Peace.

Grilled corvina with
Panamanian Sauce,
Karimar Restaurant in Veracruz.

This I am not very proud of. Panama is a city that has, over several years, robbed its dwellers of what used to be magnificent beaches. There used to be a coastline here, were mangrove and sand cohabited harmonically and danced against the background music of an exuberant, yet elegant natural environment. Now we have buildings, coastal roads, fences, artificial peninsulas and islands, even highways, which steal the sunrise of that magical point where the sun kisses the infinity of the ocean. Gladly, the town of Veracruz is only minutes away. I often like to come to this place, whether by myself or with good company. It is at one time isolated and connected, rustic and strangely urban, peaceful and busy. Here, you can still walk on the sand, touch the horizon, dance with the tide.


The road to Veracruz is a mere 100 meters from the west end of the Bridge of the Americas which crosses the Panama Canal on the Pacific side. Right before you hit the center of the town, the road takes you to the shore where several restaurants greet visitors with their informal, outdoorsy atmosphere, their dry palm leave roofs, a care-free attitude, and friendly personnel. A few days ago I visited one of these restaurants after taking a walk on the deserted beach during low tide. Veracruz is a place where one can still see an endless nautical horizon, the uninterrupted waltz of sky and waves.

Yes: the meal was lovely. But to me, the entire experience of gazing at an endless body of water without having to move a building or two, to hear the waves making their way up the seemingly infinite sand banks, to watch the tide play with the smooth surface of ancient sea-rocks, and to feel that in the midst of all this beauty you are so much closer to the people in your life in spite of making the only tracks in the sand that day; that is simply priceless.

Corvina ceviche, Karimar Restaurant.

Being encapsulated in a city which has made a huge effort to turn its back on the ocean can easily turn its inhabitants into downward-gazing drones. We get in our cars, we drive to work, we curse much on the way there, we dive into cyclical routines, think about nothing but our problems until we ultimately forget simple pleasures, like how good it feels to smile, for example.


Going to places like Veracruz remind us effortlessly.


In the end, you can turn "going to Veracruz" into a metaphor. Like I said in my last post, traveling while remaining still, being at home while traveling. It may not solve all your problems, remove the savage metropolitan traffic from your daily route, or give you any days off to relax. But it may very well put you in that emotional place where you can find peace when you need it most.