Taxi Drivers in Panama

Ernesto was not always a taxi driver. A long time ago he worked in an import/export business. In his own words, his boss was “a fat Jew, a really good man”. So Ernesto drove back and forth between the capital and different parts of the country, including the famous Darien jungle with its absence of roads, its overflowing rivers, its bandits and guerilla fighters. Once he drove all the way to Guatemala for work. He was pulled over and arrested by the police in Honduras for no particular reason and they didn’t let him go until he gave up his golden watch, the most precious thing he ever owned. This happened 20 years ago during very dark times. Although Ernesto still has not digested the loss of the watch, he is grateful because he made it through this adventure unharmed. He smiles as I recount my own encounter with corrupt cops in Honduras. When I ask him why he stopped this and became a taxi driver, he answers very simply. “My boss died of an ear tumor. He was always talking on his mobile phone. And when no one called him, he was calling people.”

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Carlos, with his big round silhouette, could easily be mistaken for an American although his pedigree is 100% Panamanian. Carlos was born in Bocas Del Toro, on the Caribbean coast, and his mastery of Shakespeare’s language is spiced with a strong Jamaican twist. He was already driving a taxi in the capital when one day a couple of gringos hired him for a daylong sightseeing tour. At the end of the day when he parked the car in his driveway at night he spotted something on the back seat: the tourists had left their camcorder. Carlos drove back to the city (45 minutes away), found the hotel where he dropped them off, and showed up with the camcorder in hand: “Didn’t you forget something?” The two gringos were stunned; they already considered the precious piece of electronics as forever lost.

A few months later the Americans did come back with the intention of opening a hotel. They offered Carlos to manage the construction. He told them he was not an engineer but they wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he finally accepted the mission. When the hotel, Casa Sucre, was finished and ready to operate, the owners asked Carlos to run the place for them. And that’s how he became the manager. On the side he still provides taxi service. Carlos is a good businessman and a great Panamanian success story.

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José’s wrinkled face lights up in bewilderment when he finds out that I drove all the way from the US. How many kilometers? How long did it take? How many countries did I cross? What places did I like best? How come I am American but I drive a Japanese car? Is it true that automobiles made for the US are different from the ones sold here in Panamá? Time flies as José and I talk about travel and cars. Suddenly he stops, looks at me and says: “This is great. I’ve been a taxi driver many years and it’s the first time I can have a real conversation in Spanish with a… gringo (no offense).” José loves to speak English but he feels he doesn’t know enough, and he can’t afford language classes. He is ethnically Chinese but he doesn’t speak the language: he has no one to speak it with since his grandparents passed away many years ago. I sense the excitement in his voice as he recounts the story of this old man from Panamá who spoke 7 languages fluently: Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English, Russian, Polish and French. We shake hands and wish each other well. José uses my favorite Spanish expression: “¡Que le vaya bien!” – May good things happen to you!

Cedric, 2/12/2012