Last week, I joined Panama in the traditional last celebration before Lent. It was my first time in Latin America but it was the third country where I’ve done Carnival. I lived part of my younger years in Slidell, Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans, and have been to Mardi Gras many times. Last year, I enjoyed the unique Rhineland Karnival in Cologne, Germany so I was eager to see how things are done in this part of the world.
The celebrations in Panama are not nearly as famous as those in cities such as New Orleans or Rio De Janeiro, but from everything I saw the citizens here take it just as seriously, maybe more so when you consider that basically the whole population participates.
The party here in the capitol city of Panama is huge, and the one in Las Tablas seems to be the most desirable because of the competitive nature of the festivities there, but I chose to drive out to the little rest stop town of Capira about an hour North of Panama city.
The normal population of Capira is less than 4,000, but on the day we made it into town, it had swelled to nearly five times that number. On the first drive down Main Street, which is basically the highway that the town sprouted up on either side of, it looked like relatively few people were in attendance. After taking the two-minute tour through town, several times looking for parking, we almost decided to go somewhere else.
Then a slot opened up for our rented Toyota and we squeezed into it. There were police in military uniforms directing traffic and patrolling the sidewalks, and since we anticipated getting very wet, we left most of our personal possessions locked up in the car, and set out for the sound of the music.
As the thumping bass of what the locals call “Reggaetron” grew louder, the trash got thicker, and soon we were picking our way through ankle deep piles of beer cans and empenada wrappers. At this time, the crowd was still surprisingly thin but we waded onward.
There were several squares of land that could have been the town center in normal times but now they looked more like flea markets with rows of folding tables set up to sell the various items a person might need on a tropical fat Tuesday.
Finally, we made our way to the entrance of a side street that runs parallel with the highway. There were barrier rails setup to bottleneck the groups of people that were entering, and more cops in fatigues searching everyone who entered. We waited in line for less than a minute, got a brief pat down, and then they waived us through. That’s when I saw the extent of the revelry.
About a mile in front of us were thousands of gyrating, hip shaking Panamanians, tilting back liquor, and throwing water on each other. Someone had been a decent enough person to locate the first of many beer tents right at the entrance so we decided to arm ourselves some cold cans of Atlas at the reasonable price of a dollar each. With a cold brew in each hand, we started shouldering our way into the crowd for the long journey ahead.
I took less than a dozen steps when the first blast of water hit me. A girl wearing little more than a collection of strings got me from the side with a small ice bucket full of cool water. As I turned to see who had doused me, I naturally started staring at the assorted amounts of cleavage displayed by my attacker (which went a long way towards forgiveness), and then the second blast hit me. Then the third, and fourth in succession, and less than one minute into my Carnival experience I was completely soaked.
I looked at my buddy, who was already equally drenched, and we both just shrugged. I have been to Songkran festival in Thailand so I’m familiar with being over targeted by water throwers because of my foreign features, and it’s all good fun. Considering the humid heat of the Panama dry season, it was actually very refreshing.
It didn’t take long for the event to develop into a general routine. Walk 20 feet, splash! Talk to a girl, splash! Slam another beer, splash! There were houses on either side of the street, and most of the owners were letting people use their toilet for 50 cents a pop, and then hosing them down from fortified positions in the front yard.
People were selling little skewers of BBQ, and it was hilarious to watch someone buy a stick, open their mouth for a bite, and instead receive a mouth full of water and a cold, wet, piece of meat. I would laugh aloud, and then karma would come calling as my beer would be inundated by a torrential splash. At the intersections, tanker trucks with a hose-wielding guys on top of the trucks were brought in to saturate the crowd below.
It was a hard day for smokers. We kept going and finally reached the end of the street, but it had taken us hours to get there. The end of the line was a cul-de-sac with a stage full of people. It had obviously been sponsored by one of the political parties (its election time) and volunteers were throwing T-shirts with the party logo to the crowd below. I got another laugh watching as most people simply used the shirt as a towel and then discarded it.
After loitering around the rally for a while, we started making our way back up the street. The crowd was thinner by this time but more active. I saw a girl wearing a wet transparent white T-shirt take a direct hit from a five-gallon bucket that nearly took her off her feet. There were also people feeling the effects of their alcohol intake, visibly so, as they were throwing up in the middle of the street.
One guy was carried away by his two friends after passing out. A group of police with Uzis pulled a few men from the crowd and put them up against the wall in a pseudo cavity search. We got more beer. I had already fallen in love a score of times, but didn’t have a single phone number. No piece of paper or mobile phone would survive the environment.
Darkness was approaching and we still had to get back to the city that night, but we were prolonging our departure. Just one more beer, maybe. The police had already walked up and told my friend in Spanish that we should get out of there now if we were going to try it at all. Something about violence and traffic…So after making it another couple of blocks, we cut through one of the side exits, and headed back to our car.
Overall, I enjoyed the whole affair immensely. If I am here next year, I will take the time to plan a trip up to the Las Tablas party with a hotel and everything. It’s definitely worth it.
A few notes I would like to add about being in Panama for the Carnival holiday:
*Carnival causes a spike in crime. I have been told the main reason is that everyone spends all their money but they don’t want to quit partying, so there is little else to do but rob someone for the necessary funds to keep going.
*If you are in the city and had business to do, or were hoping to at least carry on as normal, forget it, everything is closed. The city is basically deserted, except for the celebration areas. Even after Carnival, things won’t return to normal for several days as people are still arriving home from the interior and nursing severe hangovers.
*If you plan to stay in a hotel near the celebrations, you will have to make reservations months in advance.
*When driving to places outside the city, try to pick a different routine than what other people are doing. Stay an extra couple of days or leave early. If you try to come or go when everyone else is, a six-hour trip could take twelve to fifteen hours.
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Great Article.
I have been to Panama, never to that spot.
Sounds pretty insane.
- MPM