Seen from the sea, this Latin American city glitters, its wall of white towers shimmering as they rise, Miami-style, over the blue waters of the Pacific. Getting closer, you can feel the heat of it all, a capital city in the heart of the Americas that pulsates with the rhythms of the two continents it connects.
Sparkling, Seaside City
Located right next to the country’s famous namesake Canal, the Panamá City area is home to about 2 million people, a little under half the country’s population. Long a port city, the city has for centuries had different cultures and flavors sailing in from all over the world. It makes for a fascinating mix, and a place primed for exploration.History here runs deep, and the city’s fortunes have always been set upon the sea. It was founded all the way back in 1519. Panamá City’s port served to transport gold and silver from Peru, Bolivia, and other parts of South America back to Europe, a status which enriched the city. But that wealth also brought pirates, and in 1671 the infamous privateer, Henry Morgan, looted and burned the original settlement.
On a city tour, I saw that only ruins of that area remain. Now preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Panamá Viejo is surrounded and enveloped by modern streets. It all feels like something ancient, like touring the Acropolis in Athens, or the Forum in Rome. I walked among the remains of the old Plaza Mayor, columns and stone walls and the bell tower from the original cathedral still rising proudly. Grassy and quiet, the honking horns from just nearby barely carried into this sanctuary of peace and quiet. All of it was backdropped by those modern, shining towers.
Steeped in Time and Personality
I quickly saw where everyone was headed: Casco Antiguo, the old town. After Morgan torched the city, in 1673 they moved the whole thing about five miles down the way and rebuilt. Walking the cobblestones, I felt a real energy on the street. A Latin feel permeated—a little New Orleans, and a little Barcelona, and plenty of its own unique character, too.Well-dressed couples ducked into small, upscale restaurants. The sound of live music drifted onto the street from two different directions. People dined on ceviche and shrimp at sidewalk tables. A big group of tourists wandered by, all of them, for some reason, wearing matching Panamá hats.
I selected a bar at random—and as it turned out, I chose wisely. Pedro Mandinga looked upscale and cozy, with exposed brick walls and large, swirling ceiling fans and big barrels of rum, aging right there. Pulling up a stool at the bar, I stumbled through a conversation, the bartender’s English limited but still much better than my Spanish.
After mixing me a cocktail, he explained that they make their own premium rum, using cane grown right here in Panamá—even offering a bowl of the actual sugar for me to taste. He also poured small samples of the good stuff. One premium bottle, aged between 15 and 21 years. Others featuring mixes with other local Panamanian-grown products—an earthy cacao rum, and a rich, creamy coffee rum. It was a perfect nightcap.
Another evening, I followed a recommendation from a local friend to an area of town called San Francisco. In a thoroughly vertical city, this neighborhood is pleasantly leafy and low-slung. Small bungalows line the blocks, some tucked away behind tropical foliage. Carports and yards have been converted into al fresco patios. Once, these housed thriving young families. Now, they serve the hungry and thirsty.
Walking around with no plan in particular, I passed bars and restaurants, speakeasies and cheese shops and barbers and gelato spots. At Esa Flaca Rica, I checked out the dueling food trucks serving up simple fare to a courtyard of picnic tables, the smell of beef wafting off the grill. At Chèvre, I browsed French cheeses and Italian pastas. I passed right by Intimo, which looked like a secret hideaway.
And at Federico’s, a combination bar and barbecue place, Ricky, the owner of the latter, showed me how the place retains elements of the original home. French doors and an internal courtyard remain. In the bathroom, classic 1980s-style sliding closet doors enclose the bathroom stalls.
Squint your eyes a bit, use your imagination, and rearrange the furniture, and you could picture a family huddled together on a couch, just over there, watching television together in the evening. “These were houses, right in the busiest part of town,” says Ricky. “The kids grew up and moved to the burbs, or they bought condos.”