Hello, South America!

After leaving Panama in the evening, we "set sail" (there was no wind for 5 days straight, so they had to motor the whole way). We sat and chatted with Cecile and Daniel for a while, then went to bed. They've been living on the Basta for several years, spending most of their time in Latin America writing about social issues and have some cool stories.

We woke up here:

After breakfast, we swam to the island in the top photo. I was thinking swim there, look around a little, swim back, so after 2 hours or so making a sand castle without sunscreen, we were all lobsters. We wrote "Fuck Pirates" on the sides of the castle's gate, so that's as close to a name as it's getting. This asshole tried to claim it:

The sunset that night was pretty cool too:

We chugged along through the second night too, and woke up in time to see the Farside Island:

We stopped in the middle of 3 islands similar to the guy below, and spent the day swimming and chatting, and went snorkelling while Daniel hunted dinner for us.

That night and most of the next day, we motored towards Mamitupu, the biggest island we visited, where Cecile and Daniel spend some of their downtime. Turns out I never took any photos of Mamitupu, then next ones in my camera are of the nasty as fuck blisters Callum had on his back when we got off the boat near Colombia and had to carry our packs.

In the evening we had dinner with Don Pablo, a friend of C&D's that runs the closest thing to a hotel on the island, a few comfortable little huts with a restaurant. That night we learnt a bit about life on the Kuna (the indigenous inhabitants) Islands. They people are self-governing, and live mostly in 3 comarcas, the biggest of which is the Kuna Yala, or Kuna Islands. The men of each island elects a saila, or chief, upon the death of the incumbent. The saila leads a weekly or twice-weekly congress in the meeting house in the middle of the island (all the paths are bordered by tall wooden stake fences, and don't have much sense to their design, so it's labyrinthine). He lies in his hammock and settles day-to-day disputes and issues with the running of the island, as well as serving as religious leader of the island by singing and reciting the Kuna history and tradition. His recitals are then interpreted by a group of advisors, as they're recited in a different version of the Kuna language. 

Despite the fact that each community is led by a man elected by men, the Kuna culture is reasonably matriarchal. All landowners are women, and land passes from mothers to daughters, and husbands move in with their wives, thereby contributing the the wife's family's welfare. Outsiders aren't allowed to own land or live on the Kuna Yala either, so all land is owned by Kuna women. 

Kuna culture is alive and strong, but that's not to say it hasn't been changing my modern conveniences. A few years ago, the Panamanian government helped furnish each home with a small solar panel, so each house has lighting, and some have radios or TVs. On Mamitupu, there was 5 or 6 little shops where you could buy coke and biscuits and whatever household necessities are necessary. Except there's no garbage disposal, so even though the islands are fucking beautiful, and the Kuna know that they live in a paradise, trash gets left around the edge of the island on the more populated islands. It's a huge shame, but there isn't really any solution short of sending around a boat to pick it all up, but that's not profitable so who's gonna do it? 

We spent most of the following day on Mamitupu, chatting a bit with the Kuna and reading and so on. Then early in the morning, we left Mamitupu to be dropped at Puerto Obaldia, the closest town to Colombia with Panamanian border control. There was only 3 little hotel-ey things in Obaldia, and all were full, so we set off along the beach to find somewhere to camp, only to be stopped at the military post on the path to the next bay. Turned out you can't walk between the bays at night or really leave the town, or you might trigger a military response to traffickers or paramilitaries or whatever. But the beach was supposedly safe, so we set up beds and chatted and watched the sunset with our last Panamanian beers...

In the morning someone offered a ride in his boat to Capurganà, the Colombian equivalent of Puerto Obaldia (there's 2 more towns in the bays between Capurganà and Puerto Obaldia: La Miel (the honey) for Panama and Sapzurro for Colombia). We negotiated a price, and told him we had to go to migration. When we arrived at migration, we were told we needed 2 photocopies of our passports each, and that the net cafes would be open. Neither of them were, so we waited outside until they were. The guy came out for a smoke while we were waiting and said to us that they were open. We told him no they weren't. He said it's 8:15, they open at 8, of course they're open. We told him no, we visited and they weren't open. Finally one opened and we waited another half hour in line for about 3 people, then returned to our friend with the boat and headed around to Capurganà. 

That day we didn't do too much - had our first Colombian bandejas, one of the only cheap non-fried things I've seen so far here. It's basically a plate with rice, a little salad, a fried plantain and your choice of meat. Pretty good really, but gets a little old after a month or so. The next day we walked to Sapzurro for lunch, then Callum and I continued on to the duty free store at La Miel to pick up some cheap rum. Shit's so expensive in comparison in Colombia. 

The following day we got a boat from Capurganà to Turbo, one of the motors of which decided it wouldn't work properly, so after half an hour or so we stopped for almost an hour while they fixed it. Then the first bus from Turbo to Cartagena broke down about 15 minutes out of its destination for about half an hour. Joyous day. But we arrived at Cartagena, and there was space in the hostel we'd chosen, so not a total disaster. 

Bonus pic: Callum's back: