My last entry was in Spanish, I hardly understood it myself. Here's another version in English.
I spent 5 days in Panama City. I met some very interesting characters, including Alice, a girl who had been bitten by a Botfly in costa rica, where she was teaching English; Jimbo, an Australian who had ridden a motorbike through Central America and was having a hard time processing the paperwork to sell it there in Panama; Jenn and Beth, two girls who were on a reunion adventure after meeting eachother in South Africa a few years ago--they were arriving in the airport at the same time I was; Adam, who has started his own tourboat business in the San Blas islands off the coast of Panama; two British blokes who were planning a global revelution, and hoped to have a meeting with Fidel in Cuba, and many other Go-getter types who were making things happen for themselves. Panama City is a huge hub for people headed elsewhere; whether it be through the canal, down the isthumus and into South America, or up into Central America. Or, more commonly, catching a flight home. I didn't meet many people who actually lived in Panama. Although, I did meet two "locals" who were quite possibly the most beautiful girls I have ever met: Isreli immigrants interestingly enough.
On my last night there, Adam, a girl named Ko (short for a difficult German name) and I decided to go to dinner at The Coca-Cola café, a couple of blocks from Luna's Castle Hostel. The neighborhood is called Casco Viejo, and it's located between Chinatown and San Felipe, un barrio I believe is named after an old cathedral there, which in turn is named after a Saint. the streets seem to have been plotted before the common automobile ever thought of making an appearance there--they are very narrow. The whole area is a tangle of one-way streets and narrow sidewalks.
We walked the two blocks to the café. Since Ko is an economist, we talked about the ecological value and economical impracticalities of alternative/renewable energy Vs. The economical practicality and ecological costs of fossil fuel. I don't think we solved any world problems, but I learned some things.
On the way home, it was quite dark. Since the sidewalks were too narrow to walk 3-deep, I walked in front of the other two. I have found that if I am following someone else, I am less inclined to watch my step. And since there were open and exposed manholes dotting the sidewalks (folks steal the lids and cash them in for scrap metal) I was pretty much occupied with pointing out the obstacles to my friends.
Somewhere in the long stretch between two streetlights, a man started walking beside us--beside me, to be exact. He reached over and tapped my pocket with a grimy fingernail 'tienes dinero?' he asked, pretty plainly.
I tried to shrug him off, 'lo siento, no...' but he didn't give up. 'necesito dinero para comida...' he persisted. 'no tengo plata para ti' I reiterated.
'no? Pero tengo este...' he said, brandishing a skinny, flathead screwdriver about 6 inches long. I could just barely tell what it was, though it kind of glimmered in the dark. I don't know if it was sharpened or not. I stopped walking and turned toward him. I was at a loss as to how to proceed. I had just pulled out enough cash to pay for my cab to the airport, and my next 4 meals. And the cash I had in my pocket was about 1/3 of all the money I have in the world: $80. My friends had stopped about 4 feet or so behind me, and I could just barely see them out of the corner of my eye. I was feeling a little lonely, because they weren't volunteering any help, though I think they both speak much better Spanish than I. I decided to fight the guy. Not a brawl, hopefully. I was trying to find a balance between cooperation and positioning myself to plow into him. I squared up to him as best as I could, and started to reach for my back pockets, crouching as much as I dare. Just as I hit that point where my knees were bent as much as I thought I could get away with (which wasn't much) and just as I had taken a good breath and decided it was go-time, I heard a pistol being cocked somewhere in the darkened void behind my friends, and outside my peripherie on my right. I recognized the sound immediately, and I was somewhat relieved by it; it made my descision much easier:$80 is not worth my life or those around me. I stood up straight again, expecting perhaps 3 or 4 more muggers. I reached for my wallet and was ready to hand it over without hesitation.
Out of the dark came a man with a pistol. Everyone carries .38 special around here, but this looked like a plain ol' 9mm. He held it low, and to the left, with both hands. He had just drawn it from his belt (no holster).
He was walking quickly but quietly, I hadn't pulled out my wallet just yet, but I was sliding my hand into my pocket when he came into full view. He walked directly up to the man with the screwdriver and said (en español) 'what are you doing?'
The man with the screwdriver-shiv lowered it to his side and said innocently 'I was just asking them for some money...' The gunman repeated the question: 'que estas haciendo?'
The man with the shiv was irritated: 'necesito dinero para comidas, mi mamá necesita dinero... Tenemos mucha HAMBRE!'
The gunman told him to get away from us, at which point the first man either dropped the shiv or pocketed it. He then began pushing the gunman with one hand whilst reaching into his pants with the other. I began to back up, expecting him to pull out a gun of his own. I turned to my friends who were standing in silence looking as wide-eyed as I'm sure I was at this point. ' should we go back, go around?' I suggested. But it seemed worse to go back. Maybe because it was pitch dark in that direction, and where we stood was in the edge of the light from a single streetlight. I turned back to the two men, who were sort of doing a one-handed scuffle. The man who had had the shiv was now squatting, pulling his pants down. What he was saying didn't make much sense, and I still can't decide if it was meant to be an insult to the gunman or if the guy was just plain crazy. Anyway, I don't need to repeat it. It occured to me that this was most likely a show that the two were putting on, something like a con: one man threatens us, another man saves the day, we are so grateful that we give him money, or, if we don't give due compensation, he turns the gun on us. I didn't really have time to consider what a good fee would be for chasing the mugger off.
After about a minute, the mugger sat down in the street, under the streetlight. At this point, Adam exclaimed 'is that a Gun!?'. I realized that up to this point, my two compadres hadn't seen what was going on. Because the sidewalks were so narrow, and because the man was holding the screwdriver out to his right--facing away from them, they hadn't understood that he was mugging me, and thought that he was just being pushy and my stalling appeared to just be polite unwillingness to ignore him. They hadn't seen the gun becuase they didn't recognize the ch-chink of it being cocked, and so didn't know to look for it as I had. Only now, when the gun was visible in the streetlight, did they realize what had just transpired.
The man with the gu put it into his belt, satisfied that the man was not going to get up from the curb. I nodded to the gunman to see if we were clear to pass by. I couldn't see his face, but he was standing vigilant, watching the man in the street. We walked past hurriedly and headed back to thx hostel without looking back, and without a much-deserved 'thank you' to our rescuer.
Everyone asks if the gunman was a cop, perhaps undercover. But I highly doubt that was the case. His mannerisms, especially in regard to handling the gun, seem to say that he was just a local who didn't want to see this sort of thing in his neighborhood. I would venture to say that he was
most likely a storeowner, who wanted to Gringos from Luna's Castle to feel safe walking and shopping in that area for years to come. He may even have known the man he was confronting, he held the gun quite deliberately low and at his side, not directly trained on the mugger. He was much more interested in convincing the man to go home than incapacitating him. essentially, he was just a good citizen, looking out for others.
This happened nearly a week ago, and I'm fine. We were kind of shaken up for a bit, and people didn't really beleive us when we told them what had happened, but we were (and are) all okay.
¡Gringo!
A Marimonda - iconic caricature of the Carnaval de Barranquilla.
I was pretty proud to get this picture with my phone; no tweaking.
On the left, an average-sized hass avacado; on the right, a ripe aguacate. 
