Hooters Hell

I wasn't really sure what to expect from Panama, but it was never a country on my agenda for more than transit and viewing the Canal. I had originally planned to zip through it on the way to, I imagined, much more interesting countries like Guatemala and Mexico; Panama, I had thought, would just be like a US colony, so not very interesting. So I was pleasantly surprised that the first half of our drive was through incredibly lush and thick jungle: more impressive-looking that the part of the Amazon Basin I had been in, though much smaller in extent. Very pretty, but the Panamanian jungle was not something I'd have time for.

Joining us in the vehicle was an ex-pat of the US and his Panamanian wife. He expressed maybe the most anti-American views I have ever heard from someone born there, insisting that he only ever went back there when he had to go there for administrative reasons. He loved Panama and had made it his home.

When we arrived in the City, Alex and Toby got out at a hospital, they were that worried about Toby's fever, and I carried on to the hostel that Joanne had booked me into. It was one of the cheapest, but the guide says it was in a good part of town; apparently most of the other cheap hostels were in rather unsavoury parts of town.

Drinkers

I didn't think much of Panama City, and I didn't think much of the area I was in: it looked like the financial district of a US city. Not very interesting. The hostel seemed OK, though, and I spent the first night there getting drunk at a barbecue some of the hostel's other guests were having downstairs: a Polish girl, whose name I can't remember, a young guy from the US, named Skye after the Scottish Island, and I can't even remember which country the other guy was from, never mind his name; I think he might have been French. Anyway, we stayed up late and drank a lot. That Clos wine in a carton is no good.

It was on the map

The next day, I thought I'd cure my hangover by going to the Hooters, which I noticed on the hostel map was nearby. I'd never been to a Hooters before and, since I seemed to be in a US colony, I thought I might as well embrace the culture. Well, it turns out that Hooters is overpriced, rubbish, and the food is terrible. Curiously, though, despite the menus being in English, none of the waitresses (or Hoots or whatever nonsense name they've given them) seemed to speak even as much English as those working in the tourist industries of South American countries where the menus are only in Spanish. Weird, I thought, but from what I've heard that's probably the same as the US as well, isn't it?

So I had to go

Panamanian Beer

Later that day my stomach started to gurgle and I started to feel quite unwell. I managed a few drinks outside again with Skye and the Polish girl, to try and kill whatever microbes were multiplying in my guts. This time, they were joined by an older guy from the US. He and Skye started talking about how they hated the country and they would both stay in Panama or wherever else they could just so they wouldn't have to go home. I was starting to get the impression that, despite appearing very much like the US, Panama is very attractive to US citizens who don't get on well in their own country. I explained that I had to excuse myself early because I thought I'd eaten something bad at Hooters, and the older American guy just said Yup, those buffalo wings'll do it to you every time. And that was exactly what I'd eaten.

I spent the next few days in Panama City too ill to do much apart from catching up on some blogging, and going to a doctor who gave me antibiotics. I don't think I'll be ever going to Hooters again! I suppose it's what I get for supporting such a misogynistic restaurant concept.

written by  The Happy Couple on January 25, 2010 from Panama, Panama
from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
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