A stitch in time, or just good luck-I'll take the latter

I am feeling some regret at my lack of preparation for this trip. Life seems to be a series of choices, generally irrevocable. And so I'm going to be winging it. Still, some rough idea of a plan has emerged. Because I don't yet know what I can do, it has about 3 alternates. More on that in a bit. The first leg of my flight was uneventful, I even slept a little, and woke up with the requisite stiff neck. I found a nice corner in Houston and took a lovely nap there, although I was a bit concerned about oversleeping and missing my flight. A funny thing happened shortly after I landed in Panama City. I had put on my money belt after leaving Houston and stuck some 'backup' in it. I stopped to use the bathroom...ok, this next part is a little disgusting, so you may want to skip to the next paragraph. Yes, it fell in. Fortunately it doesn't seem to be very absorbent and it was rescued readily with no damage to the contents. The search for the right bus to the area of town I was headed turned into a saga because I was too stubborn to just take a taxi. I wanted to take a bus to prove to myself that I could figure it out. I had not counted on how rusty my Spanish has become with years of non-use. It doesn't help that the Spanish spoken here sort of sounds like the speaker has a mouthful of banana when they are talking. So I could understand about 1 out of every 10 words, which made for enlightening conversation, especially when I was asking for directions. As usual, people were kind, and while I went by a circuitous route, I did finally arrive. I noticed that people were paying their fares with a little orange card, but I was certain they must also take cash. They do, but only coins, which I was not prepared for. Some random guy got on the bus, took my dollar bill and put in 4 quarters for me, and then hopped back off. That first bus driver then told me where to get off and told me to go izquerda, which I knew meant left. However, how far left and where to turn left were a mystery. But I happened to see a queue for the little orange cards, so I got in line for that. I could not figure out what was wrong when I gave the cashier 2 dollars and asked for a tarjeta. Eventually he said some words I recognized, along with some help from a couple of guys in line behind me- dos mas-ah! A 4 dollar minimum. Ok, success in small measures. So I had the magic card, but no idea where to catch the next bus I needed. I asked a woman waiting nearby and got only 'azul' and that she was pointing up the street. I thanked her and moved in that direction. And there were a few officer-types (I thought) in blue shirts-this must be what she meant. Turns out they were bus drivers, and one of them got on his bus, which was sitting idle, and drove me probably a mile, to where I assumed I was to catch the next bus. I don't know why he did this, he must have been on his break, but it was very kind. I barely remembered to thank him as I struck off in the direction he pointed, hoping to find a bus stop around the corner. Instead I discovered that I was on the square just down the street from my hostel. The room is quite basic, with two plastic chairs, a bed and a ceiling fan-the last perhaps the most important. Oh, and I have my own bathroom. So in spite of myself, I've landed and gotten my feet firmly on the ground. Somehow everything gets easier once I have a room and have dropped my pack. It's not that it's heavy, it's more about feeling exposed and obviously vulnerable as I wander with my pack, pausing to look at a map now and then. Once I have lost the pack, no one knows if I've just arrived or if I'm an expat, at least from a distance.