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Published: April 25th 2009
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Caribbean Coast
16th December we were back in the sky, this time on route to Cartagena. A beautiful but overly expensive colonial city, or so tourists like us are led to believe. After later discussions with Carmen, we learnt that Cartagena was in fact one of the poorest places in Columbia, but that part is of course, outside the colonial walls, and outside the tourists’ view.
We stayed in a luxurious place and very much enjoyed our clean sheets, fresh towels and the overwhelming cleanliness. The only dampener being how much everything else cost, our budget flew swiftly out the window.
Two days later we caught a bus to another seaside town, Santa Marta, which to our unknowing tourist eyes, felt far more ‘real’. The hostel we stayed in was nice, although it took a while to win over the girls who worked there after we made them upgrade us to the family room. I managed to break our much negotiated bed twice during mosquito net negotiations but could hardly complain... we were in the best room of the house.
We spent our first full day in Santa Marta exploring the beaches. We caught a
Cartagena
a fancy menu of a fancy restaurant we couldn't afford bus to the much sought after, and thus full of Columbian holiday goers, ‘Playa Blanca,’ and from there hiked across the rocks in inadequate footwear in search of a quieter, more idyllic one. We shared one with fisherman and stones and settled for that for a while before returning to the over-crowded ‘Playa Blanca’ for some sand and sunbathing.
The next day we headed to ‘Tayrona National Park’ and were overcome with the outstanding beauty and tranquillity of the huge expanse of largely untouched land. It was, as Carmen so often described, ‘Paradise.’ After hiking for an hour or so we came across a campsite and settled there before scrambling along a minimally tracked track satiated with interesting and terrifying insects (in equal measure) to a deserted beach. Here James spent most of the afternoon trying to retrieve and then open coconuts while I soaked up the sun and watched, highly amused. After feasting on coconut upon a rock island, we jumped back on to dry land and tackled the path again, unwilling to do so in the dark. We had a pleasant, if expensive, dinner at the campsite and an early night.
The following morning we headed
off early, sacrificing breakfast, to another beach. It was a good two hour hike but well worth it. The beach was exactly as one would have hoped, crystal clear calm waters, endless expanses of white sand only disturbed by the odd coconut palm, with a deep bright blue cloudless sky to set it off in all its magnificence. We were particularly overjoyed to find a cheese and scrambled egg arepa vendor on the path to the beach to settle our famished stomachs.
By lunchtime we reluctantly picked ourselves up off our resting places and set off back to the main track from whence we took a bust to the exit of the park and then another back to Santa Marta in time to buy dinner from the supermarket.
Another earlyish morning and to the airport and on to Bogota we went, very excited at the prospect of meeting Carmen and living in a proper home for a couple of weeks. And what a home...
Bogota
We had a bed the size of most of the rooms we had stayed in up until now with an en-suite shower with hot water. The living room had
the bonus of a fire, hand built, designed and kept burning by Carmen’s father. A nice kitchen full of food, drinking water and all manner of things we had been craving. The nicest thing, though most conversations needed much translation by Carmen, was the family atmosphere. It had seemed so long since we had experienced anything of the sort.
We spent a couple of days in Bogota, slowly adjusting to the cold and the altitude, before plummeting back to sea level in Carmen’s brother Vicente’s 4 wheel drive monster of a car. We arrived in Higaldo, a smart holiday resort comprising of several different ‘villages’ of houses of varying sizes each with its own swimming pool, surrounding a huge golf course, on Christmas Eve.
Here, Vicente had organised the rental of one of these houses and it was here that we experienced our Columbian Christmas. There were 14 of us in total. James, Carmen and I, Carmen’s parents and her two brothers Juan and Vicente, Carmen’s aunt and uncle and two sons Jose Luis and Sergio, Segio’s wife Maritza and Jose Luis’s two girls, Fiorella (aged 5) and Paula (aged 8).*
Christmas Eve, we soon learnt,
Tagonga
Our almost private beach is the most important day of the Christmas period in Columbia. After a good lunch and a couple of games of water polo and volley ball in the pool we all showered and got ready for church. The church is situated in the middle of a complex within the resort beside an enormous luxurious swimming pool. All went except Juan and Vicente. The service was pleasant, if a bit baffling. Carmen nudged me to tell me when to say the ‘Our Father’ and ‘Peace be with you’ but those were the only parts in which I was able to participate, and even then it was in the wrong language. Still, I was pleased I went. Paula was selected to do a reading and we were very impressed with the fluidity and confidence with which she read. Afterwards we got a taste of the traditional Columbian festive foods. Some kind of fried corn balls, some sort of cake thing and coca cola. All very nice (especially the corn balls) but how I craved mince pies. Apparently mince pies haven’t made their way to Columbia yet.
Back at the house snacks and drinks were distributed and all the women and James
Tayrona National Park
Getting arty with my favourite plants helped to prepare the dinner. Once prepared, musical chairs and dancing ensued. It was not until 11pm that the dinner was served. James and I were exhausted by the time the final game, akin to White Elephant, came around. This lasted another hour or so and then there was the massacre of Santa Claus, the piñata James and I had lovingly carried across Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, and Columbia. His destruction was difficult to watch, to say the least. At last, around 2am, we were able to sleep.
‘Ding da da ding ding,’ goes the alarm at 5.45am and James, Carmen and I exchange presents and James and I open the presents we received from home, gallantly carried across the globe by Carmen. It was a very surreal time and in my humble opinion, probably not the best for opening presents. We then got in the car and drove to the complex were we skyped James’ parents. It was lovely to see them all in all their Christmas glory and I think we both left feeling a wee bit homesick. Later, at a more reasonable hour, Dad managed to get hold of me on Vicente’s
mobile and then Carmen’s and I had a good chat with my family as well. The rest of the day was spent lounging around by the pool and doing very little. As were the next several days.
Back in cold Bogota, we spent a week or so chilling out, shopping, eating too much and playing a few games of football. New Year was spent at Carmen’s house with the Higaldo bunch plus Maritza’s parents. The meal was huge and delicious and more closely resembled an English Christmas dinner than the one in Higaldo. As the clock struck twelve we all had to eat twelve grapes and make a wish. A very pleasant evening.
Soon after we were squeezing our belongings into seemingly smaller bags and squeezing ourselves into seemingly smaller clothes and we were back on the road. We were rather sad to leave Bogota but also excited and apprehensive about our next adventure... that of Zopilote .
*Ages approximated 4 months later
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