The End of the Road (Darién - Part 1)

It's the end of the road. Literally.

The Pan American highway that snakes down the Americas from Alaska to Patagonia comes to an abrupt stop right here, a 60 mile gap between Panama and Colombia called the Darién Gap. Human ambitions have tried to overcome the raw brutal wilderness of this wet, mountainous, swampy rainforest. After several spectacular failed attempts, it has been left alone, in the name of “conservation” in order to avoid any more bruised egos.

How’d I choose this destination? I didn’t. It chose me.

Armed with a cheap flight to Panama that was departing within a week, one late evening I was perusing travel blogs, looking for inspiration. I stumbled on a passage. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn in from the very first words:

It is a forgotten place, a savage place that shows us the best and worst in us all. The dense jungle topography of the Darién Gap has long been the disastrous end of many adventurers, swallowing lost souls in its ancient embrace. The aura of the jungle, of a million wild souls, is as tangible as water when one bathes. It is another sense, one that comes to the heart rather than the eyes, as soaked in richness as they are.

Both ambitious human aspirations and ultimate despair cross paths in this mystical place, drawing all manner of people into its grasp. Trafficked by merciless smugglers and hopeful migrants alike, the Darién Gap has seen and claimed countless of travelers, while only a few lucky ones were given the privilege to escape its dark fangs. 

- Tao Travel 365

Count me in.

You may have heard about the Darien Gap in infamy - reportedly the playground for narcos, illegal immigration, anti-government militias, or at least it was in the 90s. And large killer spiders. While I can only vouch for the present day existence of the large killer spiders, Darién National Park is so much more. It is also home to several indigenous communities, one of which welcomed me with open arms and showed me this land through their eyes.

Getting to the village from Panama City took the better part of two days of 3 buses, 2 boats, and my own two feet.

The war on drugs and immigration means there's multiple checkpoints, with men armed to the teeth checking documents and inspecting luggage. Looking for drug traffickers or just trying to feel important. Happily this experience was very different from my run-in with Albanian border security, where apparently a Russian with an American passport driving solo across Albania into Macedonia in a rented Greek car is considered something of a “red flag”, and as a result I spent an extra two hours getting interrogated while the officers physically verified that my laundry detergent wasn't drugs.  To the Panamanians I'm just another crazed gringa - no one asks what the hell I’m doing here, what truth I think I’m going to find by peeking under every corner of the world. Not that I can answer that anyways. So its sign here, date here, next.

Once I get to the town of Meteti, my guide and I transfer to a smaller bus that takes us to the shore. And then, it’s time for the first speed boat.

I hate boats. They are too small, you can’t escape, and they always break.

After my speed boat ordeal in the Amazon where I just about swam to shore, this one is a piece of cake in comparison. Naturally the boat is filled shoulder to shoulder with people and tilts at every movement. At least the new fridge that someone bought for Christmas is not being loaded into this speed boat.

As soon as I sit down, I start plotting an exit strategy. No anacondas in these waters, that's good. What about crocodiles? Likely. But there’s lots of children on this boat, easy pickings for the crocs. I just have to not be the slowest swimmer. But this is a pretty wide channel...I'm not exactly world class. After pondering my odds of survival, I carefully zip up my phone, wallet and kindle. I'm now prepared for body identification, getting home, or becoming cast away.

This boat takes me to the little village of La Palma, where we overnight to catch a second boat next day. When I say little, I mean one dusty street that you can walk from one side to the other in under 10 minutes. It behooves me to understand why there are men here shouting “Taxi! Taxi!”. Talk about a lack of product-market fit.

My accommodations for the night are what I'd call true budget - not the slightly ridiculous over the top African kind, but the rusty toilet and noisy fan kind. Of course I make the best of the situation, engineering a holder for the fan so that it directs its heavenly breeze directly down on my pillow. There is a non-zero risk of it falling on my head at night, but I’m willing to accept the consequences of my actions. 

While the rooms themselves are humble, the lodge is nested directly over the water with a spectacular view of the sunset. A beer, a kindle, and music from next door. Beautiful. 

The next morning it’s time for the next boat. Much to my dismay the boats are getting smaller and smaller, but this journey should only be two hours. 

About an hour in - as if on schedule - the engine stops. The tide is too low, so the motor is hitting the bottom. We are stuck. Tides are a regularly occurring phenomenon, how have they not solved this equation? There’s few things as anxiety inducing as being broken down in the middle of a large body of water. I start pondering how I can get to shore. Thinking again of the potential crocodiles, I resort to not abandon ship and distract myself by watching the pelicans. They are on their morning hunt for breakfast, flying in a neat line, like elegant gliders. 

We sputter along, two hours turning into five. 

We get to the village dock, which is a solid 4 feet above our boat. NOT first world problems. The villagers that were waiting on us jump in and direct the boat down a tributary. Eventually they resort to pushing the boat by hand down the river while the passengers sit still and try to be lighter. Reminds me of a winter long ago, sitting in the backseat and watching my parents push the car in the snow. Evidently even with age I’ve not gotten more useful in that situation.