In which Roz and Layla return to 1913 and enjoy a palindrome.

Apparently the longest known palindrome is "A man a plan a canal Panama". Which is what everyone said quizzically as Roz and I planned our next adventure. Panama has featured in various travel articles this year as one of the lesser known see-it-before-others-catch-on destinations. And with a 4 1/2 hour direct flight from Washington DC, a mere one hour time difference, and that famous canal, how could we hesitate!

And so it was that we landed yesterday afternoon with anticipation and slight concern in our eyes as the clouds gathered and reminded us that we had chosen the rainy season for our trip. Luckily, they controlled themselves while we got to our cool little apartment in the old quarter of Panama, Casco Viejo. Panama is an odd city - Roz likens it to LA. Quite spread out, with no obvious walking center; just everyone driving around from skyscraper apartment to mall. Which makes sense as Panama is hot, wet, and humid for much of the year. But aside from some pretty paths by the water, there's not much strolling to be done in most of the city's districts.

Casco Viejo is the exception to that rule. One of the first settlements in the Americas, it is old, crumbling, fading Spanish grandeur. The city's skyscrapers here are replaced by cute, multicoloured buildings, cafes sprawling onto streets and squares, and views of the Ocean on either side. It's an area that was once very grand, then fell on bad times, was abandoned by the posh, squatted by the less posh, and recently welcomed the creep of artists, which can be seen in artists' studios aplenty and the lovely graffiti (which redefines the word - street art would be more appropriate), particularly on the ubiquitous metal cylindrical rubbish bins which are uniquely and beautifully painted. Since Casco Viejo got World Heritage status a few years ago, it seems the area is getting ready to be grand again. Which unfortunately for us, means a bit of a building site.

We spent the afternoon yesterday wandering around the area, squeezing past scaffolding, and drinking mohitos in Casablanca, one of the outdoor cafes on a square that had escaped the building deluge. Then back to our absolutely beautiful apartment - two floors, fabulous decor - for wine and cheese, before heading out to Manolo's, one of Panama City's best restaurants. In the time between calling to make a reservation (and a long explanation of our vegetarianism) and heading out, the heavens opened. We arrived drenched, but were soon appeased by about 10 courses of very pleasant food, and some surreal conversations with our table neighbours regarding England's football success, of which we knew nothing and they knew every moment of. They also invited us out salsa dancing with them, but we feared the proposition might turn amorous, and went home instead.

Today our landlord had arranged a city tour and due to the aforementioned sprawling nature of this city, Roz and I decided to take up the offer, and so after I got up early and dashed to a cafe to pick up some takeaway granola, yoghurt, and excellent tropical fruit (which we ate on our delightful balcony), we hopping in a minivan with two other couples and headed to the place for which I have harboured all the romantic connotations in the world: the Panama Canal. We went to a little film about the building of it and imminent widening of it (this and next year are your last chance to see it in its 1913 state!) but alas there were no boats going through at that time. Reluctantly we left with hopes to return later, and we were driven through various areas of Panama City ranging from slum to swank to a pretty causeway to Panama Viejo, the very first Spanish settlement in America. It was mainly crumbled beyond recognition, but we visited an old convent, and had a pleasant time pottering around, before it was back in the car and off to Casco Viejo. At which point we realised that the plan was to go to Casablance bar (which we'd already done), walk round the area (which we'd already done), and drive people to the airport. And so we abandoned the tour.

After a superlative sandwich and some cheese at Super Delicatessen (a moniker which lived up to its promise), and dropping stuff off at our apartment, we caught a taxi back to the Amador Causeway. It's a 5km walk along a thin road passing through three or four tiny islands, with ocean on each side. We acquired ice cream and pottered along in the sun, admiring the view of the ships lining up to enter the canal on one side, and the city skyline on the other. The ships lining up made me wish we'd been able to see them in the canal... and before long we were in another taxi, speeding back to the observation point just in time to see two massive container ships go through the Miraflores Locks. Its hard to describe the delightfulness of this. It could have been 1913. The romance was just as I'd hoped. The thought of these huge boats sneaking through the centre of the continent, bound for foreign parts, was oddly thrilling. When the crew of a Malaysian container ship waved at their audience, I felt genuinely excited at seeing them. Which is entirely bizarre - I see Malaysian people all the time and have been to Malaysia with less thrill than was in my heart as the Panama Canal pulled my back to 1913, and a time of magic, adventure, and a golden age of trade.

And now, 99 years later, we sip wine and plan a night on the town. Roz tells me only one restaurant is open on Sundays, so that won't take much planning. We're feeling rather excited to be here.