Colombia's Caribbean coast

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A short flight takes us from Bogotá to Santa Marta and the Caribbean coast. We stay in the dusty seaside village of Taganga. It is just a little fishing village but now hosts a melting pot of travelers, mainly South American.

Taganga is set on a small bay, backed by mountains. Over the bay fly frigate birds and pelicans. In the early evening, parrots fly in to roost in the beach front palms, squawking at the diners below.

It is a poor community where even basics like water are hard to come by. The better-off leave jerry cans of water outside their homes with an "aqua gratis" sign.

The village does not feel threatening, indeed we are greeted with smiles and "Ola" by everyone we meet. But we are told to use the "safe route" back to our hostel at night, just two blocks from the beach.

The best beaches are a boat ride east in the Tayrona national park. The route to the beaches is around two headlands and our little boat, La Nina Paula, is only just up to the task. Twice the engine splutters and we head for the shelter of a bay. Some tinkering by the captain and we are on our way again but the sea is rough and, by the time we are ashore we are all drenched. As it hits 32c at mid-day, we are soon dry.

The captain assures us that the return will be smoother as we will be going with the current - he lied. At the end of the day, we and the Argentinians we travel with are all pleased to make it safely back to the Taganga beach.

We take a bus west to the beautiful walled city of Cartagena. The old city is a maze of small lanes lined by white, orange and terracotta houses. Everywhere we see bourganvillia covered balconies; huge wooden doors with iron knockers in the shape of fish or iguana; palm trees shading little plazas. Around every corner is a church, a fruit seller, a bar.

The city was protected with a wall by the Spanish against attack by the French and by marauding pirates. The architecture is similar to forts built by the Spanish in Africa - the other end of the slave trade. It is a unsettling link.

Cartagena is hot, it hits 36c at midday. We get up early to start our gentle and random wandering along the walls and down the lanes. We stop at shady bars for fresh fruit juice. We don't recognise some of the fruits but we still enjoy their juices. By noon, the heat is too much for us and we seek the cool shaded patios of our colonial house.

In the evening music fills the streets - jazz, salsa, classical; trombones, tubas, guitars, violins and, of course, drums of all shapes and sizes. We visit the Cafe Havana. It's a place full of atmosphere - ceiling fans whirr above us; the walls are covered with photos of legendary Cuban musicians; the bar tender is straight out of a Hemingway novel. But we are really here for the ice cold mojitos and the live salsa band. At around midnight, we fight our way out and into a cab - but for many the night is, clearly, just starting.

Tomorrow we fly out of Colombia on our way to Haiti. We'll remember Colombia as a friendly country of great contrasts that is working hard to shake off its recent past. We'll remember the forests, the music and that great coffee.

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