The numbers escape me at the moment, but the estimate for foreigners currently in Panama is a little over a million. That includes tourists, real estate buyers, workers and those in-between. A million. That’s 1/4 of the total populace. With tourism minister Ruben Blades and his “Master Plan,” its the government’s intention to pack the country to the gills with foreigners. There are plenty of opinions to go about that, I’m certain, but that’s an argument for another day. Fact of the matter is that Panama has the dollar, and everyone loves the dollar while they poop on the country that came up with it (or should I say pooped? Honestly, Obama has almost singlehandedly given the U.S. a clean slate in the eyes of the world) so everyone comes here. Panama is the New American Dream, but this “America” is the whole continent rather than just the Red, White and Blue.

Panama is attractive to the North American because it looks exotic, is a “tax haven” and carries the same currency while being three times cheaper. It’s attractive to the European because, again, its exotic and since the Euro has mad hits like it was Rod Carew, things are six times cheaper. Finally, Panama is attractive to the Latin American because we now have North Americans and Europeans looking to spend their money, and since a good salary to the Latin American usually means cheap labor for the North American/European, it’s a win-win. Besides, have you seen Colombian women? Sweet mother of God.

All of these sectors and the lovely characters they represent often converge in the Immigration Office. A government branch, they take care of all claims, queries and processes needed to get in and out of the country. I don’t remember much about my times in there, most likely due to post-traumatic stress disorder, but I can tell you it was never something you could call “pleasant.” More like “rape,” perhaps. By Carrot Top.

If you go get your driver’s license for the first time or get it renewed, you’ll surprisingly find yourself in for a real delight: the system was handed over to a private entity called SETRACEN in 2007 and whereas it took me, I shit thee not, seven hours, a bribe that turned out to be a scam, a screaming match with an official over the written test and a stroke of luck with the field exam when I took the license out for the first time in 2004, getting the new one took me a grand total of one hour and a half. No fuss, no bribes and no attitude. For once I was treated like a human being when dealing with the government. Of course, I sadly realized that it was all a lie, the dirty paws of privatization took a grip around the transit authority’s neck and… made the process efficient.

There are some things we know for certain in life. Love in unconditional. Everything that goes up must go down. Darwin was right. OJ did it. I could go on for weeks with this, but one thing we can count on is that dealing with a government entity, be it transit, immigration or otherwise, will always result in tears. It’s like scaling Mount Doom without shoes and a friend who likes you just a wee bit too much: it’s annoying, uncomfortable and you want it to be over before it’s even begun. Panama’s Immigration Office is no different.

I took a friend recently to get her tourist visa renewed with a pulp sense of adventure running through my veins. I love to help, and I wanted to know if the immigration office had improved its organization and customer service since last February they changed up the visa requirement laws in order to stimulate tourism and foreign investment, in an effort to make things more fair for everyone. I wasn’t expecting a back rub and cocktails on the way in, but being treated like something more than a piece of shit with legs and a t-shirt would suffice. As we walked into the black hole that is the Immigration Office entrance, I knew that nothing in my years of adventuring could ever prepare me for this.

Trying to come up with a coherent way to describe the place is like asking a blind man for directions: sure, I be he/she gets around just fine, but we’re talking about two very different levels of perception here. Trying to navigate through that office must surely take years of practice with no one to guide you. The place is cramped, packed full of people and no apparent way to figure out where the hell to go. There are lines everywhere going to different rooms, one no different than the next. Asking other people seems pointless since most of the time they’re just as clueless as you are and talking to people who work there is futile. Absolutely futile. Trying to decipher which of the seven lines was the one we were supposed to be in, I had an oh-so informative talk with an immigration worker, sexy navy blue vest and badge with his hungover face on display for all to see. He was asking people to step away from what I assume was the cash register area.

Rob: “Good morning.”

Immigration Official: “Argh.”

Rob: “Oh, alright. I would like to know where the line for visa extensions is.”

IO (bewildered): “Huh?”

Rob (pointing at his friend): “She wants to renew her visa and we were told it’s here, but which line is it?”

IO: “Well, you’re going to have to ask the people in the lines.”

Rob: “Come again?”

IO: “You’ll have to talk to the people in the lines.”

Rob: “You don’t know?”

IO (pointing to some people to his left who seemed to be making a line towards something): “If they’re in a line they must know what it’s for.”

Rob: “Are you for real?”

IO: “I haven’t gone knee-deep in the subject yet.” *chuckles*

The son of a bitch chuckled, like it was a joke. I went over to the people he pointed out to, a group who looked they had been out in the desert for days and were a hair away from killing their brethren. I asked what the line they were making was for. They replied that they were not making a line at all.

Looking at our surroundings, we realized the logic that governed this place was something way beyond our comprehension. I felt like an immigrant who came from planet Earth, stuck in some odd-shaped planet were people eat cats and dance to the sounds of folding chairs. Where’s your Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when you need it? I should’ve taken my towel.

With no time for a panic attack we eventually found the line we were supposed to make. A rather short line, I must admit. Also, a line where it took us one hour to advance a solid foot. One foot. Did I mention I hadn’t had breakfast that morning? I sported the grin people who are about to snap have right before their jump-off. There was some sort of “take a number” system in place but everyone ignored it, including the workers; the line also seemed like it was heading nowhere not just in terms of progress but also in terms of finality. There was much uncertainty. As it is with places that fancy a chaotic infrastructure, you can always count on two things: it’s a free-for-all in there, and always be on the lookout for windows of opportunity. Out of nowhere a man with the face I’m sure is that of Death pointed to a closed-off office cubicle shoved in a corner of the room and spoke:

“If you are renewing your visa, make a line here. Only five people will be served.”

Survival of the fittest. He only said it once and those with the sharpest reflexes got the coveted spots, including us. After two hours of waiting in line, a lucky break like this is a minor, yet sweet victory.

In the end we got in, and were given the following news: if you’re North American, you can’t renew your tourist visa. In fact, you don’t need one to enter Panama. you have ninety days of freedom in the country, and unless you leave before those ninety days are up, you’ll have to pay a $50 fine for every extra month you stay. This also goes for the following countries: Germany, Hungary, Argentina, Israel, Austria, Italy, Chile, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Poland, El Salvador, Portugal, Spain, United Kingdom, Finland, Greece, France, Singapore, Guatemala, Switzerland, Honduras, Uruguay, Holland (The Netherlands), Luxembourg, Belgium, and Bolivia.

Panama Business and Travel had broken down the different types of visas and all that jazz from the articles written by Panama Offshore Service’s own Steven Rich, published in The Visitor tabloid. You can check that info out by clicking here. In the meantime, my friendly advice is to avoid having to go to the immigration office at all costs, unless absolutely necessary. As it is with most things in Panama, the barter system is still alive and kicking, allowing the use of different options to get your process done. You know what they say: “where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Looking around flashing everyone I could with my journalist badge, which I received in an online internet course for $50 bucks (not), I came to the conclusion that the Carnival celebration (Americans experience it as Mardi Gras, surely Carnaval’s French third cousin) in Panama is the most incredibly unique experience anyone will ever have. Sure, we don’t have barely-clothed, glittered dancers dancing up and down a strip like they were being exorcised for their sins, but it is a confirmed notion that Panama has one of the best “Carnaval” celebrations of our blue marble. In recent years measures were taken by the government and dubiously necessary Carnival Office to ensure that carnivals in the nation’s capital, Panama City, lived up to the hype garnered in no small part by the country’s dashing strides in tourism and real estate, and whoever lives near this murder scene can grab their complaints and shove them up their sour-trout asses… myself included.

Make no mistake: carnivals in Panama are incredible. You’d be hard-pressed to deny that no matter what you’re into, the carnival spirit is infectious and its spirit is going to get you. Arguably more important to the Panamanian than their birthday, Christmas, their families, and Jesus, this celebration is one that people plan months in advance. This is specially true for the aforementioned Carnival Office, which starts plotting the festivities as soon as the current ones are done on Ash Wednesday. The irony of this celebration, looking at it with my zoom far out into the stratosphere is that it’s often very close to Valentine’s Day, which is supposed to be about union, companionship, loyalty and all of those wonderful thingies Disney movies tell us when we are kids (though that particular holiday has been a victim of date rape, if you ask me); even more hilarious is the fact that “Carnaval” reaches its screeching halt the day marked by Christianity as the beginning of Lent, a practice brought forth from the Holy Bible that asks its believers to have a pretty shitty forty days. If you’ve never experienced Carnivals, allow me to provide the theories for its origin so you can then go on with yo’ bad self:

The origin of the name “carnival” is disputed. According to one theory, it comes from the Greek prefix carn (“Meat eater”), referring to a cart in a religious parade, such as a cart in a religious procession at the annual festivities in honor of the god Apollo. Other sources, however, suggest that the name comes from the Italian carne levare or similar, meaning “to remove meat”, since meat is prohibited during Lent. Another theory states that the word comes from the Late Latin expression carne vale, which means “farewell to meat”, signifying that those were the last days when one could eat meat before the fasting of Lent. Yet another translation depicts carne vale as “a farewell to the flesh”, a phrase embraced by certain carnival celebrations that encourage letting go of your former (or everyday) self and embracing the carefree nature of the festival.

This last definition is the one you’ll see every time you walk out of your house during the festivities. The Wikipedia entry for “Carnival” is quite extensive and gets into detail about celebrations all over the world but most of them have one thing in common: they use these days as an excuse to let go. There are plenty of articles written about the debauchery and abandon that runs rampant through Carnaval (including those written by yours truly), but I must quickly point out that there are other options. I don’t know how it is in your part of the world, but there tends to be some peer pressure about doing the Ultimate Carnival Experience: save a month’s paycheck, break up with your significant other but make sure it’s something that can easily be patched up once you’re back, buy an ass load of alcohol, take a pillow and ship yourself out to the Lion’s Den of Carnival. Once there, proceed to drink yourself retarded, make out/have sex with the first remotely attractive person you can find that actually sees something in you worth the embarrassment despite the vomit stains on your shirt, wake up not knowing where you are, who you’re with or how you got there (if you check A, B, and C you attain Carnaval Nirvana), rinse and repeat in any order you see fit. Mix it up a little. Odds are you won’t remember doing much of it anyway.

Of course, there are other ways to spend Carnivals without having to go full retard. Some people go to the beach. Others camp out, some even hop on a bus or plane and visit other countries; finally, there are those who take advantages of the free days off work to sleep, catch up with work or personal projects, or simply chill out at home. Before, I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for someone to stay in for Carnivals since I always made it a point to flee from this particular murder scene as swiftly as I could; this year though, due to a series of unfortunate events I chose to stay in Panama City and chill out. Of course, as it is with most things that are ruled under the tyrant, iron fist of Murphy’s Law, I overlooked a couple of poignant things that have changed since the last time I stayed home for Carnivals, back when I was 13 and pre-pubescent:

1. The “official” carnival celebration, held in Panama City, was changed from the farther-off Via España avenue to the considerably closer Via Transistmica avenue, which is a minute away from my apartment building. This was thanks to former morning show host Mingthoy Giro, President of the Carnival Committee ’til mid-2008, when she was accused of stealing some copper statues that were originally placed at the entrance of a dubious museum that is considered one of the most balls-out dastardly acts of corruption of former President Mireya Moscoso’s administration. Somehow, these 1,000-ton statues of kids were removed from the entrance of the museum when someone realized they could actually put the museum to good use and stashed them in the warehouse of a municipal park. One fine day, someone remembered said statues existed and decided to check up on them, only to realize that they had disappeared. The blame game started, and Mingthoy Giro was ultimately nailed to the cross. Somehow everyone believed that this 5ft-4-in, 150lb woman who looks like she’s had one too many quemo treatments put these heavy-ass statues on the back of a pick up truck, melted them and sold them off for a couple of million dollars. Mingthoy cried bullshit but it was too late; the damage was done, and her time in the committee was cut short when she resigned. She hasn’t been heard of since, but the White Hand of Mingthoy continues to cast its shadow upon our lands, as Panama City’s carnival celebration is still in Transistmica, albeit a messier version of what it was when she was in charge.
2. Panama City has become somewhat of a metropolis, and all of the wonderful things that come with such a claim also inspire negative elements. As it is with everything, when something grows, its benefits grow exponentially… and sadly, so do its setbacks. Enter a new kind of crime: when I can turn on the TV and hear on the news how an armored truck was hijacked and millions of dollars stolen because the culprits used military-grade weapons (including a rocket launcher), I wouldn’t be surprised to see the first cape-wearing vigilantes piggybacking on the roofs of buses in the next few years. Since we don’t have our very own Batman as of yet (if it were up to me, he’d be call “Rataman” and that way not only would it be appropriate but it’d also be an obscure reference to Panamanian history!) and we’re still stuck with criminals that apparently have balls the size of watermelons, people are forced to fend for themselves. This is a prime example of the Escalation hypothesis at work. That’s how World War II started, y’know?

I might be exaggerating on the whole “I was 13 the last time I stayed in the city for Carnivals” thing. I went to Via España way back when, just to say I did and have some degree of first-hand experience on the matter. Getting out of there required an understanding of the human brain’s most basic survival instincts, since it was your worst nightmare wrapped up in barbed wire dripping with tetanus and Hepatitis A. I don’t mean to generalize, but it’s a pre-conceived notion that the citizens from the most dangerous areas of Panama City come to the capital’s Carnival to get their groove on… as well as fund their shenanigans. I hear it’s worse now, but the last time I went to Via España I almost had my wallet stolen, almost got into a fight with a ten-foot, drunken Magila Gorilla who swore I stared at his girl for too long (in fact, staring at anything for more than a second was like flirting with the possibility of getting into a tussle) and left with the sense that I was being targeted for robbery, and they would use any excuse in the book to do so.

Things are different now; back then there wasn’t a third of the police presence that there is now, and there are even checkpoints before every crucial spot of the Carnival where they check you for weapons and the like. There are also plenty of police barricades in adjacent roads with random breathalyzer checks. Now, this should comfort the populace, but it doesn’t do the trick as well as it should. You see, more often than not the police is just as bad (if not worse) than the criminals they’re supposed to apprehend. To many (including me), having more cops out often feels like there are now even more crooks in uniform looking for the slightest fuck-up so that I give them the bribe that’ll pay for their breakfast. and now, with the rubber dildo that is the penalties for driving under the influence super-sized and motorized, they can up their rates. Where you could weasel yourself out of a ticket with $5 bucks, now it’s $10. You still hear of cops that take pity in you and stick to the previous rate, but the point is that if the cops want to steal from you as much as the crooks do, then who do you turn to?

But I digress. Having established that Panama City’s carnivals aren’t the safest in the country, you can avoid incidents if you know what you’re up against beforehand; this goes for pretty much anything, anywhere. If you know that there’ll be people more prone to mug you since you’ll be smack-dab in the middle of a massive crowd, you’re bound to be more careful. This is specially the case for foreigners, who have been painted a wonderful scenario of fairy tale grandiosity thanks to Ruben Blades’ Tourism Master Plan. The flaw with such a plan, gargantuan and all-encompassing in nature, is that it ignores the cultural and social aspect entirely; I get the sense that Blades thinks that by ignoring the fact that the “Juega Vivo” or “me first” culture is hardwired into the Panamanian genetic code, it’ll go away. In the end, it’s an excuse for both cops and robbers to take advantage of the foreigner’s naivete; If you have someone who is used to paying $20 for a cab ride and goes to a Latin American country such as Panama totally convinced that it’s the paradise all the glossy commercials say it is, when said tourist gets scammed so much and so often he/she won’t be able to sit down without the help of a donut cushion, watch as how he/she will never come back to this place ever again.

The Via Transistmica format of the Carnival, its current incarnation, is a bare-bones version of Mingthoy Giro’s original plan: 4km of the avenue have been blocked off for the celebration, with more than a dozen performance stages peppered across the strip. These stages show national acts (reggae, salsa, merengue, rock, you name it) all throughout the day, while the big acts are saved for nightfall. The main stage, located at the end of the strip, is where the biggest names in Panamanian music as well as international artists do their shows for thousands of people every night. The stuff you want to do happens during the day, though: there are Carnival queens, and they parade down the strip in the most spectacular displays you’ll see all year. People usually support their favorite queen by marching behind her car/chariot/whatever it is, chanting songs and making noise. While this happens, there are others who go to the sectioned area of the Carnival strip for the famous culecos, known as the “Culecodromo.” If you’ve never been to a culeco, the gist is this: container trucks full of water (sanitized, though I wouldn’t drink it if I were you) park on the sides of the road as far as the eyes can see, while people whose everyone who walks in between them for hours upon hours until the sun comes down. Throughout the day, plenty of freebies are handed out by all sorts of companies, but you want to be there because it’s generally hot as hell and getting douched with water is just what the doctor ordered, and what surely sounds like a stupid way to have fun is turned awesome when you add alcohol into the mix. When you have a bottle of vodka working its magic in your system, the idea of jumping about with reckless abandon sounds perfect. You meet people, you hang out with them, you bump n’ grind if you’re into it, and so on. To put it in perspective, think about that one hobby you have that you’re aware is silly (and even embarrassing) but you enjoy it so much that you don’t care what I or anyone else thinks; if you can conjure that up, then you can understand the appeal of culecos.

Choosing to avoid the hardcore carnival experience for something more relaxed this year, I went out to the beach a couple of times, played Halo 3 and Call of Duty 4, and basically chilled out. I was still forced to go to sleep at 3AM however, because as I mentioned earlier in this piece I currently live a minute away from Carnival Central, and the music wouldn’t let me sleep. Don’t get me wrong; I’m the type that’ll stand next to the speaker at shows but that’s because I choose to, not because I’m forced to try and sleep when there’s muffled nonsense blaring through my window for 5 hours straight. I’ve slept on beds where I could clearly hear speakers the size of buildings blasting Hip Hop straight into my ears, music underwhelmed only by the sounds of gunshots and ruckus (and this was a posh neighborhood, too. Funny story, really), but really, who would willingly want to put themselves in a situation like that knowingly? Again, that’s what you get when you don’t know what you’re getting into, I suppose.

The service industry found in the capital can definitely take a lesson or two from the polite, helpful and often enthusiastic energy everyone in Chitré will display no matter where you go. Be it buying a calling card, responding e-mails in an internet café, eating in any of the town’s fine (and inexpensive) restaurants or staying at any of its hotels, a foreigner will never run the risk of being taken advantage of as it is often common in the capital. In Chitré you’ll also find all the mayor banks, strip malls and stores where you can purchase anything you could ever want and need, public transportation and more. Hell, unlike cabs in the city, passengers can actually enter the vehicle and tell the driver where they’re going without any sense of prejudice. This behavior is, of course, highly suspect in Panama City, where you will often see passengers on the sidewalk ask drivers where they’re going before they even consider asking them to take them anywhere. As is the case with much of the public transportation situation in Panama City, the taxi driver has the wherewithal to think whether or not they should take you, like if they were doing you a favor. The number of reasons as to why such an ass-backwards practice takes place in a semi-First World country escape my feeble mind, but in Chitré this sort of thing is unheard of. My conclusions as to why this is the case, taken purely from personal experience, rest on the hands of the attitude the city’s residents have adopted. They’re just so mellow.

One would think they have entered Prozac Nation upon arrival but that first impression is not something that can be held accountable to the residents of Chitré; on the contrary, the problem is that many of us that are so used to the hectic, smog-dominated city life that visiting such a tranquil place is nothing short of a system shock. You can literally feel the darkness of your soul slowly peel away the further you venture into the city. The air feels cleaner, everyone says “hello” to each other and, unlike Panama City and its traffic, modeled after the southwest ghetto district of the 7th ring of hell, drivers are actually courteous on the road. You can actually tell how many people from the capital are visiting Chitré by the way they’re driving… because they’re so damn rude.

The best time of year to notice the distinct differences between city slickers and the nice folks from the interior is definitely around Carnival time. If you’ve never experienced Carnivals, then you’re for a real treat: these are festivities sanctioned by the government in celebration of the Greek god Momo. The festivities of Carnaval are celebrated all throughout the continent, and even though Americans refer to these festivities with the popular moniker of Mardi Gras, Carnivals in Central and South America are considerably different. And even though the celebration extends all throughout the western hemisphere, Panama is regarded as one of the favorite places to party along with other destinations such as Brazil and New Orleans. Now, as it is with every other country that celebrates in the name of Momo, many people take this celebration as an excuse to get thoroughly trashed for four days straight (note to potential partakers in this monumental undertaking: Carnaval, as Latin Americans know it, lasts from midnight on Friday and goes all the way until Tuesday at midnight; after midnight, we enter what is known as Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent) and they plan accordingly. The dates that will be held with the daunting task of providing carnavalistic pleasure to the millions of individuals that participate in the festivities held all over the republic are given several weeks in advance, and many Panamanians save up from the end of the previous year’s Carnaval in preparation of the following year’s celebration. What follows upon arrival to Chitré (and any other destination during that time, for that matter) can be narrowed down to something nearing unchained abandon: thousands upon thousands of people of all shapes and sizes, origins and creeds, coming together on the town square under the scorching morning sun to drink alcohol off their plastic mugs as water containers parked all about the area spray gallons of water on them for hours on end.

Reading or watching videos about Carnivals truly don’t do the festivities justice. They’re incredibly fun and this is specially the case for Chitré, since it’s the mellowest of the popular Carnaval destinations within the Azuero Peninsula. For some inexplicable reason, hanging out with your friends in Chitré’s town square is much safer than going to, say, Los Santos or Las Tablas. The reason is, quite frankly, beyond me; a popular theory is that Los Santos and Las Tablas attract much more people than Chitré does, and as some part of fascinating sociological phenomena the more uninhibited amongst the population prefer the craziness Las Tablas has to offer than the comparatively tamer Chitré festivities, right down to the culecos. Culecos, to clarify, are the act of getting sprayed with water from containers parks all around the town square where most of the action takes place.

Aside from the yearly Carnaval celebrations taking place in Chitré, there are plenty more reasons to visit no matter what time of year you decide to do so. At 252km (that’s 157 miles, kids) away from the city, it’s the perfect destination for a road trip adventure. Like the rest of the country, their national coin is the Balboa, even though the bills stopped issuing ever since Panama adopted the dollar as its official currency, keeping Panamanian coins active for the nostalgia factor. Both currencies are worth the same, and “Balboas” is used to refer to dollars even though technically the term is incorrect because it’s not like I can give the store clerk $10 “balboas” in coins… that would be directly assaulting the rock-solid Chitrean patience with a jackhammer to the face. If you are holding any other type of currency, it is highly recommended that you find a way to change it to the “all-mighty” dollar; even though foreign currency is more common in a place like Panama City, when you’re out in a place like Chitré it’d be incredibly hard for a humble shop owner from the interior to change Euros into Dollars. Because of this, it’s practically guaranteed that no one outside of banks or casinos will want to take your foreign money. You know what they say, then: “When in Rome…”

Now, in terms of places to stay, fees range anywhere between $16 to $35 dollars a night, depending on the level of comfort you want to allow yourself to have. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you’re bound to find it in Chitré: fancy 4-star hotels and cheap rooms are available almost all year round… except for when it’s Carnaval season. Around that time, things get fierce and unless you’ve booked a room months in advance, chances of finding a place to stay are slim. It is often customary for people to rent entire houses so that their 20-30 party members have a place to nurse their hangovers.  Excluding Carnivals though, Chitré is an excellent place to get away from it all if you’ve had more of the city life than you can chew. There are supermarkets, restaurants, bars, internet cafés, several housing projects and even a branch of the University of Panama. There are also school, fast food chains such as McDonald’s and the Panamanian staple of Pío Pío (a Panamanian fast food restaurant that’s open 24 hours, no less!), a couple of clubs, banks, department stores and other specialty shops that will surely carry everything you could ever want or need.

No matter what you choose, you’re guaranteed you’ll have great service and fun people to talk to if you feel like mingling with the local folk. And getting in with the local folk is definitely something you want to do, considering that Chitré has history dating back to 1821, when Panama got its independence from Spain… you are bound to find a self-proclaimed historian willing to give you a piece of fascinating Panamanian history. The Azuero Peninsula is, in many respects, the unofficial cradle of Panamanian civilization due to its intricate ties to the country’s history, specially its independence efforts from both Spain in 1821 and Colombia in 1903. This is the area where you’ll most likely to find the true Panamanian, a person who is incredibly proud of their heritage and is more than happy to share it with those who are willing to know more about it. If you are not shy about your Spanish, try the exercise of asking about Chitré’s history to any of the other folk wandering about the city and you’re bound to listen to some very interesting and entertaining stories in the spirit of the folk tales of yore. It’s the kind of stuff that has to be heard in order for it to accomplish its full effect, for sure.

Having a car is not essential to experiencing the full Chitrean allure, but having some wheels does help if you’re curious about the rest of the region; Chitré is an excellent hub from where you can drive out in any direction and you’re guaranteed to find other fascinating places full of charismatic people. I you don’t own a car or can’t rent one, charter and luxury buses depart from the Albrook Bus Terminal in Panama City every day. The cost for these buses varies from anywhere between $6 to $8 dollars per passenger and it generally takes around four to five hours to get to Chitré; you will be dropped off at the Chitré bus terminal at the outskirts of town, and from there you can easily hail a cab to wherever it is you’re staying during your trip there for an inexpensive fee (usually between $2 to $3 dollars, depending on distance and how much luggage you’ve got with you. Be advised that, again, during Carnival time as well as for the Christmas/New Year and national independence holidays taking place in November the Albrook Bus Terminal turns into a virtual hell hole where it’s easy to enter but almost impossible to leave. Keep your eyes on your stuff at all times and knowing how to communicate in Spanish is a definite plus. Travelling to and from Chitré’s neighboring cities by bus takes some getting used to even if you’re visiting during the area’s low tourist season, since one can easily miss stops if they’re not on top of things.

Of all things, Chitré is a place that’s perfect if you want to escape. As mentioned earlier, Chitré is also perfect for those who are looking for a base camp in order to venture out into the surrounding communities and tourist attractions that the Azuero Peninsula offers, which are plentiful and waiting for you to discover them. If you plan of staying in Chitré for the Carnaval celebrations, even better; you will get the whole carnival experience without the unbearable influx of people surrounding areas attract, complete with culecos, open-air clubs, street meat and all of the other goodies that make life in the interior provinces such a wondrous delight.

Cupido Must Die!: Created out of Yamile’s frustration over the consumerism that has bastardized the so-called “holiday” of Valentines, our first MEME movement was born. Having started it the first day of February, in a matter of days you found our little Cupido Must Die buttons all across the Panamanian interweb, with people discussing the validity of the holiday in MySpace and Message Board pages. We intend to make this a yearly thing, as you might expect. People always take the subject of love to heart, and as long as we can spark discussion, we believe it’s a good initiative to push forward.

MATADOR!: Panama’s first-ever Alternate Reality Game, it’s the Porto Diao version of a Gotcha game, but points-based, with bonuses and surprises. The premise, “Play Alive or Die Trying!” is exactly what it implies: search and destroy your mark, before the “assassin” assigned to you gets to you first. It is a closed tournament with a limited amount of players, and it goes over the course of a month, with extensions, plot twists and more. The point of this game is to give Panamanians the chance to know complete strangers, tied to the player by a common interest. As with many things that are introduced for the first time, play mechanics and the use of the tools provided (this is the first game where the portal, the tournament site, the forums, the Facebook group and the image galleries were all introduced as tools so that players could find their marks) have improved in terms of usage over time. I had the epiphany one Sunday with Jenny over brunch.

Grainjaus!: Having heard of “Grindhouse,” I remembered the times where I’d go with my dad to the drive-in theater we used to have in the city (sadly, today it’s nothing but a junkyard) and how much fun I used to have when I was little. Not so much because of the movies themselves, but because my dad would take me out of the car and, along with my mom, we’d meet people. People coming together to share the experience of watching a movie. Now, fast-forward a decade or two and recently I’ve found myself in honest-to-goodness “event films,” and have finally comprehended what I’ve come to learn since I first started to appreciate movies as an art form: a good movie is not only a product of great set design, acting and directing. It’s also about how it makes you feel. So, with that in mind, along with Luke de Sade and Butter, I wanted to bring that feeling of discovery and camaraderie back, in an environment where people could drink, scream, laugh and react without being politically incorrect… that, my friends, is what Grainjaus! is all about.

Zombie Walk: At last! A project without an exclamation point! I like exclamation points. Anyway, as the name implies, the Zombie Walk is a marathon full of undead folks as we cause havoc on unsuspecting passers-by. The first real event we did, it’s become pretty popular among fans as the premise is flawless: use Halloween to dress up and stir the shit of people who use the “holiday” as an excuse to go out to clubs dress up as whatever, as opposed to being dressed up like they’re going to meet The Queen. Came up with the idea of doing a walk in Panama a few days after JSpotPanama.com did the excellent BirriaFest in 2006, remembering how my friend Key-K liked the idea of doing this sort of thing just to do something different. There are pictures of how that went in 2006 over at the PortoDiao.com portal. With more notoriety and the reputation of doing crazy, innovative stuff, I expect even more people to show up this year.

Those are just the projects that are actually up and running. There are other several things I’m aching to release, and I will in due time. We want to do things right. The Porto Diao grip is also in other projects, where I serve as a collaborator:

Butterfest TV: The guy is the Brad Pitt to my George Clooney, so sometime during December, with the unleashing of the 1^st Beer & Blogs, Butter got proactive and decided to do what, I believe, is the 1^st Panamanian Internet TV show. 10 minutes a pop and (mostly) bimonthly, the focus is to bring forth Panamanian bands and show them to the rest of the world. Sort of like a video report of the goings-on in the Panama band scene. With the help of Flip and Pedro, the show just keeps getting better and better as time goes by. My role there is of “producer,” if “producing” consists of pushing Butter into doing things, paying for things now and then and doing camera when Flip can’t. I’m glad of being a part of it.

LoveisFound.com: The URL had been tossed around a little after I first got Porto on its feet and, coming from Zeccke’s idea, we decided we would bring speed dating to Panama. The premise is cool, as in as long as you’re in Panama for when a “Night o’ Dates” happens, you can sign up from any part of the world. Quite simple, really: you sign up, and when we post when the next “evening” will be and where, you show up and begin your speed dating round. If you like a girl, you write down; if she likes you, we’ll set you up on a proper date. It’s like we’re doing the heavy lifting for you! I like this idea, specially for Panama since we’re so scared of strangers coming up to us to talk and get to know us that it’s very rare that you become friends with someone from direct contact; it’s always “a friend of a friend.” We want to change that, and Love is Found is a step towards that direction.

Things can only get better from here. I just hope I don’t become like the warhorses of Panamanian literature that have been pushing culture forward old school for the past 140 years (they are immortals or undead, as I understand) and all I hear is complaints and more complaints. Lots of progress, but with a lot of resentment. I believe I’ve learned from my past experiences and, unlike 5 or so years ago when I knew there was something wrong with Panama and someone needed to address it, now I’ve trumped myself into a situation where, with the help of my friends, I’m making dents. And it looks like I’m only getting meaner and leaner with my punching. Hopefully I won’t feel an increasing resentment as years go by and I’m still in The Suck, I really hope I don’t. But I’m glad that me and the excellent group of individuals I’ve managed to unite bring something new and different to the table, something so off the wall and unlike anything else that’s happening here and I’m absolutely, positively proud of showing it off. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make a country’s first 100% Internet marketing/event/multimedia troupe. Watch the Porto Diao space, because good things are coming your way.