Stranded on a Not-So-Deserted Island

When we last posted, we were just about to leave Colombia and head to Panama. One of our goals for this trip was to avoid air travel, so we have been trying to find alternative ways to travel between these two countries. The Pan-American Highway exists in very nice condition through Chile, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia, however it ends in Northern Colombia and does not begin again until Panama, on the other side of a land mass called the Darien Gap. The Darien Gap along the border has a well deserved reputation for robberies, violence, kidnapping and other undesireable things, so walking this 100 mile stretch while possible, would be very unwise.

We learned of an option of taking a sail boat from Cartagena to mainland Panama where we could then get on a bus. The problem was that this would have cost us nearly 800 dollars and it seemed there might be other alternatives that might be cheaper and where one could see more along the way. We then learned that it would be possible to jump between a few villages in Colombia, only accessible by boat, into a Panamanian town only accessible by boat and from there we could find a cargo boat headed north that might carry us the remainder of the way. We heard this from a couple of reliable sources and decided it would be worth having extra patience to wait out a cargo boat. So this is how our journey went---

We left last Wednesday from Cartagen and took a bus to Monteria. From there we took a pick-up truck to a town called Turbo. Unfortunately, no seats remained in the pickup, and we had to ride on a bench in the back. The other unfortunate part about this was that we could hear the tires screeching around the curves and when approaching potholes (of which there were many). We finally arrived with white knuckles and checked in to a little hospedaje off the main square. We mingled with the interesting array of locals in the square and asked for more information about the next part of our trip.

On Thursday we hopped a water taxi to the town of Capurgana, one of the northern most towns in Colombia, and only accessible by boat. For two hours we sped through the water, literrally catching air off of many of the large waves and slamming our backsides against the fiberglass seat. All the while getting soaked by the water flying into the boat. Another rather firghtening 2 hours, but we once again arrived and began to get settled and ask around for more info about the next leg of our journey.

The following day we woke up and saw the sea still churning and looking really rough. We had met a traveler from Finland who was hoping to accomplish a similar overland/water crossing as us and so together we organized a boat to the next town in Panama, Puerto Obaldia. This boat was considerably smaller and we would have been dryer had we swam the 5 miles to Puerto Obaldia, but we made in considerably less pain that the previous two rides.

In Puerto Obaldia we settled into the only small guest house in the town, ate dinner at one of the two small restaurants and wandered the 5 or 6 streets, asking locals about cargo boats and when they might come. The more we asked, the more we learned that the sea conditions were not just something we would have to get used to, but were actually the reason that no cargo boats were at Puerto Obaldia and were the reason it was unlikely any would arrive for perhaps one to two weeks. That evening we began chatting with 2 other Colombians and a Swiss cyclist (who has covered more or less the same ground as us, but on a bicycle) and organized a small boat with a big motor to take us to another, supposedly larger town where we were told we would be much more likely to find a cargo boat. After making these plans a few locals got wind of our plans and began pulling us aside to tell us that this would be stupid to leave in these conditions and we were risking our lives going into the ocean on a small boat. After hearing this from many people, we decided we would need to find a way out. Tracy feigned illness and we told them we could not go on with them and would wait in Puerto Obaldia. Unfortunately, everyone took great pity and decided to just postpone the whole trip a day. Unable to continue the acting job the whole day, Tracy eventually felt better. The following day we were set to leave again and were told that the sea had calmed to a condition that would be very uncomfortable, but not necessarily dangerous. However, another set of circumstances prevented our departure. Finally on day number 4 in Puerto Obaldia, town of 150, we departed. We had read a bit about Puerto Obaldia, most people saying it was very dirty and unfriendly and it was best to take an immediate airplane out of the place. Having spent 4 days walking the streets and having nothing to do but chat with the locals, we found it to be a very friendly place. The forced boredom was also a welcome time of relaxation after months of going non stop, trying to absorb as much as possible every day.

We arrived at Mulatupu. The trip may have been safe, I am not sure, but it was not comfortable by any definition of the word. No words can describe bouncing over 15 foot waves the way that we did this day. At risk of being crass and providing too much information, Adam currently sports two scabs on his posterior from where the repeated bouncing actually broke the skin (this is NO exaggeration). Mulatupu is 2 hours from Puerto Obaldia in boat, but it is a whole new world. Mulatupu is an island that is home to a indigenous group called the Kuna. The Kuna live in bamboo huts on the island. The southeastern half of the Caribbean coast of Panama is lined with islands inhabited by this indigenous groups. It is thought to be one of the most powerful indigenous groups in the world as they are fully autonomous. The Panama coast guard and drug enforcement and any other government agency is not allowed to patrol the areas where the Kuna live. The women wear a very beautiful and well known clothing called a mola. This is a hand stitched design of a geometric pattern or a picture of a local animal (turtles, monkeys, etc.). On the arms and legs of the women they wear beaded bracelets that cover the length of the forearm and the calf. The beads also have various goemetric shapes. The Kuna speak a Kuna language as well as Spanish.

When we got off the boat in Mulatupu, we were greeted excitedly by all of the children who were grabbing our hands and shouting greetings and smiling at us. We received a similarly warm welcome from the adults in the village. We were shown to a small room with a few beds, shown to the home of a local man who would be cooking for us during our stay (they were unaware of our arrival until 4 gringos arrived in the boat that very day) and showed us the bathroom, which is a small outhouse built on the end of a dock with a hole going into the water. We would spend the next few days wandering about the small village and continuing to be greeted, smiled at (mostly) and chatting with the locals who were very curious about us. This island is not easily accessible from either direction, and thus receives very few outsiders. The one source of friction, from our perspective, was that we were unable to live up to our reputation. White people who visit the islands in the northern part of the islands tend to spend mountains of money. We had not seen an atm in many days and had no idea when the next one would come, leaving us unable to go much beyond our usual, tiny budget. We only ate once or twice a day and we could not afford to eat foods other than that which the locals ate. We sensed that this was a big disappointment, which was hard for us, but we tried to make up for it with friendliness and by spending time chatting and getting know people in town.

Decision making in a Kuna village is a very unique process. There is a chief in the village and all decisions must go through him. So when our group found out that cargo boats were still docked and the one that was planning to leave was going in the wrong direction, we started asking about renting another small boat to go a bit further in the islands where we hoped to have better luck (no worries, Adam had planned to take additional padding for this boat ride). A few locals agreed to a reasonable price, however, the village cheif felt the sea would be too dangerous and the idea of any boat leaving the village was vetoed. We waited the sea out for another day, but it continued to give no signs of letting up. Locals stated it could be another week or even two before it might be possible to make the trip. Somewhat defeated, we decided we should go ahead an book a ticket on the next airplane, which would leave on Thursday.

After a couple more days in Mulatupu, we loaded our bags onto a dugout wooden canoe and made the trip to another small island where a tiny airstrip was located. We waited about a half hour in the open-air, thatch-roof hut terminal and finally boarded the plane for Panama City. The 12 seater plane makes occassional flights to several of the islands. We sat right behind the pilot and co-pilot and watched them read their magazines and newspapers while we flew (Gail, is this normal?).

So now we sit, in Panama City. We thought we would feel disappointed about flying, but 1) flying a 12 seater from an island air strip out of the bamboo terminal is not the same as just flying and 2) instead of booking multiple boats, we were forced to sit still and get to know a really fascinating village and a really fascinating culture. No internet, 1 telephone in the whole town, etc. It was a really beautiful and memorable time.

We have many more side stories, as we do with any time of travel, but especially with this trip, so hopefully they will come up, but we can only tell so many things at one time. (I will tell you why we had to spend 2 extra hours with immigration and the poilce at the airport some other time)

We were unable to take many picutres in the Kuna village as photography is a very sensitive thing for the culture. We were not even able to get a photo with the resident monkey at our restaurant/house. But, here are a few photos from the Colombia-Panama crossing.

Capurgana, Colombia. Beautiful beach town, mostly used by upper class Colombians for vacationing.


The only possible lodging in Puerto Obaldia, Panama. Luckily, Cande charges a fair price of $5 per night.


The local kids enjoy fishing in Puerto Obaldia. This whopper was caught with a string wrapped around a bottle, a hook and a piece of banana.


This is our taxi to the airport. The small structure at the end of the dock is a bathroom.


Food was very expensive in the village, so we often had to supplement our meals with a snack or two. Yummy, Pork and Beans!


The island of Mulatupu.


Dont worry, buddy, this plane can probably fly itself.


Panama City.


For those who are curious, a Google image search will likely reveal lots of photos of Kuna arts and people that we were unable to photograph.