Into the Darien

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.com

“Naked Indians”! It wasn't the most eloquent nickname, nor the most politically correct, but between ourselves that was our label for the village we were trying to find. We'd heard that there were a group of indigenous people living somewhere in the Darien that tourists like us could visit, and that's where we were headed. If we could find the place.

The Darien (commonly referred to as the Darien Gap) is a large piece of jungle-marshland-undeveloped forest that resides in both Panama and Colombia. It is a virtually untouched landscape save for the Panamerican Highway, which unceremoniously ends in Yavisa, Panama. The Darien is a wild and apparently very dangerous place, if judged by the six police checkpoints we rode through on the Panama side.

As motorcyclists, our main objective was to ride into the Darien to the literal “end of the road.” The Panamerican Highway, a collection of roads that run North to South throughout the Americas, is the main thoroughfare for many travelers. The novelty of it abruptly ending in the middle of the jungle is an irresistible draw for many of us even though it is a 350  mile round trip from Panama City.

The road was flat and rather straight down to Yavisa. The diverse animal life along the way added entertainment to the otherwise boring riding, as did the challenge of avoiding the cavernous potholes along the way. Upon reaching Yavisa, we spent considerable time looking for a sign or some other announcement that the Panamerica had ended. We never found such a sign, but contented ourselves with pictures of the foot bridge that was where the road should have continued.

After a roadside meal, several U turns and asking five times for directions, we finally found our turnoff. We rode 15km down a rutted, non-paved road.  We found the Wounaan Community at Puerto Lara, and as we entered the village half clothed, excited children came running towards us. The village was a variety of homes all built on stilts – in order to keep snakes out I was told. Soon some of the elders came forth, and invited us into the main lodge.

Seated at a long table with the community elders, we spoke with them of their culture and lifestyle. A great number of the people at the table were painted in their ceremonial decoration, and when offered I jumped at the chance to be painted. A variety of artisans came forth and presented their wares – the Wounaan are most famous for their intricately carved tagua seeds, and for their basketry.

Once purchased, however, the warm welcome abruptly came to an end. Suddenly I felt a great urgency to leave the village, even though everyone was quite polite. We headed to the motorbikes, packed our goodies, geared up, and quickly rode off. Around the corner I stopped to ask Igor if he felt the same urgency to leave as I had. Yes, he assured me, it was time to ride.

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