This was more what I'd been expecting. It had a double cab, with an equally old fibreglass Bac Pac cover over the rear that turned it into a van. The sheen of the paintwork had been burned off long ago by tropical heat. Aaron was already inside, leaning over to open my door.
It was like climbing into an oven. The sun had been beating down on the windscreen and it was so hot inside it was hard to breathe. I was just pleased that there was an old blanket draped over the seats to protect us from the almost molten PVC upholstery, though the heat was still doing the business.
A floating ball compass was stuck to the windscreen, and fixed to the dash was a small open can half filled with green liquid. Judging by the picture of flowers on the label it had been air-freshener in a previous life.
'Will you excuse me, Nick? I need a moment. Won't be long.'
I kept my door open, trying to let some air in as he closed his and disappeared behind the Mazda.
It had only been a hundred metres from the terminal building but I was already sweating. My jeans stuck to my thighs and a bead of sweat rolled down the bridge of my nose and added to the misery. At least the air- conditioning would kick in when he started the engine.
I caught four Aarons and Carries in the broken wing mirror, and standing next to her, four wagons. It was also a pickup, but a much older style than the Mazda, maybe an old Chevy, with a rounded bonnet and wings and a flatbed that had wooden slats up the sides, the sort of thing you'd transport livestock in. They were arguing as they stood by the opened driver's door. She waved her hands in the air and Aaron kept shaking his head at her.
I changed view and looked out at the green mountains in the distance and thought of the months I'd spent living in that stuff, and waited for them to finish as a jet-lagged headache started to brew.
A minute or two later he jumped into the cab as if nothing had happened.
'Sorry about that, Nick, just some things I needed from the store.'
By the way she'd reacted they must have been pretty expensive. I nodded as if I hadn't seen a thing, we closed our doors and he started up.
Having kept my window closed to help the air-conditioner spark up, I saw Aaron frantically winding his down as he manoeuvred out of the parking space, using just his fingertips to steer as the wheel must have been hot enough to peel skin. He sounded almost apologetic.
'You need to belt up. They're pretty tough on that round here.'
Glancing at my closed window he added, 'Sorry, no air.'
I wound it down and both of us gingerly fastened belt buckles as hot as a tumble-dried coin. There was no sign of Carrie as we drove out of the car park;
she must have driven away straight after being given her shopping list.
I lowered the sun visor as we passed a group of young black guys dressed in football shorts armed with large yellow buckets, sponges and bottles of washing up liquid. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade; their pools of soapy water on the tarmac just lay there, not evaporating in the high humidity. The Mazda could have done with their services, inside as well as out. Its worn rubber mats were covered in dried mud; sweet wrappers were scattered all over, some stuffed into my door pocket along with used tissues and a half-eaten tube of mints. On the back seat lay yellowing copies of the Miami Herald. Everything looked and smelt tired; even the PVC under the blanket was ripped.
He was still looking nervous as we drove out of the airport and along a dual carriage way The exhaust rattled under the wagon as we picked up speed, and the open windows made no difference to the heat. Billboards advertising everything from expensive perfumes to machined ball bearings and textile factories were banged into the ground at random, fighting to be seen above pampas grass nearly three metres tall each side of the road.
Less than two minutes later we had to stop at a toll booth and Aaron handed over a US dollar bill to the operator.
'It's the currency here,' he told me.
'It's called a Balboa.'
I nodded as if I cared and watched the road become a newly laid dual carriage way The sunlight rebounded off the light-grey concrete big time, making my headache get a happy on.
Aaron could see my problem and rummaged in his door pocket.
'Here, Nick, want these?'
The sunglasses must have been Carrie's, with large oval lenses that Jackie Onassis would have been proud of. They covered half my face. I probably looked a right nugget, but they worked.
The jungle was soon trying to reclaim the land back from the pampas grass either side of the carriage way at least on the areas that weren't covered with breeze block and tin shacks. King-size leaves and vines spread up telegraph poles and over fences like a green disease.
I decided to warm him up before I asked the important ones.
'How long have you lived here?'
'Always have. I'm a Zonian.'
It must have been obvious that I didn't have a clue what he was on about.
'I was born here in the Zone, the US Canal Zone. It's a ten-mile-wide strip about sixteen K that used to bracket the whole length of the canal. The US controlled the Zone from the early nineteen hundreds, you know.' There was pride in his voice.
'I didn't know that.' I thought the US just used to have bases there, not jurisdiction over a whole chunk of the country 'My father was a canal pilot. Before him, my grandfather started as a tug captain and made it to tonnage surveyor you know, assessing the ships' weights to determine their tolls. The Zone is home.'
Now that we were moving at speed, the wind was hitting the right side of my face. It wasn't that cool, but at least it was a breeze. The downside was that we had to shout at each other over the wind rush and the flapping of newspaper and blanket corners against the PVC.
'But you're an American, right?'
He gave a small, gentle laugh at my ignorance. Ivly grandfather was born in Minneapolis, but my father was also born here, in the Zone. The US have always been here, working for the canal authority or in the military. This used to be the headquarters of Southern Command we've had up to sixty-five thousand troops stationed here. But now, of course, everything's gone.'
The scenery was still very green, but now mostly grass. Much of the land had been cleared and the odd flea- bitten cow was grazing away. When the trees did come, they were the same size as European ones, not at all like the massive hundred-foot-tall buttress trees I'd seen in primary jungle further south in Colombia or South East Asia. This low canopy of leaf and palm created secondary jungle conditions because sunlight could penetrate so vegetation could grow between the tree-trunks. Tall grass, large palms and creeping vines of all descriptions were trying their best to catch the rays.
'I read about that. It must be quite a shock after all those years.'
Aaron nodded slowly as he watched the road.
'Yes, sir, growing up here was just like small-town USA,' he enthused, 'apart from no air in the house there wasn't enough juice on the grid in those days. But what the hell? It didn't matter. I'd come home from school and wham! I'm right into the forest. Building forts, fishing for tarpon. We'd play basketball, football, baseball, just like up north. It was Utopia, everything we needed was in the Zone. You know what? I didn't even venture into Panama City until I was fourteen, can you believe that?
For the Boy Scout jamboree.' A smile of fondness for the good old days played across his face as his grey ponytail fluttered in the wind.
'Of course I went north, to California, for my university years, came back with my degree to lecture at the university. I still lecture, but not so much now. That's where I met Carrie.'
So she was his wife. I was pleased to have my curiosity satisfied, and got a sudden burst of hope for the future if I ever reached old age.
What do you teach?'
As soon as he started to answer, I wished I hadn't bothered asking.
'Protecting the bio diversity of plants and wildlife. Forestry conservation and management, that sort of thing. We have a cathedral of nature here.' He looked to his right, past me and up at the canopy and grass-covered mountains in the far distance.
'You know what? Panama is still one of the richest ecological regions on earth, a mother lode of bio diversity ...'
