The Path to Kuna Yala

It is completely dark when we wake up. No traces of the frantic packing of the day before. I silently say goodbye to my lovely apartment. We meet Rigoberto, our driver, opposite the "God loves tourists" Gamboa church at 4:30am. He drives an old Land Cruiser with bench seats along the walls in the back.

In Panama City the first pink clouds of dawn bloom in the sky as he picks up a haggling, unhappy Israeli couple outside of Super 99. At the next stop we add heavy boxes and a Kuna man, woman, and young boy to our cargo. Then large containers of water and fuel. We stop again for gas and coffee, a couple more people, at a passport checkpoint, and finally for a last pee before turning off the Darien road and heading into Kuna country.

Rigoberto decides to add a woman and her 5 children to our load, much to the dismay of the Israeli girl. Probably used to more comfortable conditions. Now we are 16 in one car. Roxanna and her silent, tiny little brother sit up front with me. They walk 3 hours of mountainous terrain twice a day if no one stops to pick them up.


The views become breathtaking as we ride through the red-pink flesh gashes in the earth deeper into primary rainforest jungle. The road is bumpy and unpaved, and our driver speeds down sheer cliffs and takes the gravelly hairpin turns without flinching. The alleged 2.5 hour ride stretches into 5 hours, but we are thrilled and uncomplaining.

Fancy cameras film a misplaced woman in a small shirt on the edge of a vast panorama of endless rainforest tinged with purple mist. They come over to our car and soon I am being interviewed out the window for Panamanian TV. Channel 2. She asks if I am scared about doing the trek in this car, while another man argues with our driver about how dangerous it is.

We continue on, and now it is even steeper. The Land Cruiser struggles, heavily laden with passengers, luggage, full containers roped to the top. The many children are no longer aboard, instead we have gained a man who clings to the outside of the car as we swerve and jump. Rigoberto calls him "spiderman". The vehicle inches up vertical muddy inclines in the lowest 4-wheel drive gear available, and then speeds down hills to gain momentum for the next impossible climb.

We are approaching a river and I look for a bridge, but instead we plunge straight in. The water comes high enough to pour in my window, but we make it through and soon are at the ocean. A small shack demands entrance and exit fees to and from Kuna Yala.

Our boat is a rickety blue wood canoe with a removable motor. A teenage Kuna boy with a sweet smile is our captain. Salty spray covers my face and glasses as we skip over the water's surface towards white islands. Endless turquiose water surrounds me and I am breathless. A dolphin leaps along next to the boat, joyful and curious.

Chichime (or Wichitub) is the last island, farthest into the Caribbean Sea. Our host, Humberto, welcomes us and the colors are unbelievable. We sleep on hammocks in a palm frond hut, learn phrases of Kuna from our lovely 10-year-old teacher, Lydiana, and snorkel all day. No fresh water, other than what we brought with us, and no bathrooms. A remote paradise.