I mean, come on. Look at my man on the right. It's 2:30 in the morning and he's wearing sunglasses. And he is ROCKING some Spanish guitar. There's your Panama, right there. A friend and I had bought tickets to see a USA vs Panama World Cup qualifier in Panama City and we rented an apartment for five days in Casco Viejo. Excellent shops, phenomenal restaurants, superb bars, amazing scenery. In Casco Viejo the old abuts the new on every block, so you see what the city was and what it is becoming. One night after spending too much time at an unbelievable rooftop bar, we went back to the apartment ready to call it a night. My buddy and I sat on our balcony enjoying a pre-slumber cigar when we heard the crew pictured above singing songs and that genius on the right strumming like a champion, belting out torch songs with operatic flair and passion. We looked at each other, grabbed a couple of bottles, and went to the town square. They welcomed us into the group and spent the next hour (unsuccessfully, though we tried hard) attempting to teach us the Spanish lyrics. Twenty minutes later the skies opened. Some dishwashers and busboys from the restaurant next to us opened their doors, invited us in, and started making mojitos as long as The Guitar Man kept playing. We danced to his tune (or we watched the women flamenco) until he could play no more. When people asked how I liked Panama, I show them this picture, and I tell that story -- the kind I had always heard other people tell.