With its gleaming skyscrapers and cosmopolitan aura, Panama City defies preconceptions of a Central American capital. It is true that Casco Viejo, the historic heart, conforms to the archetype of postcolonial tropics. Here is the presidential palace, celebrated for the herons that wander in its central courtyard. Nearby, one finds the impressive Foreign Ministry building, and the national history museum. The main cathedral was completed in 1688, and includes stones from its original site, ravaged by the Welsh pirate Henry Morgan some seventeen years before.
Recently, Casco has seen a number of boutique hotels spring up, alongside galleries and high-priced shops. Yet one need not stroll far to find peeling paint, rusting roofs and a general decrepitude. Some buildings have been abandoned outright, while others house the republic’s least fortunate citizens. It’s still an open question if the forces of investment will succeed in revitalizing the quarter; one can also ask if such a transformation would be to the benefit of long-time residents.
There’s no question, however, that the city’s center of gravity has shifted to the north and east. Befitting its position as a nexus of international trade, Panama City’s skyline suggests Miami, Dubai, Singapore. Roughly one third of Panama’s population calls the metropolitan area home. It is an epicenter of hemispheric finance. In high rise towers euros, dollars and yuan change hands, mirroring the nearby canal’s constant traffic in commodities and goods. On a smaller scale, wealth is won and lost in numerous casinos. The prosperous – or lucky – have an array of dining options reflecting the cuisine of the entire world.
Panamanians are justifiably proud of their capital – its energy and its pivotal role in global commerce. Yet asked about los carnevales, even the most diehard urbanites recommend a visit to the interior.
For almost 100 years, the Canal Zone, occupied and administered by the United States, marked the westward limit of Panama City. On December 31st, 1999, sovereignty was restored, and the capital’s sprawl is now noticeable for some distance. Crossing the spectacular Bridge of The Americas, one is greeted by reddish expanses of upturned earth and construction sites in varying states of completion or neglect.
Soon enough, the vista becomes bucolic, even wild. The contours of roads are dictated by the topography of the Cordillera Central. North of this range, the flora and fauna are decidedly Caribbean. To the south, the more arid pacific coast is studded with beach resorts.
Entering a provincial town in the days before Ash Wednesday, you will hear the celebration before you see it. The scale and tone of festivities varies from place to place. However, it would be difficult indeed to find a municipality of any size that does not make some concession to revelry.
A uniquely Panamanian manifestation of Carnival is the culeco. Simply put, a culeco is a tanker truck filled with water and fitted out with hoses. While parades and processions do take place, these vehicles are usually stationary. Often, they are parked alongside stages where sound systems thump in the tropical heat. As people drink and dance, they are spayed by the culeco crews. Throughout the days of partying, cries of “Agua! Agua! Agua!” punctuate the thunder of reggaeton and salsa. Carnival being a respite from the rational, it should hardly be surprising that when rain begins to fall, people tend to scurry away from the culecos and take shelter under any available eaves.
Some have suggested that the fall of water symbolizes a quenching of Hell’s fires, or a washing away of vice before lent begins. Anthropologists often distinguish between the latent and manifest meaning of any cultural practice, so this interpretation should not be entirely discounted. Yet this must be said: when one witnesses the crowds dancing drenched in skimpy clothing, writhing to the rhythm, it is not the ablution of sin that comes immediately to mind.
Even if you eschew the culeco, there’s no assurance of staying dry during Carnival in Panama. In accordance with notions of misrule and inversion, license is extended to small children. High caliber water guns are wielded with surprising accuracy against parents and passing strangers. The juvenile arsenal is augmented by sachets of glittering confetti and spray cans of colored foam. The apparatus of mischief brings particular delight to the youngest celebrants, while this same weaponry is often employed in the cause of adolescent flirtation.
“Adolescent” of course, is a relative term. Debauchees of any age must watch where they pass out. Even a momentary lapse invites a dumping of confetti, a saturation of foam, and a damp awakening which may or may not be bladder-related.
Throughout the country the four days of Carnival mean a widespread shuttering of shops, offices and government agencies. In el interior, however, the festivities provide economic opportunities for many. Those eateries that remain open do quite well, attracting those in the mood for something more substantial than grilled chorizo from sidewalk stalls.
In many ways, Panama is a reserved society, and los carnevales are not patently lascivious in the manner of other lands. Yet fermentation and fornication are perennially entwined. One comes across cupid-adorned flyers for local motels, touting promotional prices: perhaps thirteen dollars for three hours’ privacy; fifty will get you Toda La Noche.
The relief of less libidinous urges can also foster the entrepreneurial spirit. When public sanitation falls short of demand, the private sector does its part, at quite favorable rates:
PRECIOS DE BANO
La Menor __ .25
La Major __ .75
Penonome, the capital of Cocle province, affords a glimpse of rural merriment just two hours from Panama City. However, most will argue that to experience the essential Panamanian Carnival, one should continue further west, then south.
Geographically, the Azuero Peninsula juts into the Pacific Ocean, close to the center of the isthmus. More significant than physical location is its prominent place in the national consciousness. A large proportion of Azuero’s people are engaged in farming, ranching or the coastal fisheries. The peninsula’s folklore and culture are regarded as being quintessentially Panamanian.
The town of Chitre can be considered the gateway to Azuero. The regular population is less than 8,000; during Carnival, locals are significantly outnumbered by visitors from other parts of the country and abroad. During the four days preceding Lent, national newscasts inevitably feature extensive footage of the throngs in Chitre.
Chitre has the widest selection of hotels and guesthouses in the region. Yet the infrastructure of hospitality doesn’t come close to meeting demands. Accommodations are booked months before for the first droplet is sprayed from the first culeco. For most Panamanians, a sojourn in the interior means staying with family or friends. The adventurous – or inebriate – may pass at least one night reposing in the open air.
Just a couple of miles from Chitre is La Villa de Los Santos. This tiny town played a big part in Panama’s history. It was here than a group of local notables gathered to draft the Grito de la Independencia, denouncing Spanish colonial rule and expressing solidarity with Simon Bolivar’s revolution.
The hamlet’s contribution to Carnival is significant, if more tortuous. The big event here is the festival of Corpus Christi, which takes place after Easter. Over the course of two weeks, a series of dances and processions portrays a war between Satan and the Archangel Michael. While incorporating elements of folklore and history that have little to do with scripture, Corpus Christi’s link to Catholicism is far more explicit than that of Carnival. Naturally, the festival culminates with a triumph for the angelic forces.
Despite – or because of – this predetermined outcome, a great deal of artisanal effort goes into creating the colorful masks and costumes of the demonic legions. It would hardly do to keep such craftsmanship hidden away once the din of battle has subsided. Azuero-style diablos sucios (dirty devils) can be seen cracking their whips – and posing with pretty girls – at Carnival parades throughout Panama.
South of Los Santos on the Carretera Nacional is the town the author Cristina Henriquez has called “the bright and pulsing center of Carnival in Panama”. With a population roughly the same as Chitre, Las Tablas has even fewer hotel rooms. Naturally, this means it attracts even greater hordes for the annual bacchanal.
One distinct aspect of los carnevales Tablenos is its queens. Of course, the coronation of a presiding beauty is a feature of many celebrations; anyone who has watched Carrie can attest to that. But the jubilation at Las Tablas is of such a scale that one sovereign will not suffice. For the past six decades, rival monarchs have vied for the fealty and appreciation of the masses.
On the evening of December 31st, the people of Las Tablas assemble for the introduction of the new queen of the High Street and her nemesis, representing Calle Abajo. With a burst of fireworks, the year’s retiring reinas are seen off, and Carnival season begins in earnest. In the following weeks, streets and airwaves resound with songs composed by partisans of the respective monarchs, gently (or otherwise) mocking the other side. This intense but good-natured rivalry culminates in a massive, multi-day party running until the wee hours of Ash Wednesday.
As discussed, it is an article of faith among Panamanians that the most authentic Carnival experience is to be had in the provinces. This consensus is so widespread that many are surprised to discover a history that is decidedly more urbane. Formal observance began in 1910. The organization of events was largely directed by members of the Union Club, an elite organization comprised of businessmen, politicians and assorted grandees of the newly independent republic. The tradition spread from the capital to the countryside in fits and starts. By most accounts, celebrations on the Azuero commenced during the 1930s; they were established in Penonome a couple of decades later. The festivities in the provinces of Santiago and Chiriqui are even more recent.
Given this legacy, it is paradoxical to learn that Panama City’s own Carnival celebrations are regarded with an unusual degree of indifference, condescension, even hostility. The events of 2010 typify this ambivalence. As the bacchanal’s centennial, one might have expected that year’s jubilee to have been marked with particular exuberance. Instead, widespread dissatisfaction was the order of the day.
Ricardo Martinelli, a billionaire with links to the banking and retail sectors, was elected president the previous July. After leaving office, he would be the subject of numerous corruption investigations; in early 2023 Martinelli and his sons would be banned from entering the United States. During his 5-year term, however, he enjoyed high popularity as Panama experienced significant economic growth.
Despite this affluence, his government failed to provide adequate funding for the 2010 Carnival in the capital. Many of the leading troupes refused to participate in parades. On January 30th, the journal La Estrella reported on the fiasco. The online edition garnered numerous vitriolic comments, many condemning the “vulgarity and drunkenness and filth of the Carnival”. One poster went so far as attack participants as “Party thugs or hoodlum monkey…little girls prostituting before TV cameras all in the name of joy.” Such animus, going well beyond fiscal concerns, revealed fault lines within Panamanian society.
The Azuero peninsula’s image as the republic’s “heartland” may well resonate with the Mestizo majority. But this is not necessarily the case for various indigenous peoples, or for the Afro-Panamanian population, concentrated along the Caribbean coast and certain districts of Panama City. In a recent census, almost one-third of citizens identified as being of African descent; within Latin America, this figure is surpassed only in Brazil and Cuba.
As early as the 16th century, enslaved Africans were brought to the isthmus by Spanish colonizers. Hundreds of years later, Americans hired Black migrants from the West Indies for the grueling- and often deadly- excavation of the great canal. Despite this crucial contribution to Panama’s prosperity, their descendants, typically called Afro-Antillanos, face discrimination to this day. Seen in this context, it’s clear that much of the disdain for Panama City’s celebration is grounded in the complexion, rather than the conduct, of many revelers.
In 2011 Martinelli, apparently determined to make amends, pledged one million dollars for the festivities. Even this aroused rancor. As late as January (Carnival that year began on March 5th), there was still confusion as to specific plans. Eventually, a location was selected that provided a beautiful setting while addressing the “Not In My Backyard” sentiments of many residents. For four days, traffic was blocked off on the Cinta Costera, a multi-lane coastal road near the upscale Bella Vista neighborhood.
There was decided aspect of quarantine as celebrants passed through police checkpoints to party out on the asphalt. One curiosity was the official slogan: Carnaval de La City: Goza La Tuyo, Panama. (“Carnival of The City: Enjoy What’s yours, Panama”). Given Panama’s often strained history with los gringos, it did not escape notice that tourism authorities used the English word “city” rather than the Spanish ciudad.
Nevertheless, most attendees approved of the new location. Yinella Vero Torres, a 21-year-old model, reigned over four days of parades and concerts, each with a specific theme. Saturday was centered on “Our Seas”. The Sabbath was marked by traditional costumes and performances of Panamanian folk music. After a day devoted to “Flora y Fauna”, festivities culminated with the modest motif of “Panama: Bridge of The World, Heart of The Universe”. Out of thousands of participants, there was only one reported hospitalization: a head injury sustained during an epileptic seizure. Salomon Shamah, the national director of tourism, later announced the Cinta Costera would be the site for all carnevales in the future.
Despite this success, 2011 did bring some embarrassment to the Martinelli administration. Far across the Atlantic, Panama’s consul in the Canary Islands was seen to be celebrating in drag. Such an affront to machismo was too much, even for Carnival. The official tendered his resignation shortly thereafter.
Diplomatic indiscretions notwithstanding, El Presidente seems to have felt vindicated. With Ash Wednesday rapidly approaching, he appeared on stage to claim Carnaval de La City was “unforgettable”. In truth, the presidential endorsement was largely based on hearsay. For three of the four days, Martinelli and his family had been enjoying colored lights and costumes of a very different sort – on vacation in Orlando, Florida.
Thanks for bringing Panama to life for this dumb American. I've always wanted to visit the canal since I started working in logistics.
Another great piece about a place we must visit one of these days