Today turned into quite a marathon and not what I expected. The bus station in Cartagena is quite a long way out of the city so I had to get a taxi at some expense. On arrival at the Terminal de Transportes, I was immediately accosted by one of the bus company hustlers and guided to the ticket man, who sold me a ticket. I thought it was leaving at 10.15am (it being then 10am) but, in fact, it only left at 10.45am. We drove around the corner to a petrol station and waited and waited for the bus to fill up. I can only assume that this particular company has a quota of people, before which it will not leave!
We eventually got going and it was a very slow trip to Baranquilla, which is just over half way to Santa Marta, my destination of the day. I had been told the journey would take 3 1/2 hours. Not so! We didn’t go to the terminal at Baranquilla but ejected people for that destination, by a roadside rubbish dump. We then continued on and stopped and started with the conductor desperately accosting people along the roadside, to see if they wanted to go to Santa Marta. We eventually came to a complete halt whilst he rushed around trying to commandeer people. As he was unsuccessful we were told to move onto another bus. It was now 2pm.
The other bus was almost full and I managed to get a broken seat, so had something sticking into my back for the rest of the journey. The conductor wanted more money from me, which I complained about bitterly and eventually, the Peruvian man sitting next to me, realised that I had already paid to Santa Marta and shouted to the conductor to give me the additional money back, which he did. Obviously, a gross misunderstanding all round due to the language barrier. I was fairly disgruntled and extremely hot by this stage, having moved from a semi-comfortable bus to one that most definitely wasn’t and just wanted to get under way. The very nice Peruvian man insisted on chatting, even though I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was very jolly and very persistent. Eventually, as we approached Santa Marta, a young English speaking Spaniard took pity on me, and things became a little easier.
We arrived about 4pm at the bus terminal and I shared a taxi to the hostel with the Spaniard, who was very nice. The hostel wasn’t particularly welcoming, but was in the centre of town, unlike the last one. It was extremely hot and sticky, but I settled in and went for a walk down to the waterfront, where there were a number of people in the water, even given the proximity of the container ships. (I was thinking more of pollution than danger to life and limb!)
Back at the hostel, I waited for a message from Nick and Maddie, which didn’t arrive and chatted to the Irish owner, before going to bed. For some reason I felt very tired but think the heat is really draining me at the moment.
Today, for the first time, I woke up with the feeling that I wanted to go home, a mood that persisted throughout the day, even though I took myself to the beach, which is normally my cure all for everything.
One of the most well known attractions near Santa Marta is the Tayrona National Park, an area of outstanding beauty where the rainforest meets the sea, according to the tourist blurb. This, then, was my destination for the day and getting there turned out to be another mission in itself.
The hostel directed me to the bus stop, which was on the edge of the market place. Apparently, it was very easy to find and there were ‘big’ buses going there. I walked around in several circles in the market, not finding the street because, as is common, there were few street signs. Also, the market stalls had virtually obliterated the street, so that it was hard to determine whether it actually was a street or just an alleyway in the market. I eventually arrived at the crossroads, where there were no ‘big’ buses. However, I was pointed to a somewhat broken down Collectivo type bus and was encouraged to see a back pack or two being loaded amongst the assortment of boxes that the locals were piling on, so thought it must be right.
The bus was very full as we set off for the hour long trip to the entrance to the park. Needless to say, it was a stop, start journey and would have been interesting if I had been in the mood to enjoy it, which I wasn’t. We eventually arrived at the Park, where the ticket collector wanted my passport, with which I never travel. However, normally, I have a copy in my bag but, as luck would have it, today I had left it in my other bag. The solution to the problem was to accost a Chilean backpacker and use his I.D. as mine! All they seem to have wanted was a number, so I could probably have made it up. The Chilean didn’t seem too impressed and was quite keen to escape from me, once we got going.
The next stage of the journey was a small van. The Chilean and a bunch of teenagers, mostly girls, who were obviously on a school trip accompanied me. The latter spent a lot of time giggling and I’m not sure if they were laughing at me or with me. (Major language barrier again!) However, one of them thought my eyes were beautiful and wanted a photo of me and her, so, of course, I obliged. There was certainly much snapping of cameras (phones, of course) in the van and a lot of excitement.
I then had a nearly two hour walk through the forest to get to the beach, by which time, I was extremely hot and tired, so plonked myself down on the sand, with all the other tourists, and went for a swim. I was surprised at how quickly the bottom dropped off and certainly wouldn’t have wanted a child swimming there but the water was a wonderful temperature.
I stayed on the beach for a couple of hours, topping up the sun tan, and watching the people, which is always entertaining. After a wander over to the adjacent beach, I then started my walk back, knowing that it was going to take at least 3 1/2 hours to get back to Santa Marta.
I spent much of the walk talking to a young German girl, which made the time pass very quickly. We had to wait for a while for the mini van to fill before heading back to the park entrance but we were then lucky, in that a bus to town came along very quickly. Even so, it was getting dark by the time we arrived back at the market place.
I walked with the German girl for a while before we parted company, with her going to one hostel and me to mine. I was too tired to go out to dinner with Nick and Maddie, so spent quite a while wandering around the supermarket, picking up some supplies, and then coming back to the room.
As I had had a fairly full day yesterday and was intending to go jungle trekking tomorrow, I decided that today could be a rest day, as I really didn’t feel like doing very much.
After breakfast, I strolled into town, which was extremely busy with a large number of stalls lining one of the main streets, so that there was little space for pedestrians to walk through. It was also extremely noisy with music blasting from the various stands selling CDs and DVDs, as well as vehicle horns honking constantly.
I visited the Magic Tours office, chatted to the lovely young French man who was the office staff for the day and booked my trek starting tomorrow. Let’s hope I can cope with 4 or 5 days worth of heat and mosquitos! At the time I booked, there were only two of us going so hopefully more will book during the day, as it would probably be better with a few more people.
After this, I wandered down to the waterfront, which stretches from the port at one end, past the marina and along to some high rise buildings, which presumably are hotels, at the other. There were a number of people already at the beach, some children swimming and, of course, the inevitable food sellers. However, it wasn’t appealing enough for me to want to swim.
I found my way back to the Cathedral and sat inside for a few minutes, admiring the flowers that must have been arranged for a wedding, until a service began. The priest’s intonations were accompanied by the loud music emanating from the skateboarders speakers in the plaza outside, which was drifting through the open doors.
I sat in the window of a cafe (the only one in the plaza) and watched the aforementioned skateboarders, whilst I drank my coffee. There seemed to be some sort of demonstration or competition happening but it was hard to tell which.
After this, I fought my way through the people and stalls back to the hostel, where I spent the rest of the day idling. And very relaxing it was too!
Today began with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, as I was going to begin the trek to the Lost City (or Ciudad Perdita), which I knew was going to be hard in the heat and humidity. The Lost City is in the Sierra Nevada, the highest maritime sierra in the world, in the Park Tayrona.
I had been told to be at the Magic Tours office by 9.15am in order to leave at 9.30am so, after breakfast, I packed up and walked the two or three blocks, arriving in plenty of time. There was a German couple and an English chap on the tour with me. We were introduced to our guide, Jesus (!), and then we ended up waiting in the office until nearly 10.30am, during which time, I decided to transfer the belongings I was taking on the track to my big back pack and using that instead of my day pack which had no waist strap and which I had intended to use. This was a decision that I was to be grateful for many times over, in the days to come!
The reason for the delay in departure from Santa Marta was that none of the ATMs in town were working (not uncommon) and Jesus needed cash to pay the horsemen, the cooks, the camp fees and food. They eventually obtained cash somehow and we were underway in a 4WD along with the French man from the office and a couple of other people, children and teenage girls (whoever they were!)
We headed towards Tayrona Park, stopping along the way to check the tyre pressure, drop the French man and the girls in the middle of nowhere, and then Jesus in a small village. The latter was a little disconcerting, as he didn’t reappear when we stopped for petrol a little way down the road. It seemed a little early in the tour for the guide to abandon us! The petrol was tipped into the truck using a can and funnel, a method that I had also seen used on a public bus between Popayan and Cali. As there are plenty of proper petrol stations around, there must be some obscure reason, that is not obvious to me, as to why they should stop at wayside shops to do this.
We turned off the road and drove up a very rutted track with the driver making no concessions for the road or his passengers, so it was quite a bumpy ride. After an hour or so, we arrived at the village of Machete Pelao, which is where we were to start walking and where we were relieved to find Jesus, who had obviously arrived independently and ahead of us somehow.
There were a number of other people at the cafe where we had lunch before we started walking. These were travelling with other tour companies and other guides and were either just starting or just finishing the trek. The village itself, seemed to be quite busy as it was a Sunday and people were obviously relaxing. It is a very small place, and we ate our lunch to the accompaniment of bursts of exploding gunpowder, which was emanating from the local game of pehoe. This involved throwing disks at a board, in which pockets of gunpowder are placed. If they are hit with the disks, not surprisingly, the gunpowder goes bang. It caught me by surprise and made me jump each time. The place where the game was being played, also housed pool tables and a butcher’s stall and there were two other places on opposite corners of the street where pool was being played. It is a popular pastime in Colombia.
We eventually started walking at about 1.15pm so it was quite hot. It was a gentle stroll at first and after half an hour or so we stopped at a swimming hole in the river Buritaca, whose course we were to follow for the next few days. The water was very refreshing!
After this, however, the hard work really started. We climbed and climbed and climbed, very steeply up the mountain until we eventually reached a small stall where there was some very welcome water melon waiting for us. Then we continued on. Simon, the English man, had steamed ahead, but Jesus stayed with the German couple and I as we progressed slowly along at our own pace.
As the afternoon progressed, the weather became more overcast until it started spotting with rain. The track became muddier and more slippery as we descended steeply and I fell just before we arrived in to the camp for the night. Lots of lovely red mud stuck to my shorts and back pack but as we were near camp, it didn’t really matter. The group coming behind us, however, arrived when the rain was pelting down and were absolutely drenched. As we found out, it is impossible to dry anything as the humidity is so high, so they had to wait for a break in the middle of the next day before they had the opportunity to dry their clothes. Luckily, we had no more rain for the rest of the trek.
The camp, or Cabana 1, was located right next to the river, in the valley, which made it quite dark and gloomy with the rain. We all had bunk beds enclosed by mosquito nets, so it was very cosy! After having showers (cold, but that is not unusual in Colombia), we sat around chatting whilst waiting for dinner. This was very welcome and afterwards someone produced a pack of cards and about 13 people (including me), ended up playing something that various people seemed to know, although the rules varied amongst countries, which meant quite a lot of light hearted argument!
I went to bed earlier than everyone else and lay in my bunk, listening to the quiet chatter of the people playing cards, the crickets and the frogs, which seemed to be prolific. It was very relaxing.
Today was the hardest day and I am reassured that it wasn’t just me that found it so but all the young people as well.
Last night I had to make the decision as to whether to do the trek in 4 or 5 days. I opted for 4 as I didn’t particularly want to spend a lot of time hanging around in the camps. The guides, working for 3 different companies, then sorted out who was going to be in which group and I ended up with 12 others from Belgium, Switzerland, America, Ireland and England, all of whom, with the exception of me, were in their mid twenties. By the end of the trek we had all bonded very well! We had 3 guides, Jesus, Mila, who spoke English, luckily, and Wilmer.
Doing the walk in 4 days meant that we had two 3 – 4 hour walks today, one before and one after lunch. We were woken at 5am with the intention of leaving at 6am. However, for some reason, this did not happen and, by the time we had all had breakfast, it was about 6.45 before we left.
It was a most beautiful morning after all the rain of yesterday, for which we were very glad. The local people, however, I think would have liked a little more, as it was the first time it had rained in 7 months.
The day followed a pattern of very steep uphills, followed by steep downhills. A number of local Kogui tribes people passed us as we were walking but none of them seemed to want to engage in any interaction. We stopped at one small village in which there was one lady and a couple of children, the rest, apparently, out working in the fields. The children were given some lovely teeth rotting lollipops by the guides, who knew them well, and we were able to take some photographs, which normally they would not allow.
In another small settlement, there were more children and a mother who had a 2 day old baby. We were told that they have many children and start from the age of 18. I would not like to have given birth in the conditions in which they are living. It is difficult to tell which are boys and which are girls, as they all wear the same, somewhat sad looking dresses and have long hair.
In the second village, a house was in the process of construction for a volunteer doctor, who is going to come and live there. Otherwise, the tribes people rely on the shamans and local medicine people. Having said that, during the course of the 4 days, the guides stopped to give painkillers to two people with headaches.
We stopped at Cabana 2 for lunch and went for a lovely refreshing swim in the river. There was a small, very young looking family, who were doing their washing in the same place and they seemed to be as much amused by us as we were by them and I noticed the small boy/girl copying the Irish couple, who were rubbing sun screen into each other’s backs.
We had a delicious soup for lunch, which stoked us up for the second part of the day, a 3 hour walk to Cabana 3. I found that I was walking by myself for much of the afternoon as most of the group were walking much too fast for me. However, I always knew that there were a couple of people behind as well as the guide.
We arrived there at about 4pm to find it had been invaded by 30 Ukranians, who were in the river taking, what appeared to be, fashion photographs. They had very large backpacks, transported to the camp by horses, and spoilt the evening by their loud, brash behaviour.
As the camp was full that night, we ended up sleeping in hammocks, which was quite a novelty. The guides and their helpers slung them on hooks under cover (like an open sided shed) and I felt that I was so tired that I would be able to sleep anywhere.
Mila had told me that there was another Kiwi on the track, about my age. This is a first as I haven’t met any other New Zealanders the entire time I have been away. He was very easy to spot amongst the crowd, although I think I must have aged about 10 years if Mila thought that I was about the same age. Admittedly, there is quite a lot of white hair around the edges at the moment! I spoke to him briefly before dinner and then had a longer conversation afterwards. He was an extremely fit tramper from Nelson and was regretting taking 5 days to the trek as he was always first in camp by a long way.
At dinner, I was seated by two American girls, one of whom had already informed me that she was in the top 10% with regard to I.Q. of Americans and the rest were basically idiots, a Venezuelan turned American and an older Belgian man. This all tested my patience as I found the Americans extremely arrogant and the Belgian was extremely angry. Unfortunately,the latter had decided that I was a good audience so I had to listen to him making his points by banging on the table and tightening his lips for quite some time before I was unwittingly rescued by John, the Kiwi.
I ended up retiring to my hammock quite early and listening to the Ukranians, as they drank beer and talked very loudly.
Whilst sleeping in the hammock was more comfortable than I anticipated, I did not sleep well. I was cold, even though I had asked for an extra blanket, and I also needed to go to the toilet. However, I could not face unravelling myself from the hammock cocoon and finding my way through all the other hammocks to the toilet area in the dark and on an uneven path. Consequently, it was a very disturbed night and I couldn’t blame it all on the Ukranians!
Today was the day we climbed to the Lost City. We started early, although, unfortunately, later than the aforementioned foreign group and the other smaller group that John was with. We had a slightly strenuous walk, along a track beside the river, before wading across and ascending 1,200 steps to the outer area of the ruins. The steps were extremely narrow and I had difficulty with my small feet climbing them, so it must have been extra hard for the boys and their big feet. Luckily, though, they were not as moss covered as the images I had seen and this was probably due to the lack of rain.
We arrived at the top in what was once the commercial area, where it was probable that grain and other food products were stored. Wilmer gave us some information, which Mila, and one or two of the other Spanish speakers in the group, translated for the non Spanish speakers. The city was built in 700 AD and lasted until the Spaniards arrived in the 1500’s. The cause of its demise is not known, as the invaders never actually reached the city (not surprisingly, given its location). It is likely that the Teyuna (from whom the Kogui descend) were either killed in battles or died from diseases, such as TB, which were unknown until the Europeans arrived and for which the indigenous had no resistance.
We continued up the main staircase until we reached the Chief’s old house. (This, incredibly, is where the Government lands the helicopters to bring supplies to the military that are stationed there.) From here, the view was magnificent across the mountains, especially if you could ignore the yellow shirts that were being sported today by the party of Ukranians. I came to really dislike this group! They appeared in all our photos as they lingered around the top of the City and one of them even had the cheek to ask me to move out of her picture!
However, they eventually left and we were able to enjoy the peace. It was well worth the effort of walking there. The stones that the tribe used to construct the buildings were either from the site or brought up from the river, which must have been a feat of some magnitude. We had quite some time to wander around and just sit and enjoy the location before our guides called us over for the two soldiers to talk to us. They are stationed there to deter any guerrilla trouble although, now, it is probably unnecessary as there has been no guerrilla activity for ten years.
After an hour or so, we started, somewhat reluctantly on my part, to walk back down the mountainside. The local Kogui were having a spiritual meeting in the houses that are used each September when the shamans from the surrounding countryside congregate to eliminate the negative energy that is left by the visitors throughout the rest of the year. We had to leave the area quickly, as we were not supposed to disturb them.
Unfortunately, we encountered one of the rude Ukranians a little further on. A shaman that Wilmer knew, was sitting on a wall, obviously sick, and the Ukranian was intent on taking photographs even though our guides asked her not to. (Almost all of the group seemed to have the latest camera, many of them with very large lenses. This particular one, had even got the guide to carry her camera bag.) Our guides were not at all pleased and blamed their guide, who seemed to have little control over the group.
We continued back down to Cabana 3 where we had lunch and a rest before making our way to Cabana 2, another three hour walk. The Ukranians left whilst we were eating and, as there are two cabins at Cabana 2, our guides had made sure they were not in the same one as us, so we saw little of them after that, thank goodness. They really made the place feel as though it was just another mass tourism place to go and not something very special, which it is.
I found myself walking alone again for much of the afternoon. This was something I didn’t mind as I could go at my own pace. It was extremely hot, once again, and it was not a question of perspiring gracefully. The sweat was pouring off in bucket loads and if my t shirt had not been strapped down by my back pack, I would have done what all good Colombian men do, and lifted my t shirt to wipe the sweat from my eyes and face, exposing an undesirable stomach! As it was, I did the best I could with the top of my t shirt, which will certainly find itself in the rubbish bin before too long.
I was almost the last to arrive in camp 2, with the Irish couple a little way behind. Unfortunately, she had fallen and her hand was very sore and swollen. The track is very uneven and in some parts, quite dangerous, so you have to watch your feet, rather than the view, the whole time. Any momentary lack of concentration, could result in a twisted ankle or a fall.
We had dinner again at about 6pm, and, once again, by candlelight. There was a very good atmosphere in the camp tonight, with many of the young people playing cards, whilst I spent a long time chatting to John. It was very nice to have someone to talk to with a bit of a common background. He is a ‘classic Kiwi’! Unlike the rest of the nights when I have been one of the first to bed, I actually lasted longer than the young ones. Tonight we had bunks again so it was little more comfortable than last night.
Each time I woke up in the night, which was frequently, I was very conscious of aching muscles all over my body. The morning proved no better, as I eased myself out of bed and resorted to ibuprofen to get myself in a mode fit to walk for 6 hours.
We started early, being woken (as if I had been asleep!) at 5am and, after a quick breakfast, we were underway at 6am. John had already zoomed off, and I spent the morning at the back of the group, usually on my own. There was no way I was going to be able to keep up with the others today!
It took 3 hours to retrace our steps to Cabana 1 where we were to stop for refreshments and a swim if we wanted one. It was another beautiful morning, following the pattern of the last couple of days, with blue sky and sun, followed by slightly overcast, humid weather in the afternoon. 6am was definitely the best time to be up and about.
Whilst I was last, it seemed I wasn’t so far behind the others. At the camp, we all had tamarillo or tree tomato, as it is called here, juice and a slice of chocolate covered something or other, which was an excellent energy booster, and then some people went to the swimming hole in the river. I went but just watched, as I couldn’t be bothered to change into my swim suit.
I then made a head start on everyone else as the first part of the walk was straight up a muddy hill and I knew they would catch up with me very quickly. As it happened, they didn’t and it was only when I stopped for a rest to admire the view that the group appeared. Mila seemed a bit concerned that he had lost me as they hadn’t seen me earlier!
We arrived back at the village for lunch at about 12.30pm. It was definitely a welcome sight. We all had cold drinks and then lunch and there was a definite feeling of camaraderie, which was lovely. I was also somewhat gratified that several of the young people felt it necessary to comment to me that they respected/admired my endurance, as they were all tired and they were supposedly young and fit! John, of course, put me to shame, as he had arrived at the village about 2 hours earlier, had had lunch and was wandering around. As I said, not all Kiwis are created fit! (He had also had two artificial hips and a triple bypass, so maybe that is the secret.) I think I need replacement knees now though.
We were all divided between the trucks to go back down to Santa Marta and various places. I was in the truck with the Swiss girls, as we were all going to the same hostel on the beach south of the city. I hadn’t got a reservation but was hoping for the best.
We arrived back and I had to pick up my belongings from the Magic Tour office and we all wanted to go to the supermarket, as there are no shops at the beach. After this, the office lady hailed us a taxi and negotiated the price and we all piled in. And there began another adventure!
The taxi driver had obviously not realised where the hostel was and under quoted the price. Also, judging by the state of his driving, I really wondered whether he had a driving licence at all. After asking a couple of other taxi drivers in completely the wrong area, the Swiss girls told him which way to go. Unfortunately, he missed the turning and we were on a dual carriageway with not many turn around places. We weaved and wobbled our way along, almost hitting the median barrier at one point, whilst he rummaged around his seat, and eventually arrived, luckily in one piece. Then came the argument about the price. The Swiss were remarkably steadfast in their refusal to pay more, but as I only had a 10,000 peso note he got an extra 1,000 more than he had quoted.
The hostel had a room, which I immediately changed for a slightly more expensive one downstairs with a patio and a hammock. I had a swim, a wonderful shower and feeling like a normal human being once again, lay in the hammock with a rum and coke and watched the sunset through the barbed wire fence.
A little later, the (half) bottle of rum and coke and I joined the Swiss girls and one or two others and a convivial evening was spent chatting around the table. There might be just enough rum left for me for the next night or two!
I woke up today to find a young man sleeping in ‘my’ hammock, which temporarily put paid to any idea I had of reclining myself. However, I had plenty to do catching up with 4 days worth of blog and sorting out a large number of photographs. I spent the morning doing this in my nice air conditioned room. The room itself is basic, to say the least, with bare concrete walls and floors. However, it is large and ten metres from the beach, so I can’t ask for more.
The weather was overcast and hazy today so I didn’t feel too bad about not being outside. It took hours to upload my photos as the internet connection was so bad and I got bored with diary writing after doing the first couple of days, so adjourned to the beach for a little while.
When I was walking back to my room, the hostel owner called to me and said there had been a problem with the bookings and I would have to move to the original room I had booked, which was upstairs and with a fan. The fan I didn’t mind but the lack of hammock was more of a problem! However, I didn’t have a choice, so reluctantly packed up my scattered possessions and shifted upstairs.
The rest of the day was spent pottering between the beach and the room, chatting to some of the other residents and doing some washing. People seem to arrive and are reluctant to leave, something I can well understand as it is a very relaxing place.
I had dinner at the cafe and retired early to my room to read after an extremely lazy day.
I was still tired and achy today and was beginning to wonder if I really might need replacement knees, as they were extremely reluctant to bend still!
I did a bit more diary writing, spent some time on Skype, had a coffee at the convenient cafe attached to the hostel and then retired to the beach, where I read an entire book that I found on the bookshelves here. (This was not a great feat, as it was a fairly short Ruth Rendall detective book.)
The hostel owner called to me again as I was walking back to my room, to say their booking system was messed up and the room wasn’t available for me tonight. There were lots of apologies and I was given one of the staff member’s rooms, at no cost, for the night. (Not quite sure where they slept!) At this rate, I will have sampled almost all the rooms in the place.
I packed up my possessions, once again, and moved to a very nice small room, complete with all the staff member’s clothes etc, wrote a bit more diary and then went back to the beach for a while, where it was a perfect temperature although a little windy.
The day was certainly not very strenuous but just what I needed at the moment. It was the first time for a while that I could relax and not have to worry about where to go, where to stay and how to get there. And I was on the beach. Bliss!
I had a shower and took my rum and coke to the beach to watch the sunset, then came back and sat at the tables outside and chatted to an Israeli girl for a while before having dinner, once again, in the cafe. I have now managed to do no cooking for 6 months, which I think is quite impressive!
A lot of the other inmates were chatting outside, which is something that seems to happen every night here and which sometimes generates into a spontaneous party, apparently. I am usually asleep by this time and, quite amazingly, have not, so far, been disturbed by any noise. Everyone is very friendly and will take the time to chat to me, which I, for some reason, always find quite surprising, given that they are all much, much younger than me.
I was in bed relatively early, with the intention of reading for a while, but the ‘while’ was very short before I was ready to put the light out, as I was falling asleep.
When I got up this morning, after a very comfortable night in the staff member’s bed, the aches and pains, thankfully, seemed to have abated and my knees were just about back to normal, so maybe I won’t need replacements after all!
It was a beautiful day and I decided to go for a walk along the beach before it got too hot to do anything. There was nobody else up in the hostel, as they all seem to have very late nights and then sleep late in the morning.
I walked along in both directions on, what is meant to be, one of the more exclusive beach areas in Santa Marta. There are certainly a large number of condominiums along the waterfront, as well as a few more being built but there did not appear to be too many hotels though.
Back at the hostel, I put my possessions in my backpack in preparation for the move to another room, and then went down to the beach, taking an Elmore Leonard book from the bookshelf with me, so that I had something to read.
It was another very leisurely day and so hot that I had to retreat into the shade on occasions. However, it wasn’t too hard, lying on the beach, reading and going for a dip in the (very warm) sea when the heat became unbearable.
I retreated to my latest room for a little while but had a last couple of hours back on the beach in the late afternoon, when it was marginally (but only marginally) cooler.
After a shower, and a sorting of the possessions to see what I could dump, I just about caught the sunset. The evening then took a very unexpected turn. Whilst sitting on the beach, with my rum and coke, a couple of Colombian ladies approached and introduced themselves because, they said, I looked so happy!! (Must have been the rum.) Anyway, one of them owned an apartment in the condo next door and there were five ladies, who all played tennis together in Bogota, staying there. They said they were having a barbecue on the beach and asked if I would like to join them. Who was I to say ‘no’?!
The barbecue was actually held in a very smart barbecue area, next to the very fancy swimming pool area in the grounds of the condominium. Ice was produced by one of the staff members, who would also clean up the barbecue grill when we had finished.
I would say, that at least one or two (or all) of the ladies had had more than a little to drink on the beach already as the owner, particularly, seemed to be swaying a little as we walked to the barbecue area. Anyway, there was ample food and drink for us all and I was encouraged to eat, drink and be merry. Luckily for me, most of them spoke some English, but they were fascinating to watch as they had some very heated discussion, particularly about Gabriel Garcia Marquez of whom Colombians are very proud, even though he lived in Mexico for most of his adult life.
I eventually staggered back across the beach to the hostel at about 11pm having had a totally unexpected and thoroughly enjoyable evening.
It was another beautiful morning but, unfortunately, I was heading to Bogota today, so had to say farewell to the beach. There was nobody around when I got up this morning, apart from the lady cleaning the cafe. She had to find the staff member, who was supposed to be on duty at 7am (at least, according to their sign), but was not in evidence at 7.45am. The place is very relaxed! With the bill paid, I was soon on my way in a taxi to the airport, which was only about 10 minutes away.
I checked in and read in the departure lounge whilst waiting for the flight, which was very full. Everything went smoothly and we landed on time in Bogota at 11am. In no time at all, I had my bag and was in a taxi, once again, on my way to the hotel.
The rest of the day was spent in my room, apart from a quick trip to the shop round the corner for supplies and a wander up to the top floor to see the view. I felt cold for most of the day as the temperature in Bogota is considerably lower than Santa Marta.
I had no desire to wander the streets or go into the city and I managed to fritter away the afternoon quite successfully. As I had a large TV in the room, I also caught up with a bit of world news, something with which I am sadly out of touch at the moment.