Parque Tayrona

I have reemerged from the hidden treasure in Colombia´s national park Tayrona. I am tempted to let the pictures boast for themselves but that just wouldn´t be a blog post.

Before entering the internet-less zone (and Fiesta-bowl-less) that Tayrona is, I had to figure out a way to get there from Taganga. We heard rumors through the backpacking grapevine that tourists were being turned away due to capacity. This being the high season, lines were supposedly long and even longer was the two hour walk from the park entrance to the beaches. So, a few of us cut a boat deal and chartered a small fishing boat with twin motors to take us via the carribean directly onto the beaches. Fortunately, one of the motors decided to stop working.

The motor cutting out was great because it allowed me to feel what it would be like to be caught in a storm in the middle of the sea (without actually being caught in the middle of the sea). I mean I´m talking huge waves splashing against the boat and all ten of us soaked and yelling in excitement/fear. Eventually the motor kicked in, and we sped across the choppy waters, freezing.

We landed on the beaches like the Spanish hundreds of years ago - gracious to be on dry ground and curious as to the treasure that might lay ahead. The treasure was the most relaxing days of my life on the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. And here is the part where I really will let the pictures do the talking.

For three days I slept in a hammock, read on the beach, ate shrimp, and hiked jungles. That is all. My apprehensions about relaxing, evident in my Taganga post, were swept away by the clear greenish blue waters. Nights were spent sitting on the huge beached boulders, with only the moonlight to help us find our cervezas. There are certain images you will never forget in your life. Like the ruins of Tikal peaking out of the jungle canopies of Guatemala, the sun drenched waves crashing onto the white sands in Colombia while be etched into my memory forever.

As with any pleasure of life there is also the presence of the opposite. An army helicoptor had to swoop into our small tourist village to airlift a foreign tourist to the hospital. The night before she had succumbed to the powerful waves and evidently hurt her spine. Just today we were informed by the local newspaper and by word-of-mouth that 4 tourists died in the past week as a result of the wave/rocks combination. It is disconcerting to know that people lost their lives so close in proximity.

Even more, I saved a man´s life today as we trekked out of the park. The most dangerous thing I have witnessed while in Colombia is falling coconuts. Seriously. I witnessed one fall from a 50 ft+ coconut tree and was on my guard for the projectiles for the duration of the stay. My instinct would serve a local Colombian well. Some people passed by us entering the park as some of us passed by exiting. In one area, all tourists peered up into the branches of the trees to view the swinging monkeys. I learned from the Jungle Book to never trust monkeys. The man about to pass by me took his eyes off the one directly above him but I did not. My instinct told me it would happen, and it did. The monkey grabbed a coconut and tossed it directly down. I screamed out, the man stopped, and it whizzed 6 inches from his head. I don´t even know what to make of this.

The ways of the Carribean continue to be carry a magic quality. Clear waters, white sands, deadly waves, and monkeys just as deadly. I am always amazed.

I am in now in Santa Marta to wash clothes, shave, blog, and regroup beforing heading into Venezuela for a 9 day marathon.