given the crowd crush kept me out of range from the possibility of taking decent pictures of the band.

Ah, but the people watching was impressive, with all the jubilation and frustration, merriment and sadness, socializing and loneliness that seem to go with concentrated vice.