| Ugly Tourists in Panama |
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| Written by Matt Landau | |
| Wednesday, February 27 2008 | |
It was early February as I was walking to my local deli to order a tuna sandwich, no mayo of course. During this time of year, large groups of tourists have a tendency to converge on my neighborhood of Casco Viejo via large white busses which block the narrow roadways and take up valuable parking space.  A number of different countries are represented in these busses which pass by my apartment and office, the faces and camera lenses of vacationers pressed firmly up against the glass. They're treated like herds of cattle, walked in and out of museums, then eventually corralled back into the awaiting confines of their air-conditioned bubble on wheels. It's easy to pick out the Asian tourists because, well, they all look Asian. They are generally a quiet group armed with unidentifiable gadgets of technology and they like to wander. I remember one morning when I found several of them accidentally roaming the hallway of my apartment building as if it was a public museum. I was irritated at this invasion of privacy, but because neither of us spoke each other's language, my escorting them out probably felt simply like another stop on their tour. All Europeans, for me, seem to blend together and unless they're speaking in a particular tongue, I tend pool them in the same category under the word AWKWARD. They enjoy the luxuries of tall white socks, large sunglasses as well as bucket hats to block the dangerous Latin sun. For the most part, they tend to stick to themselves, perhaps only interacting with locals if to buy a snow cone or pick up a traditional souvenir. It is the Americans which I know all too well and it was the act of leaving my country that made clear just how obnoxious we are as a whole. It was on this February afternoon that a group of rude Americans beat me through the doors of my neighborhood deli and consequently built up a sandwich cue of ten or so orders. And while it can often be refreshing to run into an American in Panama (and identify with various cultural oddities we have here) when food is at stake all bets are off. "You gon' git yourself a cerveza Bob?" asked a fat southern woman on the verge of looking like a troll. I don't often like to eavesdrop but this was the type of conversation that was destined for fame. "Git yourself one of them cervezas for lunch. Look they's even got Coors Light! Hot damn!" Bob, who was wearing a Florida Gators t-shirt, grabbed a bottle of Coors Light and drank the entire thing in one big gulp which elicited a seismic roar of laugher from his fellow travelers. He then put the bottle down on the counter as if trying to beat some sort of Guinness record as the troll woman threw her hands up in excitement and hugged Bob the way you might after being proposed with a diamond engagement ring. I stood in the corner of the deli watching with horror as the incident unfolded, when Bob decided to bring me into the mix. "Look Marianne," he said while nodding his chin in my direction. "We's scaring the locals." He chuckled as if to get a rise out of his pale-skinned friends and concluded his observation with cocky qualifier. "These Pamanians never done seen a beer machine like me before. And that's a fact!" As if that wasn't enough, Bob let out a huge burp after it all, drawing laughter even from the small staff behind the counter. It took a while to realize he was talking about me, but when I did, my horror quickly turned to outrage. He looked in my direction again, clearly playing off the fact that I was frazzled. "Hola amigo," he called out to yours truly. "You want-o to see me-o do that with another cerveza?" I didn't. I really didn't. But without even waiting for me to tell him he was retarded, he took another Coors Light off the shelf and performed the same feat once again, this time a bit quicker. "Six seconds" the troll woman called out with applause from the group. "I swear that one was six seconds!" "Four point five!" clarified another fool. The memories of middle school bullies arose dangerously in the back of my mind. Yet it was less that I was scared of Bob and more that I wanted to correct him so very badly. I had prepared, in my head, a list-like retort to his behavior: First, someone from this country is called a Panamanian, not a Pamanian. Second, I am not from Panama but from New Jersey and that being said, I am seriously embarrassed to share the same seaboard with your fat ass. Third, you can't add an "o" to any Spanish word and expect it to translate. And last, I have in fact seen a beer drinker like you before. It's called college. And to be honest, you're seriously unremarkable compared to some of my fraternity friends. It's a common mistake, I've realized, for vacationers in Panama to assume everyone outside the confines of their sightseeing group is a local. They'll make observations aloud in English thinking no one will understand and take hundreds of pictures of people like me thinking mistakenly that we're locals. I held back from interacting with Bob and smiled the way you do when someone you've only recently met tells a bad joke. I waited until they got their sandwiches and breathed a symbolic sigh of relief: perhaps representative of the tailwinds from my flight, which so happily departed the States several years before. |
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| Last Updated ( Monday, August 11 2008 ) |
I believe the reason for such behaviour,be it American,English,or French/Belgian, is fear.Fear of the unkown, fear of the locals and fear of not being in control.The bully boy,usually of limited education, has to assert himself in a new and foreign environment(sic).Unable to communicate and having no manners or education, he fears others will recocgnise him for what he is;thus he resorts to the bully boy tactic of bluster and underlying violence.I have experienced this situation,and despite my initial reaction of arming myself with a bazooka, have found that a quiet word of advice usually does the trick.Nothing impresses the ignorant more than an expert.
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