In Panama city I gathered the essential supplies for jungle travel. Hammock, mosquito net, and water purification tablets. However, even the National Hospital did not carry anti-malaria medicine. I considered cancelling, but eventually decided to trust my repellent, and hope that the anopheles mosquito knows that it is active only at night.
Driving on the Pan-American Highway, the crossover into Darién Province is immediately evident. The road quality deteriorates, and police speed traps are replaced by fortified road blocks manned by soldiers in full combat gear. Adding to the sinister touch, in each of the checkpoints our car was searched and our passport numbers recorded. The land leg of the journey ends at an isolated dock, where we left poor Nemo on his own and boarded a boat shuttle to La Palma. The scenic mangroves on shore, and the company of dolphins on the crossing, erased my worries about Nemo. La Palma, the provincial capital, is a dilapidated one-street town which is distinguished only by the mind-numbing loud music blaring from every establishment.
Here, I would leave poor Adi alone, until my return from the village.
The officer in charge of the army garrison told me that La Marea is in the "Red Zone", and I need a permit from HQ in Panama City to go there. I did not argue. This would not be my first unauthorized border crossing. I understood that from now on, I will have to be more discreet about my destination. The same boatman that ferried us to La Palma, was willing to take me to the village. The passage up Rio Marea is possible only at high tide, and so very early next morning, he landed his boat besides our hotel (discreetly away from the official dock). I felt like the Martin Sheen character in 'Apocalypse Now', as I waved to Adi, and sped away. At the start, the river was deep and wide. We motored at full speed around the bends, startling the many birds along the shore, but as we moved upriver, progress became more difficult. The channel narrowed, and fallen trees floated in the water forcing us to slow to a crawl. The river was also getting shallower.
'Are we too late? Did we miss the high tide?'
Eventually we reached the village, which consisted of about a dozen huts. The village chief, whose permission I needed in order to stay here, summoned the "Tourism Coordinator". The "anthropologist" in me was dismayed. However, as Alberta arrived, clad in nothing but a short skirt, my hope rose again. I tried to keep my eyes on her face as we discussed the terms of my visit ($5 entry, $5 per night, and $3 per meal), and released the boatman who was anxious to get back to town. I was elated. I reached my destination and I am the only outsider in the village.
My hut, like all the rest, was composed of a wooden platform elevated on stilts, covered by a thatched roof, and without any walls. The floor served as living, sleeping and cooking space, while chicken and pigs roamed the ground below. All of Alberta's family lived in the adjacent huts, and I was introduced to the women and children. The men were working in the forest. I soon realized that except for Alberta and her mother, the other women wore western-style tops. I overcame my disappointment, and left with my guide on a jungle hike. We walked a narrow path, crossing several streams, and climbing over fallen trees, until we reached a tall tree which Nino claimed was home to a Harpy Eagle. This large bird is the holly grail of birdwatchers in this region. Unfortunately, it was not home. We returned to the village just in time for lunch which was cooked by Alberta's attractive daughter in law. Lunch consisted of rabbit stew and copious quantities of rice. The delicious rabbit was caught in the forest by her husband. 'Belly full, heart content' is a Nicaraguan saying which perfectly applied at the moment. My heart was delighted further when I took a cool dip in the river. Kids where playing in the shallows, mothers were washing laundry, and I found a deep stretch to practice my TI swim style. After the swim, I took a nap in the hammock, from which I was awakened by Alberta's daughter, who asked me to photograph her children. I was happy to oblige, taking many photos and displaying then to the kids and mother. She then asked if I would take her photo too. Upon my reply, she ran out, and soon she and her younger sister were waiting for me below, giggling. Their shiny black hair neatly combed, lipstick on, and long necklaces adorning their bare breasts, they were ready for a photo shoot. To see the village photos, including the girls, click here. After dark, I coaxed Nino to take me on a night walk, and at nine pm, the village and I went to sleep.
I could have stayed several days in this delightful friendly place, but the thought of Adi suffering in La Palma allowed me only one night. In the early morning, after a breakfast of smoked rabbit and lemongrass tea, I joined a family who were heading to town in their (motorized) dugout canoe. It was slower and more pleasant than the ride upriver.
Epilogue
So far, I am not experiencing malaria symptoms, nor any digestive problems from drinking the untreated village water. My only complaint is the itchy, red, oozing volcanoes that cover my legs. I think those are flea bites from sleeping on the hut's foam mattress.
