PANAMA

Te Ao Hou, September 1960, Page 40

PANAMA The sun beat down on the deck. We swam to keep ourselves cool, we drank to keep ourselves cool and we talked and we argued to keep ourselves alive. Then we saw the Panama Canal. That day I saw before me a narrow stretch of water. On either side of this stretch of water was a wall of cliff. This little opening was made by man to shorten his journey around the world. Huge gates opened slowly to let the boat pass through. And the genius of man thrust itself upon you. For centuries the Panama must have lain like a waiting woman, and man said to himself, “I am master of all things. I will sever this woman's body, that we may pass through, that we may hold the world in our hands.” And they severed her body in twain. Her limbs they thrust up as cliffs of protective strength. But they gave her life in the trees that grow, in the houses and people that keep the traffic moving between her divided body. Here in the canal ten thousand people are employed to keep it in working order. Negroes drive the ‘donkeys’—engines which pull the boats through the locks. The officious American patrol officers in khaki proclaim their rank in the bulge of pistols from swaggering hip pockets, while the negroes, quiet and strong, work the machinery. You see the huge steel gates riveted to perfection, you see the little homes of these ten thousand people who help to keep the incessant flow of traffic through the Panama. Yes! It was good that man severed her body. It conquered distance. I felt I could stretch out my hand and touch the trees, the houses and the people. I could feel the pulse of human endeavour. But then my reflections were interrupted by the disembodied voice of an American announcer, who reminded you that Panama is a monument to the dollar. Never in my life did I hear so many superlatives and so many statistics! I was very pleased when the droning voice of the announcer was disconnected at the request of passengers who seemed to share my views. Cristobal-Colon was our next port of call. We knew it was custom free port so we were determined to spend our money. What an odd place it is. It is just a stretch of wharf about half a mile wide. A railway line separates one part of the town from the other. Do not be disappointed if you don't find genuine native ware. These little ports of call after the Panama are very cosmopolitan. They are dumping grounds for the products of the Western world. Here you can buy the latest, from a Phillips electric razor to a nylon waterproof, snowproof jacket, to a Rolleiflex camera. Look for a South American handbag, or shoe, or ornament, and you are disappointed. Everything disappointed me. I didn't want a camera. I didn't need a snowproof jacket. The Chinese, the Hindu, the Jews, the negro shop owners annoyed me as they stood and waited for customers. Perhaps I saw too many transistors. It may be that I was trying to recapture the mood of Tahiti….I don't know. Next day, we saw on the boat reminders of the latest shopping spree: transistors, transistors, transistors, nylon jackets and imitation-leather plastic handbags.