Going To The U.S.
(Photo opposite: Morning of trip) A friend from Brazil who graduated with a PhD in Mathematics from a university in East Texas told me that air travel in the “West” was not very good and I should be careful about delays. He told me that it would be hard to travel as a young family to the “West” because air travel in the “West” had gotten much worse. I liked the way my Brazilian friend referred to the U.S as the “West”; it made me think about Romanians in Bucharest talking about Paris or London. His warning was spot on, though.
We left on an early flight to the U.S. from Panama. We woke up very early – 4:00am – to catch the Panama City-Atlanta flight. The flight was on Delta, an airline I’ve always been lucky with. To me Atlanta airport was easier to negotiate than Miami airport, a terrible airport. We had a friend – Jim – who drove us to the airport on the morning we were to leave for the U.S. I didn’t sleep well the night before because I was restless and anxious to catch the plane; we were taking a two year old child so I was thinking about how smooth or rough the trip might end up being. I woke up at 4 in the morning, the plane was scheduled to leave at 8:30 in the morning; we had to be at the airport at 6:30. I hadn’t slept very well during the short time I had laid down on the bed. I stayed awake because I wanted to make sure I was up and washed and dressed so that we could make it to the airport on time and before things got too late and catching the plane became a problem for all of us.
After some coffee and organizing, I started to load the car. I was already behind. We were all awake by 5:30am. We rushed from the house; we made sure the lights were out and all the windows and doors were locked, a friend who lived just behind our house – from Sweden, but born in Honduras - said she would watch the house for us.
Off we went to Jim’s place; we picked him up and drove to the airport without any hitches. Check in at the International Airport in Panama is quick. Delta check in went smooth and we headed through the customs gate. The airport has one restaurant so we grabbed something to eat. The plane left right on time and the people at the gate were pleasant and welcomed us onboard. We had a lot of stuff with us. A two year old on the plane is not easy. Milk, stroller, baby bag, magazines, ect. And then the tight space. But the plane was almost empty and on one side of the plane there were three seats open which we quickly grabbed.
We took off and then put down a blanket and baby went to sleep; we relaxed a little. Nice breakfast. We arrived to Atlanta 4 hours later and left the plane and walked up the long concourse to U.S. customs. Customs was better than it had been a couple of years before. The customs agent asked me about living in Panama. He was interested in the country. From customs we grabbed our luggage from baggage claim, then made our way through declarations; after passing declarations, we drop checked bags on luggage belt so they could make our connection. From dropping luggage we passed security: metal detectors, shoes, pockets and walk. From security we headed to the airport subway and went to Concourse C. Our gate at Concourse C was actually below the main concourse: C29 was the gate number. We caught the elevator to the gate. When we got off the elevator there were some people from Savannah waiting for their flight. There were about three departure gates and the area where people were waiting was very tight. Everyone was a bit tense and not happy about waiting for their flight in such a small space. It wasn’t a good atmosphere, crazy and agitated, people seemed to be at their wits end: this was my first impression of people in U.S. on this trip.
As I was looking around and talking with the baby, a girl that was 17 or 18 in age and blonde with pure white skin came up very abruptly to some of the people from Savannah who were waiting for their flight. She approached three people: two brothers and their sister, they were in their 60s and 70s or maybe even older. The brothers were wearing baseball caps that were made of green camouflage. One baseball hat said WWII veteran with a VFW lodge and another said Vietnam Veteran, also with a VFW lodge: they would have been the right age for either war. I noticed them when we got off the elevator because they liked the baby who was chowing down on some chocolate pretzels that he had smeared all over his face. They liked seeing that. And he kept doing it for their entertainment. The young blond girl after approaching the brothers stood absolutely straight and said: “ I want to thank you for your service to the country”. As she said this she grabbed their hands and shook them; after shaking their hands, she abruptly left and sat on a staircase and looked at me and the brothers. The brothers were more startled by her approach than anything. Neither brother had good hearing so they didn’t understand the message. Their sister said to them very loudly: “she wants to thank you: the hats, she is talking about your hats, your service”. She pointed to their hats as she said this. Then they understood and brushed it completely aside and watched the baby smearing chocolate on his clothes and face. We wanted the baby to enjoy himself in what was starting to look like a deteriorating flight to the U.S.
I wanted the plane to leave; they said there was a switch broke on the plane, so we couldn’t leave. It would take 30 minutes to fix. It was not said with any confidence and so you wondered if the plane was actually going to leave. I started to count the hours and when we would get to our destination, and what the first drink would be like at the end of this day. Alcohol would probably be at the end of what I hoped would not happen. Gabi went to get a cup of coffee with Pascal. Seattle’s Best. Tasted lousy: hated the coffee; I’ve had it when its good, but this was bad. We wait more. People leave for Savannah, Detroit, and Charlotte. “U.S. cities are just airport names now”, was something Carlos Fuentes had said and I thought about it when I looked up at the notice board at our departure gate and read Harrisburg.
There was more waiting and baby was fine. He slept. I was now tired. We were getting close now to a three hour delay. The clock said 6:30pm and I was thinking about what a hotel room would cost. The Delta check in staff came under fire from the passengers. Some passengers were storming around pissed. Delta staff didn’t care one bit. Some passengers were sick; others - people who flew a lot – just nodded and said this is what now almost always happens. Knowing they knew about air travel I worried.
(Photo opposite: Waiting in Atlanta) We were suddenly told that another plane had been made available, but we needed to go to another gate. Right before this announcement we had been told the flight was not going to leave and what our options were.
Anyway, off we went in the elevator. We rushed to the new gate. When we arrived at the new gate Delta personnel were there waiting for us. It looked smooth. But they then said we would have to wait 15 minutes. I started to feel like I was inside of Panamanian immigration and that feeling would continue to deepen throughout the rest of the day.
The Delta people were nice but they told us they needed to do their “homework” about the flight before we could leave. “Homework” was an interesting word to use in this context, but OK. Homework done we started to board; we waited about an hour to get on. The plane was small so it took time to actually get in the plane – we were slower than earlier and more tired and baby was up. But just glad to be on the plane and heading to our family reunion.
Everyone boarded the plane. Some had yelled voucher after the long wait at the second gate. The Delta employees just yelled back jokes at the passengers and said there were not going to be any vouchers: ha, ha, ha. It was all very informal and loose. We were now 4.5 hours behind schedule. We pulled back. It took a while. The pilot said there was “a traffic jam behind us”. We finally backed out and got in line for take off. It was now late and I just wanted to get to my family home. We were almost ready to start our take off when the captain came on and said, “you really don’t want to hear from me”. Again, something said strangely out of context. The captain said, “We are going back to the gate”. Why? “Because the co-captain’s seat belt is broke and we need to get the piece.” “We think they have the piece”. He then said that the radar system – traffic control - of the whole southeastern section of the U.S. had been knocked out.
So back to the gate for another hour or so. Baby was very upset by now. I was just shocked by how chaotic things seemed to be in the U.S. It didn’t at all seem like the U.S. I knew, even from the 90s. The chaos and confusion reminded me of what can happen in Latin America where wealth is concentrated in a few hands: the workers begin to shutdown, nothing gets fixed, everything breaks, people don’t care if you have money and people stop being polite to one another – in short, no service.
By now Gabi was tense and baby was crying. We left him just walk up and down the aisle the airplane: there was no way to control him. Gabi decided to talk with the captain to see if we could leave the plane. She talked first to the stewardess and then the captain came. The captain understood, but was very tense about the request. She framed it to him in such a way that he took her very seriously. He had one of the Delta people from the gate come on and tell the passengers we could get off and go catch another flight to Harrisburg that was just about to leave. “But she couldn’t promise anything”. After hearing this we decided to stay onboard. The plane did finally take off. We arrived at about 10:45pm to Harrisburg. Off we went to the reunion, tired and sick; I drank too much and too quickly and was extremely sick the next day. I didn’t wake up until 6pm the following day.
Brief Observations Of America
My hometown is Lancaster, Pa. Famous for the Amish who migrated with other Anabaptists from southern Germany and northern Switzerland to Pennsylvania. The Amish lived along the Rhine in Europe; many migrated to the U.S. in the early 18th century, some earlier. They were part of life in Philadelphia during the War of Independence. They opened farmer’s markets where they would sell produce. During the American revolutionary war the Germans in Lancaster helped supply American revolutionaries with guns. Lancaster was still in good shape. I liked the city. There were still lots of bars and a good selection of restaurants for a city of its size. We made the trip because of a birthday party we wanted to go to. The party was great and we enjoyed going out in Lancaster.
I went shopping: a friend from Panama had asked me to buy him a calculator: Texas Instruments T-84 Silver edition. I knew nothing about calculators. I tried Circuit City but they didn’t have the silver edition, which has more memory. My friend had told me if you wanted to get it you needed to go to Wal-Mart. I had never been in a Wal Mart – I’ve seen all the documentaries that make it sound like a living and screaming hell. But America always had such places; it was part of the way people shop in America, especially people with little to no money.
We pulled into Wal Mart; there was a Taco Bell at the far side of the parking lot. I noticed the handicap parking was different: lots of space: cars at the front and back of one another: the doors of each car were free from the obstruction of other cars. The people going in were a mix, Chinese, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Indo-Pakistani and White America. All were headed into the Wal-Mart which had the golden arches on it: clever piece of business dealing, though to me it’s better for McDonalds to stay on its own.
In we went. A woman with an ID pin who was just sort of standing and greeting people in a very desultory way beyond the electric doors sort of greeted us. I wasn’t sure as I tried to understand whether she was going to give us a handout or she was lost. We grabbed a cart and headed in. There were lots of people walking around who didn’t look to have much cash. And they were communicating with one another in a way that was too simple and not really coherent. I wanted to buy the calculator. I found the place, but could not take the calculator to the cashier because it was under lock and key. I went to one of the cashier stations and waited to ask a young white blonde girl with a round face and blue eyes, who was talking around and around with the customer in front of me who was also talking in circles, for the calculator. They didn’t understand one another and there was no way to break the confusion between them. From the corner of my eye I spotted another Wal-Mart worker who was very skinny with a strong fake suntan, orange hair and blue eyes that looked like colored contacts. He had a blue vest on and he went over and unlocked the case and pulled out the calculator and then went back to the cashier station to cash me out. A kid around 18 or19 who he had been helping earlier was waiting for him to return. The kid wanted to buy an electronics device that I couldn’t see. The device cost something like $24.86. He reached into his pocket and pulled out 40 cents, and then looked up and to the cashier said “I’ve only got 40 cents” and then ran off. The cashier said. “Oh, Shucks” and threw his head back as he cashed me out and watched the kid walk off; the cashier never really looked at me. I found Gabi and Pascal and we headed off. My first impression of Wal Mart was big, cheap and strange. Sears was much better in its day.
We only stayed 6 days in the U.S. Tuesday to Monday. On the trip back things went relatively smooth. America has become many things. First, it is much, much, much more diverse. That’s a little scary. You used to see it only in the big cities, not in every corner of every shop, restaurant or public space in small town America. It’s so close and on top of you that many people have gotten grumpy about it. I’m all for diversity, but I also think there is something to community, and community is in some small way exclusive, but not dangerously so. The big cities need to come back again in America. That’s the best place for diversity to grow and integrate.
The other thing I noticed in the U.S. is how people talk so freely about going to war with Iran. This is spoken about like it was just a step along the way to some pure security paradise that’s out there somewhere. There is talk about China getting involved and possibly Russia as well. But there is no alarm at all about the effects of this on not only America but everywhere else. After a while security can’t mean other people having to feel insecure so you don’t. That’s a kind of selfish that will really do you damage in the long, long run.
Whenever I go to America I look for something progressive. The country is always in someway moving in a progressive direction. I found it in how environmentally aware people were. Friends preferred buying environmentally friendly products: there were many on the market. The U.S. was far ahead in this respect to any of the Latin American countries I visited.
A Little On Panama
On the flight back to Panama from Atlanta I heard some Americans talking about what it was like to live in Panama. They were all retired and older. They read novels with names like “Plum Dancing” and they did Chinese and crossword puzzles. They spoke and communicated with each other as people had during my childhood in Pennsylvania. Always remember seeing such people on lawn chairs at baseball games and firehouse barbecues. That was another America; it was still there but crushed under all the speed and anxiety. I overheard the retirees talking about having to get their “carta de jubliados” “retirement cards”; it allowed them to get all kinds of discounts in Panama. But it wasn’t easy to get one and they were suffering through the process. Panama had its own steel traps - many. I heard them say, “in the U.S. now there is no service; it’s all gone now”. They had shipped off into a Latin American country that they were very much enjoying, they were retired. They would stay in Panama for a while and then make their way home or to another country. In my experience with expats I noticed that a great majority of them ended up returning to their country of origin: normally because they missed the conveniences they found back home, especially the convenience of speaking the language. We exited the plane. The first sensation I wait for when I get back to Panama is the hot, humid night air on my skin. It was a pretty night as we packed our things into the car and headed down the highway for home.
The next day I thought about some of what I had heard on the trip back to Panama from Atlanta. Some of the Americans on the flight said that Panamanians were happy about having them come live in Panama, they said over and over, “they give us good service because they want us here”. It was the kind of funny expat talk I’ve heard for years. Like many things, it was a half truth – they were happy to have the money, not necessarily the extra people. Another comment I heard over and over is that Panama is one of the safest places in Latin America. Not sure, but Panama is in the throes of a major crime wave and people are locking themselves up tight at night and building fences around their houses to keep people out.
Most Panamanians were happy about the recent success the country has experienced but there were some people who weren’t happy. They were normally people who worked in preserving Panamanian culture or the Panamanian environment. They were upset by all the building, especially in neighborhoods where there had been little development. Now every green space was being bull-dozed and apartment towers were rising. They hated it: the noise, the dirt, the destruction, the speculation, the rising cost of living, the crime that came with rapid development. Many were nervous about what might happen next.
The real estate boom which had started so strong in Panama a couple of years ago was losing steam fast. Many potential investors in the Panamanian real estate market were waiting to invest after they had sold a property in the U.S. They expected to sell very high in the U.S. and then buy in Panama. But with the real estate problems in the U.S. people couldn’t sell their properties and were therefore unable to buy a second or third home in Panama. So the U.S. investor had gone dry. They looked, but often didn’t buy.
The people that were still coming into Panama were from Venezuela. They were escaping the madhouse that Chavez is building there. It was hard for them to invest in Panama. They couldn’t just transfer money from Venezuela to Panama in order to buy. Some would come to Panama as a group of, say, 15, each one of the 15 members would have a credit card that had a limit of $3,000: they would put their down payment on property by combining the cards. They were clever and anxious to make it to Panama. Many Panamanians had gone to Venezuela during the military years in Panama.
(Opposite: National Seal Of Colombia) Another group that was still coming to Panama were Colombians. Colombians were some of my best students at the University and most of the Colombian students I met did not want their families to leave Colombia for Panama. Of course, they recognized the historic ties between the two countries. Many of my Colombian students would say under their breath that Panama and the Canal were in fact a part of Colombia that had been taken by the U.S. in 1903. They felt they had a kind of right to Panama. They would always say to me: “ Look at the national seal of Colombia and you will see what Panama means to Colombia.” Of course, Panama had been part of Colombia in the 19th century. It had tried to break away a few times, but always came back to Colombia in the end. Colombia dealt with Panama in the 19th century by mostly ignoring it. Political power in Colombia is in the highlands and Panama was on the coast. That long period of Colombian rule in the 19th century was very important to the politics of today in Panama, said a colleague of mine at the University.
My colleague told me there were two Panamanian national identities: First, and most obvious, anti-U.S. imperialism which helped form Panamanian nationalism. It was the U.S. building of the Canal and the taking of land for the U.S. Canal Zone which forged the modern state in Panama and modern nationalism. The other national identity was less known and was hidden under the turbulent history of 20th century Panama. This identity was called provincialism and it saw Panama as a province of Colombia. In short, it said that Panama could not say no to Colombia and that the country naturally gravitated to Colombia and away from Central America and the Caribbean. My colleague told me Panama would end up being to Colombia what Hong Kong was to China. I had never heard this before; it was interesting, but how true was it? We would wait and see.
 |
|
 |
|
