The difference from Colombia was severely pronounced once Emily and I had landed in the airport. Not only did a lot of people speak English, but many replied to our fluent Spanish in fluent English, something I find very infuriating/annoying and extremely discourteous. Subway, KFC, Pizza Hut, McDonalds, Dunkin' Donuts, and more dot the streets of more upmarket neighborhoods, and I was becoming more and more displeased with the North American ambiance in this Latin American city.
Luckily there were some redeeming factors once I entered the real Panama, as one talkative Panamanian told me on the street. The barrio of Casco Viejo, Panama City's old town, was the rough edge in what is predominantly an ultra-modern, ultra-american city. And that is why I loved it. Rarely have I stayed in neighborhoods with such shady characters, where laundry hung out on balconies and windowsills, their doors and windows remained open to keep the hot, humid interior from becoming any worse. It was predominantly a neighborhood of poverty, of the underpriviledged, of struggling residents living in rundown, crumbly-old buildings. The peeling paint, the splintered doors and shutters, the balconies supported by rotten columns of wood planted on the pavement below - it was a neigborhood with a unique character that I became quite affectionate of.
Brights and Pastels:
Bleak modernity, ripened age:
Like a painting:
New meets Old:
Progressive Accomplishments:
Modern prosperity, young poverty:
New Town Morning:
New Town Night:
No comments:
Post a Comment