Leadership reveals itself most clearly in moments of pressure, not comfort. It was a privilege to engage with fellow global leaders at the World Travel & Tourism Council on the Suez Canal in Egypt, aboard the Crystal Serenity. The focus wasn’t on growth for growth’s sake, rather on what leadership requires during periods of sustained disruption. Hearing from former President Calderón of Mexico, former President Macri of Argentina, and getting to meet President El‑Sisi of Egypt offered perspectives shaped not by theory, but by consequence. Different countries. Different circumstances.
Yet two moments stayed with me. The first centered on the widening gap between the workforce our industry needs and the structures we’ve failed to modernize. Without fundamental change, an estimated 43 million travel and tourism roles may remain unfilled over the next decade. This is not a future problem, rather a leadership problem, failing in real time. If our industry supports nearly 10% of the global workforce, then our responsibility extends beyond efficiency. The integration of AI must move in lockstep with policies that reflect equity, inclusion, and long‑term social impact.
The second moment was deeply human. Before his presidency, President Macri was abducted, beaten, and held captive for 14 days, a story I heard him tell some years earlier at a different gathering. He shared the experience without drama, but its weight was unmistakable. President Macri used it as a reminder of how quickly power dissolves, saying in a moment, you are reduced to nothing. What he said next is what never gets old. “We must never forget who gave us power, and more importantly, why they gave it to us.”
That lesson belongs to no party or ideology. It speaks to leadership itself, and to the humility required to wield it responsibly.
There is no video this week, rather a photo I will cherish for a while.
Panama has always been hiding in plain sight. It connects two continents, bridges two oceans, and carries one of the most consequential waterways ever carved by human hands — and yet it has remained Central America’s best‑kept secret. Not for much longer.
For years, the adventurous traveler instinctively looked to Costa Rica. It was the safe bet—the well‑worn path, the postcard everyone already owned. Panama, meanwhile, sat just to the south, patient and largely unvisited, its jungles deepening, its archipelagos glittering, its indigenous communities living much as they have for centuries. The world simply wasn’t paying attention. Now, quietly and undeniably, that is changing.
What’s emerging is nothing short of a revelation. Deep in the Darién, one of the most biodiverse and genuinely wild places on the planet, jaguars still rule. In the San Blas archipelago—365 coral‑fringed islands, many of them uninhabited—the Guna Yala people remain sovereign stewards of their extraordinary world, welcoming visitors on their own terms. In the cloud forests of Boquete, resplendent quetzals drift through the mist like something conjured from mythology. This is adventure travel in its truest form: raw, reciprocal, and deeply real.
As we speak, our own Gisela Polo—many of you know her well—is on the ground in Panama, doing the work no algorithm can do. She’s tracking down the guides who know where harpy eagles nest. She’s sleeping in stilted villages above the Caribbean, navigating rivers by dugout canoe, and asking the questions that turn a place into an itinerary, and an itinerary into a journey. What she’s finding is exactly what we suspected: a destination that’s ready, and a country proud to share itself.
Panama offers something increasingly rare in this overscheduled, over‑photographed world—the genuine sensation of discovery. Of being somewhere before the crowd arrives. Of sitting with an Emberá elder along the Chagres River. Of watching a massive Panamax ship slip through the locks from a vantage point most people never find. Of hiking into the highlands at dawn, when the air smells of coffee flowers and cool earth.
The infrastructure is maturing. The lodges are extraordinary. The people are extraordinary. And the stories—the stories—are still waiting to be told.
Panama’s time is now.
