1/30/02 | Cultural experiences

prologue

I had planned to write this log entry shortly after our first two days in the anchorage near Caledonia, with the excitement and pleasure of our interactions with several of the indigenous Kuna people fresh in my mind. I was bubbling over with the newness and the fun of it all, the joy of being able to meet people from a very different culture and become friends, something that we could only do because we were out here by ourselves, in a place that cruisers infrequently visit. Adventures like this are the real high points of our cruise.

But before I could set fingers to keyboard (we were so busy!) several things happened which tempered our enthusiasm. First, we learned that Hallelujah had been rolled and dismasted on their passage from Aruba to Colon. Second, through continuing interaction with the Kuna, we discovered that their apparent friendliness masked a tenacious avarice. Although we gave a few people certain small gifts, out of friendship, they continued to ask for more things, for money, constantly and with increasing insistence, and gradually it became clear that we were not friends, we were marks, and their object was to extract as much as they could from us. The worst part is that I can see that this is partially our own fault. By inviting them to see our boat (out of friendship) we only showed them, to their dissatisfaction, that we have much more than they do. And, naturally, they wanted some of it.

So now, I can't quite gather the same sense of happiness and excitement that I had when these events originally occured. But for a few days, we really had a great time.

kuna lunch

Most of our visitors were children, but on our second morning a canoe bearing a small family arrived. Julio, the father, speaks good Spanish, and the first thing he did was show me his small collection of boat cards, and ask for one of ours. We were happy to give him one, and we invited him, his wife Atalicia, and his seven-year-old son Melvin aboard. We sat in the cockpit, chatting, Julio translating for his wife and me translating for Britt, since our respective spouses speak only a little Spanish. Kevin speaks Spanish about as well as I do (which is to say, not really well, but sufficient for conversation), and as he is a pediatrician and loves kids, he got into quite a conversation with Melvin. Atalicia had brought some of her molas -- the appliqued and embroidered decorative panels which the Kuna women are famous for -- and Kevin and I each bought a few.

They were on their way back from working in their finca, or farm plot, and they had a number of unusual foods in their canoe, which we asked about. Since it was just about lunchtime, our theoretical discussion of what to do with breadfruit and green bananas rapidly turned into a practical demonstration. We provided a few ingredients, they provided a few ingredients, and we all shared a delicious lunch. On the menu: fried breadfruit slices and a soup made from their coconuts, breadfruit, and green bananas, and our canned tuna (which in our opinions the soup would have been better without, but they specifically asked for it), onions and bouillon.

Atalicia teaches Ilana and Kevin how to cook Kuna style

a hike on the wild side

In the afternoon Mandi, the shy thirteen-year-old boy we'd given a magazine and candy in exchange for coconuts, came by to see us again, just as we were preparing to dinghy to the island of Suletupu to take a walk. We invited him to come with us, and he turned out to be a useful guide; the trail was pretty rough in places, crossing through mud, across piles of slimy rotted coconut husks, and cactus-covered rocks. In several places, I was mighty tempted to turn back, but as our barefoot guide moved unconcernedly through these hazards, we could hardly do less. We hiked by a picturesque black sand beach on the wave-pounded windward side, through jungly coconut groves, and across more carefully-tended farm plots, essentially circumnavigating the small island in a few hours. With our encouragement, Mandi identified plants and animals for us, pointing out breadfruit trees and land crabs, hawks and coconuts. When we returned to the boat we had drinks and snacks, which Mandi inhaled like a starving man (or perhaps like a normal teenager!). We told him he was a good guide and deserved a fee, handing him a five-dollar bill (Panama uses American currency). He also asked for a can of meat, for his parents, and he really liked the tortilla chips we had as a snack, so we gave him a can of turkey and the rest of the bag of chips. He got into his canoe, and told us to wait, then retrieved something wrapped in a black plastic bag. "For you," he mumbled, and pushed into our hands a beautiful little woven basket and a fan made from some sort of reed or palm frond. Then he untied his canoe and paddled off into the evening.