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The alarm goes off at six and the rain is already tapping at the window. I roll over, check my phone. Twenty-six degrees, feels like thirty-nine. It's not even seven in the morning. That's the rainy season for you, it doesn't wait for anyone. I'm up, I'm out, and I'm hungry.

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Today is day three in Panama City. I've got my SIM card, I've got a bank account in progress, and I've got a transit card that I still don't fully understand. But first, coffee. I head to Leto HiFi, a listening coffee bar in the heart of the city. The name says it all, coffee and vinyl. I grab a seat near the counter, order a local brew. It's about three balboas, which is basically three dollars, and honestly, it's the best three bucks I've spent so far. The place smells like fresh beans and old records. I could stay here all morning, but I've got a date with some ruins.

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Panamá Viejo. The original city, founded in 1519. It's the reason this whole country exists. Today, they're celebrating the 507th anniversary of the founding, and there was a 5K run-walk this morning. I missed the run, but the family fair is still going on at the monumental complex. I take an Uber from the coffee shop, about three dollars, and ten minutes later I'm standing in front of the old stone tower of the cathedral. It's a strange sight, these crumbling ruins right in the middle of a modern city. Skyscrapers behind, ruins in front, and a big white tent with kids running around and balloons. The atmosphere is pure celebration. Locals are selling food, there's a stage set up, and everyone seems to know each other. I'm the only gringo here, and I love it.

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I walk through the site, past the remains of houses and streets that were sacked by Henry Morgan in 1671. That's the short version, a Welsh pirate burned the whole place down. The stone walls are still standing, and you can see the old layout of the city. There's a museum on site, small but packed with pottery and old maps. I climb the tower, and from the top, you get this incredible view of the modern skyline. It's a weird feeling, standing on the bones of a city that was destroyed three and a half centuries ago, looking at the glass towers of the city that replaced it. A local tells me the story of how the city moved to Casco Viejo after the attack. He speaks fast, in Spanish, and I catch about half of it. But the pride in his voice is unmistakable. This is his city. He's been coming here for the anniversary since he was a kid.

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By eleven, the sun is brutal. I duck into a corner shop for a bottle of water. The heat is like a physical presence, pressing down on everything. I decide to head to the coast, to the Amador Causeway, that long strip of land that juts out into the Pacific. It's where the Biomuseo sits, Frank Gehry's building, the only one he's designed in Latin America. I've seen pictures, but nothing prepares you for the colors. The roof is a jumble of bright orange, yellow, red and blue. It's like a rainbow exploded on the waterfront. I don't go in today, though. I've heard the exhibition on how the isthmus formed is fantastic, but it's also about seventeen dollars to enter. I'll save that for a rainy day. Literally. The rain is forecast for this afternoon, and I want to be somewhere with a roof when it hits.

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The causeway is popular on a Sunday. Families are biking, kids are flying kites, and there's a breeze coming off the water that makes the heat almost bearable. I find a bench and just watch the ships waiting to enter the canal. This is the Pacific side, so they're lined up, waiting their turn for the Miraflores Locks. Every single one of those ships has a story. Where are they going? What are they carrying? They're so huge, so slow, and yet they're the reason this country exists. The canal is the engine of Panama, and I'm watching it from a bench with an ice cream in my hand. That's the contrast of this city. Old ruins, new skyscrapers, and a canal that connects the world. It's all here, all at once.

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My stomach growls. All this history has made me hungry. I know exactly where I want to go. The Mercado de Mariscos, the fish market. A friend from the hostel told me about it. It's a working market on Avenida Balboa, where locals line up for corvina ceviche. Not the fancy kind you get at a restaurant. The real stuff. I take a taxi from the causeway, about four dollars, and I'm there in fifteen minutes. The market is chaos, in the best way. Fish on ice, vendors shouting, the smell of salt and lime. I find a stall in the back, where a woman is chopping corvina like she's been doing it all her life. I order a cup of ceviche. Two balboas. Two dollars. I sit on a plastic stool, and I eat the freshest fish I've ever tasted. The lime juice, the cilantro, the red onion, the little pieces of corn. It's simple, perfect, and it costs less than a coffee. I could have eaten a second cup, but I want to save room for what comes next.

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The rain starts just as I finish my ceviche. The sky opens up, and my plans for a slow afternoon in the city are washed away. I duck under the market awning with a bunch of locals. No one seems bothered by the rain. The vendors keep selling, the customers keep buying. I watch a man buy a whole fish, wrapped in newspaper. He's smiling. The rain is just a part of life here. I decide to embrace it. I buy a sancocho from a small fonda at the edge of the market. It's Panama's national chicken soup, with ñame and yuca. Five balboas for a big bowl. It's hearty, warming, and perfect for a rainy day. I eat it standing up, watching the rain hammer the pavement. The soup is so good I forget about the heat and the humidity. It's comfort food, and it costs less than a movie ticket.

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The rain lets up around three. I decide to conquer the transit system. I've been putting it off, but I'm tired of taking Ubers everywhere. The system is simple in theory, one card for everything. The MetroBus card. You load it with cash and then you use it on the bus and the metro. No cash accepted on board, that's the rule. I head to a Metro station to buy a card. It's about two dollars, and then I load it with a few extra. The metro itself is a marvel. It's clean, modern, and fast. A single ride on the metro is just thirty-five cents. That's one of the cheapest fares in the world. I take Line 1 from a station near the center, just to see where it goes. I get off at a random station, walk around the neighborhood for a bit, and get back on. It's the most affordable tour of the city you can do.

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I'm told there's been some hiccups with the new fare collection system, so I keep an eye out. I tap my card, and the screen lights up. No glitch for me. The metro is the best deal in town. As I ride, I listen to the conversations around me. A woman is talking to her friend about dinner plans. A man is reading a newspaper. It's just a normal day commute, but for me, it's a window into daily life. This is what it means to live here, not just visit. I'm starting to get a feel for the rhythm of the city. The metro hums beneath the streets, and above, the city buzzes with the energy of the anniversary celebrations.

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By late afternoon, the sun is back out, and the streets are steamed. I head to Casco Viejo, the old town, which is less than a ten minute walk from the metro stop I've learned to use. The cobblestones are still wet, and the colonial buildings are glowing in the golden light. I wander into the Museo del Canal Interoceánico, which is in the Plaza de la Independencia. It's the definitive museum on the canal's history. The museum tells the story from the French failure to the American success, to the 1999 handover. I spend an hour in there, just soaking it in. The exhibits are in Spanish and English, and they're engaging. I'm particularly taken with the photos of the construction, the faces of the workers, the sheer scale of the endeavor. It's about ten dollars to get in, and it's worth every cent.

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As I leave the museum, I'm walking through the plaza, and I hear music. There's a small stage set up, and a band is playing. I think it's a salsa number, but I'm not sure. There's a crowd of maybe fifty people, and everyone is dancing. Not professionally, just moving. Just happy. I stand at the edge of the crowd, and I can't help but smile. This is the spirit of Panama City. It's loud, it's warm, and it's proud. I'm not a dancer, but I find myself nodding my head to the beat. The music is infectious. I watch the couples spinning, the kids chasing each other between the adults, the old men with their hands in the air. It's a moment of pure joy.

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I need this to be the close. I'm standing in Casco Viejo, the sun is setting, and the city lights are starting to flicker on. The choir is still singing somewhere in the plaza, but it's getting quiet. I'm told the Panama International Book Fair is later this month, and the La Cosecha coffee event is next week, but tonight, is just about being here. I check my phone. I've walked over fifteen thousand steps today. I'm exhausted. But it's the good kind of exhausted. The kind that comes from a day well spent. I'm learning the city, one ceviche at a time, one metro ride at a time, one salsa beat at a time. This is day three, and I'm just getting started.

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If you're planning to come, here's the thing: bring an unlocked phone, grab a SIM at the airport, and don't stress about the transit card. It'll take you a day to figure out, but once you do, the city opens up. And for the love of everything, go to the Mercado de Mariscos. Get the corvina ceviche. It's two bucks, and it's a whole experience. The city is celebrating its 507th birthday this week. The energy is high. The rain will come, and it will go. But the city keeps moving. Next leg, I'm heading west, following the Pan-American Highway towards the Azuero Peninsula, but that's for another day. From Panama City, this is Javier, saying enjoy the journey.

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One last thing. The canal. You must see it. Even if you think you've seen it in pictures, you haven't. The sheer size of the ships, the precision of the locks, the history of it all. It's about seventeen dollars to visit Miraflores, and I'm told there's an IMAX film narrated by Morgan Freeman. I haven't caught it yet, but it's on my list. The canal is the heart of this country, you need to see it to understand Panama. I'll catch you next time. Hasta luego.