The question really hit home in the San
Blas Archipelago, consisting of approximately 400 islands (one for every day of
the year) scattered over a huge area along the north east Caribbean coast of
Panama. They are picture perfect remote atolls with an abundance of coconut
trees and white sand, set amongst a maze of reefs. If you were looking for the
ultimate deserted island picture postcard this would be it.
Added to the spectacular scenery is a very
interesting cultural history. The islands are inhabited by the indigenous Kuna, who arrived here from Colombia in
the mid-nineteenth century having been driven out by the Spanish. The Kuna way of life remains largely
unchanged to this day (though we did charge a number of islanders’ mobile
phones on the boat!). The men paddle amongst the islands in hollowed out canoes,
fishing and harvesting fruit (apparently some 3 million coconuts are picked
annually) which is then bartered with trading boats that come from the mainland
and Colombia. Meanwhile the women make the world-renown molas, colourfully embroidered textiles usually depicting wildlife
or abstract images. These from part of their traditional dress and are sold to
tourists as souvenirs. Interestingly Kuna
society is traditionally matrilineal and matrilocal.
Mola from Cayos
Holandeses, San Blas Islands
As an interesting sideline the Kuna also get the odd windfall when
boats become wrecked on the outlying reefs which still happens with alarming
regularity. The sands in this area shift with such regularity that modern GPS
navigation systems are at best unreliable. As a result the Kuna scramble to salvage cargo and then strip any unfortunate boat
of fixtures and fittings. We saw at least half a dozen yachts lying prostate on
a reef, stripped to the bare bones.
So the islands are both visually attractive
and have an interesting human story.
Yet having anchored amongst this ‘paradise’ for 5 days I felt ready to move on.
We had visited three different islands, talked to the Kuna, bought molas and fish
from them, provided them with things they were short of (cooking oil and
spectacles), swum in the turquoise water and skin dived wrecks. It felt
like to stay longer would have just seen these activities repeated with diminishing
novelty.
In contrast our time in Colombia left me
craving for more, something which points towards a greater feeling of ‘depth’ associated
with the place. Depth of scenery (mountains, beaches, rainforest, dilapidated
colonial architecture) and character (diverse and multi-cultural society).
Undoubtedly the question of what does
paradise really mean asks more questions than it answers. To a large extent it exists
in the eye of the beholder, but to my mind the ideal of the remote island
paradise that has been sold to us by countless advertising executives is not
the paradise for me. But then is paradise ever truly achievable?
Paradise?
