Across Panama To Pedasi: Into Cowboy Country

The heavy cloud which tends to envelop Panama City every afternoon is visible from the ferry some time before we reach the marina, large grey smudges marking cloudbursts and darkening the skies behind the lines of tankers and container ships waiting for their turn to pass through the Canal. Even the Bridge of the Americas looks dark and brooding rather than majestic.

Passing through Panama City again – the second of four times we’ll be here due to the shape and layout of the country – we are now very ready for the next stage of this adventure as we collect the hire car and head out of town. Our brief stay this time provides an opportunity for that rarest of photographic pairings: a vulture and a jacuzzi…

As the 6-hour journey evolves, leaving Panama City behind and heading north west along a long stretch of the PanAmerican Highway, we start to feel liberated. Starting off with a feeling of stasis and still struggling a bit with the after effects of “gut attack”, the long drive is anything but gruelling and as we make our way up country we can feel the sense of freedom growing and our spirits lifting.

Once off the Highway we head out on to the hefty Azuero Peninsula, the road forging through cattle ranches, corn fields and even rodeos on its journey down towards the southern extremity. We are treated along the way to glimpses of an ancient New Year tradition in these parts, and it’s a real source of amusement.

As the end of a year approaches, the locals build effigies of anyone who has caused them – individually or collectively – angst during the past 12 months, and stick those effigies in a public place. These are known as “Judas dolls” and  tend to be public figures rather than private enemies. As midnight on New Years Eve approaches, the locals stuff fireworks inside the costumes of the Judas dolls, set them alight, then stand back and watch that person’s image get confined to history, signifying that a new year may bring something (or someone) better.

We don’t spot a single Putin amongst the sacrificial dolls, more’s the pity, and we don’t recognise many…..but there’s a fair few in Arab dress with a “FIFA 2022” label, and the most regularly seen figure is, surprisingly….. Lionel Messi. The Press back home would have us believe that all of Latin America is united in joy at Argentina’s success, it’s clearly not the case!

And so we enter our next base, the small town of Pedasi in the province of Los Santos. This modest little town, built around a quaint square with its undersized church, is gloriously rural – agricultural, even. Cattle ranches surround the town, livestock trucks trundle through, cow hands mounted on horse back really do still strut around the villages, round up cattle, stop for a beer, all the while sporting a look which is somewhere between John Wayne and gaucho.

Pedasi is a truly lovely little town, full of friendly and welcoming people and clearly still reliant on farming as the main source of income. A handful of American expats live here but, despite that, very little English is spoken by staff in bars or shops, adding to the warm feeling that its unassuming and rural character exudes.

A huge poster photo of Mireya Moscoso greets you as you enter Pedasi and her statue adorns the little square, she is this town’s undoubted heroine. Born into one of the six founding families of Pedasi but born nevertheless into rural poverty, her father died when Mireya was just ten years old, leaving the family with a desperate fight for survival. Improbably, this remarkable woman – she must have been one powerful individual – followed her passions for equal rights so vehemently that in 1999 she became Panama’s first ever female President and was to serve in that role for a 5-year term which included handover of the Canal from the USA. No wonder Pedasi is so proud. (Note: the Presidency didn’t go terribly well, but that’s another story…).

Driving around the lanes of the peninsula is so very enjoyable, the scenery is lush and beautiful without ever being dramatic. Leafy lanes wind through rolling green hills, cattle graze on deep lush grass, deciduous trees sit comfortably next to tropical plants. It’s a bit like driving through a stretch of English countryside – Devon perhaps – with a load of banana plants and palm trees thrown in. 

Dotted throughout are charming, agricultural villages, usually centred around a small church and a basketball court (no really) – we could describe these villages as “peaceful“ if it wasn’t for the fact that there’s always at least one household blasting out Latin music at ear splitting levels from speakers the size of a caravan. 

It’s New Year’s Eve. In each village, trestle tables are being strung together, plastic chairs arranged in semi circles, beer crates unloaded, the first firecrackers lit. More speakers – even bigger and needing four men to lift each one – are positioned just a few feet from the plastic chairs. The party is about to start, in every village.

Back in sedate Pedasi, every second household seems to be doing the same thing and, as we move closer to midnight, rockets and firecrackers are the only sounds which can be heard over and above the incessant party music. There is little in the way of “ooh” and “aah” here though, Panamanian fireworks are all about the ears rather than the eyes, on this evidence.

It all reaches its predictable climax at midnight, firecrackers echoing off the buildings like machine gun fire, but no way does it end at that point, bangs and crashes continuing through the night and well into the following day. Earlier, in a fonda (inn) called Smiley’s, a very capable rock band play to a mixed crowd of partying locals, American expats…and us two Brits.

After working impressively through some strong blues numbers, a bit of country, a Doors track or two, their second set gets right into a 90s rock groove and suddenly we’re listening to Nirvana, White Stripes, Kings of Leon, and then, as we enter the world of the surreal, Radiohead. This is all mighty fine by me, but watching the bemused locals and the silver haired expats chew on their steaks as the lead singer squeezes out “you’re so f***ing special” is just a tad bizarre.

Ah, those little moments…..