Is Panama City The Next South Beach?

We take a room in the adjacent building, which is not nearly as architecturally inviting as the main house. But our suite is enormous, with a luxurious modern bathroom and tiny terrace looking out on a ring of mountains. At dinnertime, we stroll through the gardens to the restaurant, now aglow in candlelight.

The next morning, heading back to the city, we stop at a roadside stand and order two chichemes, a heavenly blend of milk, sweet corn, cinnamon and vanilla. If we sip them slowly, they should last us all the way to Panama City.

Fish Market Finds

With just a few hours left in Panama, we decide to go to the source of the country's culinary goodness: the Mercado del Marisco, or fish market.

We slosh around the smelly warehouse, marveling at the piles of beautiful, slimy sea creatures. The vendors, friendly if slightly surprised to see a pair of gringos, teach us words in Spanish. The mero we devoured one night is grouper, longo is a giant tubular clam, and corvina a buttery, rich sea bass.

We meet a vendor named Niño and tell him we're craving lobster. But he shakes his head. "Not fresh," he confides.

Standing 5 feet tall in his rubber galoshes, Niño tells us he has worked the same stall for 33 years. He wants to make a sale, but he also wants satisfied customers. He recommends prawns and calamari. A pound plus of super-fresh seafood for $5.25? Who can argue?

With our catch in hand, we climb a rickety wooden staircase to a restaurant of sorts. Our waitress is brusque and the napkins are paper. There's a menu, but we don't need it.

We ask the kitchen to grill up Niño's goodies. The chef adds a pile of perfect French fries, and our bill comes to $6.

Ceci Connolly, a Washington Post reporter currently on leave, is based in Mexico City.