Matt Landau is officially my first collaborator here on the site. Since I can’t really pinpoint my chunk of the Internet into any 1 category, it seems I can pull off stuff like this and no one will say a pip. Good, because it’s always good to catch different perspectives and inspire debate. So, having introduced the piece oh-so-brilliantly, here’s Matt on going first-class.

It was relatively early in the morning when I boarded the chilly cabin of flight 2189 destined for Panama. The airlines had a way of organizing who on plane first and my group, group 5, was pretty normal: a few sporty looking guys—perhaps on some sort of fraternity field trip—and a family of five fat people who looked not unlike an organized pod of land whales.

We edged into the plane where the first class passengers sat, all wrapped in their complimentary white blankets, probably made from the wool of albino alpaca. They all wore nice watches and perused over sophisticated reading material—the kind of thing with lots of text and no pictures. The feeling of looking at these people had always been one of desire for me: the hope, the aspiration that some day I might make it to the top. My journey to the top though was much shorter than planned when, after spotting an open first-class seat, I randomly decided to sit down and make myself comfortable.

“Would you like some Perrier?” a stewardess soon asked. “Yes” I replied, “but please. Bring it with a spritz of lemon.” I wasn’t sure what the lemon was for, but had heard the phrase, and more specifically the word “spritz” demanded on numerous televisional occasions. I had fallen into my role in first class as though I was destined to be there. As I watched pathetically, the rest of the plane’s passengers—the common folk—were herded back to comedy class. I couldn’t help but to embrace my new-found pomposity in feeling bad for the people in the back. They’re lives weren’t as rich or as lucrative as mine, and for that, they would never really be experiencing life.

The plane landed in muggy Panama City where I left my seat littered with used hand towels, chewed up olive pits, and free headphones. I was soon thereafter whisked off to my hotel which, for $35 a night, wasn’t my cup of tea. I decided that people like me don’t settle for anything but the best, so after canceling the room, I set out to find newer, more lavish accommodations.

Only problem was, none of the hotels had space. The Marriot, Sheraton, Country Inn, Crowne, Veneto, Bristol, Four Points, all of them were booked. I tried several times mentioning, over the phone, that I was the type of person who rides first class all the way, and if some strings could be pulled, I could guarantee a nice tip at the end. But no dice. It appeared that every hotel (up to my deluxe standards) in Panama City was booked.

What’s a first class traveler to do?

That’s when I came across it. Los Cuatro Tulipanes http://www.loscuatrotulipanes.com . They’re boutique luxury apartments situated in Panama City’s old quarter, where cobblestone streets, old European architecture, and slight ocean breezes are friendly and romantic. You can rent these apartments out for one night or for one year and the customer service is fantastic.

I was escorted to my room, where century-old stone walls, sleek TVs, and first-rate decoration seemed to be whispering to me. “First class” they murmured, “first class”. The apartment I rented was $120 per night, and was far bigger and more elegant than any hotel I’ve stayed in throughout Panama. It was just around the corner from the National Theater, several museums, and a handful of the nation’s best (most luxurious) restaurants. It is, perhaps, the best hotel deal in Panama City and whenever I’m in town, I stay there. After all, people like us won’t accept anything less.

Matt Landau is a cool gringo with a site called The Panama Report or something. Check it out!

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