The Road Trip to Punta Gallinas

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We'd decided to take a road trip to Punta Gallinas while were still in Quito. The attraction for me was simple - Punta Gallinas is on the tip of the Guajira Peninsular. This makes it the northernmost point in Colombia and so in the whole of continental South America. By a happy accident this would allow me to dovetail my trip with a pleasing symmetry - having more or less started my journey at Ushuaia, at the very bottom of the continent, I would now be able to complete the journey from the bottom to the top. If this were not incentive enough Punta Gallinas is a seriously remote place where the desert of the northern Guajira peninsular runs all the way to the Caribbean Sea. It would take 2 days in a 4 wheel drive and a boat journey to get there and promised to be quite an adventure.

But first we had to get to northern Colombia. It took us a day of travelling to fly from the Galapagos via Guayaquil and Quito to Bogota. We'd only given ourselves a day in Bogota to catch up with chores (laundry and blog) and see the sights before heading on to Riohacha, from where our journey on to Punta Gallinas would begin. A day seemed laughably short for a city the size of Bogota (8 million) particularly given the glowing write up it received in the Lonely Planet and we set off early in the morning armed with what looked like a packed itinerary. We were back at the hostel by lunch time kicking our heals. What had seemed like a busy day had evaporated in the face of a succession of museum closures (we had the misfortune to be in town on a Monday). We were based in the Old Town and saw what sights remained open but to be honest Bogota failed to make an impression. Maybe after the Galapagos none of us were ready to return to a big city, but Bogota seemed a little bit shabby. Most of the walls were covered in graffiti and there was a large police and army presence, reflecting the proximity of the centre of government. In addition there was the weather. Bogota is at 2,600 metres and has a cool, damp climate - think London in November. Never mind we were off to the sun of the Caribbean Coast.

We flew into Riohacha the following morning. It seemed a strange place. A small, sleepy town that seemed to have outgrown itself for no obvious reason. The airport was a ramshackle affair and the town seemed to take its cue from there. Despite a sizeable stretch of sandy beach and a temperature in the mid to high 30s there was no discernable attempt to develop the town for tourism. The seafront had half a dozen restaurants, a casino (slot machines) and a hotel. The restaurants and casino seemed to be frequented by locals. As far as we could tell the hotel was empty. It took us most of the afternoon to track down the tour agency with whom we'd corresponded about Punta Gallinas, but we arranged for them to pick us up from our hostel and the following morning, after a fairly vague discussion in Spanish and broken English about what the trip would entail, we were off on our adventure.

Two minutes later our four wheel drive had ground to a shuddering halt. After several unsuccessful attempts to restart the engine our driver, Emilio, came to the conclusion that we were out of petrol. It wasn't a particularly auspicious start to our road trip but at least it was an easy enough problem to fix. Soon we were heading out of Riohacha and saying goodbye to tarmac to follow the sandy beach north and east along the coast. Emilio crunched through the gears, which made a grating noise that had us exchanging somewhat nervous looks but we were at least on our way.

We quickly left the town behind and travelled passed a series of lagoons that attracted colourful bird life - flamingoes, frigates, ducks, herons and ibises - in particular a very attractive bright red ibis. Soon we were travelling out across salt flats that stretched out as far as the eye could see. From time to time the horizon dissolved into a mirage of water. We pretty much had the road - a sandy, dirt track to ourselves, occasionally another car would appear like an apparition out of the haze. At mid-morning we stopped at a frontier town (Venezuela) to take on supplies for the journey - water for ourselves and petrol for the car, including wisely an extra canteen to be stored on the roof. Then we headed out into the flat, barren country. The sun was relentless and the ground parched. Cactus and thornbushes seemed to thrive as did goats, allowed to freedom to forage, and wild donkeys. These were evidence of the local, indigineous people, the Wayuu, and occasionally a lone figure could be spied, wrapped heavily against the sun at which Emilio would declaim excitedly "WAYUU! WAYUU!".

Emilio spoke no English but did not let this stop him from keeping up a running commentary. He was a large man with an even larger voice, given to large gestures that often left us nonplussed. Our lack of comprehension did not seem to matter to Emilio who was evidently labouring under the misapprehension that the solution would be to speak louder. He navigated his way across the flat shrubland, threading a path through the maze of cactus and crossing dried river beds, finally taking us back to the coast and to our lunch time and overnight stop, Cabo De La Vela.

We had a decent fish lunch and some hammock time before heading out with Emilio to explore the area. Driving up the coast to discover secluded bays and climb promontories to enjoy viewpoints. There were a few intrepid Colombians making a tour of the same circuit but otherwise we had the stark, impressive landscape to ourselves. The wind was relentless, varying from gusty at sea level to gale force on the exposed cliff tops. It blew off the land and whipped up a haze of dust and sand, threatening to sandblast anything that got in its way. The Caribbean was a murky yellow-green rather than the crysal blue of travel posters. Still the land had an austere beauty and felt authentically remote - a very long way from anywhere, which had been at least half the point of coming.

We returned to Cabo for dinner. It was a perculiar place. A line of shacks stretched along a wide bay and a handful of distressed looking fishing boats sat marooned upon the beach. If Riohacha had felt like the original one horse town Cabo De La Vela felt like its country cousin. Perhaps protected by its remoteness and lack resources the area and the Wayuu people seem to have resisted integration into wider Colombia and have retained a degree of autonomy including their own language and a strong sense of their own identity. This seems to include a suspicion of outsiders and even Emilio's strident tones were unable to help us with the language barrier and our mutual incomprehension when it came to the arrangements for the night's accommodation. With hindsight we realised that they had prepared hammocks for us but at the time, noting the numerous empty cabanas we rather expected a room and beds. Once we'd cleared this hurdle and persuaded our hosts we'd like a room we had to explain that actually we'd like a bed each rather than sharing. We got there in the end but I fear we may have confirmed a few Wayuu prejudices about the crazy foreigner along the way.

The next day we headed on up the coast, the landscape remaining harsh and barren. We passed two more large lagoons, populated with the same cast of birdlife as the day before. Despite the crunching of the gears the Landcruiser seemed to be bearing up. Whenever, we stopped for photos or at Emilio's behest ("CAMINAR! CAMINAR!") to walk along beaches, he took the opportunity to lift the bonnet and tinker with the engine. The countryside was all dried river beds, fields of cactus and the occasional bluff. We were close to the border with Venezuala and to Puerto Bolivar. It felt like bandit country - an impression exacerbated by Emilio's commentary "MUCHO CONTRABANDO, MUCHO!". Thoughts drifted towards Colombia's former reputation for lawlessness. Nobody knew where we were (Did Emilio?) and the remoteness of the country started to take on a sinister air. In the event the closest we came to kidnapping was being held up by the local Wayuu children who hung ropes across the track in order to demand a ransom of sweets.

We were nearing our destination. The wind and sand created a miasma of cloud that covered everything, sometimes closing in and reducing visibility to a few metres. Emilio navigated down a bewildering maze of tracks before dropping us of at an empty beach and encouraging us to take our bags and walk into the biting teeth of the wind. At the end of the beach we were met by a small fishing boat for the final stage of the journey. The boat took us round a headland and into a series of sheltered lagoons and bays, bordered by mangroves. Soon we were docking at a pier of baked orange mud and climbing a shallow cliff to arrive at Punta Gallinas. The village was a handful of 9 or 10 huts stretches out across a flat spit of land. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but low cliffs of sandstone populated with the ubiquitous cactus, sand, sea and mangrove. The only sound was the bleating of the occasional goat and the rattle of the constant wind. We were directed to a lean to from which 3 hammocks were strung, and this time knew better than to quibble. It was a beautiful if deserted spot, feeling authentically remote...however, not so remote as to escape the World Cup - rounding the next corner we discovered the male population of the village, gathered around the village's 18 inch television to watch Brazil v Croatia. On cue Croatia scored and we sat down, much relieved, to enjoy the football. (I will post separately about the South American football experience).

There are some compensations to remoteness. In addition to the peace and quiet and the natural beauty we were able to settle down to a lobster dinner for 15,000 Colombian Pesos (which equates to just under £5 for a pair) - quite possibly, as John, who has made a wider study of these things than I have, put it, the cheapest lobster in the world.

As we sat down to enjoy a couple of beers in anticipation of our lobsters the power went out across the village. The usual committee of "experts" gathered to discuss fixing it. Emilio responded in his own inimitable way but when shouting at the problem failed to fix it settled down to a supervisory role, and having decided it was a 10 beer problem, lent the locals the use of his car so they could access the powerline, and settled down to chug his way through the required number of (admittedly small) beers. Either in spite or because of his fulsome advice the power was eventually restored and we settled down to enjoy our lobsters, which were delicious.

After a surprisingly good night's sleep in the hammocks we were off with Emilio to explore the peninsular around Punta Gallinas. At first it seemed to be very similar to the barren wilderness through which we had travelled to reach the village. However, closer inspection revealed a community spread out along the peninsular, relying on a series of wells dug 10 metres down through the sandstone to the water table to sustain themselves and their herds of goats. The community is working with conservation groups to protect the leatherback turtle, which lays its eggs on the local beaches, and which until recently had been seen as prized delicacy by the Wayuu. The hope now is that encouraging traditional crafts such as knitting baskets and sustainable ecotourism in the form of tours based around the turtle will bring the community some prosperity whilst allowing them to preserve their culture. It will be an interesting and challenging journey to see whether the Wayuu are able to retain the remoteness that makes the location so appealing whilst maximising their natural resources in a way that benefits the community.

Emilio dropped us at one of the local beaches and we thought indicated that we had some free time to explore, before disappearing off in the Landcruiser. For a while we feared that, tiring of our lack of response to his commentary, he had decided to abandon us to our fate, however, just as our jokes were starting to pale he appeared back over the horizon, indicating that we running late for lunch and that he'd expected us back at the car some time ago.

In the afternoon we headed off to see "La Duna" - the dune, the main attraction in the area, in so doing foregoing the second half of Spain v The Netherlands, which we left tantalisingly poised at 1 - 1. It was a rough road along the northern coast of Punta Gallinas that eventually reduced even Emilio to a silence of concentration. We were accompanied in the car by a young local lad, who I initially thought was along for the ride, until it became clear that Emilio, losing faith in our ability to follow his instructions and not fancying the trek across the beach to the dune himself had enlisted him as a guide. We were dropped off at a long sandy beach with a steep slope and a reef of rocks just off the shore. In contrast to the silty lapping further down the coast the waves here crashed in and the water was much more inviting.

We followed our guide along the coast and finally the dune hove into view. It was large but not extraordinary - 20 - 30 metres tall and several hundred metres long. However, what makes it so unusual is that rather than leading to a beach it plunges straight down into the ocean. It is a dramatic spot from which to look back down the panorama of the coast and watch the breakers crash in or sand devils skitter away along the length of the dune, whilst waiting for the sun to set. It certainly felt many thousands of miles from Ushuaia. Indeed, it felt many thousands of miles from anywhere. We had a couple of hours to wait until the sunset. I wish I could say that I spent the time reflecting on the places I'd visited and people I'd met in the last 4 months but World Cup fever had taken hold and all my thoughts were of the upcoming England v Italy match or wondering about the outcome of the Spain Netherlands game. Indeed, I can offer no higher tribute to the dune than to say it was a sight well worth missing the second half for, even a second half as remarkable as Spain v Netherlands. As for Punta Gallinas it had been a truly memorable trip, part adventure, part excursion, mostly really good fun, but now it was time to return to Riohacha and to the serious business of the football...

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Columbia
A pleasing symmetry is always a great reason to add another town to the itinerary. We are really enjoying your trip. Since we are traveling right now we are living through you. Continue on.