Cartagena & the Caribbean

It is a well-known fact between fellow GapYah travellers to never form an first opinion on a place when arriving at night, as character, beauty and charm are often concealed by the night-time arrival. Cartagena however is an exception to this rule. From the moment we stepped off the plane and into the ubiquitous speeding taxi ride from the airport to the hostel, we were enthralled with the cities twinkling lights, winding streets with their bustling plazas and the colourful colonial architecture. Our guide book promised us all-night partying, gourmet dining and beachcombing - and we were ready to taste all three, and taste all three we did.

Just before we left England there was an article in the Guardian Travel section on Cartagena where the author discusses 'the essence of Colombians' and explains that an introductory panel in the Palace of the Inquisition describes them as a people who are "happy because happiness is the most natural way for us...and what best identifies us from the other people on the face of the earth". The author goes on to give his opinion on why Colombians are just so bloody happy all the time; "If Colombians seem to be grinning a lot, it maybe the dancing. Colombian dancing would make a corpse happy". Our first night in Cartagena was spent in a salsa bar in Getsemani, and I couldn't help but agree with Stanley Stewart's analogy, as just watching the amazing live band and the Colombian's quick-stepping around us was enough to make Forrest and I grin from ear to ear!

Our escapades at The Habana salsa bar had left us slightly worse for wear, so we spent Sunday lazing around the hostel, skyping with family and then praying for forgiveness for our sins at the Catedral's evening Mass. The beautiful Cathedral provided the perfect evening entertainment, in keeping with Colombia's (and mine!) strong Catholic heritage, and although we only stayed for 15 minutes or so, the atmosphere was really quite moving. After a lovely Italian meal on Plaza de San Diego, we headed back to the hostel to sleep off the remaining bits of our hangovers to ensure that we were fresh and ready for the beach the next day!

The beach in Cartagena itself is just south of the Old City in Bocagrande, Colombia's equivalent of Benidorm. Seemingly overcrowded and pretty dirty, we didn't really have much reason to head down there apart from to buy Forrest a replacement pair of Converse. The real Caribbean lies about 50 minutes out to sea from Cartagena, where an archipelago of small coral islands are sunk in transparent turquoise waters. We planned to spend the night on Playa Blanca on Baru island, lured in by tales of massages from Sam and Emily. We were joined on our overnight island jaunt by Abbey, Tara and Chris, and we spent an incredibly relaxing day in the sun, followed by an incredibly relaxing full-body massage, followed by an incredibly hot and sandy night in a tent on the beach! Playa Blanca is renowned for it's intense beachsellers offering all sorts of Colombian crappy souvenirs and the massage ladies disturbing your peace as they elbow your back and force you to have a massage, but we found that just walking five minutes down the beach away from the flotilla of tourists and you are practically on a deserted beach surrounded by palm trees, white sand and crystal clear water... sounds pretty horrible doesn't it?



On our last night in Cartagena we went to the famous salsa bar Donde Fidel for a drink in the main plaza, a former slave-trading area, followed by Pizza Al Parque in the picturesque plaza near our hostel, and it was there that we made the decision to return to Cartagena, the first place on our Gap Yah that was love at first night.

Our next stop was Taganga, and as with nearly every place so far we had heard heaven and hell stories from various people, the scariest of which being some friends from home who were robbed at gunpoint... (thanks Doug!) Our hostel, although slightly disorganised, was absolutely beautiful - up on the hill with views over the village and beach, great cocktails and a lovely restaurant. When we arrived in Taganga the whole of the village, which is tucked into the mountains, was illuminated by a stunning sunset over the ocean and we enjoyed a cocktail on the roof top bar as the night drew in.

We made friends with an American couple who were doing their PADI course in Taganga, one of the cheapest places in the world to do your qualifications, so the next night after a rather relaxing day by the pool and cocktails on the beach at sunset we got a little tipsy with them for Happy Hour at the hostel before heading to some bars in the village. Unfortunately, despite hearing amazing things about El Garaje, when we went there it was pretty dead so didn't end up staying too long which was a shame as Emily had told me it was 'pretty banging'.



The next morning after a chaotic check out we waited patiently for our booked transfer to Tayrona National Park, which was due to arrive at 9:30am. When it still hadn't arrived at 10:00am we were impatient but not surprised as South American time runs much slower than normal time, but when it got to 10:30am and the guy from the hostel asked us whether we needed anything, we realised that they had managed to mess up our transfer so we were given a lift into Santa Marta and pushed on to a local bus to take us to the park gate.

After an hour hiking we arrived at the first campsite where we decided to stay the night; we had heard good things about the restaurant there and it was the only place that took card, so we could keep our cash free for necessities like ice cream and beer. The only downside to the beautiful and tranquil site was the water at that particular beach was dangerous and there were signs everwhere stating that 200 people had died in the past few years and warning you not to become a statistic. So after allocating our hammocks, we walked a further 20 minutes to the nearest swimming beach, La Piscina, and chilled there for a couple of hours. Dinner that night was amazing as promised... we shared ceviche and empanadas to start and Forrest had a Caribbean lobster bisque/stew while I had fish wrapped in an banana leaf with coconut rice and an avocado salad... not paleo exactly but very delicious!

The next day we walked some more (in hindsight this was very good training for the following week, but that will become clear on the next post...) to the next campsite which was next to one of, if not the most beautiful beach I have ever seen.



Whilst I relaxed on the deserted beach Forrest, unable to sit still for more than a second, went exploring. He was gone for a while, and when he finally returned he was looking pretty happy with himself and explained that he'd just had a lovely walk to the next beach down. Smiling, he explained that it was pretty deserted but the first people he had come across had been naked, but he'd just assumed it was because they thought they were on their own on the empty beach. But bizarrely, everyone else he had encountered had also been naked and the thought finally dawned on him that perhaps he had stumbled upon the nudey beach. Unsure of nudey beach etiquette, he admitted that he had contemplated taking his shorts off for the walk back but was worried about sunburn!

After an early night in a tent at the second campsite, we woke to find that Forrest had had a nasty allergic reaction to some kind of insect bite on his hand. Luckily though, after hiking back to the park entrance we shared a taxi with a Brazillian couple who noticed Forrest's hand and they were both doctors and the girl had trained to be a dermatologist and handed Forrest a steroid to stop the inflammation - you should see the size of his guns now!

One more night in Taganga, although this time at Divanga's sister hostel as they had managed to misplace our booking for the second time (or third if you count the transfer!) which we spent having a roast chicken dinner Colombian style with potatoes, yucca (as gross as the name suggests) and salad, and drinks with our friends Chris and Ruth who were newly qualified scubees! The next day we went to The Dreamers hostel, which as the name suggests was the perfect place to spend a chilled out Valentines Day by the pool with champagne that Forrest had sneakily snuck into our room (the 'Australia' room - how did they know that I had spent a year in Australia?!) and a beautiful meal at the Italian restaurant attached to the hostel. The next day was spent doing absolutely nothing apart from sunbathing, swimming, reading and being completely relaxed before packing for the five day hike that I had somehow been persuaded was a good idea, but more on that next time...!

Photos are on both mine and Forrest's facebook so if you're not already then please friend us so you can bring my droning voice to life with pretty colours!

BACK DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND... FORREST'S FINAL THOUGHT!

After less than two months travelling in South America my grasp of the Spanish language has been improving at an astounding rate; simply remarkable some might say. Whereas once I would sheepishly approach someone and quietly mutter the words “Do you speak English?”, I now stand tall, and with the utmost confidence, and with broad shoulders and an even broader smile, I pronounce the words “Habla Ingles?”