Tuesday saw me exploring the sea wall, where a number of stalls were set up to sell souvenirs. I wandered through, and a group of high school kids wanted me in their photo. So that happened!
The cultural centre is also around here but I want a coffee before that. It seems outdoor cafe seating is limited at best, because most buildings open right up onto the street, so I keep having to sit on bar patios. La Finca del Mar is one of the more unusual restaurants I’ve been to. A space between two buildings, open on opposite sides. It’s as if someone cleaned up an empty lot, and threw a bar into the middle of it. Swing style bar seats that were just a little too low for my liking, a dozen fans to push the air around the place, and huge conference style tables - dinner must be crazy here.
I checked out the market, but I’m not much of a souvenir guy. To me, it’s just more stuff that I have to pack when I inevitably move house.
Part of me wishes I could draw. It’s one thing to sit and write when and if the words come, but another thing entirely to sit in a city square and sketch some of this architecture. I could do that all day. Except words are my paints. I suppose there is something romantic about someone using what is becoming a lost art - analog style writing - but the paradox is that if I’m on a roll, the last thing I want is to be disturbed (even if it is from the gorgeous girl behind the bar asking if I want another beer).
Holy shit. I may witness a real tropical storm. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be at home for that. This outdoor bar might be the perfect place to wait out the storm. Ontario style thunder, growling like the stomach of the sky. There’s nothing like a city after a good rain. At least it’ll pull some humidity out of the air.
The rain came. It was room temperature - actual room temperature, not Panamanian. I think, combined with the heat of the street, it would have steamed on contact - and I suspect it may have from my shoulders. I ventured out once more to to find dinner - Cinco de mayo meant surely Tequilas would be open. And it might have been, if I could find it. I "settled" for Tantalo, a restaurant that I had passed many times but never had the strength to go in. Well, not only do they have one of the only restaurant bars I can sit at, the pulled pork on a fried cornbread was worth sitting down for, and the margaritas being pumped out set me at some sort of twisted calm. Tequila and a margarita, I resolved to get to bed early. Too often this trip I had awoken early, only to succumb to the heat and sleep till 10 or 11 - and still have Internet crap to take care of.
(Not this blog though; you guys are cool.)
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