If the Spanish of five hundred years ago were the orcs, the British and French were the warring human tribes, then the Indians of Central America were the hobbit-like peoples, and the Kuna were certainly the hobbits themselves. As the smallest race of people in the western hemisphere, the Kuna fought and conquered multiple attempts at imperialism and cultural domination.

They ended up with a gorgeous Shire, and a sweet deal, and an almost impossible ability to live exactly as they always did. Their land includes both these 400 San Blas Islands stretching for 160 miles along the coast of present-day Panama, and the nearby Panama mainland with all of its mountains and jungles and fresh rivers. Their land is called the Comarca da Kuna Yala, and the Kuna live as if this is their country. Few Panamanian laws affect them.

In fact, Kuna Yala is essentially split off from the rest of Panama by the sea of jungle called the Darién. Largest unspoiled jungle in Central America, and some say all of the Western Hemisphere. It’s also considered the most dangerous. Disease. Roads just stop. Beyond the roads, Colombian rebels and drug runners. A few years ago, Robert Pelton - the same guy who interviewed Johnny Walker Lindh in Afghanistan, decided to cross the Darién by backpack with two young Americans. They were swiftly picked up by Colombian rebels and held hostage for two weeks.

We take the cayuco to the mainland, where a swath has been cut from the jungle. Kuna women are carrying buckets of sand. Parrots and painters’ palettes have nothing on these women, their dresses and scarves are so brilliant in scarlet, turquoise, black and orange, that even bent over in the dirt they seem royal. I ask Mary what they are up to.

“Building a runway,” she says. They switch off - one day the men spend all day here, then the next day the women. Each carries a bucket of sand or gravel from Achutupu to the runway, and they dump the sand on the runway, which is marked by sticks. One bucket of sand at a time this runway will be built. No machinery, no shovels, no motors.

“There's already a runway nearby?” I ask.