L'under el mar avec Disco Coostard.

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I've come to Taganga, a thirty minute bus ride up the coast from Santa Marta. A recommendation from a pal I met learning Spanish in Ibiza, he tells me I'll love it.

Well, #pleased2mitsou, I do.

I small seaside resort. Rough around the edges with a relaxed, hippy vibe.

Salsa music here is played in every other house. Each with a huge speaker system pointing out to the dusty unmade roads. The volume turned up to a 'Spinal Tap' eleven well into the early hours.

Happy hour generally lasts for five. Two mojitos for only £6. It's cheap, the food is fresh and tasty, and I'm so glad I came.
My hostel, The Divanga bed and breakfast is just the ticket. A French restaurant at the hostel should I feel more peckish and a swimming pool to help me cool down in the midday heat.

Taganga reminds me a great deal of stories I've heard and read of Ibiza in the early 60's and 70's.

Venders sit on the paths making jewellery for the visitors. Locals sat around on the sea wall, talking, smoking and passing the day over a beer or coffee. A sea front littered with higgledy-piggledy huts. Each with a straw roof, even the police station is one. The sea full of boats for fishing and diving. Men walking round with huge fish, fresh from the sea, ready for supper or sale.

Yeah. There's definitely a unique charm about Taganga. Think I'll stay a while.

"Do you fancy scuba
diving tomorrow" asked Lucie, the owner of the hostel. " the coral and fish at the edge of Tayrona National Park is quite something"

I must admit, diving was not something I'd considered on my Colombian trip.

The last time I dived was on the Great Barrier Reef, some five years ago. It was very disappointing if I've to be honest. A cyclone was approaching the Agincourt Reef the day I was supposed to sail out. They took us to another reef 300km south. A dead sea bed, dying coral and pasty looking fish.

Sharing the same dorm, and over a light lunch, it was Zoe, a primary school teacher from Perth, who persuaded me otherwise. It would be nothing like I'd experienced in Australia.
She was on a three day diving course for her PADI qualification and had her head in the books swotting for a theory exam that afternoon.

"What does PADI stand for?" I asked enquiringly.

"I don't know"

"What's the name of the famous French Marine Biologist who first developed modern day scuba diving with his Aqua Lung?"

"Pass"

" In regards to diving what or where is a Spur-Lash?"

She shook her head.

"Good luck with your theory" I quipped with a cheeky reassuring smile. "I'm sure you'll be fine".

She explained that acronyms and inventors would most likely not be in the exam. The emphasis today is safety at sea.

"Still though, I'm intrigued. Who was the Frenchman?" She asked.

"Jacques Cousteau" I replied. The French Marine Biologist, innovator and scientist. I recalled how I used to watch him on TV as a child sailing and surveying the seven seas in his boat 'Calypso'

"Under le sea avec Jacques Coostard" I said, in my worst French accent.

Modern day diving instructors must cringe now whenever they see old footage. No PADI then. Jump in sea and hope everything's ok.

"And the Spur-Lash? I've never heard of it"

"Ah. That's the noise you make when you jump off the boat and hit the water." I replied with my tongue firmly in my cheek.

Note to self. No more wisecracks.

The following morning I met Zoe bright and early for breakfast. She was now fully trained, having passed her exam. She was out for her first dip as a qualified diver.

At the dive shop Angelo gave me a twenty minute briefing in the 'do's and dont's' of diving. How to clear my mask, equalise my ears, clear water from my mouth etc.

"We'll practice in shallow water and once I'm happy we'll dive down to around 12-15 meters" he said.

Thirty minutes later, having zoomed to out to a diving spot in a fast boat, I was sat on the side fully wet-suitted up.

I put the regulator in my mouth. I breathed in. Nothing. I couldn't take in oxygen at all.

"Señor" I said to the skipper, removing the mouthpiece and drawing breath, "hay una problema".

He leaned over me and turned my oxygen tank on.

Not the most auspicious of starts but now good to go.
Spur-Lash!!
A quick practise of what I'd been briefed then Angelo took my arm and down we went.

Once confident he let go and together we explored the seabed off the coast of Tayrona National Park. Simply stunning. Fish of all varieties. Big fish, little fish, (cardboard box). Finding Nemo fish in their thousands. Moray Eels. Corals the like of which I should've seen at the Barrier Reef, but didn't. Every conceivable shape and colour.

On my second dive Zoe scuba'd passed. I waved and saluted her in thanks. A fantastic experience.

Riding a motor cycle from Saigon to Hanoi. Parachuting at 12,000 ft over Mount Cook, South Island, New Zealand. Paragliding over the Andes and landing, James Bond style next to a beach bar in Iquique, Chile. Now diving the Caribbean added to the list.

At dinner that evening I met a Canadian airline pilot called 'Chopp'. Full of flying stories, travelling tales and derring-do, she was cycling from Cartagena to Tayrona Park. Blow outs, high winds, language problems. She was having an adventure of her own. The hapless Canadian meets the even more hapless Englishman.

In a few days time my own Colombian adventure will be over and a 22hr journey involving five planes awaits.

I think it's time to relax and take my mind of it all around the pool for a couple of days.

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Photos

Disco Coostard
Diving the coast Tayrona National Park

Lots of Space
Down here.