Disclaimer: I know that this is long, but it was a crazy and amazing experience, so I don’t want to sacrifice the details that made it so special. If you must skip through it, at least look at the pictures, since the scenery was what we came for!
The road to Cabo takes us from Colombia to the Guajira—the “rough, untamed” wilderness of a peninsula. We stop to get gas from a couple of guys that have set up a bootleg shop on the side of the road with gas smuggled in from Venezuela (because it’s so cheap there). Our driver is telling us about the ways of the Wayuu, and in particular the views on marriage (it’s essentially the act of exchanging many goats for a family’s daughter; he himself has two wives and two kids with each). We stop an hour or so later in Uribia, and I’m ready for a break from the cultural lesson (which for the record, I think is more reflective of individual ideas of the role of the sexes than anything else). Camilo offers to buy a round of Smirnoff ice and something about the ridiculousness of having such a yuppy drink at 10AM in a village that feels like something out of the 1920s in Mexico (or what I imagine that would be like) compels me to say yes. When in “Rome.”
Our highway soon turns into sand. The Guajira gets all of its agua dulce (fresh or literally “sweet” water) in the winter, so we have to maneuver around the lakes that have cropped up but will evaporate off over the coming months. The landscape is stunning; pools of water, scraggly brush, crystal blue ocean on the one side and a mountain range on the other. We of course nod off to sleep, fairly immune at this point to twists and turns of the rugged terrain.
The road at several points has road pulled across barring our path. Kids demand candy before turning the rope loose and letting us pass. While it’s “cute” in some respects (lonely planet has a little section about the “candy bandits”), it’s also a sign to me of how underserved the area is. Most of the children are acutely malnourished—Fabian had pointed out to us that for most of these kids, the candy they got from us would be their only lunch. The lack of consistent water supply means that the fruits that are plentiful elsewhere are absent, and fish and goat are the only food sources that are easily observable. Goats are everywhere!
Speaking of which, the first thing we do in Cabo de la Vela is order goat for lunch. It’s served with patacones and a big glass of lemonade. We then move on to the business of finding a place to pitch our tent and hang the hammocks—we’re able to convince the lodge to rent us one of the spots in the “parking lot” (i.e. a huge walled in dirt area) usually reserved for drivers at a pretty good rate. Next step: beach! We head to nearby Ojo de agua, a cove that we have pretty much to ourselves and enjoy the warm water. There are few waves, and I’m soon distracted by the hills surrounding the cove. I grab my ipod and head up to the top to wander around with the mountain goats. It’s all fun and games until a see a pair of reptile eyes staring and me and almost leap off the cliff as a giant iguana darts away. I decide that perhaps it’s time to head back to my posse. Watching the sinking sun, we head over to the lighthouse for what’s considered the best view around. I have a theory that the sun sets faster here in the tropics (physics people, is this true??), which is my justification for why we miss the actually sunset and instead sit around enjoying the final light of the day, munching on “coladas”—the gooey coconut/sesame seed/anise/molasses (not all at once!) things that I’d been eying in Cartagena. When it’s finally dark, we stumble the 100 yards down the hill to where our driver is parked and head back to the hotel for a dinner of canned good sandwiches. Yum. I’m thankful for the sweet crackers. We head out of the beach after dinner and enjoy the almost full moon and hundreds, hundreds of stars that are out, given that we’re hundreds of miles from any significant town and in a region that for the most part lacks access to electricity. I can find orion’s belt, but the dippers allude me. Unproven theory number two of this blog post: the position of the constellation depends on your global positioning as well.
Sleeping in a hammock is divine. There are thankfully no bugs at night (flies and wasps during the day), and I love that when I drift out of my dreams and crack open my eyes, there is a brilliant night sky above me. It would be hard to go back to sleep, accept for the gentle rocking on my hammock in the breeze.
Today’s itinerary is El Pillon de Azucar—a massive rock formation that sits between two coves with distinctly different sedimentary properties. One side looks like what I imagine the surface of the moon looks like; barren, rocky, plunging into massive waves as it meets the sea. The other side is smooth, red sand—it’s like someone had picked up the painted desert of the Southwestern U.S. and dumped it into the ocean. From the top, the view is intense. There’s literally no sign of human life in either direction. I felt like I’d stepped into the land before time. Here’s my cliché “I’m on a vacation to reflect and find myself “ moment for the trip. This was the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life. I sat up on top of the rocks, alone, for at least an hour, just staring in awe. If my goal was to see something that made me marvel at the world that we live in and want to be a better person, it was accomplished there. When I came down, I feel like I’d had some sort of sublime experience, like a spiritual cleansing, or intensive meditation. Descending to the beach, I felt like I maintained a cloud of higher consciousness that created a sense of weightlessness or complete peace that’s pretty unfamiliar to me, whose adept at keeping all cylinders going at all times. Here, all was quiet. The poet Rumi has a verse that I love and recalled:
"Hear this if you can:
If you want to reach him
You have to go beyond yourself
And when you finally arrive at the land of absence
Be silent
Don’t say a thing
Ecstasy, not words, is the language spoken there"
In addition to having the best view in the world, the ocean at this particular beach was great. The waves were modest but occasionally grew to the size that one could catch it and ride it in. Years of swimming at the beaches in North Carolina make me a pro at this game; more than once I caught Camilo shaking his head and laughing as I grabbed wave and wave.
After lunch, we girls decide to head into town to procure more bread to accompany our canned goods. I’m also starting to suffer from mango withdrawal so am hoping to find some sort of fresh fruit option. “Town”, by the way, is the strip that if described generously spans 3 blocks and consists primarily of cabanas and hammock spots that have cropped up to serve the expanding demand for the area. It’s still fairly small, but there are a few kite fitting outfits and other activities that indicate that Cabo de la Vela’s allure is clearly gaining international fame and interest.
While looking for bread, a guy invites us to his hammock/tent site for a bowl of fish soup. There, I meet two guys tuning their guitars. We try to figure out if we know any songs in common. I sing “Rivers of Babylon” and they pick up the tune, we work our way through the chorus of “I shot the sheriff”, they teach me Phil Collin’s “Another day in paradise” since they have the lyrics lying around, and we finally hit upon “Stand by me” and sing that a few times. It’s a lot of fun, and saves me from having to each much of a stew that looks a little fishy to me (in all ways).
We are now running late—our ride to the lighthouse was leaving at four and it’s well, 4:30 and we’re about 5k from the hotel. Luckily we manage to hitchhike a ride with police coming by in a pick up truck. They leave us at the fork in the road (they are headed to the Pillon de Azucar and I’m tempted to accompany them!)! We hail another pick up truck that’s en route to the lighthouse and get them to drop us off at the hotel so we can grab the boys who, rather than being in a state of rage at our tardiness are instead. . . . lying in the hammocks drinking beer. Yay for being on vacation. We head off to the lighthouse by foot, stake out a spot on the cliff below, and manage to arrive about 10 minutes before the sun sets—clear improvement over the day before. But, once the darkness settles in and we decide to head back, we are well, still on foot and without any light other than the very close to full moon. Besides the occasional brush with a cactus or equivalently spiny plant (crocs would have been a huge improvement over flip flops just in this one instance), we make it back in approximately an hour. Andrea, Camilo, Margarita, and Ivan sing song after song and I just get to smile and listen. How’s that for a new image of Colombia? Wandering through the dark in the desert singing ballads, with the biggest fear being a run-in with a thorny bush.
Captain’s log: Day 3. There is no fresh water available for showering, so my hair at this point has a consistency not unlike cardboard and cannot even be convinced into French braids (my go-to when my hair gets nappy and I can’t or don’t feel like washing it). Margarita’s hair, which is naturally curly, has some super awesome “crespo” (afro curl) going on. We have enough fresh water left for the ladies to scrub ourselves down sparingly, to then cram into a car with our salty and sandy male companions and head back to Riohacha where we’ll head to Fabian’s. We arrive and have the following dialogue:
Fabian: Kids, I have bad news. We have five more people arriving tonight.
Maria: Cool. Well as we haven’t really showered for three days, what’s the harm of one more?
[Puzzled look] Fabian: Mari, are you ok?
I smile and nod, glad and grateful that this light feeling has persisted even as we more ever closer back to the “real world”. I can’t believe that I’m so close to ending my adventure down here—I feel like it’s just beginning!
So conclusion: still salty, we went out for hamburgers, walked along the boardwalk to see how it was at night, and when we returned, hung hammocks in the back yard and called it a night. Minus the roosters crowing (Spanish roosters say ci-ciri-ci, not cockadoodle) ALL NIGHT LONG. Maybe the answer to all the questions in the world is—bird, bird, bird, bird is the word. . . . .
Good news--the adventure has continued in Medellin, where I've been since Wednesday. Will be introducing a new cast of characters to you next time!
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| I REALLY want to explain the concept of "icing" someone, but my "this is one of those concepts that will not translate on any level" radar has gotten much more sensitive. Uribia at 10AM on Saturday morning. |
The road to Cabo takes us from Colombia to the Guajira—the “rough, untamed” wilderness of a peninsula. We stop to get gas from a couple of guys that have set up a bootleg shop on the side of the road with gas smuggled in from Venezuela (because it’s so cheap there). Our driver is telling us about the ways of the Wayuu, and in particular the views on marriage (it’s essentially the act of exchanging many goats for a family’s daughter; he himself has two wives and two kids with each). We stop an hour or so later in Uribia, and I’m ready for a break from the cultural lesson (which for the record, I think is more reflective of individual ideas of the role of the sexes than anything else). Camilo offers to buy a round of Smirnoff ice and something about the ridiculousness of having such a yuppy drink at 10AM in a village that feels like something out of the 1920s in Mexico (or what I imagine that would be like) compels me to say yes. When in “Rome.”
Our highway soon turns into sand. The Guajira gets all of its agua dulce (fresh or literally “sweet” water) in the winter, so we have to maneuver around the lakes that have cropped up but will evaporate off over the coming months. The landscape is stunning; pools of water, scraggly brush, crystal blue ocean on the one side and a mountain range on the other. We of course nod off to sleep, fairly immune at this point to twists and turns of the rugged terrain.
 |
| The extent of the villages or "ranchos" that we see en route to Cabo de la Vela after leaving Uribia (This picture and all that follow in this post were taken by Andrea--thanks marica!) |
Speaking of which, the first thing we do in Cabo de la Vela is order goat for lunch. It’s served with patacones and a big glass of lemonade. We then move on to the business of finding a place to pitch our tent and hang the hammocks—we’re able to convince the lodge to rent us one of the spots in the “parking lot” (i.e. a huge walled in dirt area) usually reserved for drivers at a pretty good rate. Next step: beach! We head to nearby Ojo de agua, a cove that we have pretty much to ourselves and enjoy the warm water. There are few waves, and I’m soon distracted by the hills surrounding the cove. I grab my ipod and head up to the top to wander around with the mountain goats. It’s all fun and games until a see a pair of reptile eyes staring and me and almost leap off the cliff as a giant iguana darts away. I decide that perhaps it’s time to head back to my posse. Watching the sinking sun, we head over to the lighthouse for what’s considered the best view around. I have a theory that the sun sets faster here in the tropics (physics people, is this true??), which is my justification for why we miss the actually sunset and instead sit around enjoying the final light of the day, munching on “coladas”—the gooey coconut/sesame seed/anise/molasses (not all at once!) things that I’d been eying in Cartagena. When it’s finally dark, we stumble the 100 yards down the hill to where our driver is parked and head back to the hotel for a dinner of canned good sandwiches. Yum. I’m thankful for the sweet crackers. We head out of the beach after dinner and enjoy the almost full moon and hundreds, hundreds of stars that are out, given that we’re hundreds of miles from any significant town and in a region that for the most part lacks access to electricity. I can find orion’s belt, but the dippers allude me. Unproven theory number two of this blog post: the position of the constellation depends on your global positioning as well.
 |
| That thing sticking up on the cliff is me! |
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| The view to the left of El Pillon de Azucar |
"Hear this if you can:
If you want to reach him
You have to go beyond yourself
And when you finally arrive at the land of absence
Be silent
Don’t say a thing
Ecstasy, not words, is the language spoken there"
 |
| And to the right. . . . |
 |
| Zen there, done that |
While looking for bread, a guy invites us to his hammock/tent site for a bowl of fish soup. There, I meet two guys tuning their guitars. We try to figure out if we know any songs in common. I sing “Rivers of Babylon” and they pick up the tune, we work our way through the chorus of “I shot the sheriff”, they teach me Phil Collin’s “Another day in paradise” since they have the lyrics lying around, and we finally hit upon “Stand by me” and sing that a few times. It’s a lot of fun, and saves me from having to each much of a stew that looks a little fishy to me (in all ways).
 |
| This might have been a good moment to get moving. . . . . |
 |
| Catching some final beach time on Day 3. Main beach in Cabo de la Vela. |
Maria turned Pollyanna from sunshine and beach time: No prob. We have a tent and can pitch hammocks in the backyard. But that probably means that we should shower up now before they get here.
Fabian: more bad news. We’re out of water until tomorrow.Maria: Cool. Well as we haven’t really showered for three days, what’s the harm of one more?
[Puzzled look] Fabian: Mari, are you ok?
I smile and nod, glad and grateful that this light feeling has persisted even as we more ever closer back to the “real world”. I can’t believe that I’m so close to ending my adventure down here—I feel like it’s just beginning!
So conclusion: still salty, we went out for hamburgers, walked along the boardwalk to see how it was at night, and when we returned, hung hammocks in the back yard and called it a night. Minus the roosters crowing (Spanish roosters say ci-ciri-ci, not cockadoodle) ALL NIGHT LONG. Maybe the answer to all the questions in the world is—bird, bird, bird, bird is the word. . . . .
Good news--the adventure has continued in Medellin, where I've been since Wednesday. Will be introducing a new cast of characters to you next time!
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