Trip Start Nov 08, 2004
55Trip End Nov 08, 2005
Before leaving Santa Marta I picked up a local paper to see what was going on in the world. Safe as it may seem on the streets you only need to pick up a newspaper or watch the news to see the other side... 150kg of cocaine found under the floorboards of a bus, another bus held up and robbed in a another town..., hundreds of peasants displaced from their town by guerillas, a guerilla vs. paramilitary shoot out in the countryside somewhere.... Jeez they don't do anything by halves! Still we were beginning to see that, for an average traveller, the danger of this part of Colombia is no more than that of any poor South American country and as long as we were careful we should be fine.
Parque Tayrona, near Santa Marta, is every backpackers dream (apparently) so it was time to find out
Unfortunately on the day we decided to go there was a transport strike in Santa Marta and we had to catch a battered 1970`s Renault taxi, driven by a man with 18 children. (Seriously - not a joke).The dirt road was edged with colourful wild flowers and as we passed through little villages I noticed that most houses had gorgeous flowers hung everywhere. Colombia is so pretty compared to other poor SA countries!
Just past the entrance to the park the road ended and we had to hike another hour through the rainforest, jumping over huge boulders and thick lines of leaf-carrying ants until we saw sunlight and the sea through the trees. In true South American fashion we had acquired a "guide" whom we neither needed nor wanted! He had suddenly jumped into the taxi with us on the way and insisted on walking with us giving us obvious information such as "they are the worker ants". Every so often we would reach a sign giving info about the distances to various places in the park and he would read it slowly out loud for us, and then smile with satisfaction as if he had just given us some secret piece of information.
After shaking him off on arrival at Arrecifes, we explored the area
Many months ago, I had been inspired to come to Arrecifes and Parque Tayrona by a book I had been reading called "The Gringo Trail" (by Mark Mann - a must for anyone interested in South America). It's a witty account of 3 mad peoples travels around the continent and has alot of useful info in it as well as being a great story. It has become one of my favourite books of all time (thanks to you Tam!!) and an important part of the story is set in Arrecifes, so it felt like a kind of pilgrimage for me to have finally made it here.
Arrecifes beach has a strong and dangerous current so we walked further along the beach to where there is a natural swimming pool created by the boulders. The water was gorgeous, clear and so salty you could float for hours just looking up at the green hills stretching back to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta - mountains which are controlled largely by guerilla groups and therefore a no-go area.
We met up with an Aussie couple we had met in Taganga and spent the night drinking the usual Rum and coke and chatting. They warned us not to leave our food around the camp as there are lots of rats. No worries our food is safely hung up on a clothes line from the rafters in bags we said. Not so. When we went back to our camp the bags were in bits across the ground and there were pieces of half eaten apple everywhere! These rats could climb up vertical poles and along clothes lines!
Paradise by day the park may have been, but by night it changed into a rat-frenzied nightmare. The first night we lay awake in our tents almost the whole night listening to the noises of the rats as they scurried around the sides of the tents trying to get in
The next night, however, we realised that if we moved our tent from beneath the shelter into the open they would have nothing to swing or climb on. Hey presto no rat noises. This time though, I spent the night worrying that a coconut might fall out a palm tree onto my head and kill me! This is no joke - every year several people do get hit on the head by falling coconuts and some have died - they are as hard as a cricket ball but much bigger and fall from very high trees.All through the night there were huge thuds as coconuts fell- as Mil said (see later) "It´s worse than Basra out there at night!"
The Cape is calling...
We heard about a campsite further into the park with even nicer beaches so on the third day we packed up and walked an hour further through forests of coconut palms, little coves and over boulders until we reached the Cape of San Juan
There were only ever a handful of backpackers and young Colombians here each day and although facilities were extremely basic (no electricity, hammocks, tents and communal drain pipes on a piece of dirty concrete for showers) it was a great place to hang around for a few days. The campsite had a simple restaurant run by a local family. Their children seemed to spend their days playing with sticks and backgammon counters: they had no toys and I suppose little chance of going to school since the nearest road was 2 hours walk away.
Boulder Hopping lesson
I persuaded Jason (who is difficult to raise from a hammock in this type of place) we should hike to a ruined, recently excavated Indian village up in the rainforest called "Pueblito". It was only supposed to take 1.5 hours and I was sure it wouldn't be too strenuous
We reached the top after 2 hours and found a maze of pathways made of stone slabs, terraces and round stone huts built on circular platforms. The huts had been reconstructed to give visitors an idea of what the town once looked like. A few families milled about, decendents of the Tayrona Indians (who were wiped out by the Spanish) wearing cheese cloth type tunics and pulling donkeys laden with firewood up the pathways. They didn't seem to take much notice of us (we were the only tourists there) but one of them told us we weren't allowed to photograph them. It was nothing like the Inca ruins of Peru, but being so overgrown and tourist free it seemed quite special. Apparently this region has another 301 ruined towns like this - which even beats the Incas for volume
The crazyness contest : Welsh versus Colombians
That night we pitched our nice 3 man tent far away from the camp restaurant and shelter, now savvy to the rat problem. Each night we would sit in the restaurant playing cards. Colombians will find any opportunity to make music and sometimes a flurry of Colombian beats could be heard from the kitchen. One day I put my head around the door and saw it was actually the kitchen boys playing a cheese grater amongst other things to make the sounds! One night we met a mad, chain-smoking, beer guzzling Welshman called Mil, and Israeli/American girl (Ya El) and spent the night in stitches at his typically Welsh sarcastic sense of humour. Amongst his funniest comments (and this is just for you Marc) was "Newport is by far the most dangerous city I have ever been to - forget F·$&*** Caracas!".
Typical of the mad things you see in Colombia was the sight of a bunch of crazy farmyard animals wandering around next to a beach straight out of a Bounty advert. Donkeys, dogs, cats, rabbits, chickens and outsized frogs all ambled freely around the campsite. At night scores of bats swooped around the back of the campsite making an incredible deafening noise like a space invader game, interspersed by croaking frogs and cicadas
The next 3 days passed in a haze of relaxation. Morning swims in the clear waters, waking up to the sounds of the tropical birds, lazing on the beach.The weather was often cloudy and some nights we sat in the tent sheltering from spectacular storms. Every few minutes the whole sky would light revealing the sea and dark shapes of the mountains beyond. Some mornings I would just lie in the tent listening to all the birds, there seemed to be even more amazing bird calls than there had been in the jungle of Bolivia. One bird sounded just like he was singing a rap song with a backing group, another like a faint ambulance siren, another like a squeaky saw on wood and another like a clowns whistle. This was definitely what travelling was about. Living such a simple existence in such a beautiful place really made us feel alive.
When it camw to the 2 hour walk to get out of the park we opted for the ¨flashpacker¨ option and hired a horse to carry our backpacks, after all it was 35 degrees and nearly 100% humidity.The old horseman was a typical Colombian. He must have had to ride for 8 hours a day in the heat but he was happy as Larry, whistling and laughing the whole way.