Shake It, Shake It, Shake It!

I suppose it is an automatic response, a coping mechanism, or just good ol' human nature, but I cannot stop comparing Panama with Sweden. And nowhere is the contrast more stark than in the gym (I wouldn't be surprised if the bureaucrats went to sister schools). Where in Sweden you have hard-working, serious, dedicated trainers who make sure you get the most out of yourself without feeling pressured; who use their strap-on microphones to educate you on the exact effect of this or that exercise, and who keep their lofty presence on a stage away from the sweating masses (while managing to look pristine), the Panamanian trainer will be right in there with you, shaking his hips to music loud enough to blow you ear drum and shamelessly flirting with each and every female. I guess both sides have their advantages and disadvantages, but honestly, do the Panamanian girls really have to wear push-ups to work out?

The Red Devil

In any other part of the world, the passenger is the person who decides where a taxi should go. Not in Panama: here, the driver decides if he can be bothered taking you. So even though a trip from my home to the office costs about half of what a train trip of twenty minutes would cost in Germany, I have decided to find alternative transport. This is a so-called 'diablo rojo', a red devil which is basically a brightly-coloured old US school bus. It's a bit sweatier and generally more crowded than a taxi, but it does make every trip to work an experience. And the up side is, they can also be used as party busses. Literally. Just take out the seats and put in a bar...

Oh wie schön ist Panama!

I woke up last night (alright, late evening) to oppressing humidity. And weird noises (case in point, a squirrel just came and sat on my window ledge). My first thought, all jet-lagged, was dammit, am I back in India? Cause it sure felt that way. But then I saw the blinking of the microwave in front of my bed and I realised that India, this was not.

I am currently in Panama. Arrived yesterday morning, was picked up by my beautiful landlords, and deposited in my own room which, along with the aforementioned microwave sports a fridge, a small cooking stove and, most importantly, a coffee machine.

I admit, I haven't seen much of the city yet. But the glimpses I have managed to get are promising. From concrete ocean promenades to more skyscrapers than I have ever seen wedged into a small area. And they're still building. But all the towers still can't keep out the pervasive smell of the ocean. Not that I'm complaining, makes me feel as if I were on holiday. However, this is not a holiday, I shall be hard at work. But I shall do my best to keep you updated on the adventures of "La Alemana Latina" (for now limited to trying out the stove for the first time. Wish me luck)!