All good things must come to an end, even if you really don’t want them to. And I really don’t want to leave the Colombian Caribbean and the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. As I near the completion of an entire calendar month in this astonishing country, I am very conscious that I have barely even covered 400km of northern coastline in a country boasting an area of more than one million square kilometres. And that’s before I even start thinking of the seventy other countries patiently waiting for me to grace them with my presence.
Cartagena was a magnificent city, and a wonderful introduction to a country I very much suspected I would rather enjoy. But cities alone no longer satisfy my wanderlust, as they once did. With the entire world available to me (insert minor pandemic footnote here…), and the luxury of having Old Father Time as friend rather than foe, I want it all. And in the coastal region of Santa Marta and its surrounding national parks, I have found it all. When hundreds of kilometres of crystalline Caribbean waters and white sandy beaches are dramatically backdropped by the world’s highest coastal mountain range, you know it’s time to unpack both hiking shoes and flip-flops, and put any further travel plans on hold.
With coastal lagoons, hillside coffee plantations, beach sunsets and mountaintop sunrises, incredible boutique hostels with infinity pools and rooftop terraces, not to mention a four day jungle trek to the archaeological site of a lost civilisation, the past three weeks have given me almost everything that I desire from travel, including company of the highest calibre. The French baker, the Lufthansa flight attendant, the Dutch teenagers, the Ukrainian stoner, the American teacher, and the Colombian lawyer are just some of the amazing people who have shared these incredible hikes, drinks, talks, walks, sunsets and emotions with me.
Casas Viejas Hostel in Minca – £8 per night for these views…
That’s two thumbs up from the man from Del Monte
When the coast got a little too hot, up into the mountains I went, to Minca. At an altitude of 1,100m, undulating valleys of coffee plants and the distant coastline of Santa Marta greeted my contented poolside gaze after a six hour hike loop taking in rock pools and waterfalls, followed by a beautifully nostalgic evening game of Monopoly with the lovely Dutchies. But this wasn’t enough, so higher up I went, to 3,100m, and with it Cerro Kennedy and a 4am sunrise hike. As I stood above the clouds with the entire peak to myself, watching the sun’s kaleidoscopic parade as it slowly emerged behind snowy peaks, I understood what it felt like to be on top of the world in both a figurative and a near-literal sense, give or take 5,000 metres…
No filter needed, no filter used, just one incredible sunrise at 3,100m
What a hike, and what a reward…
But then came the longing again: for the beach, for the sea, for my newly acquired addiction to mid-afternoon hammock naps, swinging in the breeze with a beer just within reach. And so back down I went, to the coast again. First to Palomino, a small hippie town hoping to become the next backpacker hotspot, but succeeding only in giving me unexpectedly good pizza and a world premiere triple mosquito bite on the same spot on my right ankle. Then to Costeño Beach, a wonderful hostel on a near perfect stretch of sand in between two of the thirty-six river mouths that carry the Sierra Nevada’s water to the sea.
Palomino sunset
Costeño Beach – absolute tranquility & absolute paradise
It was here, as I watched the waves crashing in three nights ago, standing still in trance-like serenity for almost half an hour, that I realised that I would soon have to leave this region to continue the journey on its necessary trajectory. Despite knowing full well that I would see so many more beaches and sunsets on this trip, this still felt like the first pang of regret at not being able to stay longer. Or being able to, but understanding that it would not be right. Here it was, then, the first place on the trip that I did not want to leave: my first destination heartache. If I must go, however, I would do so in style.
And there could be no more fitting place from which to take leave of the Colombian Caribbean. Tayrona National Park had been closed for two weeks as the local indigenous tribes spiritually cleansed their home, and I had patiently chosen to wait for this natural beauty to reopen its doors to me. With one spectacular secluded beach after another connected by yet more beautiful coastal trekking paths, and incredible turquoise waters beckoning me for a quick dip in between jungle segments, it does feel as though I am bowing out in style. The sights are truly remarkable, as much for their pristine natural beauty as for the total and welcome lack of commercial development. As the very last chink of daylight disappears, I retreat to my home for the night, a small tent within ear’s reach of the crashing sounds of the sea.
Mine, all mine…
Palm hiking route in between the beaches, it’s tough being a backpacker…
Two beaches for the price of one…
The following morning, I set off on the three hour hike back to the park entrance, feeling serene and much refreshed from a tranquil evening of reading and writing in front of the gently lapping waves of Cabo San Juan. As I stop for a breakfast arepa and a coffee to fuel the hike, with Arrecifes Beach entirely to myself, the heavens open and a hard, tropical downpour transforms both sea- and landscape for the next hour. The water is now grey, the skies almost black and the waves even angrier than usual, a far cry from yesterday’s idyllic colours of seaside paradise. “It’s the first rain of the season, the old man making coffee informs me, the dry season is over.” Perhaps it is time to move on, after all.
Standard pre-hamstring strain rock hiker pose
Life’s a beach followed by another and another and another and another…
Where these words were written, with humble pencil and notebook…
