I’ve moved on now, to the Parque Tayrona. I have officially stepped into a postcard. White sand beaches, waving palm trees, the works. The campsites are only accessible by walking about an hour and a half (I felt like I was on the jungle trek again). There are two: Arrecifes, which is upscale and new, and Cabo San Juan, which is more ragged but has a younger crowd. I spent the first night in Arrecifes, which was almost empty! A beautiful but empty place is always eerie, I think. The beach is clear and turquoise, but the current is so strong that swimming isn’t allowed. I read on the beach all day (thank god I had World Without End, a 1300-page novel, to keep me occupied). At dusk I met a young couple from LA, a Colombian-born guy and his girlfriend from the East Coast who worked in TV. We sat on a blanket in the sand, looking at the stars and passing around a bottle of rum. I was happy for the company, and they were so positive and sweet. And that was my first night. The second day I hiked to Cabo San Juan, and hiked through a field of THESE:
Crabs! Enormous blue crabs who will sink their claws into a soft foam flip flop if you offer it to them and not let go even when you pick them all the way up off the ground.
I came to Cabo San Juan through a hilly jungle path lined with palm trees, and I heard it before I saw it. Multicolored tents were haphazardly set up in the scraggly grass and the hammocks hung heavy with grungy travelers. I saw sleeping bags and clothes and people everywhere, and everyone milled around on the beach and in the water in bikinis and cutoffs and board shorts with hair that hadn’t been brushed in days. The showers were communal and sand fleas vicious, but it was exactly what I was looking for. I set my backpack in a hammock and walked out to the beach, wading into the water and feeling my feet sink into the coolness of the sand. I heard the commotion increase back on land and saw tents coming down. Within half an hour, the three giant groups occupying the hammocks and campsite had left and once again I was alone. I felt my heart sink; I had hit my solitude limit the day before and just wanted to talk to someone--anyone! I took my book to the beach again and lazed all afternoon, alternating between the sand and my hammock.
At sunset I went for another wander through the empty campground and down to the empty beach. I watched the soft colors over the water for a couple of minutes and turned to head back to my hammock when I saw a group of guys who I immediately knew was from Argentina. I walked over to them. “A girl! There are girls on this beach! So far we’ve only seen guys,” they shouted. “People! There are people here!” I shouted back. I loved hearing the Argentine accent again (say what you will about it) and was relieved to come across other human beings. That night we dragged some plastic chairs to a table near the beach, hollowed out a pineapple, filled it with aguardiente, a Colombian anise-flavored liquor, stuck some straws in and passed it around. After a few minutes a bunch of Brazilian girls showed up too, and they knew the Argentines. Someone set up a stereo and turned off the lights and there we all were, barefoot in the sand, dancing with the mass of people who had showed up seemingly from nowhere.
After spending my very last peso note on breakfast, I packed up and decided to leave. Turns out it was election day, and all ground transportation was shut down! The only option was to get back to Taganga by speedboat. It was thrilling the whole way:
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