Meet the natives

Life has been a bit hectic this past couple of weeks: fixing things that have been broken, provisioning for the next leg, making sure we have enough fuel and gas. Things always take much longer on a boat and there never seems to be enough time. But it’s not all been work and no play. Whilst we were on the Caribbean side of Panama waiting to transit the canal, we spent a day visiting an Embera Indian village.

While we are short of time, it appears the Embera are short of clothes. After a 45-minute bus journey we were dropped off by the side of a large lake. There we were met by a group of lithe, loincloth clothed Indians. Poor Vanessa didn’t know where to look. We wobbled our way into giant, outboard-motor-powered, dugout canoes and raced across the lake and up a river. Those unfortunate enough to get front row seats were quickly soaked. The jungle rose steeply on either side of the river forming a stunning backdrop to our journey, while overhead, eagles and ospreys swooped and soared.

When we arrived at the Embera village we were led into a large, open-sided, thatched-roof building. On three sides tables were set up with baskets and woodcarvings. Although the Embera still live a traditional lifestyle, for the three months of the year when the river is high enough, they host tourist visits, selling handicrafts to fund secondary schooling for their children. The Embera ladies wear skirts and beads and that’s pretty much it, and so it was mine and Jacob’s turn to stare bashfully at our shoes. This becomes all the more challenging when the lady in question is holding out an beautiful woven basket for you to admire.

We were served a wonderful lunch of freshly caught river fish and fried plantain, served in an intricately folded banana leaf, after which we were taken on walk through the jungle by the “medicine man”. He showed us lots of different leaves use for various aliments, including having us try a leaf to cure toothache which tasted vile but did numb all sensation in your mouth. Although chopping our way through the jungle was interesting, the highlight of the walk was seeing our first sloth, high up in a tree, silhouetted against the blue sky.

The day ended with a dancing demonstration, at the end of which we were individually hauled out of the audience to join in. It was more of a shuffle-in-a-circle rather than proper dancing, which at least meant the embarrassment level was limited to the mismatch in clothing. Just before we left, the whole village turned out to be photographed. Our guide encouraged us to join the group but no one moved. Somebody had to lead the way and so I went and stood in the middle. It took a minute or so before anyone else joined me, and that minute was painfully awkward. As Jacob pointed out later, if you plotted the level of awkwardness against the number of white people posing with a village-full of half-naked Embera Indians, there is a very high peak at one!