The Great Journey

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[ The Isthmus of Darien: the Jungle in Conflicts ]

There is one place where the Pan-American Highway, which connects the North and the South American continents and stretches through thousands of kilometers, is disconnected. That is the Isthmus of Darien at the boarder of Colombia and Panama. The land there has been left almost untouched and was designated as a World Heritage. The jungle and the marshes there are even beyond the control of the police and the army, and have turned into a hotbed of left-wing guerillas, the extreme right-wing groups and drug traffickers, where in 1994 hundreds of people were killed.
There has been no precedence of crossing this Isthmus from the Colombian side areas without any support.
On March 24, 1995, we started in a kayak from a river on the Colombian side. When moving in a life-threatening area, it 's an iron law to move quietly and swiftly. We only hoped to go through there as quickly as possible. Taking advantage of our urgency, the porters started to raise difficulties saying "I'm hungry" and "I'm too tired to walk any further." They had guns to protect themselves, which might in any moment become the tools for robbery. It was a lawless area. Among the villagers were many sympathizers with guerillas. We had to be on guard even towards any little boat crossing by. Even for a moment, we couldn't be free from the fear "There might be somebody hiding in ambush behind this tree." The surface of the river was sometimes covered with gigantic water plant over 1 meter tall. Innumerous roots were entangled under the water. The moment after we thought we had made our way through it, we'd get stuck again. Paddling through the water plants, we struggled to move on.
Where the stream was flowing fast, trees were submerged and we tried to row avoiding them. Yet fallen trees in the rapids prevented us from going ahead. Moreover we were pushed back constantly by the current unless we rowed with our full strength. The sky above our heads was almost shut out by thick trees and we were in semidarkness even in the daytime. Only nervousness prevailed.
On March 29, while we were walking, every step we took covered our ankles with mud. Suddenly we found a marking stone which had already fallen over. It marked the border between Colombia and Panama. It was a moment of relief. "Mr. Sekino, congratulations on your graduation from South America," my friend, Zen SHIRANE, said. Leaving South America that I had repeatedly visited over the past 25 years, I stepped into Central America.