Panama: Its pretty frickin sweet

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  Bocas del toro, Panama
Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Panama: It's Pretty Frickin' Sweet

Bocas Del Toro, Panama - Having been reunited with my 'travel team' again after more than two years apart - after doing our own separate things in our own separate places -Andy and Amber met me in Panama City just after Christmas so we could check out all things Panamanian. Andy and Amber traveled with me through major chunks of South America during the summer of 2003. When I told them I would go traveling again they both threatened to come down and visit me as I wandered through Latin America. But here is the crazy part: they actually made good on their threats. The ensuing week and a half of travel in tourist-friendly Panama has thus been pretty frickin' sweet.

We began our adventure in incredibly developed and cosmopolitan Panama City, where skyscrapers and fast food chains lend a completely westernized backdrop to a historically and geographically fascinating area

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. The money generated by the former US occupation and, more so, the income from the Panama Canal, have allowed the nation to develop into a nearly first-world type country. Poverty is much less noticeable here than in other Central American nations and there are surprisingly large groups of middle and upper class Panamanians. The travel team stayed in the historic, old-town district of Panama City called the Casco Viejo, a densely inhabited, slowly decaying district of turn of the century wooden houses inhabited by some of the country's poorer residents. Many of these dwellers share an anti-American sentiment which lingers from the long US military presence in the area. From our hotel balcony we could see the Puente de las Americas, the bridge which spans the Panama Canal and figuratively connects the Americas. A short bus ride toward the canal and we were able to - in a somewhat herd-like fashion - watch massive tankers cruise through the Canal and out into the Pacific. Not knowing a whole lot about lock design or the "Theory of Connecting Chambers," our fascination with this marvel in modern architecture was surely more figurative than anything else. The historical, geopolitical and global economic importance of the Canal seemed more interesting. Unfortunately, the content of the short introductory film about the Canal stayed far away from the human cost of the construction of the Canal or the war time ramifications and came off sounding more like a 1950's US government propaganda film highlighting the canal's safety record and income generation for Panama's banking industry

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This kind of moving walkway tourism, however, was not the reason we came to Panama. In fact, after much contemplation and fried chicken in the capital city, none of us were sure exactly why we came to this country. But all of us had heard talk of a little-known archipelago just off Panama's Caribbean coast. Rumors of a self-governing indigenous tribe still inhabiting its native land and impossibly idyllic palm tree islands bobbing in the turquoise sea were too much for our collective curiosity to resist. So we headed to the airport to see if there was a way to view this region known as the San Blas Islands.

Immediately upon landing in our 30 seat plane on a tiny airstrip running the length of a white sand ringed island it became clear that we had changed our whole latitude. The airport, made up of a thatched hut and palm tree frond roof, didn't even have any method of security. Groups of locals waited for us to disembark from the plane and take us away to even more remote islands. We hopped on a boat with a soft-spoken member of the Kuna tribe, who owned a small hotel and told us he would take care of us. The locals, of whom the women still dressed in traditional garb, were an absolutely mesmerizing group.

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We learned that the independently governed island archipelago of San Blas is a group of 365 islands just north of the central section of the Panamanian isthmus. The indigenous Kuna tribe (population 47,000) inhabits only 40 islands in the archipelago. Many of the other islands are less than 100 meters in diameter and have only a few coconut palms growing out of the white sand. Together, the islands form a politically autonomous region in Panama; a region which is untaxed by the government and makes independent decisions as governed by a tribal council, but does have some representation in Panama's federal government in the national assembly. The Kuna are one of the most traditional independent indigenous groups anywhere in the Americas. Having been completely autonomous and mostly undisturbed since Panama granted the region's independence in 1952 after years of bloody struggle, the Kuna are able to preserve much of their fascinating cultural heritage to this day. One of the more striking features of this heritage is their traditional garb. The women wear hand-stitched clothes including a regionally sought after piece called a mola. They adorn their bodies with long single-stranded colorful bracelets on their legs and arms and gold jewelry and have nose piercings.

Just seeing the traditional Kuna walking through their native village was worth the price of flying to these remote islands. I have only encountered such undisturbed native traditions in a few isolated areas of the world. But the tribal life is only half the draw to the San Blas Islands. We couldn't have comprehended the majestic natural attractions these islands were until we were taken on a day trip by motor boat to some smaller uninhabited islands of the archipelago. Just a short ride away dotted the horizon innumerable tiny white-sand ringed, palm tree covered, perfectly circular islands, surrounded by coral reefs and light-blue water. These islands usually measured less than a hundred yards across. So within a few hours of arriving in the San Blas, Andy, Amber and I found ourselves sunning on an almost empty tropical island paradise, sipping juice from freshly cut coconuts and snorkeling off of a nearby coral-covered shipwreck in perfectly clear water full of brilliantly colored fish. These islands were so ridiculously idyllic I would have only thought I could find them in a dream or on a movie set.

Back on our home island later that afternoon we noticed there had been a significant increase in the intensity of the music throughout the thatched hut town. And that the smell of alcohol permeated the air. The friendly Kuna speak a tribal language primarily, but many speak Spanish secondarily, so we were able communicate about what was taking place with some of the locals. Apparently we had arrived on the island at an important time. The Kuna were celebrating the coming of age of some of the local women of the island. This five day celebration only takes place a few times a year and is considered one of the most important festivals by the Kuna. Apparently this day was day three of the five days and considered un dia fuerte. Today was open bar for the entire island! Even the women were to be included in the day's events. From nine in the morning until two in the afternoon a Panamanian liquor called seco had been freely passed from local to local or poured into the mouths of those who could no longer stand. Nearly all the men on the island were intoxicated and had been for three days straight, some to the level which made their Spanish impossible to understand. Chiefs from various local islands had come to take part and were dressed in white today, red the day before and green the next day. All the action revolved around an enormous thatched hut in the middle of town. As tourists, we were technically not allowed to be involved in any of the activities. But we were able to stand outside the hut and look in. There were scores of men laying in hammocks in the dark, smoky structure; some were singing while others were smoking some sort of herb. Many were passed out. The chiefs were inside. Outside the tent was where the most raucous drinking occurred. Bottles came around and sometimes we were even offered a chug. But not as often as the men who lay drooling against the wall. But the air was positive and of excitement. And no matter how drunk they were, everybody wore a smile. It was difficult to understand what the significance of the various activities was. At one point, all of the traditionally dressed Kuna women came pouring out of the central hut, apparently to walk to the water together to urinate simultaneously. Later on the men followed suit. The only constant was the repetitive but non-rhythmic strumming of a guitar, chanting, and a steady flow of booze.

At two in the morning or so, after taking in what seemed to be our fill of the celebration, we retired to our thatched-wall hotel room, which sat no more than 20 feet from the entrance to the central hut. The noise level continued to rise. Fights were breaking out in front of the hut. Finally the alcohol had brought this tranquil bunch beyond the point of peace and harmony. Perhaps the fighting was all in good spirit. And clearly, nobody was sober enough to do any harm to anyone else. But the party continued all through the night. At six in the morning when we were preparing for the next day's trip the party raged on. There was no stopping the celebration. Clearly, these people were of very strong tradition and belief. And booze.

We were able to learn more about the Kuna as our trip wore on. They are extremely proud of their culture and have fought endlessly to protect their heritage throughout their history. From Spanish invaders to Colombian then Panamanian attempts at "civilization" the Kuna have always strived for their independence. Even after gaining political autonomy the Kuna have had their battles. As an island nation without a major source of agricultural production, the tribe has relied on earning plata (money) from the trade of palm coconuts. They have consistently turned down lucrative offers by outside business interests in the name of cultural preservation. The US Navy even proposed building a base on the islands but, despite the obvious financial gain inherent in the proposal, the Kuna effectively told the US to 'Get lost' by pitching their own half-serious but all ironic proposal: that the navy build their base in the treacherous Darien Gap instead of on Kuna land. Kuna land is their land alone and they are reluctant to allow outside interests to interfere in their culture. They are hesitant to allow westernization of their islands. That said, tourism is slowly becoming the principal means of financial support for the tribe. Major cruise lines now stop on some of the small islands. More hotels go up every year. Even though tourists are not allowed to take part in much of the daily Kuna life, they are bringing more plata here all the time. And with this financial gain comes cultural loss, greed, westernization, and eventually, immersion. The elders are not happy and the tribe itself may be facing its biggest challenge yet, although it is a seemingly less dangerous or violent challenge than those of the bloody past. But for now the Kuna are an indigenous cultural anomaly, living in a nearly unspoiled tropical paradise which few are privileged to see. It didn't truly hit me until our arrival by plane back to gritty Panama City - in which we had to pass through Panamanian customs and immigration - that we had truly been in a completely different, and as of yet, mostly undiscovered country.

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