Traveling to Panama the first time, everyone tells you to visit the San Blas Islands, and for good reason. It is stunningly beautiful out there. But there are some things you need to know before going to San Blas. Most notably, it’s not for the play-it-safe-squad. In fact, aspects of the journey are kind of terrifying.
It’s not that we aren’t warned. We’re staying at a terrible hotel on the western outskirts of Panama City, and it does not include San Blas on its excursion menu. When we inquire about it, they say they do not recommend it. Some staff take a harder stance and strongly advise against it. So of course, we book a day trip through a local outfit figuring it can’t get much worse than where we are.
"But there are some things you need to know before going to San Blas. Most notably, getting there is not for the play-it-safe-squad."
A driver in a Toyota 4×4 with an off-road lift kit picks us up at 4 a.m. We take off on winding, semi-paved roads through dense jungle. It’s pitch black. Pretty early on, I begin to regret not adding a kidnap and ransom rider to my travel insurance.
Thankfully, Carlos is legit, and we end up being fine. One good thing about being a woman over 50 is that statistically, your chances of being assaulted drop dramatically. No one wants to risk prison or death over you. It’s fantastically liberating being able to roam about the world with fewer worries. Certainly, I still exercise appropriate caution, but I no longer feel like prey, so-to-speak. It’s a whole new world and I am here for it.
Back on the jungle trail, we watch the sun come up over the trees and it’s really beautiful. We make it to a town where we pick up two other travelers, a couple from Mexico City.
We are off to a good start. And then we hit a roadblock.
Three hours in, we reach the road that takes us to the beach where we will be ferried to the San Blas Islands. A line of 4x4s like ours is facing off against some locals blocking the road. Mixed in are some pickup trucks carrying barrels of gasoline for delivery to the islands. We watch as a bevy of well-armed federales arrives.
We park across the road at a Texaco with some other members of the 4×4 brigade. Carlos and the other guides huddle. News crews start to show up. The local villagers want to impose a through tax on the tour guides and gas haulers for using the roads that run through their land.
"A line of 4x4s like ours is facing off against some locals blocking the road...We watch as a bevy of well-armed federales arrives."
What initially appears to be a potentially scary situation is really just a turf war over road rights. And taxes. Always taxes. Somewhere along the way we already stopped at a check point and each paid $20 in cash and had to show our passports. Tour operators tell you this in advance. It’s not a surprise.
We ask Carlos why the federals don’t make the villagers move out of the way. He says that isn’t how things work here. The federales are just there to maintain order while the respective parties work things out.
There is growing sentiment that we might have to turn around and scrap our adventure. Then, all of a sudden, the road clears and all the 4x4s fire up and we are off to the races!
As though a green flag is waved, the 4x4s take off racing, dodging potholes and trying to edge each other out of the way. Like NASCAR drivers, they are not shy about “getting into each other. It is wild.
Miraculously, there is only one accident. A family has decided to rent their own 4×4, which Carlos says is not wise given the terrain. He doesn’t mention the heated racing as a factor, and neither do I.
About an hour later, we arrive at Puerto Carti. It’s primitive and bustling with activity. The facilities are just a wooden outhouse where a lady inside charges 25 cents for a square of toilet paper.
There are lots of small boats coming and going. I don’t see one that looks like it’s for us. By then our group has merged and includes a mother and daughter from Australia. They are somewhat dressed up and headed to connect with a catamaran for a few days.
We are told our boat is ready and are scurried to the dock. I don’t see a boat, so I am not sure what the fuss is about. Then the guides motion for us to get in this little fiberglass, almost rowboat-like vessel with an engine affixed to the back. We’re told to hang on. Not to be insensitive but it is like the refugee boats you see overflowing with migrants on the news. It’s included in the $260 we each pay for the entire adventure. Note: It’s less if you book farther in advance.
The San Blas Islands are on the Atlantic side of Panama. The water off the coast is calm, even on a beautiful blue-sky day in December. It is rough and choppy, if not violent. And here we are in this refugee boat wearing the thinnest of faded orange life jackets. Their purpose seems more for identification in case things end badly. Hand-written phone numbers written in black Sharpy across the backs of some will help rescuers identify us.
In fairness, there are many of these “water taxis” navigating to and from the shore and various islands. They also take people like our Australian friends to ocean craft and drop other travelers off at scuba diving locations. It seems to be quite a smooth operation.
Word to the wise, do not sit in the back of the boat if you can help it. We hold on for dear life for about an hour and get completely soaked. I keep thinking if the boat tips too far or we capsize, it’s over. The boat guides are impervious to our fears and express confidence that we will be fine.
"I keep thinking if the boat tips too far or we capsize, it's over."
Along the way, we encounter several smaller vessels. Some are like canoes, with locals motoring between islands. I’m a bit floored by this. People just casually cruising around in skinny canoes out in the middle of the ocean like I drive my car to the grocery store.
We stop at a few small islands along the way. We drop off and pick up passengers, fish, and ice. I pray each stop is our destination. The coast where we launched is no longer visible, and it seems like we will never get where we are going.
"People just casually cruising around in skinny canoes out in the middle of the ocean like I drive my car to the grocery store."
Finally, we disembark. There’s a sign: Welcome to Dog Island. There are no dogs. But we are on dry land. Praise be.
San Blas’ Dog Island, or Island Perro Chico, is small and sparse. We are told lunch will be served in the main building soon. It’s primarily a dining area but may house some staff. There are a few small huts that line the back of the island. The island has some sort of eco-friendly septic system but it is only sort of working.
We wander around and see a family that was on our boat is getting settled into the huts. We learn they are staying five days and I wonder what they will do here for five days. The two kids are 8-to-10-ish. I wonder if they know how fortunate they are to have an experience like this so young. They don’t seem very phased by their surroundings so I guess probably not.
"Lunch features a heavily breaded white fish over rice that is quite good even though they cook the eyes, a practice I will never get over no matter how many times or places I see it."
Some time passes and the panic of the 4×4 race and the choppy boat ride starts to dissipate. The water surrounding the island is calm and shallow and twinkles every color of blue imaginable. A squadron of pelicans is fishing nearby. It’s picture perfect and hard not to love.
Lunch features a heavily breaded white fish over rice that is quite good even though they cook the eyes, a practice I will never get over no matter how many times or places I see it. Afterward we relax in hammocks for a while before enjoying the water. We are surprised to find a very old cannon lodged in the surf a bit beyond the shore. It’s very popular with the snorkelers and even a group of scuba divers stops to check it out.
Before long, we are called back to the boat. The guides talk with great enthusiasm about going to visit the natural pool, whatever that is. My panic returns and I offer that I will just stay here. As feared, they aren’t coming back so I have to go see this pool.
I’m glad I did because it is very cool. Out in the ocean, between the islands, there is an area where the water is only about waist deep. So we get out of the boat and walk around in the middle of the ocean, no mainland in sight. The water is crystal clear, making it easy to spot the plentiful starfish and other marine life. Music blasts from the boats and there is a sort of party atmosphere.
Our next stop is another island with a little more infrastructure. It’s across from Dog Island but not a swimmable distance. We find some great sea shells here and some of the island ladies are selling their mola art. The panels of layered embroidery are unique to the Guna Yala people.
Some of the locals arrive at a dock and show off two beautiful red fish they just caught. They are young and one proudly poses for a photo with the day’s catch.
"Our visit to the San Blas Islands ends up being the highlight of my first trip to Panama."
The sun is setting and I am beginning to get nervous about the boat ride back. It starts raining as we race to beat the sun to shore. We just make it.
Carlos is there to greet us and the four-plus-hour trip back awaits. It’s less eventful as we are the only 4×4 on the road.
The 18-hour day comes to a close and it’s time to reflect.
Our visit to the San Blas Islands ends up being the highlight of my first trip to Panama. I think about how powerful the fear of the unknown is. The journey is scary at times, largely because we don’t know what to expect. We have no control over anything and are really at the mercy of our guides.
But here’s the thing. These people know what they’re doing. This is their way of life. They probably have some kind of emergency plan. It’s probably not filed in a three-ring binder everybody is required to read and initial for HR. I remind myself that most countries are not as litigious and by extension, necessarily neurotic as we are in the US, and it’s kind of refreshing.
One of the most beautiful things about foreign travel is the perspective it lends. Obviously, cultural norms vary dramatically. As an American, and from the Midwest no less, I’m accustom to a fair amount of safety and order and predictability. Ironically, the very guardrails that provide comfort and security also feel weighty and constricting. Squaring that with an inner longing to break free and test boundaries is a big piece of the magic travel provides.
