An Account of Our Adventures in Panama

Having sufficiently explored Cartagena, exhausted social possibilities of the cruising community, and replaced Songbird’s chain plates; we decided it was time to continue our journey to other ports of call. We had one final cleaning of Songbird’s hull, donated to other cruisers the 30 gallon trash cans we had used to ferry water to our boats, and with our friends on Lunasea, sailed 16 miles south to the Bay of Cholon.

It was a tight entrance into this anchorage but once inside, it opened up nicely to reveal a large harbor surrounded by mangroves. Although we had left the tight community of sailors in Cartagena, reinforced by the daily cruiser’s network, we soon found its Cholon equivalent in Robert, a US ex-patriot who has made his home there for many years. On a high hill overlooking the bay, his home, Eagle’s Nest, purchases. Down in the bay is his huge white Florida shrimp boat named Manatee. Shortly after dropping the hook, we heard Robert’s voice on the VHF announcing that Happy Hour would begin on the Manatee at 4 pm. We noted that he encouraged musicians to bring their instruments.

Not being isolationists, we partook of this opportunity and there met the owners of Makai, Kenny and Jesse. They charter their beautiful boat occasionally, usually to honeymooners, but what interested us most was Kenny’s keen appreciation of blues and the fact that he plays harmonica. Soon, Pam, Kenny and Bill were pooling their talents to perform for other boaters aboard Manatee and having a ball. What a perfect evening, to be high up on that fine old boat’s deck, getting to play good music and watching the sunset over the Caribbean.

Our next stop was not much more than moving around in the anchorage. We sailed to Isla Rosario, actually a cluster of three islands, a whopping two miles to the east. It was a pretty anchorage in clear water. On one of the two islands is a fantastic bird sanctuary, privately owned and open to the public. It was the finest collection of tropical birds any of us had ever seen, all lovingly cared for and healthy.

From there, we sailed about 30 miles south to San Bernardos, a small archipelago consisting mostly of two large islands that are nature conservancies with a very small, and odd, isle nestled in between. This is Islote, reputed to be the world’s most densely populated place. Virtually every square inch of the island is covered with multi-storied concrete buildings or the alleys in between them. We were later told by the author of a travel guide for Colombia that due to the shortage of living space, the men on the island rotate in three shifts: fishing, sleeping or drinking—at least, that’s what we were told. The island was originally developed as a sort of housing project for people living on the shore, being built on reclaimed land that was added to a small coral reef.

We continued south past the resort island of Isla Fuertes (where we met the travel book author) and, from there, did an overnight sail to small fishing village of Sapzurro. This gem is tucked under the shadow of verdant mountains and is completely inaccessible by road. Its pedestrian streets are lined by brightly painted houses and adorned by fragrant plantings of tropical flowers. It was also our first exposure to howler monkeys, which populate the mountains over the town. Sapzurro is on the most western part of Colombia. A short, but very vertical, hike takes on up a mountain to a military outpost guarding the border with Panama. This outpost is actually a thatched roof hut occupied by two soldiers, on Colombian and the other Panamanian. After writing your name in a book, you are allowed to walk down the other side into Panama. There we found a small village sporting a resort beach. While sitting in the shade of a sea-grape tree and cooling off with a Panamanian cervesa we met a charming fellow who spoke excellent English. When he told us of his resort business in the San Blas islands, we realized he a Kuna. Not only did he speak English, but was also fluent in Russian. It turns out he attended veterinarian school in Russia!

Having run out of Colombian money, we determined it was time to sail to Panama, where the currency is American dollars. Before entering this region, we knew little about it. Now we know that the northern shore of Panama, from the Colombian border to the Gulf of San Blas (located roughly on the northern-most part of Panama) is the semi-autonomous Kuna state, or Comarca de Kuna Yala. The offshore islands are called in Spanish, the San Blas Islands, but to the Kuna, who have their own language, the whole area is simply Kuna Yala. Our first foray into this tropical paradise was a little more exciting than we liked.

The wind was faint, so we were sailing with the assistance of our engine and just approaching a point of land that we wanted to round before dropping into our planned anchorage. It was then that a persistent beeping began emanating from the engine’s instrument panel. The temperature was OK, oil pressure good. What could it be? We opened the hatch to the engine room to discover what every boater dreads—the engine room (and thus much of the boat) was awash in seawater! A quick scan revealed that a 1 ¼ inch hose pumping water out of the engine had popped off. Therefore the engine had, for quite some time, been filling the boat with water. We shut down the engine, and Pam began manning the emergency manual pump while I brought Songbird about so that we were sailing away from land. Then I jumped into the cabin and began bailing water out of the bilge with a bucket. After a frantic 30 or 40 minutes, we had removed what must have been a thousand gallons of water (it was up to the inside of the cabin floor). I replaced the hose and fastened it with two new clamps and, saying a silent prayer, turned the ignition key. The engine started! With great relief, we continued our journey. Once anchored, Bill washed the whole engine room down with fresh water. The only casualty immediately experienced was the failure of the refrigerator to run. A printed circuit board had gotten wet. We cleaned it off and let it dry. After a couple of days, it began running again.

For the next few months, we sailed in Kuna Yala. It is a vast archipelago comprising over 300 islands, most of which are located between the mainland and long reefs between 5 and 15 miles off shore. This all makes for great sailing with fresh northerly winds and relatively flat waters. Many of the larger islands have Kuna villages on them, but interspersed are small uninhabited islands, little sandy- beached gems bearing small clusters of palm trees and grass.

The first significant Kuna village we saw was on the island of Caledonia (not its Kuna name). We were greeted by a very polite young man in a dugout canoe (ooluu). His name was John, and he spoke Spanish and a little English. He said he was a tour guide and was authorized to collect the nominal anchorage fee (he gave us a receipt and showed us a typed page containing the local rules (e.g., no boat sanding or painting, guests must be off the island at night unless invited, not giving candy to children). John also told us that the 82^nd annual celebration of the Kuna independence from Panama was approaching and said it would be appreciated if we flew a celebratory flag, which they happened to sell. “Of course,” we said and purchased one. It was three bands, red, yellow and red, in the middle of which was the symbol of independence, a swastika! Oh well, when in Rome….

We asked John if we could buy bread in his village and he offered to lead us ashore to find out. The village, typically, we were to learn later, consisted entirely of bamboo homes with thatched roofs. In the center of the village was a very large structure, a kind of town hall (called the Congressa). Here, the village has daily meetings conducted by the village chiefs (saihlas). Attendance by villagers is mandatory and all village business is done at this time. Ordinarily, this is the only building on the island that has electricity, mostly supplied by solar panels. The first stop for all guests on the island is to see one of the three saihlas who can be found lying in one of the three hammocks strung out for their benefit. The saihla we met asked a few polite questions by way of John (all communication with the saihlas is done through an intermediary) and, to our chagrin, asked if we had a gift for him. We found out that this is expected, but were assured that there was absolutely no problem if we did not have one. Nevertheless, we were embarrassed and later brought by some soap. Eventually we made our way to a small hut that had fresh warm bread. The loaves were either long and skinny or small round buns , and were delicious! The main thrill for us, though, was walking the small alleyways between the huts and knowing that this was a setting that had not changed for hundreds (thousands?) of years.

From here we sailed to Isla Pinos, an island that had been a favorite hangout of pirates (Henry Morgan) and privateers (Francis Drake), but one that also contains a significant Kuna village. Again, we were greeted by a guide, a particularly energetic young man named David, who could not do enough for us. Again, we went ashore, visited the saihla (with gift in hand), and were led by David at breakneck pace all through the settlement to find vegetables, more bread. David led us to his house where we met his wife, two children and his mother. He invited us to sit in the shade, but alas, he could only hold still for two or three minutes. Then we were off to a place where we could buy cervesa and molas, traditional “reverse appliqués” made by Kuna women. As we headed back to our dinghy, David invited to attend a luncheon the next day in honor of Kuna independence, to be followed by a big celebration in the Congressa that evening.

Next day, with two other sailing couples, we arrived for lunch at the appointed time and were led to the Congressa. There was a table that had been set up for us and we had a great meal with all three saihlas. As we waddled back to the dinghy dock, David said that if we wanted to arrive a few minutes early for the evening celebration, we could have our faces painted in the traditional manner.

So, just before sunset, we met David at the dock and we sprinted to the hut of his friend where we were to be adorned. Pam was first. David broke open some kind of fruit, the center of which was black and pasty. With a stick broken off from the roof of the hut, he painted a straight line down here nose, traditionally done for Kuna women, and then made little designs on each cheek, again, a swastika. Okay…. All six of us were painted, and thus decorated, we strode off to the Congressa. The huge hut was full of people, women on one side, and men on the other. Off to the side of the men were four or five “important people” all wearing red T-shirts, sitting around sharing a pipe. When it was time for the celebration to begin, these guys arose and did a loud dance, which culminated in their being served Chi-che out of calabash bowls. The Chi-che, a fermented beverage made from sugar cane, cocoa, coffee and ginger, was made about two weeks earlier, especially for this event. It is about the only alcoholic beverage traditional Kuna drink and its consumption is strictly linked to celebrations sanctioned by the saihlas. It seemed to be having a marked effect on our Kuna friends. Once the important people had been served, they became the servers for all the other men. There was a bench that was a kind of bull pen. While one group was being served, those wanting to be next would line up on the bench. When the floor was cleared, that group would then rise and do a dance, at the end of which they would be served chi-che. The correct way to drink the ample portions is to completely empty the bowl in one attempt, followed by a hearty yell or whoop. This we all did, to the great pleasure of our hosts. Meanwhile, over on the women’s side, a much more reserved celebration was taking place. Three or four women would circle the others offering bowls of chi-che. Dancing was spontaneous, but much more low-key than on the male side where the celebration continued for a couple of hours, the dances getting louder and more boisterous. We sailors asked that our bowls be filled not so full, but that request was met with mixed success.

The last event of the evening was initiated from the women’s side of the hall. A curtain was placed on a stick and held up to conceal several girls. We were not sure what happened back there, some private ceremony between the girls and a few women elders, but when they came out, we were told by David, they were officially considered women. About 10:30, the saihlas announced that the evening was over. The lights came on in the hall, and we returned to our boats, making sure to wash our faces before going to bed.

The next morning, we were shocked by what we saw in the mirror. Our face paintings were still there in sharp definition, looking for all the world like bad prison tattoos. We radioed our friends to see if they had any luck removing the indelible markings, but they hadn’t. Gradually, over the next two weeks, our face markings faded, but during that time, we could see the amusement in the eyes of the Kuna coming out to meet us in our anchorages.

From Isla Pinos, we day-sailed east, stopping at island villages and in more remote spots. It was amazing to rise early in the morning and see dozens of Kuna dugouts, being both paddled and sailed from island huts to the mainland for the day’s work, farming, gathering coconut, and fishing. It felt like real time travel. At length, we made our way to the western end of the island chain to Porvenir, the official clearing-in spot for Kuna Yala. While there, we heard an odd radio transmission emanating from a small cluster of islands about two miles to the east. It was from a German boat that we’d seen in Cartagena, Samantha Nova, and it announced that a wifi spot, the first in Kuna Yala, was now open for business on Isla Elephantes in the West Limons. This seemed like a good place to go next, so we did.

Isla Elephantes is inhabited by the family of Alberto, a man with entrepreneurial aspirations. Alberto runs a water transporting service, created a sort of miniature resort area, and has laid the foundation for a restaurant on his island. Assisted by his German friend, Yogi, he set up a wifi service next to one of his houses. The contrast of high and low tech is interesting. One enters a bamboo room with sand floors. Around the walls are benches made from split tree trunks, over which hang wires for computer connections. Bring in your laptop, hook up, and away you go, catapulted from life as it was centuries ago to the modern world, for three dollars an hour. Yogi gave Alberto very good advice. This investment has become a magnet for cruisers and, since the computer room happens to be located next to a large thatched roof palapa where one can relax in the shade and be served sodas, beer and wine, it has brought in significant income to Alberto. We stayed here for some time, cruised to other islands and returned.

There is an interesting juxtaposition of traditional culture and modern technology in Kuna Yala. Kuna women dress traditionally, colorful dresses adorned with molas and usually, head scarves. They often wear tightly strung, beaded leggings and bracelets. A few have tattooed lines down their noses at the bottom of which is a gold ring. As we’ve said, they still use and make dugout boats and live in thatched huts with no electricity. Yet, many of them have cell phones. It is not uncommon to be approached and asked to recharge a phone for them. One day, a couple paddled to our boat to sell molas. During their visit, we asked their names and they asked ours. Because it is difficult for them to say a word ending in ‘l’, Bill introduced himself as Billee. The Kuna woman snorted a laugh to her husband and said, “Keel Billee.” Go figure.

Each time we returned to Isla Elephantes, the services and clientele increased. The beverages served expanded to include rum drinks, rum and cola being named by the cruisers, Kuna Libres, and the activities expanded to include volley ball and cook outs. It was here that we again ran into Kenny, so again, naturally, we used the opportunity to play some music. Then entered Steve from Liiward. Steve is also a guitar player-singer and longtime performer. Before long, we had a band, named by Steve, the No Mas Band. It comprised two guitars, two harmonicas, percussion, and three singers, the most accomplished of which was Pam. We rehearsed a few times and before long, we had a song set of nearly four dozen numbers. We had fun and performed about six times, the last one drawing fifty boats into the anchorage. It was a great evening—we had a blast performing and Alberto was very happy.

One of our performances was dedicated to a new family member. It was the fifteenth of April, the birthday of our first grandchild, Charlie. Since many of the cruisers assembled for the evening’s entertainment were also grandparents, they could appreciate our happiness and excitement. It increased our eagerness to return to home. We arranged to store the boat on a mooring at a place called Panamarina near the town of Puerto Lindo, and at the end of June, ended our stay in Kuna Yala.

Puerto Lindo was a bit of a shock. The town has roads and cars…and electricity. With that, of course, comes music. In the morning, one is awakened to the sound howler monkeys and birds from a private aviary overlooking the anchorage. Another feature of this town that we had not experienced for a long time was restaurants. This was a mixed blessing. Although we had the luxury of not eating our own food for the first time in a long time, we also had the exposure to other’s food preparation and this resulted in one of the few times we had “GI problems”. Three days before our flight out of Panama, we sailed to our birth at Panamarina. While there, we were invited to dinner with another sailing couple. They mentioned that a friend of theirs who lived in Puerto Lindo, would be joining us. She was the recently widowed of Roger, a man who had developed a reputation as a guide for seeing native sloths in the jungle. She arrived a few minutes after we did, and she walked in with a fur little “baby” clinging to her neck. He was a brown and white, ten pound, three-towed sloth, and a most charming little guy. He would obligingly cling to anyone who wanted to hold him, slowly turning his head to survey his surroundings, peering longingly at his mistress. During dinner, the daughter of the restaurant owner asked if she could hold the critter, and he clung to her quite happily the rest of the evening.

At last the time for our departure was upon us. We readied Songbird for a six week stay, bussed to Panama City and flew to New York.

PHOTOS: The Manatee in the Bay of Cholon; Happy hour on the Manatee; on the Manatee; on the Manatee; Streets of Sapzurro; Bill & Nacho (1st Kuna we met); Bill at Colombia/Panama boarder control;