By Foot, Taxi and a Bus Ride

Upon arriving in Panama City about a week ago, using the local buses appeared daunting. The city was entirely new. Getting anywhere accurately without a taxi  appeared virtually impossible.

I’ve done my share of drifting on foot for hours and kilometers.  During these jaunts, my legs have felt the tropical-heat-induced soreness.  I  usually end up falling asleep for a bit upon returning to my hospedaje.

Prior to yesterday, I’d jumped on local buses twice, only to find myself lost and needing to hail a cab which is as easy as taking a step or two along a sidewalk.  Taxis in Panama City are ever-present and affordable.  Within city limits it costs between $1 and $3 depending on the distance and how well  you haggle, which isn’t a tough game like in Managua. Actually, one time, I’d thought I’d agreed to $2 when the fare came out to $1.50.  There are über-honest taxi drivers in Panama City.

Some tourists feel they’ll be threatened while riding on a packed bus.  A Colombian girl who lives here said that the buses are dangerous.  I’ve ridden about seven of them and haven’t noticed anything shaky.

No one has noticed my wallet bulging a bit in my front left pocket, nor my camera in the right.  I do usually get a couple of quick and perplexed looks when people notice the flash.

I wanted to get a bus to Tocumen International Airport, which is located about 24km or 15 miles south of Panama City’s center.  I deemed this the only way of getting in touch with Spirit Airlines, the ultra-cheap, no frills carrier.   I wanted to talk to someone about the potential manipulation of my return ticket.

I would end up needing to spend more than half a day to get contact information that I couldn’t find online.  I only got their limited office hours along with a phone number that’s available only for 12 hours during the week.

Let me not digress: the airline’s client detachment is not the purpose of this post.  The motive is to tell you about a local bus experience.

I first took a $2 taxi passage to the bus terminal where it was quick and easy to locate my bus to Tocumen.   I was told that it would take about forty-five minutes.    The bus left the terminal at 1:30pm.  It must have stopped more than 50 times along the way.

There was one isle separated by a row of seats on either side.  The row on the right crammed two to a seat while the row on the left squeezed three.

The seats were wooden.  Leg room was compromised.  The bus didn’t seem to have shocks. For the first time on this trip my lower back became sore for a short stint.

I was near the back.  I couldn’t read or write due to bouncing.

As the bus moved, the wind nullified the hot and humid afternoon feel.  When the rain poured intermittently, riders closed the windows, instantly causing an uncomfortable stuffiness.  I would have rather been drenched or more than likely just a little bit wet.  I thought: I’m not a Panamanian.  I’ve chosen to live by their rules.  How would these folks endure sleet or a freezing, windswept rain?  Maybe Panamanians who have relocated to northern climates  feel another type of discomfort that affects them like this sticky, musty, crammed feeling is consuming me.

The driver, while shifting one of his grand eight-speeds of gears, didn’t seem to be achieving Zen with the brakes.  It appeared that he was hitting them with force.  It was especially discomforting in stop-and-go traffic and when people were getting on and off at every 50-meter or 164-foot stretch.

Finally, after consulting fellow passengers, they told me that I was at my stop.  The time was then just minutes shy of 4pm.  It took me almost two-and-a-half hours to reach the airport from the bus terminal that was located just 15 miles away.

Sticky and exhausted but relieved, I paid the driver $.25.   Yes, a quarter.  The alternative was a $15 taxi ride as it’s the airport and outside of city limits.  I rationalized:  You sure get what you pay for.