Barefoot indigenous people in colourful traditional costumes welcome village visitors with dance and music. It's the sort of presentation that makes you think of fake authenticity, a touristy folkloric showtime.
The setting is Parará Purú, a settlement of the Emberá people, located in Panama's interior in the Chagres National Park above the banks of the Río Chagres, which feeds the legendary Panama Canal. Piraguas, motorized wooden boats, are the only means of transport in the area.
Of course, many of the Emberá people are focussed on the money that tourism brings. But Anel Zarco puts a different spin on it. "Tourism is our only source of income. It's the only way we can maintain and present our culture and way of life," says the 30-year-old, wearing a short skirt. He grew up here and speaks fluent Spanish in addition to his own language.
No cars, no televisions
An excursion package to the Emberá includes a Piragua tour starting at Lake Alajuela through the vastness of the river system to the Quebrada Bonita waterfall. At the front of the boat is Zarco, who helps manoeuvre the boat with a long wooden pole through the greenery on the narrow approach. Later, he accompanies the guests to the welcome ceremony in Parará Purú and through the village of 120 inhabitants.
There are no cars, no televisions. Thatched huts stand on wooden and concrete stilts. Laundry dries next to them. Dogs and chickens run around, boys in loincloths. Lizards scurry around. An iguana disappears into a tree.
Zarco leads us into a tiny one-room museum with musical instruments and kitchen utensils. Several faded photos show his great-grandfather Antonio Zarco, who previously taught survival techniques to the US moon landing team led by astronaut Neil Armstrong, says the great-grandson proudly.
Visitor money financed the village school
Cross-cultural contacts are nothing new among the Emberá, but similar partnerships are taboo. "There are internal laws," says village chief Brenio Dogirama, 55 years old. Anyone who decides in favour of non-Emberá in matters of love must leave the community. Dogirama's self-image includes explaining everything about indigenous life to visitors in a lecture.
Each of the 33 families receives $100 every fortnight from the tourist revenue collection pot. Dogirama is keen to point out that the village school building was financed thanks to the visitors' money. The two teachers, on the other hand, receive their fees from the state.
Hard-working people like Yaribet Tócamo make handicrafts from palm fibres and sell them to tourists. The earnings go straight into their own pockets. "I can use it to buy school books or school uniforms," she says. Tócamo, at 26, a mother of three, appreciates the "peaceful life" in the village.
A village trapped in time
Parará Purú, which translates as "village of palm trees", seems trapped in time. But resisting the tentacles of progress does not work.
As he has to coordinate the visits, village head Dogirama is one of the few people to enjoy the privilege of a mobile phone. "The village needs electricity," he says, outlining another task for the future. Ultimately, this is also important for the school and learning with computers.
The visit ends with music and leaves a deep impression. Thanks to tourism, these Emberá have been spared the vicious cycle of uprooting, rural exodus and poverty.
"In some countries, indigenous cultures have disappeared," says Anel Zarco. "We are proud to be indigenous and feel honoured that other people want to get to know our culture."
