La Piscina, Parque Nacional Tayrona, Colombia

Chapter 26:  Parque Nacional Tayrona, Colombia.

Monday, August 16

The machismo fuelled and decidedly edgy hostel man happened to be the pretty receptionist’s husband.  He gave the sly eye to most of the male guests and just grunted each time I encountered him.  His mood contrasted vividly with the environment.  Why had this been so?  Was he just one of life’s born worriers?  If so, I sympathised with him.  When I paid up and collected all my stuff he lightened up and almost broke out into a smile.

My stomach felt really settled for the first time in weeks and I felt nourished.  It was such a relief.  However, I must have sweated any weight gain on the walk to the bus stop.  No rain fell overnight, and it remained a very warm and humid morning.  Again, I paid two fares for the collectivo minibus.  When we reached Santa Marta, I wasn’t sure where my exact stop was.  The driver and his assistant then told me we’d just passed the Calle 11 and Carrera 11 crossing.  That was where I needed to catch the bus to Tayrona so they dropped me off at the next stop.

It was so oppressive.  A dry film of muck baked on the streets, and it reeked.  When I crossed through Santa Marta Market, I noticed a man in a scout leader type uniform.  A large Parque Nacional Tayrona badge was emblazoned on his shirt, and he was walking in the same direction.  He happily helped and confirmed which bus I needed.  An old charabanc was parked up on the street and I climbed on board.  The driver placed all the bags and containers on the roof rack.  I sat near the back.  An open window provided a welcome breeze as we set off.

After an hour we arrived at the park’s main wooded entrance at El Zaino.  A young couple who were also on the bus waited with me at the park gate.  Their names were Ruben and Nerbida from Madrid, Spain.  They were nearing the end of their month-long trip in Colombia.  When I mentioned my journey, they gasped. Then the subject hit upon jungle adventure.  Nerbida brought out a packet of Malarone anti-malarial tablets from her rucksack.  They insisted I took the pills because they no longer needed them.  I showed my gratitude and gave them 4,000 pesos.

All our bags were placed on a minibus roof rack, and we set off deeper into the tropical forest.  We reached Canaveral.  The guidebook recommended it as a place to stay but the prices discouraged me.  An old guy offered me a lift to a campsite further inland from the coast.  I wanted the beach, so I eventually began an hour long walk along a very muddy and narrow path to Arrecifes.  It was a highly recommended place.  I soon began to sweat and struggle in the sweltering heat.  My heavy backpack pulled at my shoulders.  I stopped to take a breather after a lengthy climb up to the shrouded headland.  I could hear the sea but couldn’t see it.  This promised paradise was all around me.

An Israeli couple called Igor and Irena were walking further ahead of me.  They stopped to ask if I needed help with my load.  Igor kindly carried my guitar and Irena gave me some water.  I must have looked quite flustered.  The ranger who helped me in Santa Marta came rushing up the path from the opposite direction.  He looked busy but eased our concerns by saying we were about 10 minutes away from Arrecifes.

We came to the most difficult part of the walk though.  Out onto the open beach and underneath the hot midday sun, I really wanted this walk to end.  We then veered left through thick shrub land.  A large open cabin full of hammocks greeted us at Yuluka.  I immediately stopped there while Igor and Irena continued to a further site.  A hammock cost 17,000 pesos per night at Yuluka.  After settling down I checked out the campsite.  It had a little restaurant, so I took a late lunch.

Afterwards, I headed out onto the long beach.  Massive boulders dotted the serene sandy shoreline like giant, petrified turtles.  The breath-taking beauty of this stunning coastline was simply inspiring, but there were signs warning visitors about the dangerous sea currents.  They’d claimed the lives of more than a hundred people in the last five years.  I walked westwards to check out the beautiful La Piscina beaches with their tropical forest backdrops.  At La Aranilla, a sweet local lady called Claudia was squeezing out some fresh orange juice with an antiquated squashing contraption.  Three oranges provided a lovely, refreshing glassful.  I sat on the beach reading a little while.  Then I noticed those looming, dark clouds once more, so I quickly returned to Arrecifes.

Once the sun went down there was very little to do in the evening.  The national park had minimal services and little contact with the outside world.  I was in a remote corner of Colombia where the nearest road was about 20 kilometres away.  I relished this sense of solitude and revelled in my reclusive nature. The only noises were the night-time screeches of wildlife, distant rumbling thunder and the tumbling waves.  I took my first Malarone tablet, enjoyed a refreshing shower and stretched out in my hammock.  Lots of people arrived after me but the human noises were subdued, light and relaxed.  This was soon silenced further.  Giant bullfrogs appeared and began croaking and hopping around on the ground surrounding the open sided shelter.

Tuesday, August 17

There was the soothing sound of the sea and a sense of being lost in time.  The night was warm, but I desired a little more cover in my hammock.  My bag was safely in a locker and my guitar rested underneath me on the floor.  I resumed the adventures of Schweik and began converting his anecdotes into my rambling mood….I knew a cat once who ate 10 fish fingers and turned into something quite different!

So, my mood lightened up.  I thought of how Schweik probably inspired the television comedy characters like Baldrick in Blackadder, Father Dougal in Father Ted, even Uncle Albert in Only Fools and Horses.  Who knows, but you could sense the rich seam of this comic character influencing many writers.  There was something be said for fooling people into thinking you were a fool.  Let them underestimate you.  Who were they to you anyway if that’s how they perceived you?  An interesting and entertaining perspective, but perhaps increasingly lost in a British society which has become far too serious, narrow minded and stiflingly conservative.

I visited a nearby cafe and drank some coffee before setting out for the western beaches.  The idyllic, boulder strewn backdrop over the Caribbean shoreline and the rapidly clearing skies had me humming along.  I sang the entire Help soundtrack by The Beatles!  The wonderfully, optimistic sound of Another Girl was a particular favourite which stuck in my head.  My euphoric state recalled those giddy film scenes of the Fab Four on the beaches in the Bahamas.

I found a panderia (bakery) and bought a hot cheese roll and continued to La Piscina for a spot of sunbathing.  The wonderfully clear sea reflected only a little of the clear, blue sky.  Its warm water was such a joy to swim in.  I could see myself easily drifting into a reclined routine in this paradise on earth.

A narrow footpath allowed just enough space for visitors and donkeys laden with luggage to pass through.  I rambled on through further thick woodland to reach an attractive afternoon scene of young, bronzed bodies on the beautiful beaches of Cabo San Juan de la Guia.  I stayed there for a while and bought a substantial chunk of chocolate sponge cake.

Walking back through the woodland, a shy looking black and white monkey disappeared from view when a young German crowd stopped to call out.  They soon gave up, but I stuck around.  The cheeky, not so shy, monkey reappeared and played around in some upper branches, stopping to watch me with curious, intense stares as I took some photographs.  Lots of blue coloured crabs loitered around the fallen coconuts.  Giant ants formed large convoys to carry leaves across the footpath.  The path was thick with mud in parts, and it was easier to take my sandals off.

A lone, retired and lame looking donkey wandered around on Arrecifes’ beach.  He looked exhausted.  I felt rather parched.  It was so important to drink plenty of water in these parts.  I booked another night’s stay and asked the receptionist could I use another locker for my guitar.  He smiled and suggested a better idea, so I gladly handed over the instrument for safe keeping in the site manager’s cabin.  The bull frogs reappeared when darkness quickly fell soon after 6.  In my hammock and wrapped in a shirt I soon drifted away.

Wednesday, August 18

I slept soundly but woke up in a very damp atmosphere in the open sided shelter.  My t-shirt and towel were wet. I had lots of phlegm, and my throat was sore.  I hoped that I wasn’t coming down with a bug.  After a black coffee I became far more alert though.

I walked along to La Piscina’s lovely beach.  Strange hieroglyphics of Colombian graffiti adorned the walls of an isolated building close the beach. Claudia was there again slicing the oranges.  She then brought down the heavy wrought iron squeezing device to serve up fresh juice, and greeted me with a big smile as I took some pictures of her in action.  Her expression epitomised the tranquil yet intense beauty of the surroundings.

The beach was fairly deserted apart from a few couples.  I rested against a huge, horizontal tree trunk, then dipped in and out of the sea before stretching out on the water’s edge.  Imagine a relaxed state and multiply its intensity by 10.  That may have come close to the experience.  The day was so splendid, and my euphoria showed no signs of abating.  I bathed till midday when the hot sun sent me into the shaded path to Cabo San Juan.  Coconuts occasionally thumped down onto the soft earth from high above.  Along the way I met up with Igor and Irena who were heading out of the park and back to civilisation.  They ironically joked about the mental stresses of being cut off from the outside world.  Ruben and Nerbida, the Spanish couple who I met at the park’s entrance, also came past and shouted hello.  They were also leaving the park, on their long journey back to Spain.  I didn’t want to leave in such a hurry though.

I read for a short while then tried, unsuccessfully, to find the path leading to Pueblito Chairama village high up in the tree covered hills.  Beyond Cabo San Juan I came to a narrow and secluded stretch of beach where the waves crashed down onto the steep shoreline.  The currents looked too strong to even dip my toes in.  I noticed a couple of lads further on.  Fortunately, they soon relented from going in.  I then walked further west, where the almost hidden path came to another, almost deserted beach.  There were some nudists at the far end.  It was tempting to stay and, why not?  Surely there couldn’t be many nicer places to indulge in some naturism and to be completely at one with nature.

I declined to go any further along the coast, being slightly concerned with what the next little bay might throw up!  So, I turned back then sat on the beach for a short while.  There was nobody about, so I whipped off my Zoggs to reveal all for a minute or two!  It was so nice to lose those silly inhibitions in such a tranquil setting.  One must protect those private parts though!  A friend of my brother’s got caught out once after falling asleep naked on a holiday apartment balcony in Corfu, Greece.  Apparently, he woke up two hours later to red bollocks and two days of agony!

In Tayrona, I seemed to be walking about a lot more.  I returned to the hammocks to rest awhile and write a travel article about my Colombian experiences thus far.  However, the stunning surroundings soon tempted me back out to Cabo San Juan where I devoured some gorgeous carrot cake.  Then the rain clouds quickly gathered.  A proper storm exploded in the hills above Arrecifes.  I became soaked to the skin and suddenly aware of my vulnerability to being struck by a lightning bolt on the exposed beach.  There weren’t many other people about as I raced back up to the shelter of the cafe restaurant at Finca El Paraiso.  The rain became torrential.  Jolts of lightning flashed all around the shelter where groups of us huddled beside the tables.  I’d never seen such a powerful storm in all my life.  Some of the working horses and donkeys were left outside.  It seemed incredibly cruel to leave them there exposed to such ferocious elements.

A rum or two helped to ease my concerns as I laid low and waited for the storm to abate.  Services were extremely limited in Tayrona.  There was no contact with the outside world apart from the path that led out of the forest.  Staying safe was a priority.  I took another Malarone pill before another early night.

Thursday, August 19

Dawn broke soon after 6am.  Overnight rain reduced the humidity, but the ground was soaked.  There were lots more people using the hammocks.  Many of them spoke French or German.  Early starts were advised for trekking the hour and a half up to Pueblito Chairama, a pre-Hispanic settlement about 500 metres above Cabo San Juan.  A few Koggi Indian families, descendants of the Tayrona, still lived up there.  I caught a few glimpses of some of the younger ones around the park.  They always seemed to be in a rush, eagerly shooting off through thick undergrowth as if on some urgent errands.  They were fascinating.  A young lad, in traditional cloak and holding a large stick, frequently came racing past the hammock shelter in Yuluka.  He had long, dark hair, so thick and bushy it virtually concealed his face.  What he must have made of us Europeans, I really don’t know.

The trail up to the settlement was easy enough until I reached a dead end.  I couldn’t work out the puzzling direction.  Eventually I found a tunnel beneath some big boulders, and I was on my way again.  I wore sandals.  To say I struggled would be an understatement.  It was a difficult climb with even the correct footwear.  I nevertheless reached the heights.  They afforded glimpses over the high trees and down to the blue sea.  I asked various people, passing on their way down, how much further there was to go.  The trek was exhausting.  There were deep crevices to avoid at all costs, with sloping boulders dipping into the black voids.  Keeping my footing and balance were crucial because I certainly didn’t want to be slipping into any snake pits.

Despite being mostly in the shade, I was sweating profusely in the heat.  My camera kept swinging around but the wonderful colourful vegetation and scampering lizards were such a picture.  There were big, blue butterflies, extraordinary but quite impossible to photograph.  I reached the top at midday and sat down to eat some bread and drink more water.  The location was nice enough.  There were stone circles and walls plus reconstructed barns.

After half an hour I started the descent.  I held back for most of the way as an elderly couple and their guide in front took careful and deliberate steps to safety.  I frequently stopped to allow them at least 30 metres of space.  I wasn’t in a rush and the slowdown aided my safe return as well.  Near to the Cabo, the old gentleman slipped in a pool water.  When I reached the same point, I did the same thing and fell knee deep into the stream.  Further on, the three of them stopped.  The guide turned around to thank me for my patience.  It wasn’t a problem, I replied.

Back at Yuluka I asked the campsite receptionist about the weather patterns.  He told me we were in the middle of the rainy season.  It usually stayed dry and sunny from 6am till 4pm and then the heavens opened.  And how I ran again as the latest storm came whipping in with strong gusts from the east.  The hot morning brewed up a proper belter and I sheltered in the cafe again.  I really wanted some more rum plus a Panama hat!

The rain continued well into the evening and rumbled on into another storm during the early hours.  White lightning electrified the skies all around.  It really was an awesome spectacle from the relative safety of my hammock.

Friday, August 20

My watch was an hour behind.  Timing was still on my mind, but this luscious land had a timeless quality.  Most people were lost without time structure, but life happened with or without it.

I enjoyed three happy encounters with Claudia during the day.  Hey amigo, she waved and called out, as I approached for my morning refreshment.  She sliced three oranges and squeezed out the juice.  Claudia also explained how the contraption was engineered in Santa Marta.  The oranges were grown nearby and sold at Santa Marta Market.

Remembering my arrival here and the help I first needed, it was great to return the favour.  Letting people pass on the narrow paths, and offering reassurances and directions were a pleasure.  We were in such a remote part of the world.  It necessitated a sense of watching out for and being ready to help in case of any emergency.  I also stopped to chat with quite a few lovely ladies during the day while strolling through the forest to Cabo San Juan.  Old-fashioned chivalry didn’t harm anyone.

I also had to stop quite often to catch some air.  My golden-brown tan was deepening by the day.  I started to look and feel healthy again.  I was just happy to be happy and sharing big, wide smiles with everyone.  We were all so delighted to be in such a beautiful place, to feel so free and close to nature.  On my afternoon return through La Piscina, Claudia called me over with a big smile and wink.  I’d already met my woman of the day though!  The lovely lady selling fruit cakes in Cabo San Juan was a stunner.  I shared a little joke with her when I paid for my carrot cake.  It was good to lighten up.  As well as the surroundings, I think The Good Soldier Schweik was helping me to relax.  It’s amazing how literature can be so stimulating.  I continued to enjoy regular dips in the gorgeous sea.  It was relatively safe as the breakwaters remained a kilometre out into the Caribbean.

I also enjoyed my first hot meal since Monday.  How I savoured a dish of rice, fried vegetables, and French fries with a bottle of Coke!  The clouds bubbled up again, but the storm remained high up in the mountains.  I started singing the Help! album again when I saw some horses being ridden at a galloping pace along the water’s edge on Arrecifes beach.  As the sun went down and the heat of the day relented, I shared the rest of my carrot cake with the old, frail donkey.  He seemed quite grateful.  The euphoria of Tayrona really wasn’t a novelty.  I decided to stay on for Saturday night as well.

Saturday, August 21

What was happening in the outside world?  I didn’t have a clue.  At Finca El Paraiso I drank my coffee.  The resident parrot sat on the chair opposite me.  He spoke a few words in Spanish.  The happy experience prompted me to do a daft routine throughout the rest of the day.  It was inspired by Johnny Morris and his sublime television show Animal Magic.  That’s right.  I was talking to the animals, and they responded!  Horses, donkeys, dogs, monkeys, seagulls, parrots, cats, and lizards all wore expressions of familiarity as the human visitors showed respect.  We listened to the sounds of nature when in Tayrona.

A thin mist lightly concealed a brightening haze as the sun gradually burst out to deliver another baking hot day.  I arrived at La Piscina for a Saturday morning chill.  Long periods of bathing on the far end of the bigger beach, interspersed with occasional dips in the warm sea, were blissful.  There were quite a few other bathers.  Everyone looked so happy, serene and without a care in the world.  What a great place!  Tayrona really was a liberating experience.

After whizzing through to the end of The Good Soldier Schweik I began reading the more serious Graham Greene classic, The Power and The Glory.  I remained on La Piscina for almost six hours.  Then I made my way along the increasingly muddy track to Cabo San Juan to buy a slab of banana cake and a bottle of lemonade.  Tayrona’s climate made me feel less hungry, but I was looking forward to eating more hot meals again.

I felt a little weary and sun burnt when I returned to the hammocks.  A young lad had arrived during the previous night.  He was taking a long rest in the hammock beside mine.  His name was Louis Graham, from Brighton, England.  We had a couple of beers and a good chat at Finca El Paraiso’s bar.  Louis was a bright, relaxed character.  He had also visited Medellin where he stumbled across the recently started Pablo Escobar Tour.  This was being conducted by the late drug baron’s larger than life brother and bodyguard, both of whom had just been released from prison.  Louis was spending a few days alone but preparing to rejoin his girlfriend who was over in Cartagena.  They were to sail to Panama before flying home to Britain.  Louis was just 19 years old, but he was very mature, far more than I was at that age.  In late September he’d be enjoying fresher’s week in Oxford before reading politics, philosophy, and economics at Worcester College.

Later in the evening, as the fireflies darted about and the cicadas began their continuous, throbbing beat, I thought about back home.  The Greenman Festival in Glanusk Park, Crickhowell, South Wales was just starting.  I always went each year.  Last year a group of us took a Sunday morning dip in the very cold River Usk which runs through the park.  I was now in the warmer waters of the Caribbean, but my heart and soul remained in Wales.

Sunday, August 22

The storms held off during the night.  I woke up early.  Louis stayed for the morning before departing for Cartagena.  I left The Good Soldier Schweik under his hammock, and I later found Wild Swans-Three Daughters of China by Jung Chang underneath mine.  In between, we visited La Piscina, where Louis hired some snorkelling gear.  I had a go and saw some colourful marine life near to some rocks.  Louis swam further out with his waterproof Fuji camera.  He took several good pictures of some blue coloured fish.  When he set off at around midday, I made my way to Cabo San Juan for lunch.  I later stayed for a bit of bathing in Cabo where bigger boats ferried in the passengers on the hour-long trip around the coast from Taganga.  The boat trips cost much more than the bus to Tayrona.

By mid-afternoon I returned to my hammock and rested there.  I’d taken in a lot of sun, and I snoozed away.  I later considered the next stages of my journey, into Venezuela, then down to the Brazilian border and Manaus.  From there I hoped to take a boat to Porto Velho and then Guayaramerin for a crossing into Bolivia to resume a road trip to La Paz.  However, boats leaving Porto Velho could be infrequent.  I bore this in mind when considering a river cruise from Manaus to Belem as an alternative.  I still had my sights on visiting Bolivia, but it would be rather rushed.  This stayed at the back of my mind all the way through my Tayrona stay.  Louis, like many others I’d spoken to, highly recommended Bolivia.  I wanted time to check out La Paz though, then climb a mountain or two and possibly cycle down the world’s most dangerous route, Death Road!  I felt reinvigorated after my time in Colombia.  I was on the same wavelength with the people I met.  These encounters gave me huge confidence for the rest of my travels.