Living in the tropics is just as one would imagine: hot, steamy, moist, luscious, fresh, green, sticky, and humid. There are two “seasons” here in Panama (if that’s what you want to call them) which are Dry Season and Rainy Season. The only real difference between these two seasons should be blatantly obvious: one is dry and the other is rainy. Seriously, I should be a Meteorologist.
From December to May, the sun in Panama lays on thick; blue skies from 6am-6pm are painted with demonstrative clouds which only threaten to rain but never really do. Dry Season is the perfect time to travel if you’re here for the beaches, or if you just want a seemingly endless string of balmy nights drinking on rooftops. People spill into the streets while dodging the sun which layers itself upon every surface – not in like a “dramatic, delirious, I-see-a-mirage desert scene” but more like a “the-shade-is-only-a-temporary-solution, I’m drenched in sweat and why am I wearing clothes?” situation. Everyone is sweating (even people who were born here and are wearing jeans) because the humidity is 100% and sometimes there is nothing as glorious as standing directly in front of an electric fan with my dress bellowing up and out around me.
From May to December, the skies bulge until they burst and finally, a long awaited “dry” spell is broken. Water literally comes from everywhere. There is nothing like a tropical rainstorm, and I’ve really come to love them. There is so much rain and so much sound and yet the heat is still ever-present. A raincoat, although sometimes worn, seems almost counter productive because I am drenched with sweat underneath it anyway. I may as well be barefoot because within minutes there is water washing by ankle-deep. Giant, emerald leaves act as canopies and contentedly sway in the fierce, wet winds, un-phased by what feels like the makings of a hurricane. But the rainy season brings with it a cleansing, liberating, renewal of fresh air, and just as quickly as these incredible storms begin, they quietly pass into the horizon, over the canal, and I’m left with nothing but birds clacking and chatting outside the open windows that I rarely close, the tick of a ceiling fan, and what a surprise, I’m still sweating…
Photos: Mesmerized : Looking to the Canal : Canal Docks : Plaza Francia : Harbor Horizon : Steamy Jungle : Greenery : Red Raincoat : Tantalo : Mi Paragua : Work As Usual : Blurry Windsheild