Yesterday I went to the Panama Canal. I, Brianna Craft, stood at the crossroads of the world's two great oceans. I kind of had a moment - I can't believe I've seen the Panama Canal.
Panama itself seems to be an odd crossing of things. I arrived in the wee hours of Friday morning to Luna's Castle, a fine hostel, in the historic Panama City district of Casco Viejo. Within walking distance are both the Presidential Residence and some of the city's most impoverished slums. When I checked in, I was given a map - you can't walk here, the boy behind the desk said, day or night.
The people are mixed too: 10% of Panama's population is of Chinese descent, indigenous women dress in traditional garb, and many people are what Americans call black, which I find comforting. That and the fact that Panama's official currency is the US Dollar. A glittering sky scrapper-filled city skyline illuminates the bay at night - another testament to the US's influence here. I didn't really realize how recently the canal was turned over to Panamanian control (1999!). Though the rather comical ten minute film they showed at the locks did everything in its power to hail American influence, I wager some serious gringo resentment festers in the hearts of many Panamanians. I'm rather glad I'm mistaken for a local.
Today I jet off to Colombia, for a very brief stay before hopping a river barge down the Amazon into Brazil. Wish me luck!
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