We got to the airport at Bogota in good time for the short cross-border flight, made necessary by continued rebel violence in the Darien Gap frontier area.
In truth, we were half crossing our fingers because we knew that strictly-speaking you need to have an onward flight to be allowed into Panama.
However, we thought our tickets from Guatemala to Cuba and then home from Mexico City would be proof enough that we didn´t plan to go into hiding in Colon, or somewhere.
The lady at check-in was sympathetic but unswerving. We couldn´t get on the plane without an onward ticket and one for the bus we planned to take to Nicaragua just would not do.
So, we faced a race against time to buy the cheapest flight ticket on any sensible route before rushing back to check in, through security and onto the plane.
In the end, we made it easily but not before shelling out three times the sum we would have spent on the two-day bus journey.
And not without my getting our sun cream confiscated at security because in the kerfuffle I´d forgotten about the no-liquid-in-hand-luggage rule
And neither without the One With The Common Sense getting seriously aggro with a customs man who delayed her by chatting to his mates instead of stamping her passport.
The most infuriating thing was that when we left Panama five days later, they didn´t even bother to stamp us out - so much for those strict customs regulations.
Oh, yes, and all Panama hats are actually made in Ecuador.
Despite the unpromising start to our visit, we really enjoyed Panama City.
It´s much more cosmopolitan than any city we visited in South America.
Its role as a major port has ensured an influx of immigrants from Europe, China, the Indian sub-continent - as evidenced by the rare sight in these parts of people in Muslim and Hindu dress, the West Indies and, of course, the US.
Add to that the indigenous Kuna people, with their bright headscarves and beads wound around their legs and forearms, and if makes for a really colourful place.
Incidentally, it´s easy to see why Colombus thought he´d discovered the back door to Asia when he stumbled across the Americas. These folk, who mostly live in an autonomous island region off Panama´s north coast, really resemble south east Asians at first sight.
We based ourselves in the city´s old quarter where the presidential palace, some beautiful churches and restored colonial blocks sit alongside crumbing buildings whose facades recall past glories.
Trendy cafes are next door to grubby hostels and fondas (cheap restaurants), while numerous tumbledown housing blocks await improvements.
In many ways this quarter is a microcosm of the whole city, which has a seafront of impressive skyscrapers overlooking ragged single-storey concrete homes with corrugated metal roofs.
The bus ride to the smart canal zone district of Balboa - for the best part of a century US territory - reveals rotting flats which recall London´s worst social housing and are home to the city´s majority.
The contrast was startling.
In Balboa, a 6km causeway stretches into the sea to form a huge breakwater at the canal entrance.
It leads to three islands built with spoil dug out during constuction works, on which expensive cafes with views of yacht club harbours cater for ladies at lunch.
They were too pricey for us but it was certainly nice to feel the sea breeze as we munched on a butty, away from the stifling heat and humidity of the busy city centre.
Far more our style, however, was the cheap and cheerful Avenida Central, near our hostel, where hollering street vendors flog anything from fragrant pineapples and watch straps to coffee from flasks.
They compete with the noise from cheap fashion stores belting out Latin tunes, while women with enormous booties swing their hips to the beat, drunks sleep on benches and a man with a giant moustache offers to take the photo of anyone who catches his eye.
Meanwhile, we dined in cheap Chinese-run fondas which serve huge portions of stews, oriental stir-fries and meatballs with rice and lentils or beans for a couple of dollars.
In between meals, our new favourite snacks are batidos - delicious shakes made with fresh fruit and milk (rather than sickly flavouring and ice cream, as at home).
Their restorative powers are amazing when you´re flagging in the heat.
Panama´s history - and the role played by the canal - is fascinating, as we discovered during a visit to a splendidly comprehensive museum dedicated to the topic.
Even before the canal was built, the Spanish conquistadors had used first a land and then a rail route through the country to transport treasure plundered from Latin America.
The success of British and French pirates meant its fortunes dipped until the knock-on effects of the San Francisco gold rush again saw trade increase.
By the start of the 20th cenutry, Britain, France and the US were all considering the prospects of creating a canal.
The French tried first, pouring millions of dollars into a scheme to cut a canal on the level. Their failure to properly supply and care for workers meant thousands died of mosquito-borne diseases and other complaints - as the grand plan flopped.
US politicians preferred a route through Nicaragua and only the intervention of Teddy Roosevelt ensured they chose the Panama option.
It would be interesting to see how history would have unfolded had he not done so. Panama might still have been part of Colombia and who knows how much better Nicaragua would have fared.
They might have bought Panameña independence and the rights to build and operate the canal on dubious terms but at least the Yanks supplied the workers properly, building hospitals and recreational facilities.
It took until 1999 - and several violent protests - for Panama to finally get the canal zone territory back from the US but it has undoubtedly benefited from the influx of trade.
Spending four full days in Panama City - rather than the two we had planned - gave us a chance to see plenty from the windows of the local commuter buses.
It is always an experience.
In much of Latin America, they take the form of old US or Canadian school buses.
However, instead of the regulation yellow, they are painted in bright blues and reds, with slogans on the side about being "red hot" or "fast and furious".
Owned by co-operatives or drivers, they are a law unto themselves as far as routes go. You have to look out for your destination on stickers on the windscreen, or else listen out for the stops being yelled out by a conductor who is usually hanging half way out of the door.
Many have fake Oldsmobile, Buick or Jaguar badges on the side and more often than not there´s a slogan about Jesus being the driver´s saviour. (They´re not usually planning to save themselves, judging by the speed they go).
Some even have paintings of Jesus on the back. Other drivers opt for graphic representations of their wives or favourite pop star.
One of my favourites was a bus that proudly bore the names "John Travolta" and "Sponge Bob" - an unlikely alliance, if ever there was one.
(Mind you, I did see one in Bolivia displaying a huge painting of Osama Bin Laden and Che Guevara in front of the twin towers - it´s no wonder many Americans are reluctant to reveal their nationality around here).
On board, there tends to be a refreshing level of courtesy. Children automatically stand up for their elders, without complaint, and women are usually offered a seat.
If you´re lucky, the stereo will be pumping out merengue or salsa beats, and if you´re really fortunate your knees might fit in between your seat and the one in front.
Cramped the buses might be, but I´d always take them over a taxi.
In Colombia, we took more precautions than usual over our travel and rather than walk through places we weren´t sure about to catch a bus, would instead flag a taxi.
I´m not sure which frightened me more - the prospect of knifepoint robbery or five minutes in the back of one of these tiny yellow Fiats with Juan Pablo Montoya´s frustrated and less-talented cousin behind the wheel.
They certainly drive with the same speed, aggression and abandon with overtaking as the former F1 star. But I´m not convinced their vehicles would cope quite so well in a high-speed shunt.
It´s a shame Colombia has a reputation for violence and instability because we found its people to be as friendly as any we had met on the continent.
Many people were keen to chat, especially once they´d ascertained you weren´t American, and not all of them just wanted to sell you drugs.
People seemed willing to go the extra mile to help you find your bearings, make sure you didn´t stray from safe areas, or simply to chat - let you know a little about their country and find out something about yours.
This made it double sad we couldn´t spend more time there.
In truth, we should have chosen to visit either Colombia or Ecuador for a longer period rather than rushing through both.
But flying from Colombia was cheaper and we liked the thought of making it to the Caribbean coast at Cartagena, which would have meant we´d travelled the length of South America by bus.
That turned out to be a step too far and we instead chose to fly from Bogota but reviewing our journey on the map still leaves us with some satisfaction.
It has been one heck of a journey.
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