Ever heard of El Camino Real, me hearties? No? Well, me neither, but legend
tells of a treasure trail snaking through the jungles of Panama, joining the
South Sea to the Caribe, and paved with gold. It had been lost for two and a
half centuries, but now it’s been rediscovered. And its hidden treasures are
there for the taking...
It sounded easy at the time, but now, as I retrace Cap’n Morgan’s route
through the black heart of the Spanish Main, I’m not so sure. I’m lathered
in mud and sweat, one hand swinging a machete like a cutlass and the other
groping to keep me upright on a jungle mountainside that clearly wants to be
a cliff. The yellow path — an arbitrary contour less than a foot wide —
girdles the mountain like a golden thread on a vast green tapestry, its
warped course dipping in and out of the oppressive verdant weft.
Some 300ft below, the Nombre de Dios river roars through unseen cataracts, a
constant reminder of where you end up if you fall. And falling is a constant
possibility. The problem is that if you slip, you need to grab something to
stop you falling, and if you grab something it will either bite you, spike
you or try to tear your hand off. Scorpions, tarantulas and lethal bullet
ants lurk in the leaf litter.
Deadly eyelash vipers and enormous fer-de-lances lie disguised as branches and
roots, and even the flora threatens armed response. Thorns, hooks and barbs
shred clothes and skin, causing wounds that go septic in hours, and peaceful
looking leaves cause cruel and unusual burns. It’s hard enough hauling a
rucksack around here: imagine driving a stolen mule train.
The conquistadors called the route El Camino Real — the Royal Road — and for
250 years it was the most important highway in the Spanish Main. It ran
originally from Panama Viejo on the Pacific to the port of Nombre de Dios,
and later to Portobelo, on the Caribbean, a 50-mile causeway, wide enough
for two carts to pass, snaking through some of the densest jungle on earth.
The crossing provided the Spanish with a solution to the logistical
nightmare of getting all that plunder from Peru to the treasure houses of
Seville. The alternatives were to lug the loot over the Andes to Colombia’s
Caribbean coast or to sail south around the Horn.
Treasure ships discharged their booty onto mule trains in Panama Viejo and the
precious loads were driven over the isthmus to be loaded onto galleons in
the Caribbean. It didn’t take long for pirates to get wind of the trade and
the rot began when Sir Francis Drake arrived in 1573.
After Drake’s death in 1596, the role of chief Pirate of the Caribbean was
assumed by Captain Henry Morgan, a rowdy drunk who took Portobelo using
captured Jesuits as human shields, then emptied its coffers and sold what
was left back to the Spanish for £250,000. In 1670, Morgan took his motley
crew across the isthmus to Panama Viejo, ambushing mule trains on the way
and sacking the city on his arrival. His mantle was inherited by Admiral
Edward Vernon, an officer and a gentleman destined to become MP for Ipswich.
When Vernon torched Portobelo in 1739, they named a trendy street in west
London in honour of his feat and sang a song called God Save the King for
the very first time. By now, the Spanish were utterly cheesed off with the
whole affair. Pillaged by pirates and bushwhacked by buccaneers, they
abandoned the Royal Road to the forest’s hungry embrace.
Now, Journey Latin America has reopened the route, blurring the line between
tourism and exploration with a five-day, 40-mile, coast-to-coast hike that
is one of the most thrilling jungle adventures on earth. In 10 years, El
Camino Real will be as popular as the Inca Trail, but right now, like the
country it crosses, you can have it all to yourself.
The hike begins in the Chagres National Park, 20 miles outside Panama City.
Here, in the village of San Juan de Pequeni, live the Embera people, the
jungle’s scantily clad masters of indolence. I’ve never met an idler
bunch. Eating bananas and testing hammocks seem to be the village’s most
important jobs — that, and panning for gold. Did I mention the gold? El
Camino Real is rotten with the stuff and locals wander the streambeds
looking for that telltale glimmer.
An Embera called Fernando showed me the results of an afternoon’s panning: 17
flakes, worth less than a dollar. When I teased him over his slim pickings,
he fetched a carrier bag containing $10,000 worth of gold dust and had the
last laugh. But you don’t need alluvial deposits to get rich around here.
Worthless fragments of conquistador pottery litter the trail, but you may
stumble across something more valuable: a bejewelled dagger was recently
excavated nearby, and upstream a pair of silver crosses were pulled from the
river.
You could also find yourself in dire need of rehydration as heat and humidity
raise the stakes and thunder rumbles in the distance like an empty threat.
Travel is by river, wading through the current and climbing the steep, muddy
ridges only when the water runs too deep. We are soaked all day, changing
into dry gear only at night and putting on wet clothes every morning.
The Camino is occasionally evident — a flagstone here, a broken bottle there —
but, for the most part, we’re assuming it took the most obvious route. Our
guide, Richard Cahill, has made the crossing a dozen times and has never
been the same way twice, but that’s probably because he’s searching for the
legendary Viper Pits. There are numerous high and narrow parts of the trail
that become slippery in the rainy season.
Mules would sometimes fall hundreds of feet into the river below, dragged down
by their burdens of booty. Indian slaves believed the water infested with
snakes — hence the name — and their Spanish masters couldn’t persuade them
to climb down and recover the gold. So they wrote the losses off and Cahill
believes the treasure is still there.
But El Camino’s riches are greater than silver and gold: the wilderness throbs
with life. From tiny poison arrow frogs to huge iridescent morph
butterflies, to toucans, parrots and hummingbirds no bigger than bees, the
Panamanian fauna comes dressed to impress. Howler monkeys, tamarinds and
capuchins will drop rotten fruit on you — or worse — while three-toed sloths
are almost as lazy as the Embera. Undisputed king of the jungle in these
parts, though, is el tigre — the jaguar. Seldom seen, rarely heard, he
leaves only paw prints as he prowls the camp site by night. Cahill tells how
a colleague attracted these powerful predators to his remote camera rig
using a trail of Calvin Klein’s Obsession... ladies take note.
We sleep on beaches beside the river, and it’s at night that the sense of
isolation is strongest. In Bolivia or Peru you would have to hike for a week
to be this remote, and yet I’m just two days away from Panama City.
Distance, however, is relative in a forest too dense for satellite phones to
work and where Nasa sends its astronauts to learn jungle crash survival.
The trail ends at Portobelo, truly a town to die for. This crumbling Unesco
World Heritage Site, home to the Black Christ, the patron saint of
pickpockets, and the dilapidated grandeur of the Customs House, was dubbed
the White Man’s Graveyard in the 18th century. It’s improved a little since
then, but the huge black forts of San Fernando and San Jeronimo still gaze
at the limpid Caribbean, and after a 40-mile hike from the Pacific I’m ready
to pick a hammock and do likewise.
Except Cahill won’t let me — his gold fever is infectious. I spend my last day
in Panama snorkelling the reef, still searching for lost loot. The boatman
wears a gold doubloon around his neck, found in this very spot, and while I
discover nothing more than a rusty fish-hook, you may be luckier.
Professional treasure hunters regularly explore these waters, and anything
recovered from seabed or trail should be surrendered to the Panamanian
authorities. Sneaking your glittering prize back home would be smuggling,
and that’s very close to piracy.
Chris Haslam travelled as a guest of Journey Latin America. His new novel El
Sid is out now (Abacus £11.99)
Travel details: Journey Latin America (020 8622 8474, www.journeylatinamerica.co.uk)
offers an eight-day Camino Real trip from £1,570pp, including flights
from Heathrow to Panama City with Iberia (via Madrid), road, rail and boat
transport, accommodation with most meals (with three nights in simple hotels
and four nights in hammocks), trekking guides and equipment. JLA also has a
range of more comfortable holidays, staying in jungle lodges and on the
beaches of Panama, as do Explore (0870 333 4001, www.explore.co.uk), and
Trips Worldwide (0117 311 4400, www.tripsworldwide.co.uk).
