by Levison Wood
I told him that Puerto Obaldía was around the bay, only an hour’s walk.
‘We’ve been stranded here for four days and we’re running out of food. Are there any soldiers or police there? Do you think they’ll arrest us?’
I told him that there was a small SENAFRONT outpost, but they needn’t worry. The Panamanians would probably be quite helpful and from what we’d heard, they would just send them north and help them get to Costa Rica.
Amaar seemed relieved.
‘You must’ve had a very hard journey,’ I told him. ‘Are you going to the United States?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well actually, that’s what we’d planned. But now that this Donald Trump will be the next president, I think we’ll keep going to Canada.’ He laughed. ‘So you guys are from London?’ he said.
I told him that I was.
‘Which part of London?’
‘I’m from Hampton Court,’ I said, not quite able to compute the fact that we were discussing London suburbs in the Darién Gap.
‘I know it well. I’ve been there. I used to live there for seven years,’ he said, quite casually. ‘I used to work on London Underground trains.’
I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. But then again, I’d discovered that the world is a very small place indeed at times, and that nothing should come as a surprise. I asked him why he wanted to get to North America.
‘Once you live in London, you cannot live in Pakistan again. We come from Kohat in the tribal areas of the North West Frontier. There is nothing there. No jobs, no security, nothing. We just want a better future, if not for us then at least for our families. I loved London. I got deported after seven years for not having any papers, but I still have an aunt in Croydon. I love the fact people run around with a coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other, rushing around. It’s amazing. The Central line, the Bakerloo line, I miss them.’
I felt very humbled. I knew that what these men were doing was illegal, but I had to respect their resolve to undertake such a mammoth expedition against the odds in a bid to find a better life. If I was them, I’d probably be doing the same. I wished them luck with it and we said goodbye. Whilst we were at the end of our journey, they were only at the start of theirs.
We carried on along the beach towards another village called La Miel, a couple of hours along the bay, and there we were met by a soldier from SENAFRONT.
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ said the corporal. ‘Headquarters said that you should be arriving any day now. Welcome. The border isn’t far from here. I’ll show you the way.’
We followed the soldier up a hill, where some steep steps led to a bunker surrounded by sandbags. Two more Panamanian soldiers were sat there manning the border post. If that’s what you could call it. Next to the bunker was a stone monument. On one side it said Panama, with the country’s coat of arms. And on the far side it had the Colombian one. Above it two flag poles demarked the invisible border, with each nationality’s flag fluttering in the afternoon breeze. We’d made it. We’d crossed the Darién Gap. One step forward, and we were in Colombia.
Alberto raced up the steps behind me and smiled. ‘We’ve done it.’
I don’t think he could quite believe it himself. We both stood there on top of the hill under azure skies and looked down the valley towards the bay of Sapzurro, where a little village was nestled between the palm trees, and the waters of the Caribbean stretched out beyond. That one view was worth all the pain and hardship.
‘There’s only one thing left to do,’ I said, ‘and that’s get in the sea.’
Alberto smiled at me, he didn’t need a second hint. ‘Absolutely. I’ve been waiting for this for four months.’
We ran down the steps on the other side, down the hill into the Colombian settlement. The afternoon sun slanted through the palms to reveal a vision of paradise. Everything seemed colourful and vibrant and full of energy and hope. Everybody we passed just laughed and waved at us in a warm welcome. At the beach front was a jetty, with some boats moored up against it. The expedition was done. The journey at an end.
We didn’t need an invitation. Dumping our bags, we ran as fast as we could along the wooden pier and together we dived off the edge into the emerald sea. This was the gateway to South America. My Mexican fashion photographer slapped my cheek, as we struggled to tread water fully clothed, our boots weighing us down.
‘So, are we going to carry on walking to the bottom of South America?’ he joked.
‘Not right now,’ I said. Maybe that’s an adventure for another time.
After over four months of walking, I said so long to Alberto, knowing that it wasn’t goodbye. He flew home to Mérida and on to Tulum, where he had a load of Brazilian models waiting for him to look after them. I returned to Panama City and from there flew home via Madrid. In London, it was grey and misty. The only optimism was that it was almost Christmas and the lights and decorations at least brought some cheer to the gloom. I took a taxi to Hampton Court, where my house was finished. The building and decoration was complete, so that now I could finally call it home.
It was cold outside and even as I dumped my bags on the kitchen floor, I could see my breath steaming inside. I lit the fire with some logs that had dried out nicely over the summer and watched as the smoke danced up the chimney. Even though it was only four in the afternoon, it was already dark and the lights of the palace twinkled in the festive night sky. The street lights flickered on and I drew the curtains.
One little walk before bed, I thought to myself.
So I put on my warmest jacket and wrapped a scarf around my neck, locked the door and wandered down to the palace gardens. Nothing had changed, except in the courtyard an ice rink had been set up for the winter festivities. It was filled with families and children skating and enjoying the fun. A vendor in a flat cap stood over a stall selling chestnuts and mulled wine, and the smell made me hungry.
It was busy and there were more tourists than locals by a long stretch and I smiled as I listened to the chatter from around the world. Amongst the German, French, Urdu, Polish and Russian, there were the familiar, beautiful tones of New World Spanish: Mexican, Costa Rican or Panamanian, perhaps? A woman, short with broad shoulders, a gold necklace and black hair tied back in a ponytail, led her two young children by the hand towards the chestnuts. One of them wore a T-shirt that said ‘I love London’.
From the river, I looked up at the south front of the new wing, built by Christopher Wren, with its baroque windows, circular fountains and manicured hedges, looking, as he intended, like the Palace of Versailles. The world, it seems, had just got a little smaller.
Acknowledgements
No expedition is, of course, a one-man show. I think it’s clear to the reader that this journey would have been far less interesting, enjoyable and perhaps even impossible, without the enthusiasm and tenacity of my guide Alberto Cáceres. It is to him that I owe this journey.
There are many more people that I must thank for their advice, help and assistance before, during and after the expedition itself. The planning for such a mammoth task took months of bureaucracy, emails and logistical wrangling.
A big thank you goes out yet again to the team at October films: Adam Bullmore, Jos Cushing, Jane Manning, Martin Long, Rebecca Duke, Marta Garcia and Letitia Meruvia for their months of hard work, research and advice.
Thanks to Jamie Berry for his directorship and inspired vision as a filmmaker, and of course to Neil Bonner, who introduced me to this world in the first place and Tom Cross who brought in a real dedication to the art.
The expedition was supported logistically by Secret Compass. Tom Bodkin and the team did a great job navigating the logistical and security issues related to the region.
In his capacity as expedition leader Dave Luke brought this journey together, kept us out of trouble, and dealt with local police, soldiers and bureaucrats with skilful aplomb. He’s a fantastic yoga teacher too and kept the team in supple flexib
ility throughout.
Simon Buxton came out as the expedition photographer and provided some truly excellent images as a result.
I must also thank John Hay and the team at Channel 4, who yet again had faith in me to undertake and document the journey and of course Melanie Darlaston and Chris Sutherland at Group M for their financial backing.
I owe the book to Rupert Lancaster at my publisher, Hodder & Stoughton, and all the team involved especially Kerry Hood, Cameron Myers and Caitriona Horne.
Of course I couldn’t have done any of this without my wonderful agent Jo Cantello who yet again has kept me on the straight and narrow.
I also wish to thank those incredible companies who have sponsored and assisted me with financial and material support over the past year: Craghoppers, IWC, Clinique, Belstaff, Leica, Altberg boots, Sub-4 Orthotics, Global Rescue, Oliver Sweeney.
And in no particular order to all of the following for their words of wisdom, floor space, companionship on the trail, logistical assistance or just a cup of coffee:
Ceci Alonzo who introduced me to Mexico in the first place; Don Victor Alonzo and Doña Leonor Echeverria, Mari and Aaron Diaz, the doctors of Merida hospital, Maritza Carbajal, Aron Tzib, CO BATSUB, Xavier Molina, Max Baldetti, Renato Lacáyo, Daniel Pacheco, Ashwin Bhardwaj, Pete Wood, Mari Jimenez, José (Chan) Fabián Ramírez Tinoco, Levinton Marin, Urial Lanzas, Roberto Duran, Chris Mahoney, Holly Aguilar, Bansi Shah, Mark Galley, Rick Morales, Segundo Sugaste, Lt. Col. Carrión and all the Officers at SENAFRONT, Ernesto Konde and the Embera of Canaan, Siobhan Sinnerton, Dominic Harrison, Mark Ogle, Charlotte Tottenham, Will Charlton, Tom McShane, Clare Howes, Mark Ogle, Nigel McIntyre, Lt. Col. John Blashford-Snell OBE, Brigadier Alastair Aitken, 77th Brigade, all the team at UNICEF UK, Sophie Bolsover for all her support, and of course my long-suffering parents.
Finally, my gratitude to the people of Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama and Colombia for their generosity and kindness.
Mexico, land of contrasts and a place close to my heart.
Alberto Cáceres, my old friend and guide for the journey.
Yucatán coast near Sisal. This stretch of coastline saw the first Spanish conquistadors and set the scene for the start of my journey.
Fiestas play an important part in Mexican life.
The ruins of Mayapan, Yucatán peninsula.
Ancient Mayans used underwater caves, called cenotes, as places of human sacrifice. There are over 6,000 in the Yucatán.
San Pedro. Hurricane Earl devastated the Belize coastline days before we arrived.
Belize is home to a variety of different cultures. The Mennonites arrived from Europe in the 1950s and still practise a 17th Century form of conservative Christianity.
In Belize I revived my old army instincts and trained in jungle survival.
The pyramids of Yaxha, Guatemala. This was an important city to Mayan culture and only rediscovered in 1904.
El Petén is a region in Guatemala notorious for its lawlessness and a base for the region’s narco-traffickers.
The Rio Dulce river – largely seen as the gateway to Central America and the southern limit of ancient Mayan culture.
The Garifuna people are found only along the coast of Central America. They are the descendants of escaped slaves from St. Vincent. They still maintain their proud African traditions.
San Pedro Sula. Notorious for its gang lands and, for a time, the murder capital of the world.
A ‘casa loca’ or crazy house – where gangs take their prisoners to be tortured and often killed.
Just outside San Pedro Sula we chanced upon a murder scene. Alfonso Pavon was killed by unknown assailants just hours before. His grieving mother stands by the body.
Lake Yojoa. The Honduras landscape is beautiful and unexplored.
Pedro Pablo, a revolutionary, who fought with the Sandinistas against the brutal dictator Somoza in the 1970s.
Nicaragua is known as the land of volcanoes. Here, Masaya volcano is extremely active.
Granada has some of the best preserved Spanish Colonial architecture in Central America.
‘Tony’, a reformed people smuggler.
The ‘other migrant crisis’. Thousands of migrants are making their way from across the world to try and get to the USA.
In Costa Rica we came upon a camp of 2,000 Congolese migrants.
Mt. Chirripó, the highest peak in Costa Rica.
Alberto with a three-toed sloth
Horses play an important part in Central American travel. We lasted all of four days with ours.
The Pan-American highway is the longest road in the world. Apart from the Darién Gap it spans 30,000 miles from North to South America.
The Panama Canal, one of the seven wonders of the modern world.
Yaviza – the end of the road.
‘Jose’, chief of the Wounaan tribe in Puerto Cara.
Wounaan ladies still wear traditional dress in some parts of Panama.
Our Emberá porters who trekked through the Darién Gap.
The Border Service (SENAFRONT) protects the Darién against rebels and drug traffickers.
The Darién Gap. The most inhospitable jungle in the world.
A Kuna village on the Caribbean coast.
‘Puerto Escoces’ or New Edinburgh, where the Scots tried to set up a colony in 1698.
Sapzurro in Colombia – gateway to South America.
The end of the journey in Colombia.
