Dear Panama, (Insert Love Letter Here)

Three and a half months ago, I was sitting in the Houston airport, killing time during a three hour layover before my flight to Panama City. More specifically, I was having a glass of wine in the Houston airport, at 10:30 in the morning, in a failed attempt to calm my nerves before moving to a city I had never been to and knew almost nothing about. The wine did nothing to relax me, so instead I became a slightly drunk ball of nerves. Under the combined effect of fermented grapes and thirty pounds of carry-on luggage, I aimlessly roamed the international terminal, walking like a bedraggled pirate. Believe it or not, this was an improvement compared to the weepy zombie that got to the Washington airport at 5 o'clock that morning. It was not my finest day.

Now once again I'm in an airport (Newark this time), stuck here for a three hour layover, waiting to go home for the first time since January. Most of me is ecstatic. I could write a small encyclopedia about how much I've missed my friends and Pulpo. And there are some trivial perks to being home, like free museums, living in a walkable city, and having easy access to copious amounts of sushi. But at the same time, it feels a bit like leaving home to go home. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Panama.

I spent the last few days traveling in Costa Rica, a trip planned back in December. Everyone goes to Costa Rica, I thought, and I'll be right next door. Why not go? This week, however, I found myself determined to dislike Costa Rica. Why? Because it wasn't Panama. And I wanted more time in Panama. I refused to accept that a neighboring country could possibly have something to offer that Panama did not. Why was I even bothering to go? It was clearly going to be inferior. Oh, they have sloths? Who cares? I saw two in Panama, so there! I had the sense not to say any of this out loud, but inside my head I was a five year old kid throwing a temper tantrum at Thelma's. I wanted strawberry ice cream, and if I couldn't have strawberry ice cream, I didn't want any ice cream. All other ice cream was obviously going to taste like poop. (NOTE: For those of you unlucky enough to have missed Thelma's, it was an ice cream shop in Great Falls, Virginia, and it was awesome.)

In reality, Costa Rica is very nice and well worth a trip. But it turns out that my cranky brain was right, at least in part. Because the things I'll miss most about Panama just aren't anywhere else. My apartment and its resident lizards who kept it bug-free. (I ended up naming them all Renfield, after the character in Dracula who eats insects.) Having watermelon juice at Pan y Canela every day. Living next to the water and going for runs on the Cinta Costera before going to work. And last, but certainly not least, my friends and coworkers (shout-out to Victoria and Camila! You have a place to stay in Washington any time.).

So now that my time in Panama is done, there is one remaining question: What happens to this blog? Inevitably there will be at least one more entry, with pictures from the last few days in Panama and Costa Rica. But after that? In theory, Disaster with a Passport could go on. The title is pretty general and I travel a lot. I suppose I'll make a decision in the next couple of weeks, but in the meantime, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's been reading. When I started this blog, I thought my audience was going to be a few close friends. The pool of readers ended up being larger than I ever imagined, and the blog has officially traveled more places than I have at this point (thanks in no small part to my awesome cousin). I hope I've provided some entertainment for you all, and if not, then I hope it's at least been a good way to procrastinate. So thanks again, everyone!

And Panama, thank you.