Let Me See You Move Like You Come From Colombia

An account of three days spent navigating the northern Coast of Colombia

I was leaving a friend I had been traveling with for a week on Sunday morning in Havana.  I needed to be in Rio by Wednesday night to meet another friend on an epic 17 day journey throughout Latin America.  But I didn't have any plans for the three days between that I would be traveling alone.

A friend of a friend had mentioned Tayrona National Park on Colombia's Caribbean coast. She explained you could hike through the jungle and see "monkeys and stuff" then camp on the beach. This was good enough for me.

DAY 1

I arrived in Cartagena and found a van full of locals a few blocks from the airport. I was told it was making the four hour trip east toward my destination of Santa Marta. 

Santa Marta was a run down industrial city that had sporadic tourist traffic due to its great surfing to the north and proximity to Parque Tayrona which was just 30 minutes east. Travel blogs also point out its reputation of frequent muggings but that didn't bother me as I stuck to my "it won't happen to me" philosophy.

I paid my $12 for the supposed four hour ride and squeezed my way in to the only unoccupied seat. Middle seat of the middle row squished between a nice man and a woman who had her three-ish year old daughter on her lap.  There was just enough space to cram my backpack between my shins and the seat in front of me.

We traveled east through the Colombian countryside that was infested with drugs and drug lords ten or so years ago. A few hours after departure the metropolitan skyline of Barranquilla (hometown of Shakira) began to take shape in the distance.

Entering Barranquilla.

Then we hit traffic. The traffic jam of all traffic jams. It made LA traffic seem like driving on I-90 through Montana. 

Five hours after leaving Cartagena we finally got to the heart of the Barranquilla and twilight was on the horizon. We criss crossed all over town through the streets, dropping passengers off one by one. We eventually dropped every other passenger off and only the driver and I remained... Apparently I was the only one heading to Santa Marta. 

Had I been looking for a driving a tour of seemingly every corner of Barranquilla this would have been perfect. I wasn't. 

I simply wanted to get to Santa Marta before it was dark. I don't love arriving in any foreign city in the dark. I had already been searched at the airport by a guard. Every police officer, military patrol and private security dude carried an AK-47 as a vivid reminder of the country's violent history. (Author's note: Any gun over a foot in length that is not a shot gun is an AK-47 to me. I don't know the technical terms for all the man killing machines and plan to keep it that way). 

The plot thickened with the choppy, rough accent of the Colombians that was challenging to understand at times. Then the city's reputation for muggings started to linger in the back of my mind. The van couldn't get started on the remaining two hour drive to Santa Marta fast enough!

Just when I started to get a little nervous there was another surprise. The driver explained to me that he was tired from all the traffic and wanted to get back to Cartagena. We drove a few more blocks and stopped in the middle of a major street in the right lane. He put on his flashers and told me to follow him as we played frogger across ten lanes of traffic to the other side of the street. The dark of night had completely replaced the twilight.

We walked in a small open faced structure that turned out to be a bus station. He bought a bus ticket to Santa Marta, handed it to me and told me the bus would arrive in 15 minutes to take me to my destination.  "Have a safe trip" he said as he returned to the van.

Perfect. 

Luckily I didn't stick out too much on the busy sidewalk. I was only about a foot taller than everyone else, had a full travel backpack and the looks on people's faces when they saw me suggested I was the first gringo they had seen in ages.

It was 7pm. I hadn't eaten all day. The bus was coming in 15 minutes. I couldn't miss this bus. If I didn't catch THIS bus I wouldn't get to Santa Marta that night. If I didn't get to Santa Marta that night I wouldn't be able to get to the park the next morning. If I didn't get to the park the next morning I wouldn't be able to get one of the limited camp sites on the beach. If I didn't camp on the beach I couldn't leave the next day and hike through ancient ruins as I left the park and then travel back to Cartagena the next day to stay in the heart of the colonial zone of the historic city.  First world problems in a third world country. Still, I couldn't miss this bus.

15 minutes. I HAD to eat. Full on "hanger" had set in at least an hour ago. I couldn't miss this bus.

There was a food stand on the street a block away. 14 minutes. Or was it 12? I weaved my way through the people and waited in line. 10 minutes.  Maybe 11? Finally got to the front of the line. 5 minutes? Colombian time... Probably 25 minutes. 

When the guy looked up at me from behind the counter the expression on his face when he saw me suggested I looked more like a Martian than a human being. 

"Quieres pollo?" 

I couldn't say sí fast enough.

"Uno o dos?"

"Dos!" Duh. It had been so long since I had eaten that the fresh fried chicken in the stand was probably clucking around eating more recently than I had. Dos? Should have ordered cinco. Or probably diez. 3 minutes.

Guy puts first piece in bag. Then starts to grab second piece. Bus approaches station. I rip $50,000 pesos out of my wallet and reach out to hand it to him, squirming as I see the bus pulling in a block away at the bus station.

"$2,000 pesos" he tells me. 67 cents. Bus pulls out of station. Heart sinks. Grab chicken and change. Leave unknown tip. Bus drives by. Front says "Barranquilla Centro". I need Santa Marta. Whew. Still... 1 minute?

The street in Barranquilla outside the bus station.  In the distance beyond the fruit stand
is the stand that sold the fried chicken that will go down as the best chicken ever!

I hustled through the people to the front of the station. In typical Latin American tradition the bus arrived 20 minutes later. I ate the chicken. Best chicken ever.

Maybe it was the 24+ hours without eating. Perhaps it was the lack of preservatives. Knowing me it was probably the price. In any case: Best. Chicken. Ever. Should have told the dude diez.

I spent the entire bus ride trying to figure out my Air B&B situation in Santa Marta. I had made reservations a few days before but the host had not provided an exact address or responded to any of my messages. I activated cell data for $10 for a 24 hour period while in Colombia in hopes that the host would finally respond to tell me where my place to crash was for the night.

Two hours later - 10:30pm ish - the bus stopped and announced Santa Marta. I got off. Semi large but not major intersection. Still no response on the Air B&B.

Luckily the host had a profile picture that showed the sign of Hoteles Colombia Real. I used Apple maps to search for the hotel. 1.5 miles from current location. In the pitch dark. With my backpack. With my passport. In a town known for its muggings. In Colombia. 

I walked toward the hotel. Head on a swivel on the unlit roads with sporadic cars passing by. No promises the Colombia Real had a reservation for Eduardo. I arrived 20 minutes later. 

Bad neighborhood. Worse hotel.

At the front desk there was a man who gave me a key when I explained to him I thought I might have a reservation here through Air B&B. 

I have never been so happy to have a room! I wouldn't ever wish this hotel on anyone.

A quick celebratory beer for the arrival and a hot dog from the stand in the middle of a parking lot and it was time to sleep.

Day 2

The next morning I woke up and walked to a cab who took me to a bus which took me to another bus headed for Parque Tayrona.

Upon arrival at the park there was a long line. I waited in line for about 20 minutes only to be asked for my certificate of completion of having watched the park's conservation and safety video about the park. Ummmm where was that??? Apparently I had skipped the first line and gone straight to a second line. And apparently the video wasn't that big of deal because after about ten seconds of thought the ticket booth lady said no problema and handed me my wristband for entry to the park.

The hike in was a calm gradual walk through beautiful vegetation. Birds, palm trees and lizards were everywhere. People would occasionally trot by on horseback but there was a great sense of being "away from it all" and by yourself with nature. No one selling plastic trinkets in site.

Part of the trail through the jungle in Parque Tayrona.

One monkey threw a coconut to the ground. Lucky for him it missed me by about 3 feet. True story. Doubting that they covered monkeys throwing coconuts in the safety video.

After about an hour of hiking there was the first view of the ocean while standing on rocks 50 or so feet above. It was a neat setting as the jungle literally grows right up to the beach. The beach had thick gold sand and red flags to warn of the dangerous current in that particular area which wasn't actually strong enough to detour some brave Dutch travelers from swimming there.

For the next few miles the hike continued from one beach to another linked by trails through the jungle that separated the beaches. Every beach had a personality of its own. Some had darker sand. Some thicker sand. Some bigger waves. Each beautiful in its own right.

This was many of the beautiful creatures on the hike through the jungle.

The last beach was Cabo San Juan. The Mecca of Parque Tayrona. Here were about 100 tents and 50 hammocks rented to tourists from all over the world. Mostly 20 and 30 somethings, all searching for something had found one of the world's best kept secrets. It was like a scene right out of Leonardo DiCaprio's movie The Beach.

A panoramic view of the cove at Cabo San Juan.

There was a monk who was always meditating on the beach and would end his meditation sessions with a climb up the rocks so he could dive in the water. There were Colombians from Bogota who explained to me that they worked for Comcast and were the guys I yelled at on the phone when my cable wasn't working.  I have DIRECTV.  There were a few Americans and people from all over Europe and South America.

There was a cove big enough to feel like you had your own little piece of the sea but quaint enough it kept out the ruggedness of the ocean. The water was the brilliant shade of blueish green that painters try years to perfect.  The waves were a soft reminder that it was the ocean; just the right amount to enjoy without feeling like you got hit by Von Miller. 

I jumped in right away and the salt water shot a refreshing feeling from head to toe. It was the perfect temperature. In the 18ish hours I spent in Cabo San Juan I took swims in the water five separate times. Even as a non beach-lover this had an amazing feel of paradise.

The cove at Cabo San Juan from the rocks on the point.

Luckily there were still tents available in the tent area 50 yards from the cove. I rented one, put my stuff inside and returned to swim.

As dinner time approached, the 300 or so people staying in San Juan for the night found their way to the dining area. A chef cooked meat, vegetables and fish that was brought in fresh daily by a man with a big cooler on horseback. There was a concession stand selling snacks and beer.

Tents for sleeping on the beach at Cabo San Juan.

Once dinner was over the tables in the lit area turned to a hot spot for those playing cards and the sandy beach became an impromptu bar for those having a beer from the concession stand. A few days earlier I had bargained with a guy on a tobacco plantation in Cuba long enough that he gave in and sold me ten hand rolled cigars for $25. I enjoyed my first one that night on the beach along with a few Aguilas, the Bud Light of Columbia.  Paradise.

Day 3

The next morning I had breakfast sandwiched between a swim before and after in the cove. I then crammed my clothes in my backpack with a folding pattern that would have left Nordstrom employees crying all over America and set off to exit the park on a different route than I had entered. This route passed through the ancient ruins of Pueblito.

The path was a stark contrast to the calm trail I had taken to enter the park. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Under rocks, over rocks, between rocks, on top of rocks, through rocks. There were even a few rocks that had a rope to pull yourself (and your backpack) up to get up their steep grades. It would have been a dream for an English teacher trying to teach a lesson in prepositions. I simply wanted to see Pueblito and get out of the park so I could get to Cartagena that night.

Part of the rock laced trail to Pueblito.  Actually had to crawl through this space.

And it was HOT.  20 minutes in the shirt came off. 30 minutes in my shorts were completely soaked with sweat. 45 minutes in I drank my last sip of water.

Finally an hour and a half in I had reached the ruins of the ancient village. Pueblito was inhabited from 400 to 1600 and like most ruins immediately sparked the who, what, why and what are they doing now questions of an ancient civilization. 

I couldn't imagine making that trek down the rocky hillside for an hour and a half to catch a few fish and then returning back up another hour and a half. They did this daily. It was all they knew.  Maybe Siri had a shortcut for them she didn't share with me?

The village of Pueblito was a highly functioning city from 400-1600 A.D.

From Pueblito it was another few hours to the main road. Thankfully there was an overpriced water available from someone who sat on the side of the path. Who knows how they got there. Aside from a snake slithering away when I intruded its personal bubble of about 10 feet, it was an uneventful hike through beautiful jungle vegetation.

Upon reaching the main road a bus was there to take me to Santa Marta. Once in Santa Marta I needed a ride to Cartagena and found another van full of locals.  If at first you don't succeed...

The van ride started off normal. Traffic through Barranquilla was light for a metropolis. But then we reached a toll station a few miles outside of Barranquilla en route to Cartagena. The driver paid the toll. Then an armed officer peaked in the van. Even though there were 12 of us in the van, only me and another man, a 20 something from Germany, appeared to be tourists. We were told to get out of the vehicle.

He asked me why I was in Colombia. By the fourth time that I told him that I was just there for vacation in Parque Tayrona he believed me. Then he searched my bag. He asked at least seven times if the Cuban cigars had marijuana. "No, solo tobacco". As skeptical as he was, he let me and the German return to the van about 15 minutes after he made us get out. 

Documentaries and movies have romanticized the drug trade for years but the reality is Colombia is still a country trying to figure out how to survive without drug money. Pablo Escobar and his crew controlled the government, schools and economy of the country for decades. Nearly every school and public building was funded by drug money.

Recently the U.S. Government has flexed its muscles and worked hard to eliminate the drug trade based in Colombia, culminated by the assassination of Escobar.  While the country has made huge strides and is much cleaner now (so I was told), the presence of its jagged past could be felt everywhere. And for a guard tasked with making sure the country continues to stay as drug free as possible, any gringo stimulates an immediate red flag in his mind.  So if a few searches and skepticism about why I was there was my role in the cleaning up of this beautiful developing country, keep on searching on...

That night I arrived in Cartagena and had a nice dinner in the tourist trap that is the colonial zone.  I walked a few blocks the next morning to get a non tourist rate for a taxi to the airport. I was surprised when the cabbie told me it was just a ten minute drive.

I was even more surprised when we arrived at the airport ten minutes later without a glitch in the plan. It was an unexpected smooth ride after three days of the unexpected while moving through Colombia.