Paradise/Lost

Knowing that it was my last weekend in Panama, Tim and I wanted to do something unique and unmissable and which we would regret not doing. So we settled on going to the San Blas islands, in Kuna Yala, a comarca controlled by Kuna indians in the north east of Panama. Tim arranged everything, while I sat by the pool and read The Grapes of Wrath. As I may or may not have already mentioned, I've taken to letting (forcing?) Tim plan our weekend trips because it's a particular skill of his.

Cannot pick up socks/Can locate excellent bed and breakfast in rural Virginia. Who knew?

But this time, I started to doubt his decision making skills before we even left the apartment.

1. The day before we left he forwarded me an email from our hired driver, and commented simply: "Does this inspire confidence?" This is coming from a person who would buy a cookie from a crackhead if it looked like it was chocolate chip.
2. We heard numerous horror stories about the road (singular) to San Blas. It's muddy. It washes out. In order to get there, you have to have a jeep. A hum-vee. A tank. A submarine. You could fly there, but if you did, you might end up waiting four or more hours on the mosquito-infested airstrip for you return flight to pick you up.
3. San Blas is directly adjacent to the Darien, where we have been expressly forbidden by the Embassy to go because that is where the FARC hang out in Panama and they have been known to kidnap diplomats and give them Cheerios laced with cocaine. Ok, I made the last part up--what they do is actually much worse and I'm sure they neither have access to Cheerios nor waste their cocaine on their hostages.

But the thing is, we really wanted to go. When Tim says something is amazing, I have a tendency to believe him. I mean, he thinks I'm amazing.

So Friday arrived and with it, our driver. Here is something fun: Kunas speak Kuna. We speak English. The language we all try to speak to meet in the middle is Spanish. Kind of.

The drive from Panama City to San Blas is essentially this: 1 hour of highway, then stop to change drivers ("Buenas, me llamo Felix. Somethingsomethingsomethingsomething.") and pick up some boxes, and then one and a half straight hours on road like a roller coaster, then drive through the river, then drive up the air strip, yes, up the airstrip, and voila: you have no cell service so I hope you can find your boat driver.

Oh, I left out an import part. It's important to, as they say, grease the wheels. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Give out a little bakseesh. There are a few passport checks on the way to Kuna Yala, so be sure to have some puppies on hand. What Tim and I thought was a box of beer, we soon found out was actually a box of very quiet, but very adorable puppies, which our driver was handing out to his friends along the way (he makes that drive multiple times a day, every day, so he knows people). We got to pet only one because neither of us knows how to say "pretty pleeeeease OMG I wanna hold the tiny puppy now" in Spanish, but it soooo filled up the heart meter after that gut wrenching car ride.
Puppy goes back in the box; we go over the river. In the car.

On the other side is the air strip, and the dock where the boat would presumably pick us up for the hour+ trip to Kuanidup (kwah-nee-DOOP). We assumed that our driver would tell us what to do next, or that perhaps our boat would be waiting for us, but uh... this is the part where I got very, very cranky. My doubts were rapidly multiplying and I weighed the practicality of taking out a restraining order against Tim, who was obviously trying to get me killed by bringing me here but...

[lots of difficulty and complaining omitted]

Look! We're on a boat! Called the Kuanidup Betty! It's so friggin' beautiful! Tim is a GENIUS!

There's just something about sitting there with your face in the wind that makes you forget anything that might have been plaguing you/trying to get you murdered. Close your eyes and it's the perfect feeling... until you open them and there is an island squatting under a protective turtle shell cloud, blue on blue on blue. Ugh, it's so amazing it nearly gives you a heart attack.

After an hour of passing little islands with palm trees and huts, daydreaming about Robinson Crusoe and LOST and The Little Mermaid, and wondering if each island was the one we would be spending the next three days on, we finally zeroed on Kuanidup. The island is no bigger than a football field, with about ten huts for guests, one hut with three bathrooms and showers, one for meals, one for buying beer and other necessities, and a few for the 10 or so permanent residents of the island.

As we docked, people laying on the sand or playing in the water waved (!) and a boy came up and grabbed our bags.

And then we were left to do whatever we wanted. On an island that looks like this. For three whole days. It boggles the mind.

Mind. Boggled.

Included in this trip were excursions and meals, which seemed almost secondary to me, as I am someone who is very enthusiastic about hammocks and sand. I am aware that one can, but probably should not eat either hammocks or sand, but that doesn't stop me from thinking those were the two most important part of the trip.
This right here? This might be the happiest I could possibly be.

I should at least mention the exursions, though, because they were both nearly outside the scope of my imagination AND they're much more interesting than just talking about how I want to lay in a hammock full time, for my job, no benefits required, daiquiris would be nice, let me know where to send my resume.

This is the nearest island visible from Kuanidup, inhabited only by birds and bad juju (probably not really). Tim created his own excursion by swimming there and checking things out. I, however, only made it half way before the depth of the ocean and the sound of my breathing in the snorkle (AKA: snerkle), made me feel like I was surrounded by just too goddamn much water. There is a great chance that if we'd had more people with us, or I hadn't been using the snerkle, I actually would have felt much more robust, but instead I turned around and laid on the sand wishing I had gills. And a harpoon.

In the afternoon, we went with a group to one of the bigger Kuna villages. I have to state for the record that the reason there are no more than two pictures is that the Kuna are very enterprising and have realized that white people will pay for anything. So if you take out your camera, they say "One dollar." I don't have that many dollars.

Really, I don't blame them. They've done a pretty incredible job of preserving their culture, which means balancing openness with a touch of reserve. People are going to come, you might as well let them in. Better to let them in on your terms.

Fun facts: the Kuna are the shortest people in the world besides the pygmies. Which explains Tim's posture in this picture. And why little kids thought he was hilarious. But then, I think he's hilarious and it has nothing to do with his height.

Almost every structure in the village, in every village we saw, was constructed similarly to the one in this picture, though many were much larger, and occasionally some were made from concrete. In general, women dress traditionally, while men dress in western clothing. And on the day we arrived, they were having a celebration called chicha inna, which is a coming of age ceremony apparently for young girls, though you wouldn't have guessed that because it was mostly men smoking and drinking chicha. Ask someone in Panama what chicha is and you will get 100 different answers, but that day it was coffee, sugar cane juice, and sugar which had been fermented in large earthenware jars. Sort of like Buzz Beer, only not fictional and way coffee-er.

We were also able to buy freshly-baked coconut bread, 10 little loaves for 50 cents. 'Nuff said.

Our last excursion was to Isla Perro, Dog Island, and we departed immediately after our camera died. so please take the following picture and multiply it by shipwreck.

Got that? Snerkling x Shipwreck - Underwater Camera = Sorry Folks You Just Have to Take My Word For It.

We never heard the story of how the ship got there, but once you're under water, and you can hear the fish crunching the coral (I guess that's what that crazy sound is?), you really of don't care where the ship came from, you're kind of just totally glad it sank. The ship was only about 20 yards of the shore of Isla Perro, which, like Kuanidup had a beautiful, clear, waveless, white sand beach. The rusted rear of the ship, which must have been some kind of cargo ship, poked up out of the water, while the body stretched another 30 yards back, visible below the surface.

Though the ocean floor was mostly an empty expanse of white sand, with a few clumps of brain coral here and there, the ship was a big, blooming cluster of coral and fish in every color. How can I thank Tim enough for taking me there? How can I do it so his ego doesn't get all inflated?


This says everything about this trip, and about my time in Panama in general: my one goal, the whole time we were on Kuanidup, was to find a conch. And on the last morning that we were there, I walked out in the ocean, and there under the water, I found one.

It's a very simple and unsophisticated goal. It has everything to do with pleasure and nothing to do with "real life." But it made me incredibly happy, and I'm very lucky.