The Being and Nothingness of the Darién Gap

Dividing the Americas, the Darién Gap has long been considered a fortified abyss. However, amid the darkness, lies a bliss void of civilised rigour, a journey rich in spiritual ascendance.

And it is no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.

—CORINTHIANS 11:14

Rambling amid the combative undergrowth, a conspiracy of trails entice the traveller with convenient beauty. This sweet perplexity, punctuated by theatres of wild orchids, lulls its suitor into a swoon, a giddiness exclusive to the tragic romantic. Ahead, an unyielding catwalk taunts the caustic river beneath, promising a slick entrance as memories of a detached civilisation fade to green. This is a honeypot. Few navigable paths exist within the Darien Gap, a betrayal where civility comes to die, and the jungle exposes the angel as a demonic beast.

With a longitudinal measurement of 160 kilometres, and a width of 50 kilometres, the Darién Gap mostly comprises of uninhabitable swampland and inaccessible rainforest. Immediately upon entry, gestures of intimidation abound, as the machete-slashed bracken contradicts the apparent lack of human activity. Succumbing to delusion is a perpetuity here, and an innocent frolic to the hypnoses of amphibia can expeditiously conclude in a desperate prayer to a god you may never have believed in.

Confirming the existence of purgatory as absolute, a nest of black scorpions repeatedly strike my boot, steering my attention away from swarms of kaleidoscopic insects fixing to lay eggs under a skin exposed. A mother jaguar scales a Socratea palm, zealously insulating her cub from the ferocious surroundings. A Chunga tree, armed with venomous spines, proffers its immovable hatred of the journeying man. Distant gunshots conduct the jungle orchestra to an abrupt crescendo, as consciousness turns on its vessel. Drunken locals ringbark trees with bullets, and the duality of being and nothingness has never seemed so conspicuous.

REVOLUTIONARY ARMED FORCES OF COLOMBIA (FARC)

Predominantly active during the Colombian conflict (1964-2015), Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC) is a Marxist force principled on promoting agrarianism, rather than imperialism. Despite demobilising in 2017, a faction of FARC leaders returned to armed activity, stating that the Colombian government did not respect peace agreements. Experiencing a resurgence in 2021, FARC has reasserted control over the frontier separating Colombia and Panama, funding its operations through kidnap, ransom, illegal mining, extortion, and drug trafficking.

A scourge upon this ill-conceived paradise, violent activity hinders tourism while simultaneously hampering conservation efforts against industrial farming. In turn, the natural barrier between Central and South America is slowly eradicating, leading to significant corporate pressure on government to complete the Pan-American Highway. Strategically, this could result in a much heavier FARC presence controlling the frontier with autonomy.

Despite safety responsibility falling to Colombian and Panamanian authorities, FARC retains a strong foothold within the gap and its outer perimeters. Zealously roaming in battalions of up to thirty, guerrillas guarantee a psychologically tense journey for adventurer and immigrant alike, disparate entities often united in decomposition.

With notions of migrant graveyards, I proceed with confirmation that conquering this adversity is a make or break. Alone, unsure, and with ego deconstructed, I tread lightly for six days and five nights, skirting edges to avoid detection. Striking another wet match to detach a gluttonous leech, I crane to the rare sun under the assumption that the mocking forest has seized control of my destiny.

Reinforcing the impenetrable, the steep, sodden Loma del Desafío (Challenge Hill) accentuates a saddening of pastures, darkening the soul of progress. Trailing Desafío, Loma de la Muerte (Hill of Death) calls lightning with its scythe-like peak, admonishing he who dare approach. Angular, surgical, Muerte possesses witchcraft wisdom, shedding creatures from its tightrope saddle at will. And me, I peek downward, and in a momentary lapse of reason, I surrender my will to the gods. In order to continue, death must be defied.

Sleep wet
For luxury exists
Within the novelty of imagination
Travel light
For future providence
Shall be provided at Mother Nature’s will
Speak softly
For the language
Of the abyss is your one true friend
Walk alone
For aching bones
Garner no tenderness from demon companions
Weep gently
For the reaper lurks
Amid the forest, amid the darkness
Amid the tears.

JUNGLE ADMINISTRATION

The nonchalant broodiness of the agents at the Panamanian Senafront Base (border police) obliterates any delusion of security. In reality, the adventurer is a pest, and obtaining permission to enter the Darién Gap is a painful process. The border police despise the intrepid, and wield bags of trickery to discourage exploration of the Colombian frontier. In reality, the Senafront is a pest.

A far cry from the jungle lush, the Senafront HQ is an apropos examination of the will. Only the urbane and level-headed may proceed, as negotiation with the Panamanian military requires but a dainty tongue. Continue, and urbanity must switch to agility, diplomacy to audaciousness, and before crossing the unyielding catwalk from Yaviza into the symbiotic void, civility to barbarism.

The Darién Gap is inhumane. She is a route where God is saviour, yet she is detached from salvation. Simply understanding why, not how, may ensure survival, and the more time spent, the closer to God we travel. But break a bone, and best to soldier onward, lest the adventurer abandon all soul to the chaparral beastly void.

FARC OFF (SKIRTING THE REBELLION)

Conveying the message of the Darién spector heeds no exaggeration, for the farther inland one ventures, the closer one is exposed to danger. However, should security be the primary concern, remaining close to the coast is an equally viable method of exploring this vast enigma. The interior’s fantastical charm may be an allure, but its blood-curdling history can turn even the reddest adventurer green.

Between the Yaviza Senafront and the glorious guts of the gap is a camp called Bajo Chiquito. Here, the adventurer may observe a history of decomposing corpses discarded by the forest demon. This is a stress test; pass, and destiny is inland, nearer the cradle of alienation. Fail, and the coast calls, offering a slightly less stressful wander across the Colombian border. Only by the impulse of nature shall the whip of judgement be lashed.

Ostensibly, the sensible thing to do would be to hop aboard a lancha (precarious timber mashed together to form a boat-like structure) and mingle with the locals. From Yaviza, lancha tickets must be purchased at sunrise, but buyer beware, inherent risk skulks the spinal cord of each passenger. A seat at the pointy end of the vessel could result in whiplash as the bow skims violently atop the river façade. A struggle for stern seats may ensue between the locals, so arrive early to avoid such commotion. Clench the sphincter, and the ramshackle of Puerto Obaldia awaits four hours down the line.

Lustfully traversing the Panama/Colombia border, Puerto Obaldia is nestled in the bosom of the Kuna Yala region of the Darién. Unspoken, an apparent obligation exists in the hearts of the villagers to forewarn the adventurer of dangers ahead by hollering the universal caution of Bang! Bang! However, nourishment may come the way of the weary traveller, as the indigenous kunas glory in sharing bounties of fish, plantains and rice.

Upon departing Puerto Obaldia, an early lancha will transport the adventurer to the picaresque La Miel. Nestle into a coconut palm, and absolve the pain body of affliction, for the beguiling charm of the exotic sunset lingers. In a blaze of non-eventfulness, mosey across the Colombian border here, where the utopia of sleepy seaside Sapzurro awaits. Ensure all official documentation is stamped first.

Beyond Sapzurro, the facilitated Capurgana abounds with banks, laundromats, and brothels, and signifies the gap’s end. Coincidentally, the last lancha the adventurer will ever wish to board is the final lancha required to complete the mission. Heading to the lowdown city of Turbo, Colombia, the lancha departs early and screams for cushioning from the torrid. Chicken buses provided by the Brasilia bus company exit Turbo every ten minutes to all major Colombian destinations.

Whether the adventurer gravitates toward inland volatility or coastal tranquility, rest assured, the Darién Gap grants the adversity required for intestinal fortitude. But within, amid the loneliness, is an unconquerable beauty unbeknownst to the meek, immeasurably rewarding to the brazen.

Tread lightly.