Get this party bus on the road...

Do me a favor, please. Do a Google search for "Chiva Parrandera." I'll wait.

Ok. Now kindly forget most of what you saw (except for the pictures of the buses).

Last weekend, Tim's co-worker, Gilberto, invited us to join him, his sister and his girlfriend on a Chiva. In Gilberto's words: "What is a chiva? They are a school bus without seats, painted with crazy things and loud music." My first reaction to this fairly accurate (but oh-so-overly-simple) description was:

This terrifies me.


However, after sending our non-refundable check and reaching the point of no return, I was committed to going and not embarrassing Tim in front of his new friends by acting like a pilon.

I should begin by explaining that things here happen on "Panama Time" (which I think holds true throughout Central and South America, and really, parts of the Deep South), that is to say, when--for example-- a Chiva is supposed to happen from 9:30 until 12:00, what that really means is that people will begin to arrive around 10ish, and you will arrive home somewhere in the vicinity of 3. I think, perhaps, if one's appendix had burst, this would be an issue. But generally, once I train myself to kind of get over it, I really prefer this approach to time. It certainly seems to make sense in relation to the way the sun and the rain come and go on a whim.

We arrived at Zona Viva, an enclosed strip of bars and clubs with ridiculous American names that sound like something out of an SNL Stefon sketch and found probably ten different Chivas waiting around the giant parking lot where we met up with our group. The buses range in quality from "used Bluebird school bus" (normal) to "Aerosmith tour bus" (ultra plush). Ours hadn't arrived by the time we got there (about 10:15, aka 45 minutes "late"), so we assembled and got our t-shirts.
T-shirts are a key part of the native Panamanian Chiva--as far as I can tell, tourists just dress tropical-y. You chose your color when you sign up, and every Chiva has a different design. Girls immediately set to work dismantling their shirts with scissors (Lorena immediate whipped a pair out of purse--handy in case of muggings too I guess) and re-creating them in ways that are more appealing (and cooler, temperature-wise) than a regular t-shirt. Guys go hide behind cars and self-consciously change. After this transformation, we entered the Zona Viva to get stamped which would allow us into the clubs when the Chiva returned--girls in one very swift-moving line, guys in another molasses-like one. Thennnnn, we wandered around for a while because we had no idea where our Chiva actually was.

Sweet lord, when it arrived? First I should explain that this and most "real" Panamanian Chivas, unlike the tourist ones, are set up for special occasions among groups of friends. Though they were strangers to us, were weren't really boarding the bus with a group of strangers, but for the birthday of a friend of a friend of a friend named Eliecer. So this bus was a very special bus for his birthday--not an Aerosmith bus, perhaps, but certainly no Bluebird either. Our first clues that the bus was awesome? The bus had four televisions on the outside, and steam on the windows. Steam on the windows means A/C on the inside, which is a good, good thing.
Inside the bus we find red lounge style seats in the front, dangling ropes to hold on to while the bus moves, a giant TV in the back, huge booming speakers (though sometimes there are live bands), two poles (classy!), and an open bar (which doesn't serve beer because, Compadres, there is only one bathroom stop on this trip). My first apprehension with this little adventure went something like "OMG, people stand up and drink on a moving vehicle in Panamanian traffic in the middle of the night? How are thousands of people not killed on these death traps?" Well, I'm an idiot. The buses travel at approximately 5mph and everyone in Panama knows what they are and avoids them on the roads. When the bartender ran out of coke, we just pulled over and someone ran inside and got more. It's a pretty fabulous system really.
Half way through the trip we stopped at a family-style Italian restaurant so everyone could use the restroom and get some fresh air. Another Chiva, with another group of people in their own matching outfits, stopped right in front of us, so it's clear that the restaurant must have some sort of Chiva-friendly kickback. Why else would they let a lot of drunk 20-somethings pee in their restaurant at 1 a.m., I ask you?
By the time the floor of the bus was completely sticky with spilled seco, and I thought I could not possibly sweat anymore, we pulled up to Zona Viva and disembarked. We spent a few more hours dancing at a club called "Chill Out" and praying for a breeze, until Gilberto's amazing parents picked us up and brought us all back to the apartment (where we discussed the concept of 4th meal and the injustice of Taco Bell--which delivers here--closing at 3:00 a.m.).

All in all, I'm still kind of in shock that something this ridiculous exists (I sincerely, sincerely apologize for not providing you with a picture of the outside of the bus), but I'm so glad it does. It's too glorious and ridiculous not to.