We chose to stay in Casco Viejo in search of Panama City's soul. From the photos, most of the city looked to be a rainforest of high rises only feet apart, pushing ever higher in search of light. Casco, by contrast, seemed full of Spanish colonial charm with a healthy dose of gentle dilapidation.
Our drive into town only reinforced that impression. After passing under the weight of the concrete rainforest canopy, we reached the undulating red shingle roofed skyline of Casco Viejo, beautifully pierced by the spires of an old church or two.
Inside Casco, we found artfully restored hotels, restaurants, and mansions painted in bright pastels, separated by derelict empty shells of buildings whose rear walls stared blankly back at us through the window arches of their crumbling facades. Every street was being torn apart and dozens of buildings were simultaneously under restoration, creating total gridlock throughout the narrow one way streets.
We arrived at our hotel, Los Cuatros Tulipanes, in the early afternoon under an overcast sky. Tulipanes rents beautifully restored apartments, fully furnished to feel like a home away from home. Our unit, a two story one bedroom with 14 foot ceilings, a formal dining room, well equipped kitchen, and outdoor patio, featured a washer and dryer, reading chairs, and two cold beers. The apartment was twice the size of our cramped space back in LA; Olga and I were blown away.
The rest of Casco Viejo, unfortunately, underwhelmed. The full scale simultaneous restorations certainly detract from the neighborhood's charm in the short term. But more worrisome is their apparent long term aspirations.
Once racially and economically diverse, Casco appears destined to become a fortress for the very fair and very rich. On our first day, every restaurant we found exclusively catered to tourists--we did not see a single place where actual working class Panamanians would (or could) eat. And although our two scoops of basil and raspberry ice cream from Granclement were first-rate delicious, at $4.20 we could have done just as well in LA.
And that seems to be what Casco intends to offer: come for the Canal, the bird watching, the rainforests, the restored colonial buildings, but eat like home, sleep like home, and pay like home (in dollars, of course).
In short, Casco is no bargain, and appears to be losing its soul.
Take for instance, Mama Chefa, who is by some accounts the neighborhood's honorary godmother. At a six seat dining table in her living room, under fluorescent lights and amid walls covered in the graduation photos of an improbable number of granddaughters, she serves home made Panamanian lunches to locals every day from noon to 1 PM for $3. Gringos are also welcome, but unbeknownst to us, at a 67% markup.
On the day we visited her, Mama sat outside on a plastic chair peering down the street in search of her first pilgrim, her face tense with anticipation. We greeted her with hugs, as we had been told to do, and sat at her table. She returned our greeting with two plates of chicken rice, an achingly sweet fried plantain, and a richly mayonnaised potato salad. Soon, three Panamanian regulars joined the table. One was particularly delighted by the day's offering. I asked another the price; she told us $3 per person. When we went to Mama with $6 in hand, she insisted that we owed $10.
"What about the others?" we asked, "They said they pay $3."
"They have credit with me," she icily replied, and grumbled to a local that "Los Ingles" pay five. So much for Casco's ambassador of soul. Even the unfriendliest street vendors in Hanoi didn't slap us with a schmuck tax.
Fortunately, the city redeemed itself in unlikely places.
On Avenida Central in El Chorrillo--Casco's impoverished northern neighbor--we walked past a fruit seller lovingly gazing at his green parrot, old friends debating on park benches, and broken faces tanned and creased with the misfortunes that the rich and fortunate call real life.
In the evening--beneath the towering skyscrapers we had once so summarily dismissed--we ate delicious chilli dogs, arripas, and barbecued chicken from street carts dominated by hungry locals. None of them had a gringo price.
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