The Lost Paradise of Panamá

In eastern Panama is a province called Darién which borders Colombia. It’s rarely visited by gringos past the town of Yaviza, and it’s highly recommended not to go any farther. This is not just another idle warning. Take it seriously. As with other unheeded warnings, such as wandering around in Colón City alone, you’re going to end up hurt, robbed, kidnapped, or worse. Every month some visitor to Panama, looking for a little excitement, does something very stupid. They get in way over their head, and pay for it dearly.

It’s not just the border that’s dangerous. The various guerilla groups such as FARC and drug smugglers go far inland, and have murdered peopled in neighboring villages, as well as on the islands off the northern coast in the Comarca de San Blas. My wife lost two cousins in this area who were working in law enforcement.

The jungle, though beautiful, is harsh and unforgiving. The Darién has extremely hostile terrain, covered with thick foliage and unmapped swamps. It’s infested with voracious fire ants and disease-carrying mosquitoes—the real king of the jungle. When the sun goes down, all light is blocked out by the double canopy. If you get cut or scratch a bug bite and don’t take care of it right away, expect infection to show within hours. Worse still, if you’re bitten by one of the many poisonous snakes, your odds of survival are…well, I’m sure you can imagine.

Add to this the roaming bands of indigenous Indians, heavily armed Colombian guerrillas, and drug smugglers. It’s a low intensity—but very lethal—war zone. There’s a reason why it’s known as the Green Hell, and that the Pan-American Highway was never built here. If you do go, make sure it’s with a guide and do exactly what he tells you. This is no place to mess around. By the time you realize you’re in trouble, it’ll be too late.    

A friend asked if I would hike through the Gap to the border. Common sense prevailed, and we decided to fly. My friend is also a pilot. We rented a Cessna in the Gamboa area, and headed east. I acted as the navigator using a 1:25,000 topographical map. We were searching for an airstrip we had heard about from a missionary. We followed rivers that helped guide us most of the way. I’m not a pilot, but my friend let me control the stick for part of the way.

From the air we found a scar of land cut from the jungle and we landed. In the tree line were Chocoe Indians, a Catholic missionary, his wife (or mate), and their young son. I know, priests aren’t supposed to have relationships. Right or wrong, this one did. The boy spoke the local dialect, Spanish, English, and swam like a fish in the nearby river. The Indians live in huts built on stilts. A notched log is used as a stairway. We gathered in one of the huts and listened to many stories about adventurers traveling through, never to be seen again.

We bought some things. I really liked a paddle with a bird carving on the handle, made out of a dark wood, impervious to termites. My friend bought a young macaw with its wings clipped so it couldn’t fly away.     

When we left, we pushed the plane as far back to the edge of the dirt airstrip as we could. At the other end of the jungle runway was a river, and on the opposite side, a rock wall. Once you passed the point of no return and hadn’t reached takeoff speed, you’d end up in the river, or crash into the rock face. The plane wasn’t getting enough traction on the runway and we weren’t going very fast. The rock wall filled the windshield and I prepared for the impact. Neither of us spoke a word.

Near the end of the runway was a flat rock, angled upwards, like a natural ramp. The front wheel of the plane hit this–we bounced–my friend pulled back on the stick and immediately turned hard right. The left wing missed the cliff and we were airborne. He threw me a glance and smiled as if saying, “No problem.” At the same time the macaw had somehow gotten loose and bit down on the web of skin between my friend’s thumb and index finger. He screamed in pain and I took over the control until he shook off the bird and secured it. Sweat was dripping off my wrists.

Our day wasn’t done. We made a beeline to the Pacific Coast and out to the Pearl Islands, specifically, Contadora. It’s a small island, but it has an airstrip. We landed, ordered a late lunch within earshot of some very loud, obnoxious tourists, checked out the island a little, and flew back to Gamboa. All in all, it was a pretty good day. The Darién Gap in the morning, and Contadora Island in the afternoon. But that’s the splendor of Panama. There are so many things to see and do in a very small country.

In Panama’s northwest along the Caribbean and not far from Costa Rica, is the Bocas del Toro Province. When talking about Bocas, most people are referring to the archipelago just off the coast. The main islands are Cristóbal, Colón, Bastimentos, and Popa. But the province on the mainland is fairly large, mountainous, and covered with thick, lush vegetation.

As with the Western Highlands, so much has already been written that I won’t  spend a lot of time re-writing what’s so well known. Most people will fly into Panama City, rent a room for the night, and then catch a flight from Albrook to Isla Colón. There are many places to stay and eat. You can sightsee around the island, or pitch in with others to hire a boat and visit some of the surrounding islands such as Isla Zapatilla. The islands definitely have a laid back, Bohemian- type lifestyle. For more information visit The Bocas Breeze. 

Near the mainland town of Changuinola you’ll find a canal, and also the wetland San-San Pond Sak Reserve.  

Under PAGES to the right, please click on the Bocas del Toro Province Gallery.

After visiting the Azuero Peninsula and heading west toward Costa Rica on the Interamericana, you’ll pass through the town of Santiago. After Santiago, the next major town is David, the main hub to the Highlands, and Bocas del Toro. This area is also known as Chiriqui, the name of the province. Along the way, to your left you may see the ocean from time-to-time. On the right, you’ll see the cloud covered mountains—cordillera central—the spine of the country. There are many other roads that will take you into the mountains, and many other towns. One of these is Santa Fé, north of Santiago. These are villages well worth visiting. It’s just that places like Boquete, or Cerro Punta, have received a lot more publicity.   

So much has been written about the western highlands that I’m not going to re-do something that’s already been done so many times before. And there are other excellent blogs from expats that live in this area, such as Chiriqui Chatter. Yes, it’s beautiful, as are many places in Panama. There’s an airport in David that allows access to the Highlands and Bocas without going through Panama City. However, many tourists will fly into Panama City, spend the night, and then catch a flight out of Albrook to David, and rent a car or taxi to the Highlands. They’ll miss out of a lot of countryside, but it saves time.

Turn right in David and the road will lead you up to Boquete, the most popular place to visit. About halfway you’ll come to the town of Dolega. There’s a good outdoor restaurant right off the road that serves excellent Chiriqui-raised chicken.

In Boquete, there are many place to stay, eat, and things to do. Hiking, fishing, coffee plantation tours, ride a zip line over the cordillos, hike or four-wheel up to Panama’s highest point, Volcán Barú, and sightseeing everywhere. The trip up to Barú seems to be very popular. We were coming down Volcancito Road past the onion fields, when we picked up a young, red-haired hitchhiker who had just come from Barú. On the drive to Boquete she told us that she was from California, had read about Volcán Barú and seeing both oceans at sunrise in the Lonely Planet guidebook. She didn’t see a lot of Panama, but she did see at least one ocean from atop Barú. I’ve always wondered what people think when they get up there and see the tangle of radio and TV towers. Later, as I ate an early evening meal at Amigos, I saw several people walking around, all with their heads stuck in a Lonely Planet book.

On the other side of Boquete and Volcán Barú are the towns of Volcan, and Cerro Punta. This area is Panama’s breadbasket, and the surroundings are gorgeous. Enough said. To the right under PAGES, click on the Panama Highlands Gallery. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves, but with one caveat. As beautiful and fertile as this area is, it comes with a price. It’s in an earthquake zone. If you stay long enough, you will feel tremors.   

Heading west from the Santa Clara—Farallón—Rio Hato area, the Interamericana turns northwest away from the ocean. The next major town is Penonomé. I like saying that name. Pay-no-no-MAY. Sometimes, just to get a reaction from my wife’s family, I’ll say, “Pay-no-no-no-MAY” as fast as I can. Centuries ago, Penonomé was the capital, after Panama Viejo was sacked and burned by the pirate, Henry Morgan.

Long before now you’ll have noticed the hats the men wear, typically a white and black color, with the front brim flipped up. This is one of many areas where you’ll find this traditional headgear for sale. There are other places away from the Interamericana and on the Azuero Peninsula. The hats are tightly woven from plant fibers. The tighter—the better. My father-in-law, Bilo, will carefully examine the braids before deciding on a new one. A well-made sombrero will cost $20-40. They’re a little stiff when first worn, and need to be broken in.

After Penonomé, the highway angles southwest toward the Peninsula. You’ll pass through Natá, (where one of the oldest churches in the Americas is still in use), Aguadulce, and Divisa. If you want to go to the Highlands and Costa Rica, continue west. If you want to visit the heart of Panama where they make the traditional hats, the national dress, (la pollera for women, el montuño for men), and listen to the unique musica typica, then hang a left and head toward Chitré.  

Farther down the peninsula is Las Tablas, where my wife Elia was born, and near the tip is Pedasí. As in any country, there are small villages that are so far off the natural lines of drift that most people will never see them.

Purio is one of these villages. It might as well be Brigadoon…

The main road splits between Pocrí and Pedasí, and somewhere along the way you may find Purio. There’s a woman with long, salt and pepper colored hair, who makes bread. In Spanish, it’s called pan. There’s nothing like freshly-baked pan from an earth oven as the sun rises.

…along with a good cup of coffee.        

Once you travel south from El Valle to the Las Uvas turnoff, and the Interamericana Highway, you’ll begin to see more of the Pacific Ocean to your left. On your right, you’ll see farmland and cattle ranches. If traveling during the dry season, about mid-December through April, you may see some of the fields on fire as the locals burn off dead grass.

First, you’ll come to Santa Clara Beach, one of my favorites. It’s fairly quiet, and there are cabañas you can rent. One good place to spend a few days is at Las Sirenas. You have access to a wide, sandy beach with a calm surf, gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, a barbeque, and a bit of privacy.

If staying a few days, bring food. There are no on-site restaurants. Or, go to nearby Rio Hato and pick up Chiriqui-grown chicken to BBQ, carbón and oil to start the fire, and some rum.

The beach is fantastic, but as with any unfamiliar surrounding, be cautious. Devil rays lurk in the shallow waters. As the tide rises, it covers plant life that will prick your unprotected feet. Plus, there’s a variety of other stingy thingies. 

It’s a good idea to wear sandals while waltzing down the playa. In the early morning, you’ll see dogs roaming, searching for anything edible that washed ashore overnight. For the most part, they’ll leave you alone.

Many beautiful homes stand empty, void of any life except for the occasional visit or party. Former Generals Omar Torrijos and Manuel Noriega had residences here. They’d fly in by small plane or helicopter to the Rio Hato airstrip, visible from the Interamericana. It’s also where, in December 1989, US Army Rangers parachuted in and attacked a Panama Defense Force, or PDF unit, and raided Noriega’s house. Most people don’t see it from the highway because it’s overgrown, but the barracks are still there. And down near the beach and in ruins–Noriega’s old mansion.

On October 3, 1989, Panama’s Special Forces snatched Noriega and handcuffed him to a urinal at the Comandancia in Panama City, and only six-hundred meters as the crow flies from the Southern Command Headquarters on Quarry Heights. The captors made a fatal mistake and allowed Little Tony to make a phone call—to his mistress—who alerted Battalion 2000 outside of Panama City. During the ensuing gunfight, Noriega was rescued. His captors did not fare well. They were tortured and executed.

In stark contrast to this piece of history is the beach next to Santa Clara at Farallón, and the world famous Royal Decameron Resort. My wife’s cousin owns a small cabin nearby, and one day we stopped in to see the resort. It’s beautiful, and all inclusive. That is, no need to carry your wallet or purse. It’s definitely not private, especially in the dry season. You’ll meet all kinds of people. Not just from the Americas, but Europe, just strolling along the packed beach. Unfortunately, many of these tourists only see this part of Panama and don’t experience the real culture.

And…

Most visitors don’t realize that within shouting distance is the former beach house of a notorious dictator. A place where Panama’s Boogey Man, General Manuel Antonio Noriega, once wined and dined VIP’s from around the world. That chapter is now closed. Panama has moved forward and is enjoying a more peaceful—and prosperous time.