Natalie’s Travelogues: Destination Panama
Panama. Even the word has a certain music to it. A bridge between two worlds. When the opportunity came to travel there in 2022, I said yes before I'd finished reading the invitation. That is, increasingly, my philosophy: say yes, then figure out the rest.
There are always moving parts when I travel. More so, perhaps, for someone like me, i.e., a woman with albinism, visually impaired, intimately acquainted with the ways the world is not always designed with her in mind. The airport reminded me of this immediately. There was no designated accessibility support that I could identify, no sense that the staff had been trained to recognize or respond to vision needs. I have learned, across decades of travel, not to be surprised by this. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, no. It is a gap that exists in most airports in most cities, and Panama's was no different. I note it not to linger there, but because it matters.
What made the difference, as it so often does, was my people. Traveling with a group is its own kind of grace. My companions knew about my vision needs, and they took that knowledge seriously. They became my second pair of eyes without ever making me feel like a burden. That is a gift I do not take lightly.
Before I even packed my bags, I had made another kind of preparation. I contacted SOS Albinos, the organization supporting people with albinism in Panama, and arranged to bring a substantial donation of sunscreen with me. Sunscreen.
It sounds mundane until you understand what it means. For those of us with albinism, sun protection is not optional; it is survival. Panama sits near the equator, where roughly twelve hours of sunlight press down on you daily, relentless and generous and utterly indifferent to your melanin levels. I know sunscreen is my friend. I have known this my whole life. As someone with albinism, it is mandatory that I protect myself from the sun’s rays.
I am always excited to meet others with albinism. Always. No matter how many times it happens — and I have been fortunate enough that it has happened in cities across several continents now — the feeling does not diminish. There is a sense of community that requires no introduction, no lengthy explanation of who you are or what you navigate. Geographic borders mean nothing to it. You recognize each other across a room, across a language, and something settles into place. I find that extraordinary, every single time.
Panama stretched me, too. I am a person who knows her comfort zone well. I know its shape, its edges, its reliable contours. And I have learned, especially in recent years, that the interesting things happen just beyond it. On this trip, I pushed myself in two directions that surprised me.
The first was the Panama Canal. Now, I will be honest with you: I could not see the detail of the locks. The specifics were lost to my vision. But I stood there anyway, and I felt the weight of what I was in the presence of.
More than a century of engineering, of ambition, of human stubbornness and ingenuity. Ships from every corner of the world passing through this narrow corridor of water that someone, once, simply decided to build. You do not need perfect sight to appreciate that. You need only to be present, and willing to let significance wash over you.
The second stretch was a bar. A club. Not typically my scene, and I say that without apology, because we are all allowed our preferences.
But I went. I showed up, I stayed, I participated in the particular joy that comes from people gathered together in a loud room choosing to celebrate being alive. And that, too, was something.
Panama gave me community, history, purpose, and a healthy reminder that the sun is not to be trifled with.
It reminded me why I travel: not simply to see places, but to experience what it means to move through the world as myself, fully and without apology.
