A very Kuna New Year

I think back to most of the New Years eve events that I have attended over the course of my life. Most of them fairly underwhelming. Loud “doof doof” music, scantly clad peacocks trying desperately to attract the opposite sex and enough alcohol to fuel a car for a whole year.

This year we chose to be in relative isolation. We found a fairly nondescript little island in the San Blas with an equally nondescript anchorage, away from the madding crowd. The morning net was filled with organising “parties” at various places. Potlucks and bonfires arranged by what one can only be described as extroverted Americans with “water caravans” (we are but a few hundred miles from Texas...).

Alas, there were 3 other yachts in the bay when we arrived. A few of our friends on other yachts were soon to follow us. Fortunately there was plenty of space.

We set about looking for a free feed. Scouring the bottom for anything that moved that was edible (and of a decent size). There was not much. The term “conservation” has not hit the Kuna Yala (San Blas) yet.

Just in front of us is a couple of Kuna huts with a family of Kunas and about 20 children. We attributed the lack of seafood to the number of mouths that required feeding, but found out later that most of the kids were there on holiday from Panama City. Yes, in a small paradise, many Kuna chose to live in the city, but send their kids to the “old country” on holidays so as not to forget their roots.

The gentle smell of Kuna wood smoke drifted down our fore hatch and the sound of children playing could be heard well before my usual “lurch out of bed” time.

We are only 2 miles from mainland Panama, so all of the nearby islands seem to be inhabited with families. Even tiny islands with 2 lone palm trees has a hut. With this and common courtesy in mind, we headed ashore to ask for permission to make a fire on their island and call in the New Year. To sweeten the deal, we took a couple of canned goods (a whip around from each of our sailing friends).

“No problema” was the answer!

We zoomed around the anchorage and did the neighbourly thing of inviting all the other cruising boats to join us. Although there were french / spanish, we managed to gesticulate our intentions clearly enough.

The yachts in our little armada set about putting together a few dishes for a bit of a pot luck. Cruiser speak for “what ever one can be arsed making and sharing”. We did lobster linguini (with real lobster – but not of the size that I would send photos to my father to brag about though...he unfortunately still holds the Trompeter record for biggest lobbie – in fairness, he did pull it out 26 years ago when “over” and “fished” were never used in the same sentence).

Hauling our dinghy ashore, ladened with BBQ materials, pots of luck and and multiple young cruisers (30-40's), we were greeted by a squad of kids eager to help with hauling it ashore (and in the process got bowled over like tenpins).

To be polite we made the fire far enough away from the Kuna huts but it seemed that this was too great a draw card. Like moths the whole extended family descended on our little bonfire. The children played with Finn and Petra (3 and 2) and the older girls were fascinated by these cute little blonde haired, blue eyed creatures.

Now came the awkward part...there was not really enough food for everyone (or enough drink – both alcoholic or non).

We delayed the feast for as long as possible thinking that maybe the dinner gong would sound over in Kuna town and we could scoff without feeling rude. But no, this was all way too exciting. It probably did not help that I had been lighting sparklers on the bonfire and handing them out to the kids (who were loving them!).

We also had some battery powered light sticks and flashing balls etc (left over from Grenada Carnival a few months back). Every now and then I would whip one out and run down the beach with it. A gaggle of over excited Kuna kids would chase after me babbling Spanish (and / or Kuna – how would I know) until I selected a random recipient for the bonus prize.

When it became clear that Kuna's were probably not going to leave anytime soon, we reluctantly got stuck into our dishes. I had to do his Pied Piper routine to clear out the kids (they liked to crowd around the dinghy expectantly whenever some one went over to it to do something).

There was plenty of food left over and so we washed our plates in the sea and handed them over to the Kuna's to get stuck in.

Kuna culture is very matriarchal. One of the older woman (assumedly the chief coconut) sent a few kids to fetch bowls from the huts. She then scooped out all the remaining nosh into a large bowl and the bowl did the rounds among the Kuna.

Dessert was much the same process.

We played with the Kuna kids who were still wide awake (I blame the sugar content in Sally's Apple Pie) while waiting for the approaching new year. With so many children, I was soon exhausted, for as soon as you do one “cool” thing to a kid, the rest want a go as well. Trying to be a good sport I wanted to give them all a go swinging them in the air etc, but you eventually lose track of who is who. I am sure one little kid abused me 5 times for the “space rocket game”.

The matriarch and one of the men and loads of kids stayed with us and watched us. We went round the circle each singing a song or a poem trying to include the Kuna's too. They were having none of it but enjoyed watching us be silly.

We hailed in the new year with a toasting of glasses and a few expired flares sent into space. It was well past “cruisers midnight” of 9pm and some of us had been snorkelling for 5 hours in search of dinner and another 5 hours of “space rocket game” with the locals. Fuelled with enough rum to make even the dirtiest pirates proud we said our farewells to the indians and chugged back to the boats.

What a year 2012 has been. What promise 2013 entails...