I landed in Houston, Texas on the first leg of my journey to Boquete in beautiful weather, not as I had feared in torrential rain and tornadoes. As my flight from Houston to Panama City (Panama, not Florida) should have been ready to board an announcement came stating that there would be a slight delay while...wait for it...we find our missing captain. Two lovely pints and a double shot of Cuervo later and it was easier to accept the next bulletin. The good news was that the rogue pilot had been located. The bad news was that he was in San Antonio. But the better news came a few minutes later when we were told that his plane had just taken off! So, after a three hour delay we too took flight - for Panama. I have no idea so don't even ask.
Having taken taxis (and driven a rental car) in Manhattan did not prepare me for the ride from Tocamen International into Panama City to my hotel. They say that in near death experiences a certain calm comes over people. I suppose that is why I didn't soil myself as my dept young cabbie flew through the crowded streets into the city. I honestly do not know how any vehicle in Panama still has side view mirrors attached to its doors. It is an honest to God miracle. But my driver was confident (or drunk) and managed to get us to my hotel with out killing a single human being. 
There is a whole story around how to tell a Panamanian that spoke almost no english that the name of the hotel I was going to was called (and I'm not making this up) the Autograph@ Lodge. I'll spare you that story and jump to the following morning - yesterday. By divine intervention and a lot of looking confused I got on the ultra modern double decker bus to David (Da-veed), the capital of Panama. It was tight quarters but it had A/C, a toilet, and movie screens. What it did not have on board was a man in a white jacket with a syringe full of lithium for the poor woman directly behind me who was speaking (in between fits of anger and sobbing) at the top of her lungs and at rapid fire speed to no one in particular some kind of voodoo Spanish.
Oh, something I forgot to mention...It is an 8 hour bus ride to David. The poor man next to me tried every which way to plug his ears to no avail. He looked at me, a total white, stranger with fear and pleading in his eyes. I am not kidding. In response, and with kindness I might add, I reached into my backpack and produced my Mack's silicone earplugs. It's unfortunate that I only had one pair and hey, he was a dark skinned stranger, so I put them in my own bleeding ears. He chuckled with envy and slunk deeper in to his seat. After to hours of this insane babble-screaming Hollywood saved the day! A movie began on the screens and the beast was silent. That's the good news.
To be continued...
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