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Public Transportation in Panama

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Written by Matt Landau

Thursday, December 28 2006

If there was a store called ‘Scary Busses and Bumper-to-Bumper Traffic' would you shop in it? Over the recent bus accidents in addition to several personal taxicab calamities, I have come to regard the public transportation system in Panama about as highly as I do middle aged men who crumple up pieces of paper and, upon throwing them in the garbage can, shout corny things like “Johnson, for three, at the buzzer”.

Really though, it's not all that bad.

The public bus system in Panama City appears to have been founded by someone with a devotion to design: each bus individually owned and decorated in perhaps the silliest artwork since Don Hertzfeldt. The canvassed-back paneling of the busses are fair game, spray painted images varying from pop stars to cartoon favorites to generic looking family pets. For a newcomer, understanding the routes of these artsy automobiles, most of which are former yellow school busses, can be sort of difficult but if you ask enough questions, and wear a big enough smile you should be alright. Some of the other sites that tell you to beware, the ones that use twenty five dollar words and tell you not to drink the water or eat the lettuce. They're full of crap: anyone can safely navigate this system if they try.

The rides vary in price, ranging from a few cents up to a few dollars. There is an ongoing effort to upgrade these buses in terms of safety protocol—something I first noticed the need for about a year ago when the man next to me climbed out a window when he reached his stop. A friend of mine, once rendered motionless wedged between two middle-aged bearded women each carrying a crate of a dozen live chickens, would probably concur.

Busses going outside the city to the interior of the country all leave from one convenient and all-too-congested spot, Albrook Mall. There's a large terminal here which acts as the foremost hub for rides to Coronado, Santa Clara, Santiago, Boquete, and even Costa Rica. Remember your tourist visa and passport if you use these buses as they are known for frequent stopchecks.

More than a million people live in Panama City which, during rush hours, makes for a lemming-like assault on the city's narrow streets. Amidst this chaos, my poison of choice is the taxi system, a delightful and whimsical alternative to using my rollerblades or segway human transporter. The taxi drivers in the city all drive Ford Pinto-ish cars which run a gamut of colors and conditions. They range from the put-put variety in which you run the risk of being asked to get out and help push, to the newer air-conditioned models trusted to deliver excellence. There are no fare meters in these cabs so beware. A five to ten minute ride in Panama City should—and I say should because this is the rate for locals—cost you no more than $1 or $1.25. Longer rides, up to say, 30 minutes can be more like $2. We recommend you agree on a price before you get in, or else you'll be left haggling with Enrique over coinage at the end trying to make angry statements with the few words you know like “no gracias” and “change-o the price-o por favor”.

Many of the taxi drivers are very pleasant, some so knowledgeable I'd go as far as to call them taxi savants. You will however, invariably run into a few lemons who'll occasionally turn down the wrong way on a one way street or deliver you somewhere that sounds or looks similar, but is not in reality the place you really wanted to go. All cabs are marked by an insignia on the side door or a fixture on the roof—in finding one, there is very little to worry about. They're everywhere.

It is customary, if you are male and by yourself, to get into the front passenger seat and not the back. I found this out a few years back on my first trip to Central America when my driver, a man with a huge wad of hair—the kind of hair that said ‘I just toured with Phish for three months'—looked at me, all curled up in the back seat of his cab, and asked me the following question in priceless and unforgettable English: “do you not like me anymore?”

Getting around the city, using whichever method you choose, can be Rubik's cubic. There is no subway or railway system but supposedly the new plan for the harbor includes something of the like. One has to question how, with the influx of all these assumed tourists, the traffic situation will resolve itself. This is a major downfall to living in Panama City and if you are calling traffic hotspots like Punta Pacifica your home, you have to wonder how, on Friday afternoons you plan on getting home amidst the billion other honking minstrels. The gridlock around Avenida Balboa, El Cangrejo, and Punta Pacifica can be tighter than a duck's ass, so be very weary if you're venturing out, well, any time of the day: traffic in this city has been channeled directly from the gates of motor vehicle hell.

You can of course walk to your destination and keep in mind that meandering through large Panamanian crowds can make your tall pale body stand out like a centaur amidst mortals, being that the average Panamanian male is only 165 centimeters (ten centimeters shorter than the average North American). The city is extremely small and manageable though, and walking is encouraged. Stop for a cold hunk of papaya or a glass of watermelon juice to avoid dehydration.

The holiday season for me has been characterized by a few noteworthy things, among them heaps of unintelligible meats, a fairly good month of gift-getting, and oddly, a huge spike in my dream cycle. My dreams have been outrageous of late and one which I'd like to leave you to chew on: I dreamt that Panama City, on a warm summer afternoon, was occupied not by honking taxis or pushy public busses. There was no traffic congestion or angry drivers screaming out Spanish curses. No. My dream, saw Panama City and all of its commuting inhabitants on pogo sticks: hopping merrily up Francisco Boyd towards the ocean, and idling patiently at red lights. Several generous drivers actually had friends (or perhaps clients) perched up on their backs, chatting as if it was normal to travel this way.

That was my dream, and who knows if it'll ever come to fruitkitchen. Hell, I don't even know what fruitkitchen is. Is it some sort of produce stand?

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