Eco-Resort in a Panamanian Forest(Gordon England) A previous vacation along Panama's Pacific coast had been fascinating, inexpensive, and safe. I decided this Central American country's famous Canal and remote interior forest needed further exploration. After that first excursion, I tossed around the notion of writing a novel based on the jungle village of Gamboa, halfway across the Panama Canal. Maybe Indiana Jonesish with drug dealers or ancient treasures. That idea led to writing the first chapter with a native girl discovering a gold mask in a bat-filled cave.

In return for constructing the Panama Canal, a ten-mile-wide strip of land straddling the Canal became a U.S. territory named the Canal Zone. Americans who lived in the Zone were called Zonies. A Zonie friend gave me an idea for a final chapter of the book with an escape plan using a little-known tunnel he built long ago. An expedition to Gamboa might inspire me to continue with a novel.

I was surprised to learn the Canal did not cross the whole country. Lake Gatun covered much of the central part of Panama. Canals cut on the east and west sides of the lake connected it to the Pacific and Caribbean Oceans. Gamboa was on the west end of Lake Gatun. It served as a small headquarters for the Canal's Dredging Division, with a primary role of keeping a floating, one-way bridge over the Chagres River operational.

After reading Trip Advisor Reviews of a jungle eco-resort in Gamboa, I booked a reservation with my wife Annie for a different type of vacation. The Gamboa Rainforest Resort's luxury hotel lay on the Chagres River, where it entered the Canal. We scheduled our trip for the spring of 2016 before the summer heat and tropical rain season started.

For weeks before we left, I practiced my Spanish to make for a smoother visit. While Spanish was the country's predominant language, years of American presence in the Canal Zone and on eight military bases had brought a fair understanding of English to the country.

A three-hour plane ride took us from Orlando to Panama City. We passed on a helicopter flight to Gamboa, preferring to take in modern Panama City, the size of Atlanta, during our taxi ride to the resort.

As an engineer, I found the drive along the western Canal sideroad to Gamboa most fascinating. Constructing the World's most enormous ditch through a thick jungle was beyond my imagination. Multitudes of shapes and sizes of shiny leaves overlapping layers of trunks and vines created a shadowed, impenetrable forest. Massive trees reached unknown heights, blocking all but a few slivers of sunlight.

I asked our taxi driver, "I understand Noriega has returned to Panama. Is he free or still in jail?"

"Senior. Noriega will always be in jail for disgracing our country. No one speaks his name. His expensive home in the city lies in ruins because no one will buy it. They did not even put him in a real prison. I will show you where he is in a moment."

"I thought he was in a French prison," Annie said.

"The U.S. successfully extradited him in 1990 and sentenced him to 40 years for cocaine trafficking," I said. "In 2010, they sent him to France to face murder charges. They deported him back to Panama in 2011 to serve three 20-year sentences."

"Si, senior. He is near here."

A mile down the road, the driver said, "Around this next corner is where Noriega will live the rest of his life."

We passed a small building next to the Canal.

"He lives here in our smallest jail by himself," said our driver. "He has a computer and nothing else. His health is failing, so I hope he dies soon."

The nameless building, surrounded by fences and jungle, with few guards, served as an anonymous end for an infamous criminal.

We reached the simple village of Gamboa deep in the Soberania National Park. 'Village' was a suitable word for a dozen 80-year-old barracks raised above the ground to stay dry during monsoon season. The buildings sat permanently shadowed under jungle trees surrounding the village. The jungle hostel provided minimalistic rentals for rustic souls. A rocky road wove through heavy trees, ending at the 166-room Rainforest Resort overlooking the Chagres River. Our driver parked under a massive chandelier lighting a gorgeous Porte-cochere, covered driveway, which protected guests from rain when entering their cars. An English-speaking consigliere and porters met us at the front door.

"Oh my," Annie said as she stepped from our taxi.

I watched her eyes count eight stories of an unexpected white marble building with a lighter green roof than the surrounding jungle. A tall, glass front door trimmed in brass oozed incredible elegance. An abundance of banana trees, thick moist air, and greenhouse odors around the hotel emphasized our jungle location.

"What is this splendid hotel doing here in a forest?" she asked.

I looked at the architecture of a building that would dazzle any modern city. The lobby was a three-level atrium with curved windows. Polished marble covered the floors, and intricate black wood carvings adorned graceful walls. Lianas, shrubs, and an artificial waterfall gave an ecological tonic to the property.

"The website pictures didn't do this justice," I said. "We are in for a delight."

After checking in, we headed to the Monkey Bar to order tropical drinks. We took a table in front of a large, semi-circular window overlooking the River.

Annie's wide eyes took in our hotel sights. "Have you noticed that most exterior walls are glass for spacious views of the river and jungle?"

"How could I not notice? It rates with the best hotels I've stayed in."

I pointed a mile away. "Look beyond the River. The hotel offers tours to that native village."

"I have a brochure showing eco-tours and exhibitions near here," she said with a smile. "We're going to be busy."

"I'm ready for a swim to wash off travel grunge. Let's go to the pool."

Our eco-modest rooms contrasted with the elegant facilities. My favorite part was a hammock on the balcony overlooking the broad, slow Chagres River that carried kayakers through an endless avocado-green jungle.

We floated on tubes in a wandering, curvaceous pool a short while later. Along one side, water flowed over rocks above us, allowing us to swim through a small waterfall. Four stories of balconies and glassed walls rose behind the boulders. After relaxing in the splashing water, we drifted to a pool bar to refill our tropical fruit drinks and exchange stories with other explorers.

I looked forward to dinner at the El Corotu buffet. The modest choices of local foods were new to us and delicious. The Ceviche Corotu and Plantain Corvina, raw fish with vegetables in lime juice and plantains with local fish, brought exotic pleasure to my tongue and a smile to my face.

We revisited the Monkey Bar until sunset, then took a Night Safari Ride through the Rainforest Reserve. A safari truck painted like a leopard took us through the dark jungle. Our guide pointed to a sloth near the front door, hanging from a tree by its tail and long toenails. Its enormous eyes gazed into our spotlight with no movement or emotion. Near the River were groups of strange capybaras, nocturnal mammals akin to 100-pound rats. They stayed away from the water, where green Cayman alligator eyes reflected in our headlights. With no moonlight, an eerie black jungle surrounded us in silence.

The following day, Annie and I took an aerial tram to experience the unique ecosystems of the 50-meter-tall treetop canopy. Black, soft balls two-to-three-foot diameter on tree trunks along the way perked my curiosity. Our guide said they were termite nests found in trees at all elevations. The natives broke the nests open to eat mint-flavored bugs and mush when food was scarce. I would have to be starving to eat termites.

At an observation tower on the treetops, I learned the thick canopy of branches blocked sunshine, which cooled the bare forest floor. The top view looked like a sea of rolling green crowns cut by the Canal. Diverse insects, birds, and animals lived at various ecosystem levels of the trees.

Next, we wandered through small buildings with collections of vivid butterflies, lizards, snakes, orchids, and poisonous frogs. After lunch, a taxi took us along the Canal to boat and machinery staging and repair areas of the World's largest Canal. I admit my profession found these to be of more interest to me than to Annie.

A friend had been a trainer at the Army Jungle Operations Training Center at Fort Sherman near the Canal. He told me about difficult scouting at night where dreaded black palm trees awaited with thousands of needle-shaped, four-inch spines along its trunk. These palms shredded his arms and hands in the dark without mercy. He dreaded the black palms more than snakes at night.

To experience how soldiers fought in dark jungles, I left the safety of hotel lights and walked on a white gravel trail to the edge of a tree line. Fifty feet further and the hotel lights disappeared. Blackness enveloped me, reaching treetops where only stars peeked through leaves. Fifty more feet and the path and individual trees faded away. Faint chirps and grunts rustled through the forest. I shuffled my feet on the gravel trail to scare snakes away, then stopped to experience complete darkness. Black palms, snakes, and any enemy were invisible. Fighting in the jungle at night was incomprehensible to me. Satisfying my curiosity, I turned around and shuffled back to the hotel. Night warriors were much braver than me.

I sipped rich Panamanian Geisha coffee the following morning in my room's balcony hammock. I used no sugar or cream to taint the coffee beans' intense flavor from acid soils surrounding the El Valle volcano, one of three in the country. A combination of jungle smells from vegetation, moisture, dirt, and decaying plants sucked civilization's tension and stress from my mind, bringing deep relaxation to my soul. Faint sounds of insects and birds broke the jungle's silence as the sun peeked over the hilltop across the valley to send golden rays reflecting off the Chagres River. Yellow "hands" (clusters) of small Lady Finger bananas were just beyond my reach. Awakening in this place every morning would be a peaceful life.

We spent a day exploring unique Reserve facilities that offered kayaking across the Panama Canal, fishing expeditions, a sensory spa, and a tour of the indigenous village. Bird and animal observation stations were placed strategically along trails. At dinner that night, I chose a buffet of delicious local cuisine.

The following day, I left warm jungle memories and returned to Panama City for the next leg of our trip. We checked in to the Bristol, a Registry Collection Hotel in the heart of downtown. This boutique resort was on a list of the World's finest, five-star, small hotels. Upon arrival, it lived up to its reputation when a formal-dressed staff offered us cold water and white towels to wipe sweat from our red faces. Brass and glass adornments filled our room with sparkling luxury. A butler offered immediate room service for our slightest needs of food or spa reservations around the clock. Annie took advantage of his service for her slightest whims.

Transportation fees for boats using the Canal transformed this country from Third World to First World, where citizens received free medical care and schooling. A thriving middle class filled Panama City roads with new cars and well-dressed people. This renowned city attracted visitors from around the World to enjoy a booming metropolis with restaurants featuring food from over 100 countries. An abundance of streets, high rises, cars, and casinos could have placed me in Chicago if not for Spanish written on signs and buildings.

A Historic District offered an insight into over 400 years of Spanish antiquity in a well-preserved neighborhood near the ocean. A high police presence ensured tourists' safety along narrow cobblestone streets. Annie found shops along the roads for requisite souvenir shirts and Panama hats.

Historic Catholic churches found on these ancient roads offered fascinating tours into yesteryear. Their centuries-old interiors featured well-preserved art and gold work. The most notable was the Iglesia de San Felipe, home to a statue of the "Black Christ" - Jesus with dark skin. Black, wood architecture and gold adorned the church's interior, lit by many dark candles that emanated a powerful, strange aura. After absorbing this supernatural experience, we left in silence.

Another fascinating place was Perico Island at Fort Grant, a retired U.S. Army Base at the extreme western tip of the Canal. The base's function had been to protect the Canal's entrance so that U.S. enemies could not block essential shipping. Perico Island rose 200 feet from the ocean to a lighthouse. This hollowed-out mountain had stored military supplies but was now empty. Several metal doors blocked old entrances of the honeycombed interior. At the top, I had a satellite view of Albrook Airport, where Navy Seals captured Noriega's plane during their 1989 invasion of Panama. I pondered how Perico Island could play a role in an adventure novel.

We returned home with memories of a fascinating country with canals, jungles, and a city of history and modern times.

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