The R&R Big Adventure

High seas and higher screams

Innovative ways to walk a dog #27: this morning, looking out to the beach at breakfast, I saw a jet ski (and rider) pull up close to the shore, and off jumped a dog. It quickly swam to shore, before proceeding to follow the jet ski at speed on the sand, which was now racing parallel to the shore line. This went on for a couple of laps, before the dog then jumped back into the sea, swam to the now stationary jet ski, before they all sped off together into the distance :)

The main reason we are in Santa Marta (apart from ticking ‘Caribbean coast’ off the list) was to visit the Tayrona National Park, supposedly the most beautiful in Colombia. We read that a fun way to visit it was via speed boat, departing from a town just up the coast. We duly got to Taganga early (more hippy, than chic), and booked our slot. We didn’t realise that, firstly, there would be so many people lined up on the shore waiting for boats to depart, or that the boats didn’t look like they would make it past the headland, let alone a beach an hour’s ride away. About fifteen people boarded our boat, all crammed in like sardines, whilst all manner of earthly possessions in various bags and boxes (including a baby’s high chair wedged in front of me) were also loaded on. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we had ended up in Dover, claiming asylum, not visiting a sight of natural beauty in Colombia.

I’m not a big fan of boats, having been violently ill on them a couple of times, due to rough seas. The journey to begin with was smooth, then a bit rougher, then we really hit the waves. At that point the women behind me started screaming. Loudly. The man next to me started yelling ‘puta‘ (not sure if that was aimed at the captain, the sea, or both). I was sitting in the middle of four other people (on a bench that was marked out for four, not five people), and had nothing to hold on to. The locals were faring better, having either lower centres of gravity, by nature of the shorter builds of Colombians, or had friends and family to hang on to. R and I had been separated when we boarded, and he was on a bench to himself, holding on to the side for dear life. Soon the boat was really hitting the water hard after each wave, sending shudders through our bones, and we were all getting soaked by the water as well. And then after about twenty minutes or so, the poor teenager next to me started vomiting, uncontrollably. Bless him, he didn’t want to throw up on the strangers sitting next to him, but turned round (bearing in mind, personal space was non-existent) to throw up over his family’s feet, sitting behind me. The act of contorting his body to do this probably only made matters worse, and every large wave caused another convulsion. Meanwhile my mate to the left is still shouting puta, and the women behind are still screaming. The captain is oblivious. Clearly just another Saturday boat load of tourists for him.

What seemed liked three hours later, but was in fact just over one, we finally spotted the promised land. Never have I been so grateful to see a beach packed with other tourists. Not wanting to ride the The People Smuggler Ride Experience © again, R and I headed into the forest, and decided to hike the three and a half hour trail back to the main entrance instead. We were actually grateful we did, as we passed several beautiful beaches (check R’s Insta post) and stopped for a lovely home cooked pasta on the beach as well. We also kept reminding ourselves this was good training for the Inca Trail.

The fun didn’t stop when we eventually got to the entrance, as we encountered several traffic accident delays on the taxi ride back to our apartment in town. Our enterprising driver decided to take us on an unofficial tour of ‘unfinished side-roads of Santa Marta’ to avoid the worst: whatever bones hadn’t been shaken by the boat ride, were certainly rattling now.

Tomorrow will definitely be a quiet day. A pool day beckons.