Two Wild Weeks in Taganga

Just when life in Peru was starting to feel a bit cozy, we packed our bags and flew five hours north to the Caribbean coast of Colombia. Goodbye ancient ruins, fuzzy alpacas, ceviche and churros – hello beach shacks, iguanas, fried fish and coconut rice. I wasn’t expecting the transition between two bordering, Spanish-speaking countries to be a culture shock – but we abruptly found ourselves in the middle of a party set to salsa beats the whole country could hear. Suddenly the clothes were flashier, the sun was hotter, the coffee was stronger and every empanada was deep-fried.

Bienvenidos a Colombia

Our first destination and real taste of Colombia was Taganga, a bite-sized fishing village with a big personality. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this rowdy beach town when we first arrived, but watching our cab drive away down a dusty dirt road, I hoped we hadn’t made a mistake. Between the speeding motorbikes, blaring music, oppressive heat, battle-worn dog packs and chickens running the streets, it was a lot to take in. Giant sound systems competed for attention from every store front and porch where locals gathered around plastic tables piled high with empty beer bottles. If I thought Peru had been loud and overwhelming, it had nothing on Colombia, and I found myself longing for the first time for home. I wasn’t sure if that meant Peru or Denver – I just knew adapting again would require energy, and in that moment, I had none.

It didn’t help that we’d been traveling for days on a bus tour and sleeping in noisy hostels every night. It also didn’t help that Charlie was crawling off to the bushes every few minutes to vomit, or that the data he’d purchased for cell service in the absence of wifi wasn’t working. This meant I had no way to contact our airbnb host as planned, or locate a hospital for Charlie who was clearly dying of some rare Colombian virus. I spotted a hostel at the end of the dirt road where we’d been dropped off, but the woman inside refused to let me use their wifi – it was “only for guests.” She did, however, know the man I needed to contact, and sent me away with vague directions to his “white” house.

Reluctantly, I left Charlie slumped on a bench to hike up and down steep dirt roads in the dark – all with white houses on them. Sweaty and irritated, I returned to the woman and played the sick boyfriend card while flashing my most helpless look. She finally offered to call Herve, our host, whose number was conveniently in her cell phone. He rescued us within minutes and drove us to the top of a hill, where our little white cabin for the next two weeks sat waiting. Charlie fell straight in to bed while Herve showed me how to work the tv and light the gas stove. After he left, Charlie confessed he’d eaten the day-old hard boiled egg he saved – the one I told him to throw away. I was more relieved than furious; food poisoning we could handle.

It took two full days and another nasty stomach bug – this time for me – for us to recover and begin appreciating the cool factor of our rustic, bohemian bungalow surrounded by cactus trees. Our little piece of Taganga sat perched at the top of town – just high enough to blur the noise below into a soothing background. Other than Herve who lived just down the hill, our only neighbors were two roosters and their hens who took turns ruling the yard, a couple of bright green parrots, a speckled wood pecker, an adorable fluff-ball bird that reminded me of a puffer fish, and one iguana who liked to plop down from the trees to check on things. We had dozens of roommates as well – little lizards that scurried around and hid behind every wall hanging. I jumped the first time I saw one run up to the ceiling and yelled for Charlie to catch it. He just laughed and told me I’d have to make best friends with the lizards, because they weren’t going anywhere.

Taganga life

We spent our mornings enjoying the breeze on the wrap around front porch – working, writing, meditating – until the heat of the day drove us indoors to sit under fans blowing around hot air. Once that became too uncomfortable, I’d smear sunscreen into the sweat beads on my skin and head down to the ocean; the only place in Taganga where cooling off was possible. After finishing work, Charlie would join me and we’d sit on the beach until the crossfire of music blasting from competing restaurants was too much to handle. Then we’d escape to the row of beach shacks all serving the same daily lunch menu: a whole fried fish, double-fried plantain slices, or patacones, a scoop of lightly sweetened coconut rice, and a small side of lettuce and tomato that we desperately wanted to eat, but knew better than to risk.

After lunch, our favorite thing to do was hike up and around the cliffs to explore other beaches. The closest was Playa Grande – a bigger and much more crowded beach than our little slice in Taganga. As soon as we stepped on to the sand, we were swarmed by pushy guys selling beers and seats in plastic chairs under the only spots of shade, which were few and far between. We caved on our first visit, and despite having the most delicious mango smoothie I’d ever tasted, decided Playa Grande wasn’t worth the chaos. We had to cross it, however, to reach the other beaches, so we learned to duck our heads and run past the yelling voices until we were safely on the other side. From there we hiked in peace to our favorite spot – a small, quiet cove with one dilapidated shack and a single cooler of ice cold beer for sale. We trekked back to town in the late afternoons – the trail wasn’t safe after dark – and headed straight to our big front porch for sunset, the best time of day.

A midnight surprise

At night we slept with the windows wide open and every fan at full blast to avoid sweating to death. This made me slightly nervous given our wooded surroundings – especially since our bed was directly beneath a window – but I knew the exterior metal bars would prevent anything too large from getting in. This still left room for chance, though, and on our third night we had an unexpected visitor. Around midnight, I was jerked from a deep, delirious sleep by a loud THUNG and a sharp POP followed by frantic scratching and flapping on the hard floor by our bed. Adrenaline shot through my body as I laid wide-eyed but perfectly still, preparing myself to fight whatever was about to leap on to the bed. Charlie, who had barely opened his eyes, found it appropriate to drift back off to sleep, leaving me alone with the presence in our pitch-black room. I nudged him hard before reaching for my phone on the bedside table and timidly touching the flashlight icon. Swallowing all of my fear, I shone the light on the floor near the commotion, revealing a small, roundish black figure with little hooks for thumbs. A bat had flown in and hit the fan, injuring it’s wing and shooting it to the ground. I was overcome with pity at its poor broken body, and looked sadly at Charlie who read my mind and said firmly, “I am not killing that thing.” We covered it with a small, mesh trashcan and the bat swiftly crawled up the sides, giving me hope it had been stunned versus mortally wounded. Charlie slid a flattened cereal box under the opening to carry it outside. The bat was gone in the morning, and I didn’t sleep well the rest of the trip.

Day trips

Taganga served as a perfect home base for two side trips during our stay – the first being to Tayrona National Park – a protected area of Caribbean coastline at the base of the world’s highest seaside mountain range, the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Its shady lagoons lined with palm trees, white sand beaches and coral-rich, crystal waters draw so many visitors the park closes for the month of February each year to re-coup. We weren’t aware of this until two days before closing, so we got in just in time.

We chose a quick, 40 minute boat ride tour to one of the beaches that allowed swimming – most didn’t due to vicious currents – for a pricey 180,000 pesos (or 55 US). A cheaper option was a much longer bus ride, which we seriously considered after reading reviews about the treacherous, death-defying boat ride. One reviewer even posted photos of his back covered in black and blue bruises as a warning. We decided to go for it, but made sure we were the first on the boat to get seats in the back by the captain, who wore protective goggles and a face mask. I’m certain our little fishing boat caught air on several occasions as it barreled through relentless walls of giant waves. Pounds of ocean crashed down on my head and shoulders as I clung, white-knuckled, to the side of the boat, listening to screams from the front and praying that when I looked up, I would still see people there. Luckily, we didn’t lose anyone, and the beach was just as beautiful as we’d hoped. We relaxed for hours in the shade, ate delicious pescado frito, snorkeled with colorful fish, and tried not to think about the impending ride back.

Our second trip was an overnight stay in the sleepy mountain town of Minca, just an hour bus ride up from the coast. We chose a cute hostel on a coffee farm nestled above the main town that included a guided tour of its grounds. After a 45 minute hike through lush jungle, we arrived just in time to watch an orange sun sink below the horizon and eat a home cooked meal on the porch. We got up at dawn the next morning for some uneventful bird watching before returning for breakfast and coffee from beans grown right on the farm. One of the friendly workers led us on a tour up steep trails to see thousands of coffee plants and cacao trees covering the mountainside. On the way back down, we spotted an elusive flock of toucans and took turns using binoculars to watch them glide among the treetops. We were back in Taganga by late afternoon, right on schedule for yet another gorgeous Caribbean sunset.

Final thoughts

Despite the rocky start, we loved our time roughing it in Taganga. Never in my life have I spent more time in a hammock watching sunsets over the ocean, or eaten so many dinners of peanut butter crackers because it was too hot for anything else. I accomplished my one goal of getting a tan – the first I’ve had in years – and truly let myself relax because it was too hot to be productive. Two weeks was the perfect amount of time to experience beach life in Colombia before heading in to our next phase: big city life in Medellín.