No luck booking passage for our rig on a container ship to South America — we’d have to separate the truck from the camper to fit inside one, and wait until a ship has enough freight to warrant sailing.
So we do what everyone else in Panama City seems to do — drown our sorrows in Atlas beers. But then Gary almost pokes his eye out on an air conditioner inexplicably head-level in an interior stairwell. When we return, this story leads to only laughter from the expats at the XS Memories sports bar. Turns out that’s how Panama works — no regulations, no codes, no protection for the average citizen. If you fall into an uncovered manhole on a city sidewalk, the saying goes, the judge will give you a fine for not watching where you’re walking.
Follow this bonus-material blog and ride along on a one-year road trip that inspired the memoir The Drive: Searching for Lost Memories on the Pan American Highway. On sale now. Get yours through the buy-the-book links at the bottom of the landing page on my teresabrucebooks.com website or here or here. Planning a road trip? Buy the audiobook here. Like The Drive’s Facebook page and tweet back at me @writerteresa.