Bags crammed into the back of the car, with Juan Carlos and Andreas in the front, we leave the Akuamarina hotel at 8am and drive along the road that separates the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta mountain range from the Caribbean sea. At over 5000 metres it boasts the highest peak closest to the sea in the entire world and is covered in lush rainforests. The range is separate to the Andes and is comprised mostly of quartz and crystals so has huge spiritual sígnicance to the indigenous people.
UNESCO declared the area a world biosphere reserve in 1979 and in 2022 declared the four indigenous tribes, who still live here - the Kogis, Arhuacos, Wiwas and Kankuamos, collectively numbering less than 100,000 people - as part of the non-material heritage of the world. Sadly, when the Spanish arrived, there were a dozen tribes in the area, but the Spanish were most focussed on the now extinct Tayrona, as they were the ones who worked with gold.
For the Tayrona gold had no financial value but represented a physical manifestation of the sun god. Unsurprisingly the Spanish slaughtered and plundered them and, lumping all the other tribes together they referred to them all as Tayronas, rather than give them their separate names. Most of the indigenous people died of diseases apart from the remaining four tribes who moved higher into the mountains and kept themselves apart.
The drive is beautiful through tropical jungle and the car temperature gauge reads 45 degrees. Andreas checks we have plenty of water for the big hike ahead and warns us that we’ll be dealing with 95% humidity so will be sweating profusely. He’s not wrong; within minutes of starting, dressed in our matching safari gear and wide brimmed hats, we’re absolutely drenched!
Parque Tayrona is the second most visited national park in whole of Colombia (after the coral reefs and beaches of Cartagena) and covers 19000 hectares, 4000 of which are underwater coral, and extends for 38kms. It has four main ecosystems - tropical rainforest, tropical dry forest, tropical cloud forest and the aforementioned reefs. It is also home to a variety of feline predators including jaguars, ocelots and pumas and a huge abundance of other wildlife, including hundreds of different bird species.
As we walk past towering panama trees and coconut palms, along windy paths, clambering up steep slopes, we keep our eyes peeled for sloths but don’t see any. Instead we are treated to brown capuchin monkeys, big red howler monkeys, lizards, blue-tailed geckos, capybaras, vultures, hawks, huge butterflies, many insects including lethal spiders, and a huge blue mud crab, lurking in a swamp.
However it’s the stunning beaches that draw most visitors here, many staying overnight on campsites ranging from the extremely basic to high-end luxury. And after a hard sixty minutes of hiking we start to hear the roaring sound of the ocean and are treated to picture postcard views of the first beach, Arrecifes, which is one of the few beaches safe enough to swim in, protected from the treacherous rip currents along the coast.
We carry on in the blazing sun, protected by the shade of the jungle, but passing a poor chap vomiting badly with dehydration and a bug. His concerned friend asks if we can fetch help but there’s no phone signal and the nearest medical facilities are on the next but one beach. They are determined to try and make it back to the entrance instead so Andreas gives them rehydration salts and advice on how to survive the long walk back.
On we go heading to the iconic beach of Cabo San Juan de Guía which features in every guidebook of the park. It doesn’t disappoint and we sit there nursing a cold beer watching the masses who have made it swimming in the beautiful sea. Rather than do the same, we trace our steps back to the quieter beach of La Piscina where we go for a swim and then have a traditional local lunch of cayeye; mashed green bananas with tomato and onions.
By the time we’ve eaten, we’re running late to meet Juan Carlos so our hike back is at twice the speed, clocking up almost 15kms in total, but fortunately the scorching temperature has fallen slightly. Nevertheless we are absolutely dripping with sweat as we approach the car, and our journey back towards Santa Marta is further enlivened by Andreas deciding to recite a bleakly nihilistic poem he has written for his girlfriend entitled ‘Land of the Jaguar’ which seems to be an allegory for man’s worst extremes.
We drop Andreas off at a bus stop, rather non-plussed, and Juan Carlos continues our journey on up into the Sierra Nevada mountains to the tiny town of Minca, 20kms away from and 600 metres above Santa Marta. Bumping along twisting dirt roads as dark starts to fall we eventually find our lodgings for the next two nights, at a little boutique wilderness guest house called Sweet Harmony.
Our room is named Guadalupe, and contains a small double bed, draped in a tight mosquito net. Fortunately the shower pumps out hot water - eventually - and Camilla, the cook, is able to rustle us up a veggie pasta. Weary and aware we have another day of jungle hiking ahead, we squeeze into the bed and sleep surprisingly well.
Next morning we are picked up by Juan Carlos and our guide for today, Joith, who it transpires lives in the next neighbourhood to JC and they’re friends and regular work companions. Joith is another self-taught English speaker and guide, and is an interesting and likeable chap, who rather surprises us by telling us his life’s goal is to move to Europe in order to join the French Foreign Legion. He believes it will enable him to travel and have adventures.
Meantime, he is studying ornithology because Minca is a haven for bird-watching, and he’s starting to run birdwatching tours at sunrise for serious ‘twitchers’. The district of Magdalena in which Minca sits has more varieties of birds than anywhere else in Colombia, and Colombia itself has over 2000 different species, more than any other country. It’s an interesting change of attractions for Minca, which started as an indigenous town where the Spanish would come to trade with locals and its name means meeting point.
Sadly in more recent times it became a town where illegal activities and narcotics became rife, but after the local people managed to expel the drug families they developed both coffee production and tourism instead. It’s now becoming an increasingly popular place to escape the heat of Santa Marta and for tourists to explore the surrounding countryside which we’re doing today.
Our first stop is Pozo Azul, a lovely little waterfall with a natural pool that has become a firm favourite for locals to take a dip. Juan Carlos drops us off, and after a relatively easy 20 minute walk with Joith pointing out various fauna on the way, we arrive and initially have the area pretty much to ourselves. However within ten minutes other tourists and locals start arriving and soon the water is filling up. I strip off and join them, swimming in the refreshing cold waters and chatting with a couple from Mexico and Colombia.
On our way back to the car Joith detours us to see a private waterfall called Cascada Amazilia. He knows the owner of the property and while it’s more impressive than the Pozo Azul, we’re somewhat disconcerted by the repeated signs warning us about snakes. Joith charms us though by giving us delicious home-made candied guava sweets wrapped in bijao leaves.
We stop at the lovely Hotel Minca La Casona for coffee and to sit on the terrace watching the hummingbirds feeding on the sweetened water holders, before we set off on the altogether more arduous 45 minute hike uphill to Cascada La Marinka. By now the heat is building and we’re feeling the exertion, yet we’re put to shame by a group of sisters in their 70s who shriek with delight when they see us.
We had bumped into them yesterday in Parque Tayrona and they’re even more fun today, explaining they’re on holiday from Bucaramanga and are determined to do explore everything despite the eldest being 78. They chat away to us nineteen to the dozen in rapid Spanish, all excitedly talking over each other and hugging us. We probably understand less than a quarter of what they’re saying but it doesn’t matter, with Joith joining in and filling in the gaps. They’re the epitome of the friendly Colombian people we have met to date.
When we finally arrive at La Marinka waterfall we get straight into the waters to cool off after all the exertion and then have lunch in the restaurant overlooking the falls. Sadly we can’t work out later whether it was lunch there, or the cocktail we have that evening in El Mirador bar in Minca, looking out at Santa Marta laid before us at sunset, which becomes the cause of our troubles.
Either way, within minutes of finishing my margarita I mention to Coman that I feel a bit strange. We walk to the Lazy Cat restaurant to get dinner but by the time we order I can’t face food and before we even get back to the hotel I’m starting to be violently ill. I do apologise to the residents of Minca for what happened that evening on the dark pathways that lead to Sweet Harmony. Let’s just say it was neither sweet nor harmonious, and I was very thankful to crawl into bed where I stayed curled up for a good 12 hours.
But it’ll take more than a little bit of exotic food poisoning to halt our adventures!
