A Kuna Matata in Kuna Yala
After extensive research in
our guidebooks as to figure out what our next destination should be, Peter and I decided on the Archipelago de San Blas, a group of secluded Caribbean islands halfway down Panama's eastern coastline. These islands are a few steps off the beaten track and is accessible only by boat or small aircraft. Only being $35 a pop from the Panama City, we booked a flight in Bocas and headed for the capital. After a boat ride and 11 hrs on a bus, we found ourselves in Panama City at 1am and still only half the way there, still needing to catch a puddle jumper at 6am to complete the journey.Being the shie
st that I am, I didn't see the point in spending money on a hotel when we only had a couple idle hours until our flight took off. So, we opted to pull an all-nighter and took up residence in a booth at a 24 hour cafe in the bus terminal. We were tired. We had hoped to sleep on the bus from Bocas, but between the three screaming babies sitting right next to us, and a blaring Jackie Chan movie -which also appeared to be about a baby, who cried in every scene- there was no chance. Now, beyond the point of exhaustion, we passed the time drinking espressos and playing paper football (I won 27-6).It was a surprise to us then when, a few hours later, as our plane coasted over the atolls and cayes of the San Blas, we were still not tired, but filled with anticipation. Kusping the shallow waters just off the Colon province and mainland Panama, this postcard worthy sprinkling of islands has a history that is equally as impressive as its vistas. Of the 350 plus islands, only 40 are inhabited by the Kuna, a group of indigenous peoples who pride themselves on being the last pure descendants of the Mayan and Inca
nations. The San Blas, or Kuna Yala as they call it, won autonomy from Panama back in 1930 after a bloody uprising against the repressive Panamanian police patrolling the area. Still recognized as an independent comercia, Kuna Yala has its own government, police, and currency. The Kuna are a very proud people and have gone to great lengths to preserve their culture and heritage. Amazingly, they have managed to resist outside intrusion by foreigners (no one can own land in the San Blas unless they are a native born Kuna) and have maintained there simple fish and coconut biased economy that is generously subsidized by tourism.
That would lead us back to, well... us and as Peter and I rolled our bags off the tarmac we were greeted by a horizon
dotted with small white sand isletas, all of which about the size of a city block, completely shaded in palm trees and boasting one or two palm thatched cabanas. It was simply gorgeous, it was a cover photo for Travel Magazine.
We found a good hotel on one of the more inhabited islands, and for a set price, we got three squares a day (consisting of fish, fish, and more fish) and two tours to other outlying cayes. This was a great deal and, even though we were certifiable for want of sleep, we couldn´t pass up on the morning tour. So, as soon as we set our bags down, we were swept off to another small island, no bigger then a football field and solely inhabited by one family living in a small hut on it´s windward side. We spent the afternoon hours dozing under palms trees and snorkeling in the clear Caribbean waters. In the late afternoon we returned to our hostel and I finally got some much needed shut eye.
We had heard that it was possible to stay with families on these more ru
stic islands and the next day, Peter and I hitched a ride on a yacht to one such island located on the outer ring. The ride out there was pure entertainment as the passengers on the boat were a group of Irish and Australian backpackers who decided that they would dress up like pirates for the voyage and drink like them too. When we got on the boat at 10am in the morning they were already hammered and greeted us with hearty ¨Arrrrr mattiees.¨ They seemed the perfect crew for the captain, Hernando, an ageing Columbian born seamen who was a bit of a pirate in his own right, or at least drank like one. He looked like one of those homeless men you see sucking the last drops out of beers cans they find in the trash can, and I wouldn´t put it past him. He seemed to sway about half-conscious and not entirely sure where he is or who is is talking to. It made for a fun-filled ride and we all arrived at our little treasure island in good spirits.
The locatio
n was amazing. Again, a small sand swept caye in the middle of the ocean covered from shore to shore in swaying palms and virtually uninhabited. It was right out of Dufoe´s Robinson Crusoe. We met Antonio, the patriarch of the community living here and he agreed to let us stay, saying he would provide us with food and a place to sleep if we didn´t mind donating a few dollars to the community. It was a bargain, as long as you didn´t mind not having running water, electricity, or a toilet. Yeah, the last one was a bit rough, if you had to go, you just took a walk out to the sandbar and hoped there was a currant. They did however, have a Co2 powered refrigerator fully stocked with enough frosty beer to satisfy an entire fleet of pirates. It´s good to know that no matter where you go in the world, cold beer is
always a priority over water and light.
We spent a very agreeable two days there, aside from a rather cold night sleeping in hammocks in their drafty thatched cooking hut. I practiced my Spanish while Peter recited his Chow-Lin meridian points in Cantonese. I lounged on the beach while Peter performed Yoga listening to lectures on tape of Chinese medicine. I played soccer with the local kids while peter watched the pet money jerk off in his tree. Ok, ok, I´m going a bit far with that last one, but just like the homeless captain, I wouldn´t put it past him.
Words can´t fully describe how pure and beautiful the San Blas islands really are. It´s like jumping in a time machine and dialing back to a time when Latin America was free of Agloization. I have been a lot of places in my life, all across the globe; from high mountain kingdoms to Hollywood set beaches, and I think I can safely say that Kuna Yala is the post picturesquely beautiful place I´ve ever seen.
That would lead us back to, well... us and as Peter and I rolled our bags off the tarmac we were greeted by a horizon
dotted with small white sand isletas, all of which about the size of a city block, completely shaded in palm trees and boasting one or two palm thatched cabanas. It was simply gorgeous, it was a cover photo for Travel Magazine.We found a good hotel on one of the more inhabited islands, and for a set price, we got three squares a day (consisting of fish, fish, and more fish) and two tours to other outlying cayes. This was a great deal and, even though we were certifiable for want of sleep, we couldn´t pass up on the morning tour. So, as soon as we set our bags down, we were swept off to another small island, no bigger then a football field and solely inhabited by one family living in a small hut on it´s windward side. We spent the afternoon hours dozing under palms trees and snorkeling in the clear Caribbean waters. In the late afternoon we returned to our hostel and I finally got some much needed shut eye.
We had heard that it was possible to stay with families on these more ru
stic islands and the next day, Peter and I hitched a ride on a yacht to one such island located on the outer ring. The ride out there was pure entertainment as the passengers on the boat were a group of Irish and Australian backpackers who decided that they would dress up like pirates for the voyage and drink like them too. When we got on the boat at 10am in the morning they were already hammered and greeted us with hearty ¨Arrrrr mattiees.¨ They seemed the perfect crew for the captain, Hernando, an ageing Columbian born seamen who was a bit of a pirate in his own right, or at least drank like one. He looked like one of those homeless men you see sucking the last drops out of beers cans they find in the trash can, and I wouldn´t put it past him. He seemed to sway about half-conscious and not entirely sure where he is or who is is talking to. It made for a fun-filled ride and we all arrived at our little treasure island in good spirits.The locatio
n was amazing. Again, a small sand swept caye in the middle of the ocean covered from shore to shore in swaying palms and virtually uninhabited. It was right out of Dufoe´s Robinson Crusoe. We met Antonio, the patriarch of the community living here and he agreed to let us stay, saying he would provide us with food and a place to sleep if we didn´t mind donating a few dollars to the community. It was a bargain, as long as you didn´t mind not having running water, electricity, or a toilet. Yeah, the last one was a bit rough, if you had to go, you just took a walk out to the sandbar and hoped there was a currant. They did however, have a Co2 powered refrigerator fully stocked with enough frosty beer to satisfy an entire fleet of pirates. It´s good to know that no matter where you go in the world, cold beer is always a priority over water and light.We spent a very agreeable two days there, aside from a rather cold night sleeping in hammocks in their drafty thatched cooking hut. I practiced my Spanish while Peter recited his Chow-Lin meridian points in Cantonese. I lounged on the beach while Peter performed Yoga listening to lectures on tape of Chinese medicine. I played soccer with the local kids while peter watched the pet money jerk off in his tree. Ok, ok, I´m going a bit far with that last one, but just like the homeless captain, I wouldn´t put it past him.
Words can´t fully describe how pure and beautiful the San Blas islands really are. It´s like jumping in a time machine and dialing back to a time when Latin America was free of Agloization. I have been a lot of places in my life, all across the globe; from high mountain kingdoms to Hollywood set beaches, and I think I can safely say that Kuna Yala is the post picturesquely beautiful place I´ve ever seen.
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