Authenticity has a smell.
And Isla Colon smells like a real place.
Can’t put a finger on it but you won’t find it in suburban gated communities.
It’s the smell of burnt rubber from the sudden breaking of vehicles to make way for errant pedestrians, the aroma of deep fried- cholesterol laden-but absolutely delicious food being cooked in a corner kiosk.
It’s the smell of freshly cut watermelons being sold on a cart.
At my annual medical check before this trip, I was diagnosed with a Vitamin D deficiency. Apparently, sitting at my desk in Manhattan had taken a toll on my immune system. Here very close to the equator. I’ve been hoping I’d get a natural dose of my prescription.
But the weather here had been moodier than a 2 year old without a nap.
9 degrees north of the equator and the hot air would hit you like a blast from a 425-degree oven but then just as suddenly the clouds throw a tantrum and lash rain.
Clearly Panama Tourism struggles with this too because they never seem to commit to anything in their brochures.