Panama: Los Dias Primeros... Coronado, es vida

It’s so strange for me, personally, to think that lives exist SO different from ours around the world. We get used to the way we live, drive, eat, TALK, smell - and don’t think too much outside of this little comfortable bubble. But obviously, different places do things differently and that doesn’t always mean wrong. In my case, Panama has not proven to be awfully different, and yet, things aren’t at all the same.

As someone who’s lived a life influenced greatly by Spanish culture – my Grandmother on my mother’s side is from Chile and my Grandmother on my father’s side is from Panama, I shouldn’t have the shock factor upon delving deep into Panamanian life these first days. Both of my parents spent a substantial amount of their childhoods in these respective countries. And even with this influence as a child, it’s been startling to see certain disparities. I’m thinking it’s because these types of differences only exist in the way of life lived WITHIN each of these countries.

Central American airlines – onto something. The toilet paper – light tan. Stop signs, crosswalks and center road lines – purely suggestive. The sun – 100 times more scolding than Arizona’s. Air conditioning is not a given nor is hot water. The middle class (in Coronado) – nonexistent. With the risk of sounding showy, let me just say – my family here - upper, upper class Panamanians. I’m beginning to understand that they may be Aristocratic Panamanians. The amount of paid “workers” who support their everyday lives (drivers, maids, gardeners, ironers, cooks, caretakers) is astonishing. And when, say, the driver takes us to lunch at a beachside terrace restaurant overlooking the Pacific, he goes in the other room while we eat. Even though there are open chairs at our table, he doesn’t sit and eat with us. The existence of a class system here is so strikingly evident.

An overview: The Moscoso and Zimmermann families (my families) in Panama are incredibly educated, wealthy, well-known (including the previous president, ahem, Mireya Moscoso), comically energetic, generous and…enormous - no different than any other Spanish family in size, but quite different than my family I’ve known and loved my entire life.

Our first few days were spent outside of Panama City in a town called Coronado, a wealthy beach town filled with beautiful, brightly colored, open-air Spanish Villas surrounded by tall sturdy gates and wholly cared for by the uber-lower class. I’m not being judgmental (I mean, I’m reaping the benefits of being waited on hand and foot), but more objectively observant. It is the way of life here. Y ya esta. (English Speakers: And that’s it).

A good deal of my relatives here are quite elderly (90 and up) and very ill. It’s bittersweet to think this is the first and last time I’ll be meeting them. And yet, this was the principal reason for coming with my grandmother and siblings, and, as I haven’t spoken Spanish for any sizable amount of time in three years, it helps that the elderly talk SLOWLY. Already, I’m thinking in Spanish, speaking freely and comfortably and understanding practically everything I hear – even from the younger family members (who speak English anyway).

We’re now in Panama City, staying with the widow of a cousin of my grandmother. This precious woman, Rosario, is originally from Argentina and speaks only Spanish…and indeed does she like to speak. Being the only one of the three siblings that can speak any functional amount of Spanish, I’ve served as the designated translator of the endless stories, instructions and any general conversation between everyone. To be honest, it’s completely exhausting, and as a side note, I’ve reverted to my “I don’t want kids” mantra.

But that’s beside the point.

In the few days we’ve been here, we’ve watched many family members (not excluding the very distant ones) go out of their way to welcome us into their busy days, evenings and homes as if we were their own kids. In fact, Rosario demanded that Beau (who she continues to call “Bob”) sleep in her bed in her air-conditioned bedroom (the only room with air conditioning). Meanwhile, she happily plopped onto her cot on the floor of the guest bedroom and began to speak to me in Spanish about another memory... which I proceeded to translate to everyone else. And obviously, that’s the way of Spanish culture. Displacing oneself for family is truly, second nature.

This afternoon April and I are off to Tegucigalpa, Honduras and Beau is off to Bocas del Toro, Panama to meet a friend. In Honduras, we will meet a little girl named Daniella that April adopted several years back through Compassion International. I have every inclination that life will be much, much different than it is in Panama – more “Central America” and less – “America,” which is perfect.

Comical Movie Translation of the Moment:

“El Senor de los Anillos” – Lord of the Rings


Panamanian Beers of Interest:

Balboa, Soberano and Atlas