After spending Sunday through Thursday in the hustle and bustle of Medellin, I had to get out and recharge in a smaller town for a few days. My Aussie buddies Brad and Jon recommended me a place about 2 hours away called Guatapé.
My two Irish buddies who I actually met in Santa Marta decided to come along for the journey.
We took a bus from Medellin that looked like it was featured in "Pimp my Ride." Full exhaust, exotic paintjob, sound system with thumping base, the works. And the craziest damn driver ever. I swear my head hit the ceiling a few times from this guy flooring it over bumps in the road.
We got dropped off in the center of this gorgeous little town where everything looked like it was from the set of Candyland.
Guatapé, as little as 5 years ago, was a former FARC stronghold. The government installed an army base there, and since then, all guerrilla activity has fizzled out completely.
Found the hostel, threw our stuff down, grabbed some beers and a few fishing rods, and headed straight to the lake.
The guy who's property it was just made us pay $6000 pesos (~$3.00 USD) for whatever fish we were keeping. We ended up catching 5 fish, totaling a net weight of 5ish pounds after gutting and deboning.
Nothing makes me happier than catching a fish and cooking it yourself that day.
The Irish boys and and American girl who tagged along had never done any sort of fishing before, so it took them by surprise when I grabbed the first fish and broke it's spinal cord with a rock to ease it's suffering.
The owner of the property, Daniél, did us the favor of gutting and cleaning the fish (which he did in about .2 seconds).
Soaked from the rain, hungry, but proud as hell of the catch, we headed back down the mountain towards the town so we could get the barbecue going.
As we were walking down this winding country-mountain road, a young guy with his dog caught up with us and struck up a conversation. We were a little apprehensive at first since he was carrying an extremely large machete, but he couldn't have been cooler.
I gave him a beer, to which he was elated, and in turn he gave me his phone number and an invitation to his finca. As if that wasn't enough, he insisted that he show us around to the interesting parts of town.
Further on down the road, we ran into a bunch of soldiers hanging out in front of the base. They were friendly as could be, asking us about our fish, how we were going to eat it, where we were from, what we though about Colombia so far, etc.. Keep in mind during this conversation, they were armed head to toe. They all had automatic weapons bigger than I've ever seen. They took a swig of my beer, and invited us to go fishing in the lake on the base with grenades. Satisfied with what we had, we regrettably declined the offer.
When we finally got back to the hostel, we fired up the grill and prepped the food. We stuffed the fish with salt, pepper, garlic, onion, butter, and sliced limes. All wrapped in tin foil to seal in the moisture. Worked like an absolute charm. Add in some garlic tiny golden potatoes they grow locally, and some Cuba Libres, and we were in business.
The dinner was amazing. After tirelessly eating tuna sandwiches and pasta countless times while on the gringo trail, it was certainly a treat.
Around midnight we headed into town to try and score some rum. It was absolutely deserted except for the main plaza and it's surrounding watering holes, yet not once did we feel unsafe at all. A local told me that I was safer here in this town than any other place I have ever been. Including America. I believed him.
We found some rum, and a huge group of locals who invited us to their house for the afterparty. Nicest people ever.
When we finally got to bed at God knows what time, we planned to wake up earlyish so we had enough time to climb the gigantic rock.
Woke up about 9, got a ride in a took took to the base of the mountain, and headed up. Within 10 steps, rum from the previous night was seeping out of our pours.
700ish steps later, we were on top. My quads burned like mad, but the view was completely worth ever step.
Hopped on a bus to Medellin, and left Guatapé in the dust.
The thing about this town is, how many more towns like this are there? I'm sure there's thousands littered across the country. I'm starting to get scared of my March 2nd return date. I've gotten so many recommendations for small towns, it's not going to be enough time!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Medellín
The bus ride from Cartagena to Medellín wasn't too bad at all.
I had read somewhere that overnight busses in Colombia blasted the air conditioners to a point where the interior resembled more of an igloo than a coach bus.
Being the cold blooded North American that I am, I figured the air conditioning was just cold for the local Colombians, them being from areas so close to the equator (temps vary minimally year-round).
I shrugged this advice off, how cold could it really be?
Threw my tshirt, shorts, and sandals on like normal, and threw a long sleeve shirt in my bag just in case.
I was sweating when I got on the bus from lugging my bags around and the added stress of finding a good seat to stretch out. When I boarded the bus, it was AMAZING. I hadnt felt A/C since I got here, apart from quick trips into the supermarket, so this felt so good.
I should have taken a hint from my bus riding counterparts when they all started unpacking blankets, slippers, sweaters, hats, gloves, the works. I watched them apprehensively, but concluded to myself that they were just warm blooded people and that I would be comfortable. I think I settled on this conclusion for no other reason than the cargo hatch was shut, and all opportunity to fetch warmer clothes was left behind in the dust.
I damn near got frostbite. I was curled up in the fetal position trying to conserve warmth, rotating every 10 minutes or so to get my legs out of the arctic jet-stream above.
I actually slept decently. 14 hours after we left Cartagena, the bus arrived in the bustling city of Medellín.
From first glance, this place was on the exact opposite end of the spectrum from Cartagena.
Everything here looked new, shiny, and clean. The city is placed at the bottom of a valley, with the poor populares climbing around the city on the sides of the mountains.
There is a state-of-the-art metro system equipped with cable cars, and a highway that runs right through the guts from north to south.
Grabbed a cab, and set off towards the richest area of town (Poblado) in search for my hostel.
Since I got here I've been discovering new parts of the city everyday. The famous sculptor Fernando Botero was born here, hence many of his overweight sculptures pay homage to the late artist by gracing themselves in a few of Medellín's countless parks and plazas.
Myself and a Norwegian couple took the cable car up one day to see not only the view from above, but also an upclose look at some of the cities infamously dangerous neighborhoods.
The clash between the state of the art Gondola and the tin-roofed, dirt floor huts all smashed on top of each other is too obvious to ignore.
A woman I was chatting with on the cable car told us that some of the cars have bullet holes in them from the neighborhoods below. Crazy!
Also checked out the botanical garden for as long as I could stand (~15 minutes), and some fresh water aquarium. Got nothin on the Shedd.
Tomorrow I'm looking to get out of Medellin, and into some smaller towns. I've heard good things about Guatape, so we'll go from there!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I had read somewhere that overnight busses in Colombia blasted the air conditioners to a point where the interior resembled more of an igloo than a coach bus.
Being the cold blooded North American that I am, I figured the air conditioning was just cold for the local Colombians, them being from areas so close to the equator (temps vary minimally year-round).
I shrugged this advice off, how cold could it really be?
Threw my tshirt, shorts, and sandals on like normal, and threw a long sleeve shirt in my bag just in case.
I was sweating when I got on the bus from lugging my bags around and the added stress of finding a good seat to stretch out. When I boarded the bus, it was AMAZING. I hadnt felt A/C since I got here, apart from quick trips into the supermarket, so this felt so good.
I should have taken a hint from my bus riding counterparts when they all started unpacking blankets, slippers, sweaters, hats, gloves, the works. I watched them apprehensively, but concluded to myself that they were just warm blooded people and that I would be comfortable. I think I settled on this conclusion for no other reason than the cargo hatch was shut, and all opportunity to fetch warmer clothes was left behind in the dust.
I damn near got frostbite. I was curled up in the fetal position trying to conserve warmth, rotating every 10 minutes or so to get my legs out of the arctic jet-stream above.
I actually slept decently. 14 hours after we left Cartagena, the bus arrived in the bustling city of Medellín.
From first glance, this place was on the exact opposite end of the spectrum from Cartagena.
Everything here looked new, shiny, and clean. The city is placed at the bottom of a valley, with the poor populares climbing around the city on the sides of the mountains.
There is a state-of-the-art metro system equipped with cable cars, and a highway that runs right through the guts from north to south.
Grabbed a cab, and set off towards the richest area of town (Poblado) in search for my hostel.
Since I got here I've been discovering new parts of the city everyday. The famous sculptor Fernando Botero was born here, hence many of his overweight sculptures pay homage to the late artist by gracing themselves in a few of Medellín's countless parks and plazas.
Myself and a Norwegian couple took the cable car up one day to see not only the view from above, but also an upclose look at some of the cities infamously dangerous neighborhoods.
The clash between the state of the art Gondola and the tin-roofed, dirt floor huts all smashed on top of each other is too obvious to ignore.
A woman I was chatting with on the cable car told us that some of the cars have bullet holes in them from the neighborhoods below. Crazy!
Also checked out the botanical garden for as long as I could stand (~15 minutes), and some fresh water aquarium. Got nothin on the Shedd.
Tomorrow I'm looking to get out of Medellin, and into some smaller towns. I've heard good things about Guatape, so we'll go from there!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Traveling..
..is like taking your brain to the gym. You stretch your mind in every direction, finding new areas of your brain that you never knew existed. Constantly on alert, never completely letting down your guard with anything, or anybody, anywhere. This starts out as being uncomfortable, but over time, slowly shifts into a welcomed routine in a life without structure.
You meet people representing different countries, cultures, colors and creeds. You are constantly learning how to relate with more and more people. You learn how to handle tough situations, situations you've never encountered. Learning how to benefit from all situations, whether positive or negative, is key.
After I graduated nearly 19 months ago, I have been travel oriented with the primary goal of finding a place to live and work for a while. Or, to figure out if Chicago was the place I want to permanently call home.
Now, with less than 3 weeks left until I return to Chicago to face the music, I am further away from knowing what to do with my life than when I started.
Here's to hoping for a revelation in the upcoming weeks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
You meet people representing different countries, cultures, colors and creeds. You are constantly learning how to relate with more and more people. You learn how to handle tough situations, situations you've never encountered. Learning how to benefit from all situations, whether positive or negative, is key.
After I graduated nearly 19 months ago, I have been travel oriented with the primary goal of finding a place to live and work for a while. Or, to figure out if Chicago was the place I want to permanently call home.
Now, with less than 3 weeks left until I return to Chicago to face the music, I am further away from knowing what to do with my life than when I started.
Here's to hoping for a revelation in the upcoming weeks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Isla Barú, Cartagena 2.0, and on to Medellín
On Monday, my two Aussie buddies (brad and jon) and I hopped on a bus back to Cartagena from Santa Marta.
4 hours later we were back in Cartagena, exhausted from the previous night. After the all too familiar tuna sandwich for dinner, we headed to bed pretty early with hopes of waking up and getting to Isla Barú as soon as possible the next day.
We grabbed some granola, bananas, and rum, and headed off towards the port to find a captain who would take us to the island.
After some negotiating, and after paying only 50% of the original asking price, away we went.
Half hour later we arrived at the island. As we were disembarking, we were swarmed by 5-6 locals with buckets of oysters promising us the all too common Colombian punch line, "first one's free!"
This is a huge trap for tourists yet so easy to spot. On most Colombian beaches any given day, there are dozens of venders and masseuses ruthlessly bothering the beachgoers with "free" promotional massages. Even if a woman is laying on the beach sleeping or tanning whatever, they'll go up to you and start rubbing your feet. If you let it go on, they'll charge you for it even though you never wanted one in the first place.
Unfortunately the Aussies danced with the devil and ate about 6 oysters each, one "free" mollusk after another. By the time they were done, the locals were holding a handful of shells and demanding money. The Aussies were not budging because they claimed the vendors said each one was free before they indulged. The arguing went on for a solid 2 minutes, followed by one vender saying, "we have problems," while fiddling with his knife.
I finally convinced the Aussies to just cough the $.50 up so we can get on with our lives. Against their pride, they gave them the money and the situation dissolved.
I'm glad to say our welcoming was not a sign of things to come on the island. In fact quite the opposite.
We rented hammocks equipped with mosquito nets, and dove straight into the crystalline blue waters of Playa Blanca. Extremely white sand, palm trees, coral reefs, the works..
We hung out in the water, snorkeled, and played catch during the day, while we played cards, drank, and chatted around the bonfire at night.
The hammocks were really comfortable. Slept like a baby. Although after the rum, I probably could have slept just about anywhere.
We awoke the next morning with the sun, and had breakfast following the obligatory swim to clear out any cobwebs from the previous night.
The Australian boys took off to Leticia this morning, and I'm looking forward to a 15 hour busride tonight to the city that Pablo Escobar made famous, Medellín!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
4 hours later we were back in Cartagena, exhausted from the previous night. After the all too familiar tuna sandwich for dinner, we headed to bed pretty early with hopes of waking up and getting to Isla Barú as soon as possible the next day.
We grabbed some granola, bananas, and rum, and headed off towards the port to find a captain who would take us to the island.
After some negotiating, and after paying only 50% of the original asking price, away we went.
Half hour later we arrived at the island. As we were disembarking, we were swarmed by 5-6 locals with buckets of oysters promising us the all too common Colombian punch line, "first one's free!"
This is a huge trap for tourists yet so easy to spot. On most Colombian beaches any given day, there are dozens of venders and masseuses ruthlessly bothering the beachgoers with "free" promotional massages. Even if a woman is laying on the beach sleeping or tanning whatever, they'll go up to you and start rubbing your feet. If you let it go on, they'll charge you for it even though you never wanted one in the first place.
Unfortunately the Aussies danced with the devil and ate about 6 oysters each, one "free" mollusk after another. By the time they were done, the locals were holding a handful of shells and demanding money. The Aussies were not budging because they claimed the vendors said each one was free before they indulged. The arguing went on for a solid 2 minutes, followed by one vender saying, "we have problems," while fiddling with his knife.
I finally convinced the Aussies to just cough the $.50 up so we can get on with our lives. Against their pride, they gave them the money and the situation dissolved.
I'm glad to say our welcoming was not a sign of things to come on the island. In fact quite the opposite.
We rented hammocks equipped with mosquito nets, and dove straight into the crystalline blue waters of Playa Blanca. Extremely white sand, palm trees, coral reefs, the works..
We hung out in the water, snorkeled, and played catch during the day, while we played cards, drank, and chatted around the bonfire at night.
The hammocks were really comfortable. Slept like a baby. Although after the rum, I probably could have slept just about anywhere.
We awoke the next morning with the sun, and had breakfast following the obligatory swim to clear out any cobwebs from the previous night.
The Australian boys took off to Leticia this morning, and I'm looking forward to a 15 hour busride tonight to the city that Pablo Escobar made famous, Medellín!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Hard to leave Santa Marta
This Monday (Saturday night press time), will mark the two week mark in Santa Marta. That sounds like a long time to be in the same hostel, but there is enough to see and do around here to keep me busy.
Few days ago a few of us went up into the mountains to visit the coffee town of Minca.
Like many things here in Colombia, things are rarely without a hitch. Our cabbie didn't know how steep the trek was up to Minca, and actually had his car overheat during our way up. He wasn't happy about it, but the compulsory bottle of water in the trunk to add to the coolant did the trick. 10 minutes later we were chugging back up the mountain.
One thing I've noticed about many taxis is that the speedometer rarely functions. It always reads 0kmph. After a while of wrongfully thinking the cabbies just use that as an excuse for their reckless driving, I figured it out. If the speedometer is busted, the mileage never increases. If only Ferris Buehler had known...
We went up to the excluded plantation of Victoria, where an employee 80 years young showed us around the facilities. Was very interesting seeing coffee at the source, and getting packaged for exportation to the US.
We then set off on a 2 hour hike through the mountainous jungle roads in search of a waterfall. When we finally got there, the cool waters were a welcomed refresher.
The next day we took a taxi to the nearby bay town of Taganga, then hiked over the mountain to Boca Grande, a decent beach with very calm waters. Great sunset followed by shrimp ceviche and finished with a filet mignon. Very good actually, all for about $15.
So here's an interesting story. I bought a big 5L bottle of water from the grocery store, but when I got back to the hostel I noticed the tamper proof top was missing and about half a liter of water was missing.
I figured "Ahh what the hell, what's the worst that could happen."
Well, I don't remember anything from that day. I do, but it was very blurry, as if it was a much more distant memory than it actually was.
The more water I drank, the more dizzy and disconnected from my body I felt. I nearly fainted walking to the bathroom during my 5hour nap at 1 in the afternoon. Went to bed at 9pm and woke up at 8am the next morning.
I thought about the possibilities, and am not 100% sure that the water was contaminated. I could have very well had a fever resulting in my delusional state.
As soon as I realized that the more water from the jug that I drank, the worse that I felt, I bought a fresh bottle with the tamper seal intact and flipped 180 degrees back to normal. I will never take being able to walk to the bathroom without fainting for granted ever again. Relish it, my friends.
When I came to, I quickly did a once-over on my body for signs of organ theft, and made sure my passport and other valuables were still in my possession. All good.
Lesson of the day? Don't assume an opened bottle of water on the shelf is safe to drink. Who woulda known?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Few days ago a few of us went up into the mountains to visit the coffee town of Minca.
Like many things here in Colombia, things are rarely without a hitch. Our cabbie didn't know how steep the trek was up to Minca, and actually had his car overheat during our way up. He wasn't happy about it, but the compulsory bottle of water in the trunk to add to the coolant did the trick. 10 minutes later we were chugging back up the mountain.
One thing I've noticed about many taxis is that the speedometer rarely functions. It always reads 0kmph. After a while of wrongfully thinking the cabbies just use that as an excuse for their reckless driving, I figured it out. If the speedometer is busted, the mileage never increases. If only Ferris Buehler had known...
We went up to the excluded plantation of Victoria, where an employee 80 years young showed us around the facilities. Was very interesting seeing coffee at the source, and getting packaged for exportation to the US.
We then set off on a 2 hour hike through the mountainous jungle roads in search of a waterfall. When we finally got there, the cool waters were a welcomed refresher.
The next day we took a taxi to the nearby bay town of Taganga, then hiked over the mountain to Boca Grande, a decent beach with very calm waters. Great sunset followed by shrimp ceviche and finished with a filet mignon. Very good actually, all for about $15.
So here's an interesting story. I bought a big 5L bottle of water from the grocery store, but when I got back to the hostel I noticed the tamper proof top was missing and about half a liter of water was missing.
I figured "Ahh what the hell, what's the worst that could happen."
Well, I don't remember anything from that day. I do, but it was very blurry, as if it was a much more distant memory than it actually was.
The more water I drank, the more dizzy and disconnected from my body I felt. I nearly fainted walking to the bathroom during my 5hour nap at 1 in the afternoon. Went to bed at 9pm and woke up at 8am the next morning.
I thought about the possibilities, and am not 100% sure that the water was contaminated. I could have very well had a fever resulting in my delusional state.
As soon as I realized that the more water from the jug that I drank, the worse that I felt, I bought a fresh bottle with the tamper seal intact and flipped 180 degrees back to normal. I will never take being able to walk to the bathroom without fainting for granted ever again. Relish it, my friends.
When I came to, I quickly did a once-over on my body for signs of organ theft, and made sure my passport and other valuables were still in my possession. All good.
Lesson of the day? Don't assume an opened bottle of water on the shelf is safe to drink. Who woulda known?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Spearfishing, Bahía Concha, Chiva, Minca
Really really good last week or so here in Santa Marta.
On Friday I went to Bahía Concha, a very beautiful bay with pristine and calm waters. It was a very complicated journey, resulting in few people. It was no Playa Los Angeles, but it was definitely quiet and peaceful.
Spent the day snorkeling, swimming, and just hanging out with friends.
At one point this Colombian guy came over an sat down next to us on the beach. After a while he asked, "So, do you guys like fishing?"
After a quick negotiation to a price of $45,000 COP per person ($25.00) including lunch, myself, 3 English dudes, and an Aussie got set to meet him the next morning at 10am..
We trolled for about an hour using 1 rod and 2 other hand lines with bait on the end of them. We got a decent sized tuna on board, which we had cooked up for us for lunch alongside rice, tomatoes, onions, and fried smashed plantains.
The highlight was definitely the spearfishing. Sergio anchored the boat above some coral near the coast of a tiny island, and set us up to go. Snorkel, mask, and speargun was all we needed.
The fish were amazing. It was a tropical paradise under there. Orange fish, yellow, purple, red, everything. The colorful reef fish
are too beautiful to shoot and have hardly any meat, so the speargun wasnt discharged unless a red snapper would appear. There were other fish we went after as well, but red snapper were the only ones we got.
To cap off the day our Colombian guide asked if we wanted to go cliff diving into the Sea. Uh yeah why not?!
A running start was necessary, and hesitation was futile. There were quite a bit of rocks that needed to be cleared meaning failure to do so would result in quadriplegia or death if you're lucky.
I just sacked up and did it. Besides Sergio, the Aussie and I were the only gringos to jump.
After we got back into the boat, Sergio asks us if we like Cockfights, and if we want to go with him to the fight later that day. We quickly explained the existence of PETA and how Cockfights don't exist in our countries. We were definitely interested, but had to decline due to our plans for a Chiva with everyone at the hostel.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
On Friday I went to Bahía Concha, a very beautiful bay with pristine and calm waters. It was a very complicated journey, resulting in few people. It was no Playa Los Angeles, but it was definitely quiet and peaceful.
Spent the day snorkeling, swimming, and just hanging out with friends.
At one point this Colombian guy came over an sat down next to us on the beach. After a while he asked, "So, do you guys like fishing?"
After a quick negotiation to a price of $45,000 COP per person ($25.00) including lunch, myself, 3 English dudes, and an Aussie got set to meet him the next morning at 10am..
We trolled for about an hour using 1 rod and 2 other hand lines with bait on the end of them. We got a decent sized tuna on board, which we had cooked up for us for lunch alongside rice, tomatoes, onions, and fried smashed plantains.
The highlight was definitely the spearfishing. Sergio anchored the boat above some coral near the coast of a tiny island, and set us up to go. Snorkel, mask, and speargun was all we needed.
The fish were amazing. It was a tropical paradise under there. Orange fish, yellow, purple, red, everything. The colorful reef fish
are too beautiful to shoot and have hardly any meat, so the speargun wasnt discharged unless a red snapper would appear. There were other fish we went after as well, but red snapper were the only ones we got.
To cap off the day our Colombian guide asked if we wanted to go cliff diving into the Sea. Uh yeah why not?!
A running start was necessary, and hesitation was futile. There were quite a bit of rocks that needed to be cleared meaning failure to do so would result in quadriplegia or death if you're lucky.
I just sacked up and did it. Besides Sergio, the Aussie and I were the only gringos to jump.
After we got back into the boat, Sergio asks us if we like Cockfights, and if we want to go with him to the fight later that day. We quickly explained the existence of PETA and how Cockfights don't exist in our countries. We were definitely interested, but had to decline due to our plans for a Chiva with everyone at the hostel.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Playa Los Angeles and Playa Blanca
The last couple days here in Mariposa (las afueras de Santa Marta) have been really enjoyable. I am staying in a hostel called The Dreamer, and is definitely one of the best hostels I've stayed in.
The rooms are shaped in a U form with a pool in the middle. An open air kitchen, pool table, and bar closes off the U shape, creating a nice courtyard lined with hammocks.
Each room has the name of a different country painted above the door, and a few symbols particular to that country painted beside each corresponding door.
The first night I got here, I decide to keep to myself a bit, recharge from the craziness of Cartagena.
I ended up joining in the hostel-wide game of Killer Pool (basically everyone has 3 lives, take turns knocking balls in, lose a life if you miss, last one standing wins). I ended up winning in the finals against a coke head from Lake Tahoe who works at the hostel.
The next day, I took a small rickety-ass bus 40 minutes away to Playa Los Angeles. Myself and my two Argentinian friends who I had met the night before squished onto this tightly packed bus full of people bringing supplies up to their villages in the mountains. Sacks of potatoes all over the floor, a mattress attached to the ceiling, a box of fish that stunk to the high heavens, and then there were the colombians heading up into the foothills with us.
We past shack-towns with dirt floors, people getting on and off regularly. One thing that remained constant was the kindness of these poverty stricken people. They'd ask where were from, where we were going etc, always willing to lend their opinion of places to go.
We hopped off the bus after about 40 minutes and took the only nearby path that we could see into the forest. It looked pretty dodgy at first, and doubts about this place streamed through my head.
We walked for a bit and finally reached a bit of a clearing. Plants of red, purple, orange, yellow, and green lined this path we were on. Before I knew it, we were seeing lizards, a flying squirrel, a bunny (the kind that people usually have as pets), an a monkey eating berries.
If this hadn't already erased my doubts about this place, our first view of the beach took me for a whirl.
The best way I can describe it in the fewest words is "Jurassic Park." Forests and mountains creeping all the way down to the beach, mountains in the distance, and not a soul in sight.
I went for a long walk taking pictures down the beach, and noticed that my footprints were the only ones on the beach. So awesome.
We headed back to the road at the end of the day, and waited for a bit. Before long, a coach bus was approaching fast around the curve. We gave the universal signal for a lift, and the bus came screeching to a halt. We hustled up to the bus and asked how much it would cost to get back to Santa Marta.
"12,000 pesos cada uno"
After negotiating the price down to 5,000 ($2.50 USD), we climbed aboard and got comfy.
Everything is negotiable here. And it's extremely easy to bargain. Taxi drivers and such are used to people bargaining so they set the price higher than it should be. Just tell them it's too expensive, and low ball them. They'll settle somewhere in between real quick.
The next day me and the 2 gals headed off to Playa Blanca. An english dude names Rupert moved into my room that morning, so I invited him along.
Hopped in a cab, went to Rodadero, and negotiated a price for una lancha to playa blanca. Few minutes later, we were cruising in the carribean heading to a beautiful bay nestle between two points.
This is a very popular beach for middle class Colombians, and was absolutely packed.
Boats coming to and the beach nonstop, so many people in the water you could hardly move, and people walking around trying to sell you stuff all day.
I much prefer the much more relaxing beach experience. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed every second of Playa Blanca, I just imagined how awesome the beach would be prior to such exploitation.
We returned back to the hostel, made a huge salad with my boy Rupert, and got going on some rum.
He left for La Ciudad Perdida today. 3 nights, 4 days. Apparently some of the expedition companies take you to a cocaine plant. Sounds pretty crazy to me.
Anyways I think im going to do that next week sometime. There's so much to do here, I see myself staying for a solid couple weeks. La Parque Nacional Tayrona has 20-some beaches, and is 75 times the size of Central Park. It's also filled with the second amount of biodiversity in the world.
I'm at a crossroads concerning Colombia so far. I'm tempted to begin fabricating horror stories just so people will keep thinking Colombia is an incredibly dangerous place, just so I can selfishly enjoy this country with the rest of the lucky souls who are getting in before the tourism absolutely takes off and complete exploits everything.
I can't do that though. Colombians deserve to have the negative image of their country to vanish and be replaced with one that portrays how wonderful this country really is.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The rooms are shaped in a U form with a pool in the middle. An open air kitchen, pool table, and bar closes off the U shape, creating a nice courtyard lined with hammocks.
Each room has the name of a different country painted above the door, and a few symbols particular to that country painted beside each corresponding door.
The first night I got here, I decide to keep to myself a bit, recharge from the craziness of Cartagena.
I ended up joining in the hostel-wide game of Killer Pool (basically everyone has 3 lives, take turns knocking balls in, lose a life if you miss, last one standing wins). I ended up winning in the finals against a coke head from Lake Tahoe who works at the hostel.
The next day, I took a small rickety-ass bus 40 minutes away to Playa Los Angeles. Myself and my two Argentinian friends who I had met the night before squished onto this tightly packed bus full of people bringing supplies up to their villages in the mountains. Sacks of potatoes all over the floor, a mattress attached to the ceiling, a box of fish that stunk to the high heavens, and then there were the colombians heading up into the foothills with us.
We past shack-towns with dirt floors, people getting on and off regularly. One thing that remained constant was the kindness of these poverty stricken people. They'd ask where were from, where we were going etc, always willing to lend their opinion of places to go.
We hopped off the bus after about 40 minutes and took the only nearby path that we could see into the forest. It looked pretty dodgy at first, and doubts about this place streamed through my head.
We walked for a bit and finally reached a bit of a clearing. Plants of red, purple, orange, yellow, and green lined this path we were on. Before I knew it, we were seeing lizards, a flying squirrel, a bunny (the kind that people usually have as pets), an a monkey eating berries.
If this hadn't already erased my doubts about this place, our first view of the beach took me for a whirl.
The best way I can describe it in the fewest words is "Jurassic Park." Forests and mountains creeping all the way down to the beach, mountains in the distance, and not a soul in sight.
I went for a long walk taking pictures down the beach, and noticed that my footprints were the only ones on the beach. So awesome.
We headed back to the road at the end of the day, and waited for a bit. Before long, a coach bus was approaching fast around the curve. We gave the universal signal for a lift, and the bus came screeching to a halt. We hustled up to the bus and asked how much it would cost to get back to Santa Marta.
"12,000 pesos cada uno"
After negotiating the price down to 5,000 ($2.50 USD), we climbed aboard and got comfy.
Everything is negotiable here. And it's extremely easy to bargain. Taxi drivers and such are used to people bargaining so they set the price higher than it should be. Just tell them it's too expensive, and low ball them. They'll settle somewhere in between real quick.
The next day me and the 2 gals headed off to Playa Blanca. An english dude names Rupert moved into my room that morning, so I invited him along.
Hopped in a cab, went to Rodadero, and negotiated a price for una lancha to playa blanca. Few minutes later, we were cruising in the carribean heading to a beautiful bay nestle between two points.
This is a very popular beach for middle class Colombians, and was absolutely packed.
Boats coming to and the beach nonstop, so many people in the water you could hardly move, and people walking around trying to sell you stuff all day.
I much prefer the much more relaxing beach experience. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed every second of Playa Blanca, I just imagined how awesome the beach would be prior to such exploitation.
We returned back to the hostel, made a huge salad with my boy Rupert, and got going on some rum.
He left for La Ciudad Perdida today. 3 nights, 4 days. Apparently some of the expedition companies take you to a cocaine plant. Sounds pretty crazy to me.
Anyways I think im going to do that next week sometime. There's so much to do here, I see myself staying for a solid couple weeks. La Parque Nacional Tayrona has 20-some beaches, and is 75 times the size of Central Park. It's also filled with the second amount of biodiversity in the world.
I'm at a crossroads concerning Colombia so far. I'm tempted to begin fabricating horror stories just so people will keep thinking Colombia is an incredibly dangerous place, just so I can selfishly enjoy this country with the rest of the lucky souls who are getting in before the tourism absolutely takes off and complete exploits everything.
I can't do that though. Colombians deserve to have the negative image of their country to vanish and be replaced with one that portrays how wonderful this country really is.
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