Into the Colombian Darien
As the kiddies carved their initials into the moss-covered concrete oblisk, I said my final goodbye over my shoulder and headed alone down the single clear footpath on the Panama side, a little bothered about the ramifications tht I might experience lacking the formality of an exit stamp from Colombia in my passport. Time would tell.
Out of the Panamanian Darien
I crossed successfully, with a bit of trouble traversed the cultivated yet overgrown knob and crossed the swift river again, again more than waist deep. After a kilometer or so, some village children ran waving to greet me. I smiled and greet the Panamanians with relief and joy - I crossed the Darien on foot. 'Take me to the commandant,' I instructed the kids, clammoring to hold my hands, 'I need a stamp in my passport.'