Long Walk to the Beach

I showed up at my friend/English student Maximo’s house at 7 am.  I was relieved to see he was ready with boots and a backpack, because up until that point I wasn’t sure if our trip was happening for certain because we hadn’t talked since earlier that week.  We were walking from my community in the mountains to the beach on the Pacific.

This was my first overnight hiking trip with community members, so I tried to pack light like they always do.  No ipod, no shampoo, no towel, no sunscreen, no medicine.  Just a change of clothes, a mosquito net, soap, bug spray, and a flashlight.  

Maximo's mom sent us away with lunch wrapped in a banana leaf and we walked down the hill to find the horse that would be carrying our bags.  At this point I thought only the two of us were going, but we stopped by another house and picked up another guy Felipe and his 14 year old cousin Noriel.

We hiked down from the mountains, picking some oranges out of a tree on the way.  We exited the indigenous reservation area and passed through many cow pastures, stumbling upon  a stinky dead horse that thoroughly spooked our horse.  Eventually we crossed the Interamerican highway and on the other side, picked up some berries to make a chicha (drink).  We took a break at a river and went swimming: me in all of my clothes because that seemed like the proper thing to do.  I took a turn riding the horse and we continued on, passing through a town with a real paved road and electricity and big block houses.  Soon enough we crossed back into another cow pasture.

At some point Maximo asked me if I actually would have gone with him if it was just the two of us.  I said sure, why not.  He told me that his father, a respected pastor in the community, had told him we could not go alone.  I laughed, thinking he was referring to the fact that everyone would think we were boyfriend and girlfriend.  But Maximo told me that the Latinos hate to see an indigenous man with a white girl, and walking through the isolated countryside could get dangerous.  Maximo said, “Remember when those Latino guys drove past us when you were on the horse?  Did you hear what they said? What are you doing with her, she belongs with us.”   I had always been aware that racism exists here, but it still made me feel sick to become part of it.  Usually I am blissfully removed from it, living in an indigenous-only Comarca zone.

Felipe spotted two iguanas in a tree on the trail and whipped out his slingshot and bag of rocks.  After several shots he passed it to Maximo until POW the rock hit the leathery skin and PLOP the iguana toppled off the branch and fell to the ground.  Maximo grabbed the 2 foot long mini-dinosaur, crossed its legs, and tied its toes together so that it couldn’t move, and stored it inside my zippered plastic Disney princess bag.  Noriel climbed the tree with the slingshot and attacked the second iguana.  Now we had dinner in the bag.

I thought we were almost there but after all of our side diversions, we did not arrive to the beach until 5:40 pm.  I thought anywhere would be fine to make camp since it was about to rain, but we also had to find a spot on the beach with an opening in the fence for the horse to access pastureland after the 9 hour hike.

Our campsite on the beach, with iguana.

The most essential part of any Panamanian meal is a carbohydrate load, usually rice.  However I was cooking with men so we grilled the iguana in the fire and then cut it up and boiled it in the pot over the campfire.  In my community this iguana would be enough meat for 20 people but instead, we each enjoyed about 1/3 pound of meat, a complete rarity.  No need for carbs, I guess, because we didn’t cook any. 

We went to bed (palm leaves on top of sand) early but the mosquitos were relentless even with the net and the spray.  Maximo asked , “Do you like to hike in the night time?” I said, “Sure, I’ve done it before. “ The guys would talk mostly among themselves in Ngaberi so I only partially understood the situation.  Felipe wanted to leave our camp site at 2 am to hike to the crab hunting mangrove site, and Maximo was worried that I wanted to rest.

Our 2nd cooking spot on the way to the mangroves. I woke up to the men cooking breakfast.

We ditched the mosquitoes  at 2 am and packed up.  I scored the horse so I nodded off and trusted the horse to get me there.  We stopped at 5 am in a pasture, laid out the tarp, and I fell back to sleep, completely covered with clothing to hide from the mosquitoes.  I woke up to a wooshing noise and saw Maximo standing over me fanning a blanket because apparently the mosquitoes were biting through all of my clothes. 

Noriel reaching deep for a crab in the swampy mangroves

Horse, campfire, and tons of mosquitoes.

I caught one crab!

At 7 am we continued walking for another hour until we arrived at the swampy mangroves. We squished through the mud in our boots and stuck our arms inside holes in the mud, searching for a crab at the bottom.  I spent more time trying to get my boots unstuck from the quicksand-like mud, but I eventually grabbed one 4-inch crab. 

The mangroves

The guys were more successful than me but we all left covered head to toe in stinky swamp mud, and rinsed off in a nearby stream.  We packed up the 30 or so crabs and started the trek back to the community, heading back through the rice patties, the cow pastures, and the town.  At the river we cooked some crabs and rice over a fire to give us energy for the final stretch.   By the last hour of the hike, back in the Comarca area, my legs felt like jelly.  We stopped at a house to drop something off and they gave us a big pot of corn chicha .  Being a good water/sanitation volunteer I usually do not share drinks, but when Maximo hesitated with the pot I grabbed it, took a few gulps, and passed it on.  It seemed like the proper thing to do, hanging out with the guys.  Eight hours after leaving the crab mangroves, I made it back to my house exhausted.

But…I had a big engagement that night!  I had expected to arrive from our beach adventure mid-day. Every few months my nearest volunteer girl neighbors and I organize a “Culture Club” together, and that was the night.  So I quickly returned home, dropped off my wet muddy clothes, picked up my umbrella, and walked down to the school, hoping I would catch the last passenger car that runs almost all the way up to Emma’s community.  Unfortunately I missed the car so I walked up with my dog and arrived at 8:30.  It was all worth it though because there were fish, potatoes, and four friends waiting for me!

The trip to the beach was one of the best ways I could culminate my two years living in my community.  Men go on this trip usually once or twice a year to bring iguanas and crabs back to eat or sell.  I assumed I would probably never make the hike because usually only guys go, so it would be awkward to bring me along.  It was a good experience for later on in my service because I could understand more of the Ngaberi , keep up with the walking pace, and not be embarrassed about being a female in the presence of some friends.