Ancón

Karen's morning starts with a run up Cerro Ancón before the humidity peaks — she passes sloths in the cecropia trees and waves to the same park ranger every day. Her rented house is a 1940s Canal-era wood-frame with screened porches, the kind that barely exists in the rest of Panama City anymore. The STRI campus at Tupper is a ten-minute drive; she could walk but the hill return in afternoon heat is punishing.

Groceries mean a trip to the Riba Smith at Albrook Mall, which she combines with whatever else she needs — the mall is the de facto town center for this part of the city. There's no corner bodega or cafe within walking distance, which is the trade-off for living inside what is essentially a national park. On weekends she drives to the Causeway for brunch or down to Casco Viejo, both under fifteen minutes.

The neighborhood's quirk is its silence. At night the only sounds are frogs and the occasional ship horn from the Canal. Her Panamanian colleagues think she's eccentric for choosing Ancón over San Francisco, but she came here for the biodiversity and the history — the old Canal administration buildings, the flagpole on the summit, the sense that this hilltop was the center of a century-long American experiment. For an ecologist, it's paradise. For someone who wants a latte within walking distance, it's not.