Clouds hanging low on Volcán Barú

At 2,000 meters above sea level, the air was cool. I had put on my long sleeved shirt made of thick cotton to ward off the wind and drizzle. A pleasant hint of wood smoke lingered in the damp air. The volcano above us, Barú, was covered in such thick fog that we couldn’t see the summit. The lush cloud forest on the slopes looked dark in the fading light of the day.
We were in Guadalupe on the slopes of Volcán Barú in western Panama. On the coastal plains where we had started this morning the weather had been hot and humid, as we think it should be in the tropics just 9 degrees north of the equator. The temperature had dropped constantly with elevation as we climbed up the narrow but well paved road towards the mountain range that forms the backbone of the narrow Central American country. The tiny Toyota Yaris we had rented in David, the provincial capital of Chiriquí in the western part of the country, took the curves snugly but at the steep slopes I wished for a stick shift as the automatic slowly gathered torque from the small engine. My wife, Yoko, searched for music from the radio and settled for a station that played brisk polka-influenced dance music complete with accordions.
We were heading towards the Los Quetzales Preserve, an eco-vacation location established already in 1976 inside the Volcán Barú National Park. Panama is one of the better-kept secrets when it comes to ecological conservation and ecotourism, decidedly overshadowed by its neighbor, Costa Rica, which has established a reputation as the ecologically sound nation in the tropics. Panama falls into the same geographical zone and offers similar natural sites. Both countries recognize the value of unspoiled nature in attracting tourists and their dollars. Both also have about one-fifth of their land surface under protected area status. The main difference is the number of tourists: while Costa Rica is the largest recipient of tourist flows in Central America, Panama is still quite tranquil, known mainly for its canal. As a result, it is said that in Costa Rica twenty tourists try to catch a glimpse of one quetzal, the famous long-tailed and colorful bird, while in Panama one tourist can see twenty quetzals. Panama holds the unofficial world record: 350 birds seen in one single day! We did not harbor any hopes of seeing any on this November trip, as one can observe quetzals mostly during the nesting season from January to May. Our purpose was just to familiarize ourselves with the area and to enjoy fresh mountain air – not perhaps the first thought associated with this tropical country!

A few days earlier we had been sitting in an outdoors café in Panama City’s Isla Flamenco with Petra Kollmansberger, a German woman with a long engagement with Panama’s tourist industry. There had been a damp wind from the Pacific Ocean bringing with it the sounds of powerful thunder. A flock of black birds had gathered in the trees in front of our café making a racket.
“It’s hard to get the government to make decisions and therefore they miss opportunities. Two big international travel magazines wanted to cover Panama but the government took two months to review the proposals. Needless to say, the deals fell through,” said Petra exasperated.
“The Tourism Authority is still in its beginnings and materials available for tourists and promotion are very limited,” she continued. This was about to change as the new government had appointed Ruben Blades, the renowned salsa star and Harvard educated lawyer as the new Minister of Tourism.
For two years Petra had tried to promote Panama in Germany with scant results. Yet, she had fallen in love with the country. The friendly blond German had found the relaxed lifestyle and the rich nature attractive. She was the one to recommend that we visit Los Quetzales. The privately owned 350-hectare area has been under protected status since 1968 and is one of the prime eco-vacation destinations in the country.

As the road ascended, we saw many large haciendas. Cattle rummaged the pastures and handsome horses stepped proudly with riders on their backs. Large houses stood on hillocks overlooking the meadows. The upper plateau had an unreal air. Dropped there suddenly it would be hard to guess one was in tropical Central America. The open meadows were dominated by red-hued grass and splattered with rocks and large boulders. The dominant tree was a tall standing species of pine. The grayness of the day together with the subdued greens and reds on the ground created an eerie atmosphere.
After a couple of hours of driving we entered the village of Cerro Punta in between the mountains. The small single-story houses with corrugated iron roofs betrayed the lack of wealth in the area. But the fronts of the houses were painted cheerfully green, yellow, white. All windows appeared shuttered, probably against the cold and damp. Apart from small-scale agriculture, tourism was the only growth industry bringing income to the populace.
We finally reached the community of Guadalupe, with a population of only 1,200 people. The town is located 1,975 meters above sea level on the edge of the Volcán Barú National Park. It was still only mid-afternoon but the sky was dark the sun having vanished behind the mountains. The drizzle added to the coldness of the air. Who would have thought that we would actually be freezing in the tropics?
We found Los Quetzales lodge in a remarkably beautiful spot shielded by steep mountainsides and parked behind the white stucco and wood main building. I found the reception closed; they didn’t expect many guests during the rainy season. I climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor and entered what looked like a lounge and a dining hall. After a short while my calls were answered and a sweet-looking young woman wearing jeans and a baseball cap appeared. She confirmed that this was indeed off-season and the place had plenty of space for us to stay. Feeling expansive, I selected one of the five suites located in a three-story building across a large open courtyard. The place had rustic beauty with cedar walls and, best of all, a well-designed fireplace in the corner of the living room. Live fire was indeed a great idea to warm our chilled bodies and Yoko started immediately piling in the wood.
The lodge also contained a spa intended to bring hikers and adventure tourists back to life after a day in the cloud forest. The spa was located on the far edge of the compound in a thicket of coniferous trees. The lighting was low and there was a pleasant musty odor of damp wood. There was an excellent sauna heated with fragrant firewood by a young woman from the village who also doubled as the masseuse. The stove in the corner of the sauna emitted a strong hiss when water was poured on it and produced a thick steam as the heat penetrated our bodies. While we were in the sauna, the village woman and her friend had prepared the adjacent room for massage. For the next two hours Yoko and I lay silently next to each other receiving an excellent massage as soothing music played in the background. The room was getting cold but the skillful hands applying aromatic oils to our muscles ensured that we remained warm.
Feeling totally relaxed and thoroughly warm in the cold night, we spent the rest of the evening in the second floor lounge where I had originally found our hostess. The fireplace was lit and we ordered some red wine to warm up our interiors. The girl with the baseball cap had tied an apron around her waist and offered to serve us a hot sopa de vegetales laced liberally with garlic. It tasted gorgeous, as did the homemade pizza that followed. We enjoyed the stillness of the evening in the cozy room. Needless to say, we slept soundly like quetzals in their nests that night, having first warmed ours with the fireplace.

The morning sun shone bright through our windows. It was still chilly but the rain was gone and we could see the mountains behind the village bathing in light. The fresh early morning air filled our lungs with the scents of forest and dewy meadows. A brown horse was eating its morning hay in the yard in perfect harmony with a flock of chubby ducks. We crossed the yard for a hearty breakfast in the dining room: a variety of fresh fruits – papaya, pineapple, watermelon and honeydew – with soft white cheese, toast, jam and strong café con leche that filled our senses. In the bright daylight the room looked different and we noticed the gaily-colored wooden quetzals decorating the wall.
It was a Saturday and the village of Guadalupe had come alive. Small pickup trucks were cruising the road apparently transporting people to social functions in the area. I counted as many as seven men perched precariously on the open flatbed of a small pickup. Families of Guaymi indians dressed in good clothes for the weekend – the men in slacks and western style shirts, womenfolk in long gowns of turquoise and blue decorated with red and yellow – ambled down the road. Most of them would be small farmers in the Guadalupe area.
Cultivated fields reached halfway up the steep slopes protected from erosion by the thick vegetation cover and sufficient rainfall throughout the year. The upper reaches and ridges were covered with mixed forests, reflecting different shades of green, all darker than the geometrically patterned fields where potatoes, carrots and other roots and tubers were grown. Although we were in the tropics, these were important food crops at this elevation, while maize is grown on the flat valley floors.

It was time for us to continue our trip, so we packed up and headed down the same road we had used arriving here. The previous government, famous for its corruption and beholdenness to big business interests, had promoted the construction of a road from Guadalupe to Boquete further east. This road would have considerably reduced travel time between the two towns but would have cut straight through the National Park. The ecological damage could have been devastating, as the impacts of roads go far beyond the immediate area that is deforested and leveled off when they are constructed. By removing protective vegetation and topsoil the hydrological conditions are modified, which especially in hilly areas can cause increased surface runoff and erosion. Wild animals also require adequate territorial integrity to roam, find food and mate. Perhaps most importantly, roads open up access to humans deeper into the pristine areas, which inevitably leads to increased pressures. Luckily, the elections earlier in 2004 had removed the government from office and replaced it with one led by the environmentally minded President Martín Torrijos. So, at least for now, the plans to build the road had been put on a hold.
On this clear day large tracts of agricultural land became visible in valleys once we started to descend. There were many pickups on the road loaded with potatoes, onions and plantains. The roadside was lined with stalls selling locally produced vegetables.
The growing tourist industry was also visible in the area. In Bambito next to Cerro Punta stood a huge modern spa hotel with manicured lawns. The village also boasted an aquaculture enterprise growing trout for the tourists to enjoy in the hotels and to fish in the ponds. We stopped at Nueva Suiza, or New Switzerland, a development with vaguely Alpine style chalets for rent. It appeared deserted but, then again, this was the off-season.
Passing through numerous small towns we headed towards the coast reaching the Carretera Panamericana at the town of Concepción. Here on the coastal plain the weather was sunny and the temperature much higher than in the hills. We rolled down the windows and sped east on the highway, which at this point was smooth and wide. At the David junction, we again turned north towards the highlands. This area was developing into a favorite retirement destination for many Europeans and North Americans. Beautiful houses were being erected along the roadside and there were numerous signs about properties for sale. This was understandable. Panama is a beautiful country with friendly people and a stable political and economic environment. Western Panama has one of the best living conditions in the country – perhaps anywhere – and is easily accessible by plane or by car from either Panama City or Costa Rica. One only has to hope that this boom will not lead to the development of mass tourism with its inevitable consequences on the local culture and nature. There is hope because those settling here seem to favor a quiet lifestyle in an unspoiled environment. Also, the country has a thriving urban economy based on banking, shipping and the famous canal. Tourism is icing on the cake and focusing on smaller scale ecotourism is a viable option.
Craving for lunch and a good cup of coffee, we stopped at random at a roadside restaurant that looked particularly tempting. It was named after its proprietress Doña Tere, a friendly woman of undetermined age. Smiling a broad smile with large gaps she indicated that we should select any table in the open-air patio covered with a corrugated iron roof. The chairs and tables were made of tree trunks and the eating area was separated from the outside by potted plants. I ordered pollo ahumedo, chicken that was grilled with a tangy sauce and served with rice, beans and a tasty potato-beet salad. Always a lover of soups, Yoko ventured for the traditional sancocho cooked with all and any parts of the chicken. While the soup was scrumptious, Yoko found many of the bird parts floating in it unidentifiable. This was lucky for the innocent looking white bitch that had approached us immediately upon the delivery of our dishes by Doña Tere. Apparently she knew to expect a share as she sat patiently next to us. The chicken entrails disappeared hurriedly into her stomach and what she didn’t want to devour right now she carried away and buried into the adjacent garden. What was left on the patio floor was quickly polished off by a trail of ants that carried chunks of chicken larger than themselves to their nest in one of the corner poles holding up the roof. They showed a remarkable sense of purpose and cooperation in dragging the tidbits to their home.
Ordering cups of strong local coffee whitened with condensed milk we had the opportunity to observe the other patrons. Judging from the clientele, Doña Tere had a reputation locally. There was a family with two small boys, both with shaved heads, and a remarkably fat man with his wife. A Chinese man was sitting alone looking sour. Panama has a fairly large Chinese population, mostly descendants of people brought in to build the canal a century ago. A somewhat tacky 4WD with darkened windows drove to the parking lot and a cool couple emerged from it. The middle-aged man wearing aviator shades was clearly a local playboy. He walked into the restaurant in self-confident steps, without a trace of smile on his stern face, the bulge of his stomach – a sign of indulgence and good times – drooping above his belt. He was followed by a girl in her twenties, on high heels and dressed in a tank top and so tight blue jeans that she would need grease to pull them on.
Back in the car, we drove to the township of Dolega finding western Panama’s best bookstore in its unlikely roadside location far removed from anything that resembled urbanization. We had read about the store, Bookmark, and had decided to visit it in search of rare books on Panama. Bookmark boasts a collection of over 8,000 mostly used English language books ranging from all matters local to tropical agriculture, history and the latest thrillers. After rummaging through the treasure trove and finding several books to purchase, we started to chat with Michael, the American owner. He had traveled in Panama and found it a good place to settle in. He had founded Bookmark some five years earlier and had since then lived a peaceful life amongst his books finding company from his customers. Life could be much worse, I thought.
It was time to head back to David to catch our flight to Ciudad de Panamá. Sharply at 3 p.m. there was a rumble of thunder and the skies opened with a torrential rainfall. During the rainy season you could set your watch by the afternoon showers. The rain would be over quickly but while it lasted it was best to turn on the headlights and slow down to a crawl, as the wipers couldn’t keep up with the streaming water.
By the time we reached the airport on the other side of the city of David, it was again sunny. I went to the car rental desk to return the keys and to present an official looking piece of paper that had been attached to the windshield some days ago when we had stopped at the center of David for shopping. It looked like a parking ticket but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why we would have been given one; we had parked in a clearly marked slot by one of the main streets and not stayed out for too long. The friendly young man at the counter looked at the ticket, made a call and after some minutes was able to confirm that it was indeed a fine for a parking violation. “Nobody understands the rules,” he said.
“Ah, well,” I thought, “we have to pay our dues – and it can’t be too much, can it?” Still, I could hardly believe my ears when the fellow said that he had to add the fine of $1 to my bill.
“I beg your pardon, did you really say one buck? Now, that’s reasonable.”
“Yes sir. I guess in your country you might have to pay even $5,” he said without a trace of irony in his voice.

The Aeroperlas flight was late. We had sat at the small airport for more than two hours when we finally saw the twin-engine Shorts SD approach, land and let out the twenty or so lucky passengers who were just arriving, most looking like returning home. But the wait, like virtually everything we had experienced in Chiriquí, had not been bad. Despite the increasing heat in the room, we felt absolutely no stress in the unhurried atmosphere. Like our fellow passengers, mostly Panamanians with only a handful of foreigners, we sat quietly reading and sipping savory coffee produced locally according to sustainable practices. Its aroma floated into our noses from the steaming cup. My deepest wish, as we walked across the tarmac towards the waiting plane in the darkening evening, was that the expansion of tourism that was needed for enhancing people’s livelihoods would be achieved without sacrificing the natural and cultural richness of this beautiful country.

© Juha Uitto 2004 [Published also on www.bootsnall.com/articles/06-05/clouds-hanging-low-on-volca-n-bara-chiriqui-panama.html on May 12, 2006.]

A Future for Forests in Panama

“If only they left one nesting tree standing, they’d have all the benefits of birds distributing seeds, eating insects,” Andreas said, “but no, they want to fill all of the land – their productive asset, they call it – with plantation.” He sounded exasperated as he continued, “Then you’ll see all the pests and diseases spreading freely. And fire, as they leave no fire breaks either.” This was the way things were done in other reforestation projects. But not the one he and his wife Iliana ran.
We were standing on an open field outside the village of Las Lajas, Chiriquí Province in western Panama. Not long ago, the field had been used for cattle ranching before it was purchased by Andreas and Iliana’s company, Futuro Forestal. They had recently planted it with diverse types of native trees that used to grow here before the ranchers made inroads into the area. The seedlings were still very small, their immediate growing space protected from undergrowth by black plastic squares. There were a couple of old large trees standing on the sides of the field – nesting trees, Andreas explained. Always leave a few nesting trees for the parrots and other birds. This not only makes ecological sense, but also is good for the plantation as it provides natural protection against insects and pests.
In its ten years of existence Futuro Forestal had grown fast, purchasing degraded land in Las Lajas for reforestation with native species and selling the plots to investors mostly from Panama, Europe and North America. The first years had been hard. Iliana Armien, a local girl with a degree in forest engineering, had met Andreas Eke, a geographer from Germany. They had found a mutual passion for the conservation of the lush Panamanian environment and rich biodiversity. They had embarked on two daunting projects simultaneously: they founded a family and Futuro Forestal. Las Lajas had plenty of land that was primarily used to raise cattle. The ranchers would chop off large tracts of forest for their cows. The grass would overtake the land and it would become degraded. Lots of biological diversity was lost. The young couple decided to make a difference – for the land, the biodiversity and for themselves – so they started the company with their own hands and the little capital they had, just enrolling some of the locals in Las Lajas to work on the reforestation projects. The first years they labored from dawn till the night fell barely able to pay the bills.
Western Panama had many reforestation projects but these were invariably monocultures of commercial trees like teak designed for quick financial returns to their owners. As I was driving down the Carretera Panamericana, or the Pan American Highway, with my wife Yoko we could see many planted teak forests on both sides of the road. The trees were lined up straight in dense rows as if a zealous drill sergeant had arranged them. It all looked very regimented with the dark big leaves of teak hanging limp around the straight trunks.

That morning we had got up early in the capital and caught an Aeroperla flight at the domestic airport. The airport had been busy although there were only a couple of flights departing at that time. The taxi driver who brought us there had inquired optimistically whether we were on our way to Bocas del Toro on the Caribbean coast. When we told we would go to David in Chiriquí he looked disappointed: “Next time you’ll have to go to Las Bocas; it’s very beautiful there.”
Sitting on rows of plastic chairs in the departure lounge we watched other passengers board the plane to Bocas del Toro. There were many foreigners who looked like tourists. The crowd that would board ours was diverse. A Chinese businessman dressed in a suit checked in at the counter next to us. He eyed Yoko curious to see whether she was one of his. Behind me was a tall woman in her 30s who looked fresh in a generously open yellow silk blouse and elegant black trousers. When we settled down with our excellent cups of Panamanian coffee – grown according to ecological principles in the highlands of Chiriquí! – next to me sat an Amerindian couple. The husband was dressed in western cloths but the wife was wearing a traditional outfit with a colorful skirt with blue and bright red patterns. From the style I could gather that she belonged to the Kuna Indian tribe. Her hair was short and her ears and nose were pierced. She wore multiple red loops around her ankles and wrists.
The flight from Ciudad de Panamá to David lasted no more than an hour. The propeller plane seated a couple of dozen passengers. The route followed the central cordillera that is the backbone of the country. The hills looked beautiful and largely uninhabited. When we landed we could see the Barú volcano on the northern side. On the left glimmered the Pacific Ocean. Panama is a narrow country: from a vantage point up in the hills or the plane one can see the Pacific to the south and the Caribbean to the north.
David’s modest airport held counters from most major international car rental companies. I received the keys to a tiny Toyota Yaris and soon we hit the Carretera Panamericana, the main – and only – highway in Panama. It crosses the country west to east on the southern side of the cordillera. It is fully paved and mostly very smooth, although at times it becomes surprisingly narrow, especially in view of the heavy traffic of trucks and tankers. At times, our Toyota felt tiny between the fast moving and generally much sturdier traffic.
We crossed Rio Chiriquí, the largest of the many rivers that flow to the Pacific from the cordillera, its brown water bringing masses of topsoil from the hillsides to the ocean. We were on the coastal plain but the topography was still surprisingly varied with forested knolls dotting the land. The forests were all modified by human action over the decades of use. The teak plantations appeared at regular intervals along the roadside. As the road climbed to higher ground we had wide views over the agricultural valleys towards the cordillera with some of the peaks rising high above the valley. About an hour after we had left David we came to a crossing: to the left was the village of San Felix, to the right Las Lajas. Choosing the right turn we entered a gravel road and after a mere kilometer saw the entrance to the hacienda style house where Iliana and Andreas resided.
Having refreshed with some cool water, we soon found ourselves in the offices of Futuro Forestal not far from the house. The company now employed half a dozen administrative people and some 100 workers in planting, harvesting and other works in the forest. Yoni, one of the professionals, was working on the computer entering data into the new geographical information system that accurately depicted the location and features of all the parcels managed by the company: borders, topography, soil types, species planted etc. Cholita, the accountant, Minerva were working in the office. Outside were the nurseries that produce the saplings for the reforestation project, as well as timber that had been recently harvested. After nine years, this had been the first thinning needed for maintenance. A four-wheel-drive pulled up to the modest one-storey offices. The new entrant was José Manuel Perez, Deputy Director of a native species research project of Yale University and the Smithsonian Institution’s tropical research institute in Panama. The venerable SI was very interested in the path breaking approach taken by Futuro Forestal to tropical reforestation. José Manuel would join us for the day inspecting the projects.

Las Lajas is a small community of about 400 households. Like all Central American villages, it has a center with a small square, a school, a soccer field. Yoko observed the absence of a church but was corrected that there were several belonging to a number of Christian denominations; just a formal structure with a bell tower was missing. The place where the congregation really gathered, though, served cold beer, we were told.
Futuro Forestal’s holdings were scattered around the village but not in a haphazard manner. Restoration of native biodiversity is a complex business that not even the good folks at the Smithsonian fully understand. The interaction between species, the type and thickness of soils, their nutrient content and ability to retain water are highly variable and make reforestation a risky affair. Reforestation by itself does not bring back the biodiversity that is so vital to both nature and humankind. The requirement is to help the spread of the tree species that used to support the variety of life here. Therefore, Andreas and Iliana have taken an experimental approach, planting various types of native species in batches that allow each to survive. The ever-present grass is overwhelming the saplings and it is essential to keep it at bay.
The forest parcel we first visited was already advanced with trees reaching high up to the sky. A posse of workers was cutting the undergrowth with machetes. This was hard work and the crews were lucky to have regular 7-hour days with the company paying them full social security and health benefits, a rare practice in the Panamanian countryside. Futuro Forestal is the largest employer of native people in the province. The company also trains the workers to provide them with skills to properly manage the trees so that the trunks grow straight and strong. The training also allows the people to advance their own lives. Some locals are being trained to design and make furniture. One of the women working for the company has decided she wants to become a forest engineer. Futuro Forestal had recently been rewarded as one of the best employers in the area. In return, the workers have to show up at work sober on Monday mornings, not an obvious achievement for many. After centuries of hard low-paid labor in the coffee and cocoa plantations, the native communities have lost their traditional culture and alcoholism is rampant. The strict rules established by the company help to maintain discipline.
At the second parcel, the newly planted open plot, a fresh wind cooled us down in the tropical heat. A vulture circled the field. The nesting trees that Andreas had left standing on purpose hosted a number of colorful parakeets that would zoom past us. The site was located next to an estuary lined with mangroves, a veritable wildlife refuge. Recently, the villagers had been startled to see a huge black cat there, a jaguarondi. Big animals like that need a large area to roam. One of the services that the reforestation area will provide is to expand the corridors along which the animals can migrate. Another is to establish a buffer to the estuarine mangroves so that the villagers will not be tempted to cut them down for construction material or wood fuel.
Along the road we saw other reforestation projects, including one owned by a large landowner in Las Lajas. Knowing that Iliana was a trained forest engineer, the man had asked for her assistance in setting up the project. He had been very glad when she had agreed – “I knew I could rely on you,” he had said – but mightily disappointed when she had indicated that professional services usually came with a cost. This was too much for the man who had brashly stated that he’d rather buy his professional services from a male forester. Machismo is alive and well in the Panamanian frontier. The results of his bullheadedness were obvious for all to see. The teak was planted densely with no provisions for biodiversity services or fire protection. Fungi plagued the lower parts of the trees and new branches were protruding from the trunks that had been carelessly pruned.
At another old reforestation site, the forest was thick and biodiversity alive and well. Some of it bit painfully, as both Yoko and I would testify for several of the coming days. We did avoid all the snakes that are supposed to be abundant in the area. José Manuel told us that in the veterinary school he had been taught that poisonous and harmless snakes could be told apart by their eyes: the poisonous ones had pupils the shape of a slice while the kinder ones had round pupils. José Manuel himself confessed, though, that he would not be the one to stay to study the eyes of the slithering thing should he happen face to face with one. The forest smelled musky with humid scents. Despite the fact that it was only midday, it was quite dark as the high growth muted the sun. Where it was filtered through the leaves of palms and other plants the light was soft with a lovely green hue.

Getting hungry in mid-afternoon, we drove back to the Panamericana and across the road to the neighboring community of San Felix for a late lunch. We entered one of the four small restaurants, and widely considered the best, serving both villages and were welcomed by the cheerful matron who had run the place for years. The food was tasty. I ordered a dried beef jerky while Yoko had succulent chicken. Both were served with patacones, or fried plantains eaten like French fries and that are the staple in Panama. We washed it all down with heavenly passion fruit juice. The place was popular with the locals; which could of course be explained by the fact that it was the only game in town, but surely the good food and friendly service were the real reason. Young women in the provincial Health Department uniform entered the place while we were enjoying a cup of strong coffee with condensed milk.
Suddenly, when we were about to leave the skies roared and an amazing rain that obscured the view fell. There was nothing we could do but to run back to the Land Cruiser, totally soaked in just seconds, and continue on the increasingly muddy roads. The rain would subside soon enough, as was common with afternoon showers in the tropics.
Driving back along the road we passed a small airstrip. “Las Lajas International Airport,” said Andreas with a laugh. This flattened grassy field apparently was one of the many stops that uncharted flights would take on their way from Colombia and other South American countries to satisfy the demand for their products in North America. Not long ago, the Panamanian police had been there to collect an abandoned airplane. Leaving a perfectly good Cessna or Piper made a small dent in the profits of successful transport operations.
When the rain clouds had moved away and the forest was already getting dark, we visited one of the villagers, Felix, who had been one of the earliest participants in Futuro Forestal managing the plot located right behind his own small farm. The forest looked to be in fine shape with tall straight trunks rising towards the darkening sky. This had been the first area reforested ten years ago. Iliana and Andreas had toiled long days alongside Felix, all learning as they were doing. The charming old man in boots and a battered hat welcomed us with a big smile as Andreas’ friends. He grabbed a several meters long pole with a sickle attached to its end and cut down a few coconuts that fell to the ground with a thud. He sliced them expertly with a machete and offered us fresh coconut milk. Immediately also his roaming chickens showed interest and eagerly took the opportunity to peck on the white coconut flesh as we discarded the shells. Felix explained to us that at 73 he still needed to work for eight years before he had earned the required years for his pension fund. Futuro Forestal had been the only employer in his long years of hard work that had contributed to his social security. Then again, he acknowledged that work was the only thing that kept him going. The knees were getting stiffer by the day and with no physical work to look forward to it would be increasingly difficult to get up in the morning.

From a small start Futuro Forestal had grown to be a solid and very professionally run operation. It currently managed reforestation projects over some 500 hectares but there was considerable potential to increase this manifold. One of the main tasks was to scout for and purchase suitable land with sufficient soil quality and topography. Now the scale was still so small that people could just write it off as an interesting yet somewhat idealistic experiment: “I like what you’re doing – but I am making money with my teak.” Andreas and Iliana want to grow their company so large that its approach and successes cannot be ignored. Their ultimate goal is to change how reforestation is done in the tropics through the restoration of biodiversity.
That particular day ended on the Pacific beach just half an hour’s drive away from Las Lajas. The sun setting into the Pacific turned the sand first golden, then yellow before fading into dark red. Pelicans were fishing in the coastal waters as we sat down to enjoy well-deserved Panama beers that a sweet and shy young girl running a bar from a wooden shed on the beach fished from an icebox. Yoko had found a bunch of new four-legged friends and was scratching a scrawny mongrel on the wooden bench. What unusual happiness for the little beast while her friends were scuffling in the sand. What unusual happiness for us tired, dusty and muddy humans. The night on Panama’s Pacific coast falls quickly. The village was alive with people and dogs. But by sleeping time only the sound of crickets and a mild wind from the cordillera soothed us to a deep sleep. I was dreaming of a future where people would live in harmony with each other and the other creatures that inhabit the forest. Clearly, such a future is possible as long as we don’t accept environment destruction as an inevitable price for progress.

© Juha Uitto 2004