The Watering Hole

The history of the phrase “watering hole” goes back to ancient times when monks, to get away from the hustle and bustle of what I can only imagine was a terribly wild workplace, would retreat to quiet sanctuaries. Located in the courtyards of medieval monasteries, watering holes were traditionally shaded by lemon and pomegranate trees, the perimeters framed with blossoming geraniums. In the spirit of mythology, I asked an old monk friend of mine to accompany me to the newest watering hole on Via Veneto, a little place called La Terraza.

Brother Leaping Rose: (motioning to the bartender for two beers) Matt, it's my pleasure. After all, I owe you from the other night when you carried me home from Mystic. I didn't even eat any dinner that night. One too many drinks on an empty stomach, you know?

Me: Yea, you were pretty drunk. Anyways, this is La Terraza, my new watering hole. It's turning into the hottest gringo hangout since the Canal Zone.

B L R: (winking at the busty waitress, clearly not paying any attention to me) What about calzone?

Contrary to what its current or previous owners will tell you, the original La Terraza was repulsive. The service was lethargic, as though its barmaids and waitresses were on some sort of pet tranquilizer. It was not uncommon for them to forget your order the way you'd expect from an Alzheimer's bussboy ("What did you have to order again"). The crowd was non-existent, and oftentimes I was the only one in the whole joint. And the food, if you could have called it that, was unfit for human consumption. In fact, I recall a time when, after ordering a bowl of fresh clams, I found a quarter from 1989 lodged inside one of the half-opened mollusks. Delicious.

La Terraza has become a staple of sorts in the neighborhood. It may have started off as a fun hobby but I guarantee the people who flood its patio every night have inspired some very non-hobby business matters. Along with Brother Leaping Rose, I have seen the place grow from its days as a hog-tied restaurant to Gringo-landia headquarters all in the span of about seven months.

Me: They serve decent bar food now. Things like Texas chili, hamburgers, ceviche and French fries.

B L R: I was actually craving some salad. Haven't had a decent salad since the monastery banned all greens due to that spinach scare. Was that really e coli or was someone making a very elaborate excuse so to not eat their greens?

La Terraza was taken over about a year ago by a guy who calls himself Mike, to accommodate the ever-growing demographic of middle-aged gringos who want to get drunk at one in the afternoon. The bar itself—open-air on three sides—has a Wild Wild West feel: heavily wooded interior and an anything-goes attitude. The bulk of the clientele are regulars; guys who, against all rules of health and wellbeing, show up day after day, night after night, to suck down cold domestic beers by the crateful.

B L R: I'm sweating my balls off in this robe. Where is my beer?

(Mike, owner of La Terraza, comes walking over to the table with two cold cervezas)

Mike: (Patting Brother Leaping Rose on the shoulder) What's up big boy?

B L R: How long does it take to get a monk a beer in this town? Back when I was in school, I was only allowed to say two words every year. And you know what those two words were? “Bring me a beer”. You get it? I was really only allowed two words, but I'd say "Bring me a beer"? That's more than two...

Mike: (interrupting) Hey, I like that robe you're wearin'. Very stylish.

The wait staff today is far more busty and flirtatious than they used to be, almost to the point that it's suspicious. There's a fratty-style bathroom in the back where it appears that peeing on the wall part of the game. The scene is as close as I can get to college bar in this country and every day when I walk past and see a number of the usual suspects, I proudly shake my head in gringo-righteous shame. It's a dirty-sorta fun, evoking the same wistful feelings as might a monkey when throwing poo. I didn't come down to Panama to hang out with gringos, I tell myself, but we're such a freakin' hilarious breed.

La Terraza is a block away from the Veneto Casino towards Via Argentina on Via Veneto. They're open from midday through abnormally late at night when the sane people of the country are tucked in. Beers cost a dollar, mixed drinks three. If you're an American traveling alone to Panama City, this is a great place to find other losers just like yourself. In fact, I'll probably be one of 'em.

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