Fuck yeah, hitchhiking

diegocupolo:

Dirt Road to Panama City

After many, many hours of nothing, a Parisian man picked us up.

“Panama City?” he said. “Hop in and you’ll be there in two hours. That’s where I’m going right now.”

His name was Michael and he bought us a kilo of queso blanco. He also liked to talk.

“Panamanians have what I call the ‘Caribbean Plague’, they can’t work,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Listen. I hire them to show up at nine in the morning and they show up after lunch. It happens every time. This thing with your boat captain, it doesn’t surprise me, it’s normal.”

“Panamanians couldn’t survive in any other country,” Michael continued. “They’d have to actually work if they crossed the border. In fact, they should be happy Panama exists so they have somewhere to sit and drink.”

“But don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful, nice people. Great people. I married a Panamanian woman and had triplets with her. Panamanians are simply impossible to work with. That’s why you see so many Colombians working in restaurants and construction sites. They actually want to work. Panamanians have bananas and coconuts falling in their backyards. They can survive no matter how they spend their days.”

“Maybe it’s a side effect of colonialism,” I said. “Maybe they’re tired of working for other people. I’m sure they don’t get paid much around here.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just the beach and the sun. Being in a place like this doesn’t motivate people to work. They just relax.”

The conversation continued. We talked about the success of the Kuna Yala, the lack of decent public education, the empty skyscrapers in Panama City and much more.

In the end, Michael was a good guy. He was driving to Panama City to buy shoes and school materials for poor indigenous girls.

As promised, two hours passed and we were back in the city. We arrived in a traffic jam and jumped out of the car. I thanked Michael for the cheese and looked forward to melting it over a piece of bread.

Ania and I started walking towards Hostal Miami - our only refuge in Panama.

Nombre de Dios, Panama - © Diego Cupolo 2011