Panama Days 10-20: Boquete and the Kuna Yala

( Revised post )

Hola Caballeros y Damas

We finally pried ourselves from the lush and tranquillo islands of Boca del Toro for the lush and tranquillo mountains of Boquete. To get there  we had a full day of travel on buses, that in most cases, are tricked out school buses... Dude!, these busses are awesome; bright colorful racing stripes, vibrant decals on the front windows of destinations, chrome rims and dual mufflers that rise up over the tops of the bus (definitely a Burner's envy).


BOQUETE
In Boquete (pronounced bo-ket-te) we were wowed by the beauty of Volcan Baru and all the  mountains that surrounded the small town of 11,000 people. Imagine this small Panamanian mountain town in a complete spectrum of colors of painted houses, cars, clothing, flowers, then add a veil of an ever-present mist that sleepily falls day and night. During the day, a rainbow appears low and bold over the town and fields. Then, like the enigma that it is, it slowly fades away again. It was here in Boquete, that we finally found the end of the rainbow. And heh, guess what? It wasn´t a pot of gold like the story says, I'm sorry to break it to you folks, but it´s just a pile of dirt. ;-)

Unfortunately, this peaceful town has recently been named one of the top five places in the world to live. Although this is great for the town's economy, it means the town's tranquility is threatened by the massive influx of foreigners (mostly Americans and Euros) investing in land and homes. I was deeply bothered to see new business signs like "www(dot)ownboquete(dot)com" 

(Btw, everywhere we go we hear the same music. For example, just while writing this, I've heard: Africa, Total Eclipse of the Heart, REM. As well as super-sappy Spanish love songs.)


KUNA YALA: First Day
For our last days in Panama, we were going to a wonderfully remote place, the Kuna Yala Archipelago (aka San Blas Islands). While most people who visit there go to islands that are popular tourist spots, Cacalina and I were given an amazing opportunity when we met Juan, a Kuna man, who we befriended in the airport. On the plane he cracked a bottle of excellent rum, and started passing the bottle around to everyone on the plane - about 6 people in all. Later we found out that Juan had been in two serious plane crashes, and the drinking was for his nerves. Anyway, he invited us to join him on a tiny island called Ticantiki for a Kuna celebration. How could we say no?

We landed, or I should say bounced, to a stop on a tiny grassy airstrip. Loaded ourselves and backpacks in a small wooden boat which I noticed the bottom was repaired with sheet metal, and still, there was water standing in the bottom. We slowly made our way to an island called Ticantiki.

The Kuna Islands are home to the indigenous Kuna People who have lived here for some 500 years. They history of the Kuna Independance is an amazing one. After a hard fought struggle, they won complete Independence from the Panamanian government in February, 1925. Today, they live autonomously on the most beautiful Caribbean islands that you can imagine. The people are small in stature with bronzed skin and black hair. Their faces have similar characteristics to the Native Americans; which is likely they share the same origin given the land bridge theory. Like the Natives Americans, the Kuna have a rich and wonderful history. The Kuna believe that they are originally from the stars. In fact, Juan, says he can tell us exactly which star it is that they come from. Their symbol, a swastika, represents all life in the universe, with the intersection being the origin of their people - a star. Their star. The symbol is seen everywhere in the village in red and yellow on beaded ankles, woven baskets, and flags.

A Kuna village is entirely made with thatched roofs, bamboo walls, and dirt floors. The celebration on Ticantiki was in honor of a girl getting her first period, and becoming a woman. The girl was going to be bathed in salt water for 7 days to purify herself, and everyone would drink for 3 days. The party was in the biggest structure, and there we drank from large coconuts brimming with Cheecha, a Kuna wine made from fermented coffee and sugar cane. Everyone was drunk or nearly there, and coming up to us, wanting us to drink too. They didn´t accept no very easily, and we soon felt the kick of Cheecha. Women were on one side, men on the other. Men wore western clothes, and red paint on their faces. Women were entirely in traditional Kuna attire of beaded forearms and legs, bright fabrics and piercings. Boys came over to us with bamboo flutes, and if ever flutes could rock, these guys did it. They showed us what Zamphir never could. Incense was burning and something was being smoked but were not sure what it was.

Juan was an excellent host and a gentleman. He introduced us to his friends and the important people of the village. We were only the 5th and 6th gringos to appear on the island in the last 2 years.  I was asked to meet the chief of the village, who wore a western tie and was surrounded by lots of older important looking men. Language was a barrier but we spoke through broken Spanish and fragmented English. Meanwhile, Cacalina was ushered away with the women to take photos and such. The gender inequalities was awkward for us at times. For example, when Caca wanted to walk around the village she had to be escorted by a guy. But this didn't overshadow the experience, we ate, smoked and drank together all night.


KUNA YALA: Second Day
We had planned to stay one day, but Juan offered to show us more of his homeland. And through groggy morning hangovers we decided to stay another day. We hired a boat and a driver, and visited Tiger Island and Drake Island. Our boat was made of thick wood, about 20ft long, powered by a motor. There were eight of us in all, 5 guys, each around 20 yrs old, joined us for the ride. All of them were fishermen, and each had a specific skill to catch crab, lobster, octopus, etc. They used only their lungs, and would dive around 18 meters! (59ft.) The five guys all wore western clothes, i.e.: Nike logos, baseball hats, and cool sunglasses. We went to Isla Tigre, and met Juan´s best friend, saw photos of the Kuna history. We had lunch that consisted of coconut rice, fried chicken, and several beers. We said goodbye, and were given 3 fish as a departing gift. 

Then on to Drake Island, named after the famous pirate. I'm told this was because this was where he would return after an attack and restock on wood, food (ie: iguana and fruit), seafood and other supplies. But for us, this island was our paradise. Tall palms, clear blue water, lazy waves, billowing white clouds, gorgeous sun, and no one else for as far as the eye can see. We swam and snorkeled and had several beers. One of the guys found and caught a King Crab, a massive creature. The spiky body was deep burgundy and larger than a soccer ball. We took him home and ate him for dinner. Served over coconut rice and with the gift fish it was delicious. Mmm. We ate our dinner outside on a table moved on a second floor balcony, with candles and cold beers. We had the best night. Juan, Caca and I got very drunk, told stories, teased each other, and tried to go night swimming. In that state we thought it would be great to sleep under the stars by the dock. The grass was like pine needles, but I slept great. Oh yeah, I forgot, it started to rain, but we moved under a balcony and slept on concrete floor. That night was incredible and unforgettable.

Not all of it was easy for us. Everything was so incredibly different. This experience tested our ability to handle our discomfort levels. Along with cultural differences, language barriers and gender issues, there was the intense heat, sunburns, we had an itchy rash that drove us insane, morning hangovers and we desperately needed showers. And then we never considered how hard it would be to get off the island.

LEAVING KUNA YALA
There was supposed to be a flight at 6am and another at 2pm. We had called the day before to tell them that we would be there. We woke at 5am and boarded a small boat, that was paddled slowly over over to the island with the airport. There we waited on a wooden bench in stifling heat all day. Between the two flight times, we went back for lunch. From a balcony at the village I had a real life "Fantasy Island" moment, across the water I saw the plane sitting on the runway. I started shouting "Dee Plane! Dee Plane!" (actually, I shouted "El avion! El avion!") and we scurried, into boats, and we paddled over quickly. Even I grabbed a paddle. But the plane took off without us. We waited the rest of the day, but no more planes landed that day.

It took us awhile to accept it, but now we were on the island without our guide Juan. Caca was visibly upset, and I was doing my best to stay calm too. The same place that was magical and exciting suddenly felt so intimidating, awkward and lonely. But without us knowing, one of the guys from the day before called Juan (who was found drinking in the Cheecha Hut an island away) and when he heard the news he came over to get us. He brought us over the Tiger Island, an on our request, set us up in a simple cabana geared for tourists. Caca and I were exhausted and had a quiet night. After dinner we said goodnight to Juan. And for the first time we in several days were alone together. We sat on the beach facing the full moon, shining its magnificent blaze of light over the ocean, while more billowing clouds passed by, back lit by the moon, and changing expressions before our eyes. Our view was framed by palm tree silhouettes, and a caressing ocean breeze brought us closer. I'm still thanking the stars for working their magic for creating this moment. If we had caught the plane that day, we would not have had this night on Tiger Island. Blissful and perfect.

So starts a second whole day of waiting at the airport. We woke early again, this time at 4am. We were supposed to leave with Juan, but he had gotten incredibly drunk and couldn't be found. We had no choice but to leave with out him. But since Juan had arranged everything, we needed to think fast. Caca and I packed our bags and we walked through the village hoping to find someone awake. If we could find someone, maybe they knew where Juan was or could help us get a boat to the airport. But at 4am, not much is happening. After a while, miraculously we found a man peeing, we asked him to help. Then, just our luck, we crossed paths with a man preparing a boat headed for the airport. We paid him $5 each to take us with him. In the boat we were sad we didn't get to say goodbye to Juan, but relived that we were on the boat. And headed home. This next airport was another small one (narrow grassy runway, small concrete building, wooden bench) but it had more frequent and regular flights. So there we sat tired, dirty, itchy and sore we sat there for about 4 hours. A plane landed but it was full we were told to wait for the next flight. Argh. Just sitting there all day. Itching. Against our better judgment we were persuaded again to go to the village. A guy who was the Chief of the Airport, took us under his wing, we had coffee, eggs, and tried to make small talk in our broken Spanglish. Afterward, we went to the general store and sat around a big circular table with his best friends, and had a beer. One guy was the Mayor, and he looked like a coach, complete with his keys hanging around his neck. Another was a retired Police Chief, another was the Store Manager, and Electrician, a Carpenter, etc. Sitting there I realized that these men were the important people of the town, the top brass. Then I pondered how much this was like a small town in America. Every towns in the world must have a circle of men who sit together everyday, just as they always have, as friends.

We had a few more beers and it got closer to our flight time. Just before we were supposed to leave, it seemed that all the guys just vanished. They were gone, our bags we locked up, and we just had to catch that flight. Reading this, you cannot understand the level of desperation that Caca and I were feeling. I was stressin, and Caca was really stressin and frettin. I ran around looking for someone to help. Finally I found a woman who managed the airport, she said she was coming now. But she takes what seemed like an eternity to arrive. Meanwhile Caca waves down a guy in a digny and asks him to take us to the airport. With or without our bags. She's at her limit and wants (needs) to get off this island. She is ready to leave her bags - and me - behind. Just then we see a plane coming, and the closer it gets we can see the markings on it - it's our airline - this must be our plane. We are too far away. We are going to miss it. Anger, desperation, frustration are overwhelming. Just then the plane turns away and it's clear that it's not our plane after all. The woman arrives, and I find someone with the key, we got our bags, and we were off. We arrived with time to to catch the flight, they didn't know about us, but fortunately they had room for us. Boarding a plane never felt so good.

The stories of the Luna Yala, and of Juan, and all the Kuna people could fill ten other emails. Overall, the experience here was wonderful and unforgettable.

We're writing from Panama City today, and treating ourselves to a nice hotel suite, laundry, showers, slow morning coffees, good food, nice wines. Just like home. 

We´ll be home on the 28th. See you soon.

 Ciao,

Senior Scott & Cacalina

Day 10: Still in Bastimentos

Hola, We've been in Bastimentos eight days now, almost half of our time in Panama. But its no wonder, the simple, rustic style on the island is winning us over more everyday. We are here at an amazing time too. Just 5 years ago tourism didnt exist here. On the surface we are here before greed has corrupted people and business. Before commercial signs are in
windows. Or brochures have been made. Hand lettered signs are painted on walls. Everything is wonderfully simple here. People from here, rarely go places, and almost never leave. There is no more that 500 people here.

Everyone we meet seems to have an amazing outlook on life. A guy named Joe, plays the guitar, which he calls "his girl". We see him so regularly that seeing him is like seeing a friend. Says in his thick island accent, "Jah must smile, not from your mout, but jah must smile from da heart."

There are other interesting points to note being here at this time. We are here before trash on the ground is called litter. Theft has began to rise, but still uncommon. We are here before building codes have set standards for doorways, stairs, roofs, plumbing or electricity. Steps are irregular. Door heights vary, and drinking water comes from the daily rain storms that is collected from gutters on rooftops that drain into 50 gallon barrels. If you need it, you build it. But like everything, construction takes a long time here, because everything from nails to milled wood, toilet paper to kitchen appliances must be brought in on a boat.

Here are some sounds that are daily reminders that we are some place
special:
gecko cackles
bird calls like tweeters, peepers and criers
rooster crows at all hours
rolling waves shushing
rain tinkling on tin roofs
empty glass bottles clanging
floor boards creaking
hammer and machete chops
chainsaw and weedwacker buzz
children playing
somedays, children singing
motor boats coming in, going out
festive island music
and everywhere,
foreign languages.

Its raining now, but its wonderful to watch. We were planning to spend the day at the beach after the rain clears. Regardless, its a tranquil lounge kind of day...

More later.
Much love and smiles,
Scott and Kathleen
(aka Paco and Cacalina)

Ps. For those of you just added to the list, you can find previous postings on the Superaverage Blog, www.superaverage.com

Panama - First Days

Hola Chicos y Chicas,

 

Kathleen and I arrived in Panama just fine on Wedesday. Since Fat Tuesday was the day before we arrived, the city is blunted from hangovers and exhaustion. The only visible evidence are the rivers of confetti that litter the wet streets. Panama City is enormous. And because of the trade that the Canal brings here, there is a slice of every culture in the world. Every type of food, and every brand of clothing.  There currency has been the US Dollar since the early 1900s.

 

As of yet there arent many travel books to be found on Panama. The only one we found is the Lonely Planet guide book, which has been veyr hit and miss. Sometime in funny ways. Like our first night when we went to a club that sounded great and found a dingy concrete hole in the wall filed with young men who looked desperate for fun, yet kept their backs toward the wall. For accomodations, we tried a hostel only to return the key and ask for our money back. I dot have high standards, but I get itchy just thinking about the place. We found a comfortable hotel for not much more - and it had a pool on the roofdeck.

 

Yesterday we flew from Panama City to Boca del Toro on an aged and overused little plane that held 20 or so passengers. The flight was 60dollars ea.We met a expat Texan named Pablo - whos name is obviously not real, but kinda fits because he has assimilated to island life in every sort of way. He arrived here 11 years ago, long enough to buys his little corner of paradise for bargin, start a marina, a surfshop and plans to open a breakfast place that serve a real Texan breakfast.

 

It seems weve been eating cieviche everytime we sit down. And for good reason, seafood is the best here. Even Kathleen has decided to eat meat here, since theres really no avoiding it.

 

Today we are taking a water taxi to the Isla Bastimentos for snorkeling, surfing, and simple cabana beach life. There are hundreds of island to here, and weve only began to explore... many more reports are on the way.

 

Ive been introducing myself as Paco. Kathleen is Cacalina. Visit this to read why -

http://www.superaverage.com/2005/02/paco-cacalina-going-to-panama.html

 

Much love,

 

Hasta Luego,

 

Scott - aka Paco

 

 

 

Paco & Cacalina going to Panama

In three days, I'm leaving for Panama with Kathleen. And since I'm going to be in a spanish speaking country, I wanted to adopt a Spanish name. So it hit me while sitting a the coffee shop this morning, my spanish name is "Pace Picante Sauce", but I will go by "Paco" for short. Kathleen has recieved the notification and has agreed to comply. She's awesome. In fact, she's the shit. This is why her friends call her Caca. It's like saying "you're the shit", but much better. And if you're really the shit, you are El Grande Caca (The Big Shit). So for this trip Kathleen's spanish name is "Cacalina". Basically saying, she's the cute little shit.

This morning at coffee, I heard a girl shout, "Paco, come here!" to her dog that had just ran out the front door. I knew instantly that I was going to use Paco for my Spanish name. Mainly because I'm so excited to go, that I'll be dashing outside every chance I get, just like little Paco.

Sophia Marie Silirie

Welcome Sophia Marie Silirie, born January 21, 2005 at 6:03 a.m., Atlanta, GA, 7 lbs. 13 oz, 20.25"!

Sophia is a wonderful name. And I cannot help but wonder if Dan Brown's latest book Davinci Code had something to do with why the name was chosen . Sophia referred to the Divine Goddess, and I have no doubt that this New Angel is exactly that. She's absolutely beautiful, and I wish Jeff and Holley the very best in parenthood.

Along with a bouncing baby, this milestone brought on a interesting and subtle change in me. For a long time it seemed, that all my friends would blissfully hover in a carefree state of existence. Hampered only by indecision of what clothes to wear, which restaurant to try, or where to spend Saturday night. The only milestones we knew of were holidays and birthdays. But things change. Man-o-man, do they! My friends on both coasts, and everywhere in between, are getting married, buying homes, and settling into family life. (Rings! And Things! And Babies! Oh My!) To the news of these things, there is a mixture of bittersweet emotions. Mostly joy, naturally. And yet, something almost like sadness. A selfish tinge that it's the end of an era. After all, these events are life changing for those directly involved - and the same goes for everyone around them.

For us single types (with exceptions) there is a common initial reaction to this change. You've heard the comments before. Sayings like: "the ball and chain", "my old lady/man", or when "a perfectly good couple has fallen to the 'Dark Side' by getting married". I should know, I've caught myself saying things like this for years.

Don't get me wrong; I've loved every momentous occasion with complete and utter joy. For every new home, festive wedding, and glorious birth that has ever graced my family and friends I've celebrated as if it were my own. Comments like these were meant in fun, and not out of disrespect. But ah... wait a second. After thinking about it more, it's possible that maybe they were - in an unconscious way - coming from a less than respectable place. Comments like those, intended to lighten up the moment, were in fact, to make us the fiercely independent ones, feel better by shamefully knocking down the success of our friends. Oof, it's an ugly thought, but I suppose it's true. (You know you've done it too.) Knowing this, how could I ever think this way again.

So finally, that initial and immature reaction has worn off. I'm seeing greatness in the people that go through any major life experiences. Having yet to experience marriage, home-buying, or babies myself, I can only draw from what I've seen around me. The transition from one stage to the next is not easy one. A person requires love, strength of character, the willingness and courage to take risks, and faith in the unknown and uncertain future.

To all of you who have taken on major milestones of life, I like to take this moment to bless you. Your faith, love, and courage are an inspiration to me. Always.

To you, Jeff & Holley, this is an exciting beginning of a new era! Congratulations! And I Love You. And I wish you the very best.

Wall Scrawl #1: Bush Makes Friends

Seen at Zietgiest

Brooke Loves Mascetti

I've forgotton how much fun it is to eat spagetti. But thanks to Brooke, my three year old neice, I'm starting to remember. This little girl knows what she likes, and she loves mascetti - that's how she says it. She says a lot of things these days.

Dinner time has always been an exciting time. There's the anticipation, the presentation, the gathering, and the digging in. The meal is a celebration of family, friends and our many blessings.

So consider this a reminder, as you're sitting down for a nice dinner, have fun.

Phantasmagoric Junkdrawer

Welcome to Superaverage, a place for you to engage in lackadaisical surfing or lock horns with grizzly beast. I'll be posting little snippets of my life, the people who I meet and our talents and interests. That is why I call this the phantasmagoric junkdrawer of my life. Feel free to dig around.