It's the morning of the first day of Panama carnival and I think I am ready. According to the lore of carnaval and memorialized in song, one should sleep with his fingers crossed the night before to bring him luck throughout the following four-day festivities. Indeed, with the help of a rubber band and some gauze pads, I expect to have good fortune. I like to invent traditions.

After a semi-intrusive pat down by national guards at the gate, I entered the main street of Carnaval for a second time. Knowing sort of what to expect, I was a little more comfortable and a little less inhibited.

I moved to Panama for none of the usual reasons, or so I thought. My infatuation with the country started simply enough, ad mere weekend away from my older, less attractive lady (Costa Rica).

When you arrive the capital of the country of Panama, Panama City you get this weird feeling—it's a feeling of excitement, it's a feeling of surprise and it's almost a feeling of confusion. It's this baffling feeling and your senses immediately try to make sense of it all. Where am I?