Embarra

The next tour we took lasted all day, and it rained again. Always rain. Our driver picked us up again and drove into panama city and then out again. We stopped at one of the malls for snacks and received the shock of seeing Christmas trees. Since panama doesn’t have fir trees naturally, they ship them all from Canada. Im so thankful it was the same driver, because he had figured out that Shannon doesn’t like bumpy rides. It must have taken us longer to get there over that disintegrating road. He pointed out the huge concrete factory and explained this was the only road to it. I suggested they should repair the road with the concrete from the factory, and learned they did that once a year and it still turned out like this. Oi.

When we arrived at the river, we found several dugout canoes and barefoot Indian guys waiting to transport tourists to the village. In addition to being barefoot, they weren’t wearing much; a loincloth and some sort of short skirt made out of beads, which didn’t cover much. They took the three of us over a very high river to the village. There we saw an enormous thatch roof building and Indians playing welcome music. As always, we must have looked a strange sight; me helping Shannon walk up the slope to the building, and our driver carrying her bag and pillows. We were introduced immediately to the “chief”. I put that in quotes because im still not sure if they were joking – it is a 6mo baby…

The building was bigger than it looked from the outside with a clay floor, no walls, and a vaulted ceiling. Rows of bench seats were set up on one half, with tables of crafts surrounding the space. Soon after we arrived, a large group of tourists arrived. I managed to video the welcome music this time. The village spokesman came out and gave a series of lectures about the Embarra history and culture and present day, in Embarra and in Spanish. The larger group’s guide translated into English. (our driver/guide proudly mentioned that he had trained that guide). We learned about the basket dyeing and weaving, why the women now wore the ceremonial garb (beaded bra-things in addition to skirts) when tourists arrived. Something about a few drunk tourists, a dance, and a fight… Anyways, they fed us fish and plantanas in little cups made of banana leaves and hibiscus flowers. And then they danced for us. The women did a flower dance, and the monkey dance, both looked the same basically. And then they all danced to show us the dance, then they invited us to join in. That was kinda fun, and not much to it. Sadly, my camera remained in my pocket so no pictures of that. But a 10yo girl drew a temporary tattoo on my shoulder with berry juice. It took 3 weeks to fade.

Their basket weaving takes a lifetime of skill. Various colors, all naturally dyed, woven together to create intricate designs and symbols. No two are alike in size or color or shape. Just gorgeous. The women also sell lengths of the cloth they use for skirts, which is brightly colored designs made in Japan. I made sure that any pictures I took of the Indians, I showed them. Many cracked up to see a picture of themselves. One girl even asked me to retake her picture since her eyes closed. Another woman, probably about my age, sold me a basket, and asked me something in Spanish. I looked blankly at her and finally shook my head. And then, in perfect English, she asked me “where are you from?” I was kinda surprised at her fluent english, but did manage to answer “Seattle”.

The day ended with more rain as we rode in the boats back to the car and drove over bridges over threatening red rivers.