ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, October 6, 1996 TAG: 9610080014
SECTION: TRAVEL PAGE: 8 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: SHIRLEY JORDAN SPECIAL TO THE ROANOKE TIMES
A gap-toothed smile lights Charlie's wrinkled face. ``Would you like to see my house?'' The gaunt but proud Kuna Indian, in a battered baseball cap and cut-off khakis, motions us to a doorway under broad eaves of thatched palm. My husband, Dean, and I stoop to enter, happy to duck out of the bright Caribbean sun streaming onto the San Blas Islands.
Fifteen minutes before, the Mayan Prince from American Canadian Caribbean Line had eased onto the small sandy beach of this two-acre island, our third stop on a 12-day cruise adventure into remote Panama. We hurried down the ship's innovative bow ramp to explore Acua Tupo, one of 48 Kuna villages that dot the 400-island San Blas Archipelago near Colon, Panama.
Now we are standing in a one-room bamboo dwelling, large enough to house three generations. A vaulted ceiling, crisscrossed by a half dozen sleep hammocks, allows trade winds to pass through the doorways and sweep away humid air. No furnishings occupy the well-swept dirt floor. Clothing hangs from a few pegs.
Charlie nods toward a back door. ``I want to show you how we cook,'' he says, leading us to a fire ring on a spit of land perched over the sea-lapped shore. The family's cooking fuel, a tumbled pile of coconut husks, sprawls nearby. At the water's edge rests a native dugout canoe, a cayuca. Fishing implements made from the trunks and fronds of palm trees rest against Charlie's house.
Water gathering and fishing are the responsibility of Kuna men, while women and young girls hand stitch diligently on molas, the multilayered appliqued shirts and wall-hangings prized by tourists.
Handing Charlie his ``admission charge'' of one dollar, plus another for a picture of his daughter grinding seeds, we are soon strolling back through the village, the lilting tunes of flute-playing street dancers in our ears.
Molas for sale surround us, featuring the bright red of Panama's hibiscus flower, the blue of her tropical seas, the green of her trees and the gold of her sun. Favorite motifs are parrots, sharks, toucans and manta rays. Women and young girls sit before the displayed goods, all of them sewing, for commerce is the realm of women, and a man may not trade or sell any handiwork without his wife's permission.
Kuna women, seldom over 5 feet tall, dress in a costume of mola-embroidered blouse, a sarong-style skirt, and a scarf of red and gold fabric to cover the head and shoulders. They decorate themselves with ear disks, arm and leg bands and nose rings, the hole for which is pierced when a baby girl is 1 day old. Because their noses are broad and flat, many paint a black line from bridge to tip, hoping for the appearance of length.
Later, back on the ship, we compare purchases as the crewmen raise the bow ramp, tucking it snugly into place at the front of the passenger lounge. Surging motors propel us backward to clear the island and, as lunch is announced, the Mayan Prince sails on.
Theresa, our amiable cruise director, has promised us a special snorkeling spot at the island stop for that afternoon. When she mentions a nearby shipwreck, I turn to Dean, ``Not for me. That sounds like a treat for the scuba-certified among us.''
But there is no need to feel left out. As our ship creeps slowly onto the soft, white sand of an island not much larger than a golf green, we see the sunken hull from our deck. A pair of snorkelers from a nearby yacht glide through the crystal clear water, passing over and around a rusty form just 8 feet deep. We can handle that!
Snorkels and fins in hand, we race down the bow ramp to find ourselves in waist-deep water, from which we can push off and glide over the wreck. A few turns around the derelict and we are ready to try the island's reefs, where multihued tropical fish weave their way through elk horn, organ pipe and brain coral, all of it dotted with indigo sea fans.
The week speeds by. Typically, a day will promise two principal destinations, with the ship moving from one to the other during lunch. Capt. Jamie Delisle determines our itinerary, based upon the weather and advice from Henry Broulio, a native Kuna crewman.
As we draw near a village, young boys in cayucas paddle out, chanting ``Moan-Nay, Moan-Nay.'' Their diving antics are so entertaining, we have soon tossed them every coin on the ship.
One day the flurry from the cayucas increases. We find the boys diving happily - for ice cubes. Broulio explains. ``We have no streams on our islands, and our men must haul water from the mainland. These boys like your ice cubes better than money!''
After six days in the San Blas, we reluctantly return to civilization for our Panama Canal transit. At dawn, Delisle lines us up smartly behind the mammoth catamaran, Radisson Diamond, our partner ship in the canal locks.
Like David following Goliath, the Mayan Prince bobs through each lock, all 60 of us snapping photos of the engineering wonders around us, and watching the Radisson creep through canal locks with only inches to spare on each side. By late afternoon we have traveled the canal's 50 miles and passed under the Bridge of the Americas, gateway to the Pacific.
The Pearl Islands, popular with vacationing Panamanians, come next. Here we have time to explore a few villages and try out small island beaches with warm water and an abundance of colorful fish.
As we sail southward, the vegetation thickens, becoming ever more tropical. We laugh at the wobbling, clumsy flight of parrots passing overhead.
As we approach the northwest tip of Panama, we are offered an optional half-day excursion. Comfort, not expense, is the variable, for the adventure costs only $25, the only ``extra'' on this trip.
A 90-minute ride in a hollowed-out cayuca doesn't appeal to everyone, so just half of us sign on for the trip up the Sambu River into Panama's Darien Jungle. Our destination, a small Choco Indian village called Chunga, can be reached no other way.
Luther Blount, founder and president of the cruise line, is a shipmate on this trip, and from him we learn about the gentle Chocos. ``Remember how the Kuna natives wanted payment for each picture we took?'' he asks us. ``Well, the Choco tribe is different. Take all the photos you want. Then, when you leave the village, watch for a small donation basket near the path. That money goes to everyone in the village.''
Timing is the real challenge of the jungle trip, for the silt-filled river waters allow passage only at high tide, and those who linger might find themselves stranded in a primitive settlement with no lodging place - and no rest rooms.
Placing our trust in a half dozen native guides, we shove off from the rear launching platform of the Mayan Prince, ten of us seated in each of three tippy, motor-assisted cayucas. On each bow sits a Choco native, raising his arm as a signal to his partner at the tiller whenever we approach floating debris.
Crossing the shallows at the river's mouth, we chug up silt-laden waters into the jungle. Relentless sun, high humidity and cramped seating are largely forgotten as, on either side, trees and vines grow ever thicker and water birds dot the shore. Again, flopping parrots pass over us.
At last we round a bend, gliding to a stop on a muddy river bank. Grinning native girls reach out as we unwind our cramped legs. Bare-breasted women in sarong-like skirts, their skin painted with decorative pigments, balance babies on their hips.
The girls compete for the right to lead us the half-mile into the village circle. Elia, my 9-year-old escort, pulls me along the jungle trail. From time to time, she pauses to point out a row of leaf-cutter ants bobbing across our path, carrying their burdens of greenery like crisp parasols. While the Choco natives speak no English, their roots are Columbian, and Elia and I manage to communicate in simple Spanish.
Our festive parade ends at a large clearing, circled by stilted bamboo houses. Spread in front of the dwellings are reed mats lined with the handicraft specialties of the Chocos: woodcarvings, finely woven baskets, and jewelry crafted of a soft local silver.
Seldom seeing visitors, the Chocos seem as curious about us as we are about their lives here in the remote jungle. With shy smiles, some young girls from the village families dance for us.
Sooner than we wish, it is time to go, for the tide will not wait. We locate the small basket for donations and set off down the trail, the children grasping our hands and leading us to the cayucas. The villagers wave as we pull away from the shore.
The following evening, at the ship's dock in Balboa, we celebrate with a prime rib dinner, followed by a stirring Panamanian dance performance on the upper deck. Reluctantly, we say goodbye to shipmates and crew, convinced we've seen Panama in a way granted to a very few.
LENGTH: Long : 151 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: SHIRLEY JORDAN. 1. A typical Kuna tribal villageby CNB(above), one of 48 that dot the 400-island San Blas archipelago near
Colon, Panama. 2. The Mayan Prince (right) docks at a village wharf
and the bow ramp is lowered for easy access to the ship. 3. Island
dancers perform traditional steps to the music of their hand-crafted
pipes. color. Graphic: Map by staff. color.