TheExpatJournals.com

What a night here in Casco Viejo! La Casona had it’s official opening. Spearheaded by my downstairs neighbor, Blanca Davalos, Ye Ye and Miguel (whom I first met in Portobelo and then ran into here in Casco Viejo yet who’s last name I still don’t remember). The new room is a combination bar, gallery, music venue in a cavernous space that has not been renovated, merely cleaned up. The ambience is incredible! With a large inner open courtyard adorned by an old mural of the Virgin Mary nearly a whole story high and barely removed vines that once threatened to completely claim the space, it is uniquely Casco Viejo. La Casona de Las Brujuas is located behind the hotel on Herrera Plaza, a fringe part of Casco Viejo and major props to all involved for taking that risk.

Though not open yet, for the more timid, there is a parking lot for the space that should accomodate at least 12 cars once open. And there’s always plenty of parking around Herrera Plaza with guys to tip for keeping it safe.

In the huge gallery space, they had hung cardboard boxes from the very high ceiling that stopped at perfect eye level for viewing the enlarged and wonderful photos of the place in process before opening. This is the patina of the ages! Each photo mounted on the boxes was individually lit…very interesting and unique display. Well, apparently before I got there, the electricity went down in that room. Someone obviously very capable of thinking on their feet somehow managed to forage for enough small flashlights which they presented to each arriving guest. So you walked in with the flashlight and used it to view the photos in the dark. Clearly, accidental drama that perhaps worked out far better than what was originally planned. It was just about the most unique opening I’ve ever attended. The improvisation, for me, added more than the very time consuming job on the lighting could have thanks to such creative minds. Blanca’s stark, bright paintings graced the walls surrounding the courtyard.

Inside was a mix of young, edgy artists and well heeled patrons. I knew one young woman through a friend of mind who is a painter. I must admit that, unlike NYC, no one age had a corner on the demographic for the evening and that, to me, is priceless. By the time I was in my 30’s, sometimes going out to events made me feel like more of a babysitter than a participant. And then I ran into Sandra Eleta who is the lady responsible for Portobelo’s Diablos y Congos festival each year…for bare starters. With Sandra was a woman from Antiqua, Guatemala who’s grandfather apparently trekked throughout Latin America on mule to sell books. She has inherited what I’m told is a pioneering publishing company called La Azotea.

I can’t actually explain what it was about this woman, but before I knew anything at all about her, I felt like I was meeting Katherine Hepburn. Elegant with smiling eyes and a beautiful face. I’m guessing, impolitely so I’m sure, that she was in her 70’s. It turns out that she has published a book of Sandra’s photos. I never even knew she was a photographer, but WOW! Check this link: http://www.laazotea.com.ar/libros1.htm Be sure to click ’see photographs below the image of the book.

Along with a couple of equally interesting men, these folks were kind enough to oblige me and speak in English. (note: I don’t know why, but when I’m with someone who is bilinqual, I feel very self conscious speaking Spanish. When I’m around folks who don’t speak English, I’m fearless. And fearless is how to learn.)

And here we were all sitting on large plastic paint buckets that had nice little pillows on top. I just cannot understate how fantastic it all seemed. You gotta love the cream of Panamanian society sitting on plastic buckets in an unrestored courtyard behind the Herrera Hotel on the fringes of Casco Viejo, surrounded by punkish 20 something and having a blast! I really gotta start carrying my camera with me everytime I leave the house! (another note: Several days ago, I was at Albrook mall and for the second time, saw a Muslim woman in full black robes with only the eyes showing. Mere steps behind her was a Kuna woman in full Kuna regalia. What a photo!)

Okay, unfortunately, I hadn’t eaten dinner, so by 10PM, I was starving…and exhausted, but more about that later. So I left to see if maybe Cafe Neri was still open since 38 Manzanas closes at 9 since new owners took it over. (yet another note: In the fabulous courtyard behind the French Embassy, Cafe Sante has opened, but I am not used to it and forget.) Well, Cafe Neri was not open, so I grabbed a taxi and in 5 minutes was sitting outside Boulevard Cafe on Avenida Balboa ordering one of my favorite guilty pleasures down here (Filete sandwich with mozarella and real Coca Cola, not diet) from a saucy waitress who is the only person I ever have serve me there by the name of Erica. I’m so impressed that Erica recently, while I’ve been living here, went to school and has learned so much English. Erica works two jobs and commutes by bus to Tocumen every day. And spent her very hard earned money on very expensive English courses.

So there I am sitting across from the Panama Bay on the Avenue having this sandwich and it really hits me what this night has been and is like. This would be a grand night even in NYC. But I’m in Panama! And I’m all but tearing up at what exquisite stuff I get to experience here. And, as I said, I am completely exhausted.

Because I’m moving. It was accidental, I swear. An apartment became available in such a great location, but oh God did it need a lot of work. A rental. I still have my 18 month ceiling in place. No matter what, I refuse to allow myself to get into something I can’t get out, like buying, until I’ve lived here for 18 months. It’s my own thing and not at all logical, but it does seem to be the where my ceiling hits if it’s going to hit. So I have 6 more months, but God, Panama just feels better and better, so I can’t imagine much changing.

Okay, so a couple phone calls later, the owner of the management company of this building has given me the apartment. But I didn’t have his number written down, knew I could find it in the classifieds and went there to look it up. While I was looking for it, I saw an ad for an apartment in La Cresta that sounded so nice, so I impulsively went over to look. The only thing I can say that makes enough sense to bother speaking is that it felt womb-like. It has no views even though La Cresta if famous for it’s views. I can only see green and sky. It seems like you’re living in the woods at that apartment. But it feels like living in an isolated place. Like no one will ever stand beneath my balcony and yell for me. I will never walk out and say hello to 10 people before I’ve even reached a taxi. It is quiet. And for whatever reason, I decided to take it. Gave her money. Two days later, I changed my mind. I had this sudden terror…What the fuck have I done?

Honestly, it really hit me two nights ago that I was far more afraid of moving from Casco Viejo to La Cresta than I was of moving from NYC to Casco Viejo. This neighborhood stole my heart. I geniunely love it. I may have had ups and downs here, but like true love, it always bounces back full force. So I went to the woman and asked for my money back. She told me she had already spent it. I decided, okay, I’m moving. My fate is sealed. In a way, it will test me. First, I’ve decided to pursue a few things that I need the silence and isolation to pursue. Casco Viejo is many things, but quiet isn’t one of them. And, I finally comforted myself with the fact that I can always move back. I think part of me already wants to miss it so much I have no choice if I want to be happy. We shall see. In a reaction to any number of things in the last few months, I came so close to choosing a mountainous country location, but realistically, that’s not me as much as I may sometimes long for it.

And oh so oddly appropriately, I had my first date in Panama City last night. Bear in mind I stay so alone and independent it makes people who know me worry…read: It’s oh so rare because I just never meet anyone who seems worth the price of admission. It’s an intangible. Can’t explain it, just feel it. So the poignancy of such an occasion mingled with the sensual night air (I used to write so much about when I first got here) of an ocean breeze in such a beautiful, seemingly ancient spot…WOW…how rich on this, one of my last nights here. As they say for the epitome of a compliment down here, “Que rico!”

We walked the Paseo and had it all to ourselves, sat underneath the verenera (bougainvilla) on a bench with the skyline of Paitilla across the Bay. He is Panamanian but has lived in Spain for the last 17 years. His memory of Casco Viejo was absolutely nothing like what I was showing him. And he laughed at the notion that I, an American, was introducing him, a Panamanian, to Casco Viejo. He’s not alone in that. And I always get a kick out of it I must admit.

I knew when I left NYC the first time I would mourn it probably more than even my marriage. I was right. I’m wondering if the same is going to be true of Casco Viejo. God knows, because of it, I haven’t missed NYC for a minute. Still don’t. I think it was such a, or what I thought was a uniquely NYC moment to mingle culture and classes in close proximity until I thought about those well heeled Panamanians sitting on plastic buckets in Plaza Herrera. And for a moment, all is right in the world.

More will be revealed about all of the above, though not in public I suspect. This board started because, from afar, I could find facts, but I couldn’t find feel. And I wanted to share with others what I couldn’t find and kept looking for. Thank you for making a huge difference in my life by sharing yourselves with me through this journey. Thank you from the depths of my being for the support you’ve offered and the place inside yourselves for what I write to land. You
have been kind. It has changed my world. I don’t really know how to properly thank you. As I’ve said many times before, the most profound things live where words are merely an obstacle. So for now, thank you is all I can say, but please know, that’s a shadow of what I wish I could say.