Monday September 8th 2014
I set off early in the morning from The Dreamer hostel in Santa Marta, hurrying out to the main road near the Buenavista Shopping Centre and tried to hail a bus. It seems to get a bit harder every time I do this. The trick to it in Santa Marta is picking the right bus. Hundreds of blue ones zip by, a baffling amount really, but I quickly learn that the blue buses are only local buses, who all must use this road at some point in their route. There are also the big coach like buses which are direct services to major locations, in other words not what I want. It takes about 15 minutes before the right bus passes, an older bus, not coloured blue, and randomly enough the same one I caught two days before when returning from Palomino.
I hop on and am greeted happily by the young fare collector. I tell him where I’m headed and we swerve back into traffic leaving Santa Marta behind and driving towards Tayrona Park and Palomino with my destination laying about halfway between the two. These buses are not race cars and we put along the small highway, passing through countless small settlements providing a lovely view of both the nature and local life. Sadly my camera is buried in my backpack. We keep right on putting, past the Kilometre marker 56 where I’d asked to be dropped off. But since I’m a little unsure and not really on a constricted schedule I figured I wait and see. After about 5 more kilometres I feel fairly sure I’ve been forgotten and manage to make eye contact with the fare collector. Some broken spanish later and I’m off the bus and on a moto taxi heading back the way I’d come.
The driver starts slow for me since I mange to tell him it’s only my second time on a motorcycle but before long he’s zooming along the only somewhat uneven road. Unlike India, holding on to his hips or stomach doesn’t seem encouraged and I’m left nervously trying to grip with my legs. Truth be told though, like most fears it isn’t half as scary as imagined.
I hop off and wander across the street to the small abandoned store where you are supposed to purchase your admission ticket for 3000 pesos. (About a buck fifty) I find four teenagers hanging out outside on half broken plastic lawn chairs caked in dirt and try to ask them, but they can only tell me they don’t have any tickets and vaguely point me in the direction of the cascades. A moment of indecision follows but I hang out at the store long enough for an old woman to appear who speaks in a torrent of words too fast for me to catch everything, but slow enough for me to figure out she has the tickets and directions to the falls.
She kindly points down a path and rushes through some turns that I think I grasp most of and boom, I’m heading off into the all but abandoned jungle of Colombia. The hike to the falls takes me past a farm that seems to be growing coconuts, Bananas and a whole bunch of other things.
Following a dried up creek bed back from the road, the first thing that impresses me is the abundance of lizards. It brings me back to Malta, Spain and southern Italy, where finger sized lizards seem to reign supreme over forest and scrubland alike. Here though some of the tiny lizards outshine their european counterparts, with brilliant blue hues covering their bellies. Like all tiny lizards they are cowards and run for cover and the slightest sound or movement, but I’m able to get one decent picture.
Worried about the dried up nature of the creek, I feel rather relieved when small pools of water start appearing and I feel assured that, despite the coastal drought here, I will be seeing at least some falling water. The mosquitos certainly test your resolve, and idiot that I am, I’ve forgotten my repellant back in Santa Marta. But with waterfalls as the end goal, I can’t relent.
On the 45 minute or so walk you cross the ever wettening river several times, spraying but not drenching my beautiful shoes. The path takes you past ancient and fascinating trees, the trail itself often lined with rugged roots exploding out of the ground and driving their way back in again. You also walk by incandescent wild flowers a few local farms and houses, with donkeys, pigs and lots of friendly but loud dogs. Alongside these houses are many small temporary huts with signs suggesting they were built to sell drinks and food and other tourist necessities, for now at least they are abandoned, and I’m the only gringo in sight. The only visitor in sight too, which has me a little worried, since I know how I get around waterfalls. Best to have someone watching to raise the alarm, but I do my best to remind caution and hope it will be enough.
As I approach the falls themselves two things grow in presence, the water, and the tourist stops, though these last are also closed up for low season. There’s even a tourist bathroom, and a new euphemism for everyone out there, though I’m not sure Chicagoans will be fans. Luckily I have excellent body control and can bypass such choices.
Maybe 3 minutes I cross the little creek for the last time and come to an opening in the jungle, and a long sloping cliff over which the river runs and the water falls. The drought along the coast is evident here as the falls are quite tame, and at first I feel disappointed. The mosquito bites not seeming worth the prize. But I re-assess as I peel most of my clothes off and wade into the chest deep water. Curious small fish come and nip at my toes and for a second I wonder if there’s anything to be worried about here, but with each motion the hordes of fish perhaps the size of my hand swim away and I decide that the pleasantly cold water is too perfect to pass up.
Enjoying a quick dip I swim over to the deeper sections of the pool where two shower like flows of water spill over the perhaps 8 meter cliffside and rain down over my head with a pleasant tingle inducing force. I lie back and float in the colder than should be possible water and look up at a blue sky, again amazed by the amount of hawks in Colombia’s skies. I spent a good few minutes watching them soar over the thick canopy and endless sloped cliff face.
Finally not sweating anymore I climb out of the watering hole and re done my clothes, still alone with the nature. I take a moment to close my eyes and take in the other worldly landscape, the countless calls of birds to small to see, the sadly distant sound of howler monkeys having a meeting, and the ever present quiet crash of the falls themselves.
Taking a deep drink from my water bottle I shoulder my day pack and decide to see how far I can make it up the cliffs.
The first part isn’t hard, but the sweltering heat and relatively steep uphill have me sweating a new waterfall in a matter of moments. I’m exhausted by the time I clamber up to the next feasible set of falls complete with another swimming whole, but, as always with waterfalls, I feel compelled to make it to the top before enjoying the full fruits of my labour.
About three quarters of the way up the rocks become near impassible considering I’m carrying my laptop and camera on my back, and can’t risk even a minor fall. But I see such a nice perch and the biggest set of falls above me to my right and decide I have to at least give the jungle a try.
Scrambling up the muddy slopes using roots, rocks and whatever else I can get my hands on I almost turn back a handful of times, fairly sure I can make it up, but not too sure about the back down bit. The countless brown/red ants in their military processions makes heading back more tempting, since I don’t know for sure what species they are. I look up again and decide to hell with it.
I clamber up the final muddy ascent and cut back out to the rocks for a fairly majestic view, that pictures can’t quite seem to capture. Still, I feel at one with nature and again take in that same heavenly soundscape for a few instants of bliss before I’m faced with getting back down.
I manage it, ass first most of the way, but safely and relatively unscathed. Cutting back across the rocks about halfway down from my jungle ascent I hurry over to the main stream of the drying river and find a natural shower with a good heavy flow and convenient place to stand. Overheated and exhausted I think I spent about a half hour under that particular cascade before I finally continue with my descent over the rocks.
Shower timeAbout halfway down I stop at another swimming hole and notice a single family of Colombians has taken advantage of the perfect day to visit the bottom of the falls and teach their two young children how to swim. I wave and they wave back before I take a dip in a bigger and deeper pool, sadly licking in notable cascades. Still the water is cool, and since I’m sweating again already the break is more than welcome. Staying clean along the sweltering Caribbean coast has certainly proved a challenge, 5 minutes after a shower and I’m already sticky again. Fingers crossed my zero comments on smell continues though, as I think I’ll be around this heat for at least another few weeks.
I make it down and resist the urge to take another dip alongside the family, since until then my boxers have served as my swimsuit, and while I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded I figured I’d leave them the idyllic peace of the place that I’d first encountered upon arriving.
A friendly dog arrives as I have a handful of lemon chips (not what I expected) and set off for the quick jaunt back through the jungle and into civilization. The walk back to the highway is highlighted by the appearance of a few small incandescent red birds in the creek bed, and a friendly local family who stop to chat in a mix of spanish french and english with me for a good 15 minutes. Their glad I’ve enjoyed the falls and tell me that If I’m ever in Colombia during the rainy season I should stop by for a very different experience. Apparently climbing the rock faces then, is incredibly dangerous since they’re mostly covered by the cascades, a strong river flowing all the way to the highway. As I walk away I start to think it might be a good thing it’s the dry season.
