Cantering Along Colombia's Caribbean Coast

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After the craziness and sickness that was Carnaval in Barranquilla, it was now time for the last and perhaps the most anticipated part of my time in Colombia and perhaps even in South America; relaxing by the pool, a little bit of trekking, and some of the most beautiful beaches in South America.

The hostel I had booked - The Dreamer - was somewhat of a resort. Busy, with a pool, with constant electronic/house music blaring out and lively chatter emanating from the bar, it seemed like the perfect place to put your feet up and have a few beers, which is exactly what Teo and I did.
I also seemed to have stumbled upon all the Brits and Aussies in Colombia here - though I wasn't sure if I really liked this lot. Not a party hostel but more like half-a-party-hostel, it seemed the crowd in here was the lairy, loud, jock/babe backpacker crowd you sometimes come across. Normally you get a mix of languages in a hostel but here the dominant language was well and truly English and the familiarity made me feel a little bit like I was back in Ibiza - something I wasn't overly comfortable with.
But it wasn't just my mind feeling uncomfortable - I shouldn't have had those beers as my food poisoning from Carnaval hadn't quite gone away yet and it made an unwelcome return the next day.

There isn't too much to see in terms of Santa Marta itself, nevertheless it was handy to have Santa Marta's most renown sight just down the road from the hostel.
The Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino was where the most famous of the freedom fighters in South America finally passed away.
Just like Ataturk's room in the Dolmabahce Palace in Istanbul, the room in which Simon Bolivar has been left almost exactly how it was when he died, including the clock, which is set to the exact time he died. As well as being a memorial to Bolivar, this former hacienda also had displays on the independence movement and an art gallery featuring works from South America's most prominent artists including the likes of Miro and Guayasamin. But perhaps the most entertaining part of the place were funny-running but surprisingly fast iguanas that skittle across the lawn as soon as you move toward them.
It was probably overpriced for what it was but it was a pleasant enough place to visit. I probably would have enjoyed it more if I did't have a grumbly tummy and the shits...

Back at the hostel, I was reunited with the Canadian girls who I hiked with in Salento, who were about to play flip-cups. I love flip-cups! I love beer! Dammit! If only I didn't have a grumbly tummy and the shits...

The Parque Tayrona is supposed to be one of the highlights of Colombia - a spot famous for its beautiful beaches and as a beach lover, I was excited about what lay in store. As a comparison, I had Ihla Grande in the back of my mind, which had the best beaches I have seen in the world so far.
Like Ihla Grande, you have to work a bit to earn your beaches, which will make the beaches even better when you arrive. I do like a bit of a hike too, perhaps more than I think I do.
After a 45-minute bus ride, an 'induction' at the park's entrance, a colectivo ride to the trail head, and a 45-minute walk through the jungle, I arrived at where I was to be camping for the next couple of nights - a campground complete with a restaurant and cold communal showers called Camping Don Pedro for just 15,000COP (£3) a night. Having stayed at a 'resort' for the last couple of nights, I was about to trade in my comforts for a couple of nights in a tent - which I thought was more secure and comfortable than the other option, which was to sleep in a hammock.
One thing about camping in the jungle however - with the Zika virus in the news and being linked to microcephaly in newborn babies and more recently and chillingly, being linked to the paralysing Guille-Barre syndrome of which three people in Colombia have already died - was that I was super-paranoid about mosquitoes. They scared me even more once I discovered I had left my anti-malaria pills back in Santa Marta...

I had actually separated from Teo back in Santa Marta and I was to meet up with him, the Finnish couple, Philip the German, and the Carnaval Canadian crew again at the campsite here - but with Don Pedro hard to find and off the beaten track, I knew that there was a chance that they might not find me.
And so it proved.
With the national park quite rightly, wifi-less, that was that in terms of meeting up with them at all...only for Philip to spot me just as I was leaving a beach around the corner from Cabo San Juan. Teo was adamant we would meet up no matter what - and so we did!
Cabo San Juan is where the majority of people stay during their time in the park - 300 people packed into tents and hammocks, with some lucky/unlucky people getting to sleep in hammocks located in a rotunda located on a small cliff on the cape itself, right above the water. It seemed to be where all the action was happening and the beaches right next to the campground are off-puttingly crowded as a result, but just around the corner are some wonderfully long, golden-sand, people-bereft beaches where we hung out for the rest of the afternoon.
With Cabo San Juan a 35-minute walk from Don Pedro however, I soon had to make tracks in order to get back before dark.

The next day, myself, Dillon, Graeme and Jared all decided to do the climb up to Pueblito, a ruined Tayrona city still being lived in by a handful of native families. And it was a climb alright - like an actual climb, as we clambered up rocks, some of them rope-assisted, working out how to get up the various rock obstacles in front of us. Jared in particular found it hard work!
The ruins were nothing special and one of the families up there didn't let me take photos of them, so the reward wasn't great but as always it is about the journey rather than the destination and the journey was very much enjoyable.
There was to be an eventual reward however, as after the climb down an alternative path, we ended up at a sparsely populated beach where the rest of our crew just happened to be hanging out!
The water is generally rough in the park and there are hundreds of signs reminding you that hundreds of people have drowned here, forbidding you to swim unless you want to become "another statistic" - but having walked our arses off for 2 1/2 hours and having worked up a massive sweat, we weren't going to let that stop us.
Chilling at one of the most scenic beaches I have seen in South America for the afternoon, life was good...

...until a freak wave came in and wet all my stuff!
My heart was in my mouth and my newly acquired phone was the first thing I thought of as I quickly grabbed the bag containing it - and luckily Teo had the presence of mind to grab my camera bag. Although everything was slightly wet, the bags took most of the damage and thankfully all of my electronic items emerged unscathed. It was a bit annoying having to dry everything out in the sun though. The sea has not been kind to me on this trip!

On my last day in the park, I had a swim and chill-out session at two of the smaller beaches.
La Piscina (literally "The Pool"), is named as such because a chain of underground rocks 100m out from the shore take the brunt of the rough waves leaving La Piscina as one of the calmest bays in the park. Parking myself on a horizontal coconut tree, I put my headphones in and watched the natural scenery in front of me to the sound of Kings Of Convenience. Perfecto.
I then by chance bumped into the gang on my way to the second beach.
La Aranilla is another calmer beach that we hung out at until we had to make our way back to Santa Marta, and has gold flecks of sand that sparkle in the water.
It was then sadly time to go and the walk back to the park entrance was hard yakka! I had done a lot of walking and swimming in the last two days but had also only had a big packet of crackers, eleven small muesli bars and a bowl of spaghetti the whole time I was there. This was typically because I got up too late for breakfast at the campground but also because I was nursing my stomach back to full health from my latest bout of food poisoning. So I was fairly short on fuel.
Overall, I have to say that the beaches here are stunningly scenic. The water isn't as clear or as calm as it is in Ihla Grande - so for now I will still have Ihla Grande at the top of my list for the world's best beaches - and perhaps with the Parque Tayrona a relatively close second.

I managed to make a last minute reservation at a really nice hostel in Taganga, my next destination - only to reach the hostel and find out that Hostelworld's promise of a bed was well and truly wrong. The place was full and only the generosity of an Australian girl giving up her bed to sleep in a semi-outdoor hammock allowed me to stay.
A beautifully set town just fifteen minutes from Santa Marta, the massive influx of tourism seems to have overwhelmed this former fishing village. As nice as setting as it is, I just didn't like the vibe here. Poor, envious and resentful locals eye up the tourists, all on holiday, splashing around their cash and having a good time. There are too many tourists here and one can only imagine the peaceful life the locals enjoyed before the tourist swarm started some five years ago.
And apart from diving and drinking, there isn't really much to do here. The town beach isn't great and you can walk the entire town in half-an-hour.
The place was also windy as f*ck. There are an absurd number of street dogs that bark all night. The flies here are really persistent. Days since my last hot shower: 15. Flip-flop toe stub count: 5.
My experience of Taganga just wasn't a good one.

I had been drinking like a fish since I arrived in Taganga - non-alcoholic beverages only though, as I didn't quite trust my stomach yet despite three diahorrea-free days.
But I was back on it as I went out to dinner with Chilean Alicia, who was staying in my dorm at my new hostel. It was a good Spanish practice session which got even better once we got talking to the Spanish couple in our dorm. I could understand them almost perfectly since they were from Spain, where they talked exactly how I was taught. The biggest win however was managing to down four mojitos, with no adverse effects on my stomach. I was back.

Back at the hostel, I wasn't expecting to be basically sleeping on a covered, semi-outdoor deck - I thought I'd be eaten alive by mosquitoes with a dose of Zika for good measure - but thankfully there was a fan and the sea breeze to keep the mozzies away. There was a nice view of the bay from my bed when I woke up though; just a shame that girl working there didn't live up to the view. She was pretty much useless and couldn't do simple things like give me the wifi password or call me a taxi. I had to wait for the owner to come back for those kind of things.
I had had enough of Taganga but of course in keeping with the general theme of my stay, I first had to walk all over town in the hot sun trying to break a bloody 50,000COP note before waiting on the road for an age for a taxi. I was so glad to be out of there.

From my wooden shack digs in Taganga, I was now on my way to Rodadero - a wealthy, beachside resort neighbourhood of Santa Marta - where I was now shacking up at a former drug cartel mansion that came complete with a pool. My time in South America was now drawing to a close and I just needed somewhere chilled out to catch up on this blog and to plan the next phase of my journey - Central America and the Caribbean!
During my planning, I decided to scrap my planned visits to Oaxaca and Mexico City - I just didn't have time to see them properly if I wanted to stick to my plan of being back in Europe by mid-May. I also decided to scrap visiting the Caribbean with the sole exception of Cuba, because firstly of time, and secondly because island hopping in the Caribbean is ridiculously expensive with flights between the islands being my only option.

As for the hostel itself, the place was completely painted white and was exactly how you'd imagine a drug cartel mansion to look like. It was flash. It was also full of Germans and Brits but I wasn't looking to socialise which I felt a little bad about - but I really needed to blog and plan!
Despite getting what I needed done and having a relatively chilled out time in relatively palatial surrounds, lots of little things went wrong during my stay - like having food, water and my universal adaptor stolen (!) - so when I had to move out of the hostel due to it closing for renovations, I was more than glad to do so.

I still hadn't completely worked out what I was doing next so I needed to stay in Santa Marta a little longer to figure things out and my forced departure from Rodadero led me to central Santa Marta and La Brisa Loca - party hostel central.
La Brisa Loca's fame probably had something to do with it, but it was here that I had the craziest of reunions with people I had met from all over South America.
First of all, I met up again with Teo – a planned reunion, so no surprises there. What was a surprise was seeing Anna from Finland – who I had met in Huanchaco – working behind the bar. She had made her way north and was now volunteering here at La Brisa Loca for a month.
I had also planned to meet up again with Niels – who I had met in Mancora and hung out with in Cuenca and Quito – here and so he was the third person I had initially met elsewhere in South America again here at La Brisa Loca.
Over the course of the three days I stayed at the hostel however, I managed to reencounter an English guy I met in Medellin, an English guy I had met in Quito, Andre the Norwegian who I had originally met in Popayan, and perhaps most incredibly, an English guy I had met four months ago all the way back in Buenos Aires. Seven different people who I had met in seven different places at seven different times during my time in South America, were now all at this one hostel at the same time. The gringo trail ensures that the backpacking world is a small one. It also seemed fitting that this should happen in my last stop in South America.

I hadn't stayed at a party hostel for quite a while so I guess I had a lot of steam to let off.
At La Brisa Loca, there is a rooftop nightclub that the general public are also allowed to visit. The result is one of the most popular nightlife venues in Santa Marta with my bed only a couple of floors away.
Which was why I was hesitant in going all the way back to Taganga to hit The Mirador, another popular nightspot in the area. But along with Niels, Irishman Barry, and the Colombians staying in my room, we went.
I had obviously missed this spot during my stay in Taganga - but here I was making up for it. It was basically an open-air nightclub set in a modern cliffside mansion overlooking the town. The music was good and Lina, one of the Colombians who I got to know a bit better during the night, did a good job in ensuring my cap didn't get blown away by the ferocious wind that seems to go full throttle every night in Taganga. Overall it was a good night out!

Back in Santa Marta, Teo and I had made plans to take a boat over to Panama, via three days chilling out in the San Blas Islands en route. Many a person had told me that this was the best thing they did on their whole trip and five days sailing through crystal clear waters and docking on uninhabited islands of golden sands sounded pretty good.
Unfortunately, the boat we were trying to book had filled up so we were left trying to scratch together a Plan B.
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise however. I now had to make it back to Spain by the 12th May so I really needed to get a move on now if I wanted to see everything I wanted to in Central America and Cuba in the time I now had. The boat ride would have taken five days - and because it was now in the middle of the windy season, there was a possibility that the boat departure could be delayed due to strong winds, eating up more time. So it now looked like I would be flying into Panama City within a couple of days - and that Teo and I would be splitting up again.

Having had a big night the previous night, it was difficult backing up for a second night on the piss but that was exactly what I did.
Rather than head out again however, Lina and I decided to stay and party at the hostel and it was perhaps a good thing we did. I heard the next day that one poor soul got robbed by the police (!) on the way back to the hostel!

I then had one day left in South America - I had now booked a flight to Panama City. It cost me US$200 less than the boat would have cost but it was still a hefty expense coming in at US$366.
I spent my last day mostly watching football in the hostel bar before talking about it with Niels and Barry, who was good craic.
I also looked around Santa Marta a bit, including walking down the town beach which is a bit average, as is the town cathedral. There really isn't much to the town.

Which was fine, because there wasn't really much reason to leave the hostel.
La Brisa Loca is an easy place to get trapped because everything you need is catered for - from your meals, to your drinks as well as your accommodation. Teo had been there over a week! Everything is also put on your tab, so I was worried about the bill I was running up...

However, I managed to break my shackles and I was now finally leaving South America.
I can't honestly believe I have been here for five months - the day I touched down in Sao Paulo seems like a lifetime ago.
I honestly didn't have the greatest expectations of the continent and these rather low expectations have by and large been met.
Brazil and Colombia were probably my favourite countries, the salt flats and surrounds of Uyuni, Iguazu Falls and Machu Picchu were definitely amazing highlights, and I had some great times with some awesome people along the way.
But in between the big hits, I didn't find too much that blew me away. A lack of development and infrastructure in places also made things a bit frustrating. Having seen so much already has probably contributed to this - but I have absolutely no regrets and would not have done anything differently. My judgements have to be taken in the context that I am currently living the life most people can only dream of and that being able to quench my never-ending thirst for exploration and discovery is a privilege.
Overall, there is no way that you could say that I did not enjoy my time in South America.

But I feel that I have had my fill and that it is now time to explore a different place - I hope you'll join me in the next phase of my journey into Central America...the first place of which will be Panama!

Hasta pronto,
Derek

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Photos

Cabo San Juan
The most popular beach in the Parque Tayrona. People sleep in hammocks in the rotunda you see right above the water!

Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino
Hacienda where liberator Simon Bolivar passed away.

Taganga
View from the top of Casa Moringa - the first hostel I stayed at in Taganga.

Playa Arrecife
The first beach you encounter on the path from the park entrance into the Parque Tayrona.

Quiet Beach
While everyone crowded around the beach at Cabo San Juan, just around the corner is this deserted beach that we hung out at.

Beach Path
Main path in the Parque Tayrona that takes you to all the beaches.

La Piscina
Literally "the pool", this beach has the calmest waters in the Parque Tayrona.

Playa Aranilla
Nice, sheltered beach with gold specks of sand in the water.

Fishing Boats
Remnants of what used to be the biggest industry in Taganga, which has now been well and truly taken over by tourism.

Taganga Beach
Not the nicest, but where all the tourists congregate in Taganga.

View From My Bed
Over Taganga, from the second hostel I stayed at, Casabuho.

Calle 11 Hostel
Hostel that was a former drug cartel mansion in the Rodadero district of Santa Marta.

La Brisa Loca
The cool bar at Santa Marta's most famous party hostel. A cool place to hang out.

Streets Of Santa Marta
There are a few pedestrian streets full of cafes, bars and life that liven up the town.

Chillin' Out
My scene of relaxation at La Piscina in the Parque Tayrona.

Camping San Pedro
The campground I stayed at in the Parque Tayrona.

Santa Marta Promenade
Which eventually takes you to the town's rather average beach.

The Dreamer
The first hostel I stayed at in Santa Marta. Complete with pool and bar, this place was lively.

Rodadero
Wealthy, fancy, beachside neighbourhood of Santa Marta.

Carrera 1C
Beachside road in Santa Marta.

Monument
In memory of those who gave their lives for Colombian independence from Spain, inside the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino.

Bolivar's Bedroom
The room in which Bolivar passed away in the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino.

Big Stones
The park is full of these huge stones. Not sure how they formed and/or got here.

The Hike Back
Making our way back out of the Parque Tayrona.

Casa Moringa
Pimped. The first hostel I stayed at in Taganga.