Since the new year began I have been living at a slow pace on the beaches of Taganga. The village is a small one located on the Carribean coast just north of Santa Marta. The days are simple. I wake up at an arbitrary time giving no respect to the numbers on my watch. Ginger cookies are consumed and accompanied by hot coffee for breakfast. When the sun is high my companions and I are on the beach. When the sun is down we sip the local rum and play cards. Details would be of no consequence. Nothing is elaborate, only simple and entirely sufficient.
It is indeed the peak tourist season. Yet, one can pick their desired level of crowdedness by beach shopping. a 5 minute coastal trek brings one to the most bustling beach - a 20 minute hike brings one to a more isolated one. I visited both, and enjoyed watching the fishermen bring in their daily catches from the clear green water. Because of the blazing sun we had to cut today´s swim short
Seafood is hit-or-miss for me, but the fish I ate for lunch in consecutive days were a delight. Fish infinitely better when at its freshest and I am pretty sure my platters could have been caught just after I ordered it (there certainly was enough time to do so between when my order was placed and when I receieved it). The fish was cooked over open flame in bowls of oils, complemented by plaintains and rice.
Such are the ways of the beach: no timeframe, simplicity, clear waters, hot sun, delicious food, etc. etc. One would assume this would be the most apt environment in which to relax. However, I find it to be a light struggle to completely set myself at ease. I constantly feel a pressure to act. It as if inaction has become an internalized wrong. It is only by conscious effort that I can enjoy moments that do not involve writing, producing, thinking, or moving. Case in point: It took a great amount of will for me not to get upset with the 1hr and 15 min wait for the cooked fish. Even among the dreadlocks, palm trees, and bikinis I am learning lessons that will help me to live better upon returning to the concrete jungles. Which is good, because I head to the national park Tayrona tomorrow and will have more white sands and clear waters into the next few days.
Since the new year began I have been living at a slow pace on the beaches of Taganga. The village is a small one located on the Carribean coast just north of Santa Marta. The days are simple. I wake up at an arbitrary time giving no respect to the numbers on my watch. Ginger cookies are consumed and accompanied by hot coffee for breakfast. When the sun is high my companions and I are on the beach. When the sun is down we sip the local rum and play cards. Details would be of no consequence. Nothing is elaborate, only simple and entirely sufficient.
It is indeed the peak tourist season. Yet, one can pick their desired level of crowdedness by beach shopping. a 5 minute coastal trek brings one to the most bustling beach - a 20 minute hike brings one to a more isolated one. I visited both, and enjoyed watching the fishermen bring in their daily catches from the clear green water. Because of the blazing sun we had to cut today´s swim short
Seafood is hit-or-miss for me, but the fish I ate for lunch in consecutive days were a delight. Fish infinitely better when at its freshest and I am pretty sure my platters could have been caught just after I ordered it (there certainly was enough time to do so between when my order was placed and when I receieved it). The fish was cooked over open flame in bowls of oils, complemented by plaintains and rice.
Such are the ways of the beach: no timeframe, simplicity, clear waters, hot sun, delicious food, etc. etc. One would assume this would be the most apt environment in which to relax. However, I find it to be a light struggle to completely set myself at ease. I constantly feel a pressure to act. It as if inaction has become an internalized wrong. It is only by conscious effort that I can enjoy moments that do not involve writing, producing, thinking, or moving. Case in point: It took a great amount of will for me not to get upset with the 1hr and 15 min wait for the cooked fish. Even among the dreadlocks, palm trees, and bikinis I am learning lessons that will help me to live better upon returning to the concrete jungles. Which is good, because I head to the national park Tayrona tomorrow and will have more white sands and clear waters into the next few days.
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