Panama City, November 2010

Disclaimer: This post is strictly based on my experience in Panama City. I’ve been told that the rest of the country is much different, more agreeable, cheaper, relaxing, beautiful. And I’ve said it before, I’m not a city girl, but I’ve come to believe the city is where the heart beats. The soul you can find elsewhere, but if it doesn’t work in the city, how’s it supposed to work elsewhere?

I didn’t think I was being cocky, but maybe I was. To think I could just pick up and leave and land and live happily ever after without a plan in the world. I came to Panama so “it” would come find me. I came to Panama to fall in love. Do I love it here? Sometimes. Would I come back? Without a doubt. Could I live here? Still in deliberation.

I did not come prepared. I did not come to work with a particular restaurant in mind. I did not understand the distances I would need to cover on the primitive bus system I would come to rely on. I did not come with friends made, or contacts lined up. I did not know I was coming to live in a house full of older, white American men. I didn’t know I was going to hate what the general ex-patriate community has become. I didn’t know they would barely speak the language and defend what they do with “Well, that’s just Panama for ya”.

I don’t want to be that person.

Part of this is no doubt my fault. What I’ve always hated most about the general American is their sense of self-entitlement. That they deserve to be treated better, that they believe everyone should speak English, that they expect and demand courtesy and respect everywhere they go. And almost every older, white American man in Latin America? Living off their retirement and here for the young, beautiful, sassy yet subservient Latina woman, trained from birth to take care of their man and recognize white money. Most of them don’t speak English. I recognize I am painting a very general sort of picture.

I also recognize that it’s my fault that I ended up in a house full of this type of American. And so I recognize that all of the above is true. A lot of my experience here was undoubtedly affected by this.

Panama lacks a culinary culture. There’s no real roots anywhere. They love fast food or street food, and then for those who can afford it, really expensive food. Fine-dining level. I never went to those places. No one ever recommended them. Which means regular people don’t eat there. I am a regular person.

I don’t see an awareness of food, or farm, or land. If I had to survey a favorite vegetable, it might be the plantain. The city is developing at such an extraordinary rate, perhaps pure economics haven’t allowed for extracurricular thought. Much like the music program getting cut from schools, culinary thought is on the back burner. We’re surrounded on all sides by ocean, and even the seafood culture doesn’t seem to go beyond corvina (kind of their national fish) and a small Mercado de Mariscos.

"A donde el corazón se inclina, el pie camina."
A literal translation of this popular saying would go something like “Where the heart goes, the feet follow”. I like this interpretation because for me, it means that I’m allowed to settle in one place when I feel the time is right. But that I’m allowed to pick up and leave when it’s not. Very appropriate, as I think I’m approaching a moment which may count as one of those right times.

Although I spent a lot of time alone, I did meet quite a few people here, and the one thing I notice about all of them is that they’re very well versed in their country’s history. Like, a LOT. They can walk by any statue, park, or street and explain why it’s called this, when it was put there, or for what reason it happened. It’s something I’ve consistently noticed throughout all of Central America. Apparently every Latin American child took their national history class seriously, and to this day, can spit out volumes of information I couldn’t ever dream of doing about the US of A. I even took the AP course.

But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever said that I'm from the States. I tell them I’m from Hawaii. And then, I realize, that I too can drone on for days about the island I call my home, with our unique culture and distinct history. I’ve always been proud to be from Hawaii, to the point where I’ve been made fun of because I get mad when they call me gringa. Oh, helllllll no, I’m no gringa, I’m a hawaiiana. See this black hair and dark skin? Yeah. Hawaiiana.
A pretty famous chef I used to work for once (gulp, twice actually) told me that I needed to focus on forming an end goal, in order to give my life and career a direction. That even though I was a fast learner, got along with people, could adapt quickly and lead a team…if I wasn’t taking the right steps to get toward that goal, then I was just wasting time becoming the Jack of All Trades, but the King of None.

Back then, I wanted to be the Jack of All Trades. I thought it would make me a more valuable employee. But now...I think I finally understand.

"Caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar." see Panama slideshow here