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It's been ten years since I was last in Panama. I'm (not so) fresh off the 8 hour bumpy local bus from the boarder with Costa Rica. Following a brief interlude at Panama's city mall and transport hub, the helpful yet confused cab driver and I are squinting into the middle distance and sweating in heat, trying to make out shapes among suburban houses in a quiet street. Salsa is playing from his car radio, drifting out into the night air. Crickets are humming away in the dark heat. We've been staring at a screenshot on my phone which has taken us to 'the only house with a red wall' on the street. My air b and b. Well that seems simple enough. Supposedly. After we've done a couple of slow laps of the little block looking for the mystery red wall, I finally see a shape moving in the distance. Elena emerges from the darkness flanked by several barking dogs and a big smile. "Darling, you're late! I wanted to take you out to Casco Viejo!" Elena and I have never met before, but she's already decided we're going to be friends. I like her instantly. Within minutes of landing at Casa de Toto, I've chucked my bag in the perfect little room and kicked off my boots. When I come back out to the patio, my hostess has made me a cup of chamomile tea and served me a piece of traditional Panamanian bread with almonds. It's delicious and light. It's hot and muggy and getting late into the night now, and after my long day, the miles traveled, I can feel the sugary bread and the hot tea giving energy back to my tired body. I feel really welcome, and very at home. It turns out Elena is what I would dare to call a typical Panamanian: friendly, welcoming, open-minded and expressive. Out on the terrace, as the dogs come and sniff my stuff and my feet, Elena plies me with questions about my journey and my dreams, and she's very excited to hear I'm a writer. Within a few minutes her conversation is so good that I grab my notebook and start to make notes of the things we are talking about, the topic matter feels too scholarly not to chronicle it. Elena's house is beautiful, it's in an area of Panama city they call Balboa. The neighbourhood is outside the main hustle and bustle of the town centre, on the banks of the Panama canal. The area was originally built by the US military to house administrative employees and canal bosses; it feels like an idyllic suburban scene from an American movie that has been transposed into a tropical climate. The area is 'tranquilo' indeed: not quiet, peaceful. Rainforest boarders the overgrown garden and the many animals combine to create a hum and a rustle, it's not quiet, it's peaceful. In this part of the 'city', it's not unusual to see a Toucan or three pop into say hello and munch on fruit from the trees. If you're especially lucky you might even see a sloth, which Latinos call an 'oso peresoso,' literally translated - a lazy bear! The next day, Elena insists her nephew drive me around to give me the city tour. The family are really excited that I haven't been in Panama in ten years, and they're sure I'm going to be really surprised at the changes round here. They're right. When I get back from the drive Elena is dressed in her trademark grin as well as her apron, cooking up some 'comida casera'. Her eyebrows are raised expectantly, she can't wait to hear what I thought. "It's changed out there, right mami?" she asks. "All for the better, Elena", I say. All for the better.