September 9th– 13th 2014
I was standing at the reception at the Santa Marta Dreamer hostel, inquiring about going to Minca when a guest who was checking out chimed in with, “Oh you should check out Casa Elemento.” I’ll say this. I’m glad I listened.
After waking up Tuesday morning and doing my best to pack everything I’d need for 4-5 days into my daypack, (Great Gift Dad!—Points if you know the reference) I head reception again and ask if they can arrange a collective up to Minca, the first step in my journey.
It takes maybe 45 minutes before the driver has enough other people to make the trip at the very reasonable price of 8,000 pesos, but a little patience pays off and a pick up truck shows up at the Dreamer front door already packed pretty tight. I climb into the back of the pick up truck along side 4 locals and a whole lot of supplies, feeling increasingly reminded of Laos with each passing moment. Once I’m in the back of the truck we head straight to the main road and then take the turn up into the forested Sierra Nevada mountains towards Minca.
I make a little conversation on the way up with the friendly locals and make faces for the one year old cradled tightly in her fathers arm, but fact is, were all more focused on holding on tight to avoid injury or loss of baggage over the back of the truck. The father’s stakes might be higher than mine, though my laptop and camera are in the bag.
After about twenty minutes the driver stops and the family of three climb out of the back of the track and proceed to unload a large amount of tiles and bags of cement out of the back of the truck, leaving plenty of space to stretch out and enjoy the rest of the ride.
As the pick up truck bounces up and down, over the patchwork road, taking turns with astonishing gusto, I start to notice a welcome change; the air is getting colder. I enjoy the cooler air blowing against my face but as the ride gets more and more uneven I begin to question the wisdom of my plan to take a moto taxi up to Casa Elemento. If the road to town is bad how bad will the road out of town up into the true mountains be? That said I know it’s about a 3 hour walk all uphill for the average person, so that means with my general fitness and damaged leg it would take me at least five. That crammed daypack on my lap starts feeling pretty damn heavy.
I get to Minca and climb out of the truck to a host of moto taxi’s and a pair of tourists who were in the cab. I ask how hard a walk it is and am told not to try it, granted, the moto taxi operators might be a little biased, still I’m glad I listened. I convince a friendly Australian guy named Tim to split the truck up to Casa Elemento with me, but at 60,000 each it’s not a cheap proposition.
Reluctantly I pay the same friendly young man who’s face seems plastered with a permanent smile the negotiated rate. We started at 80,000 each and probably could have driven it a little lower. At any rate, both in the back of the truck now we take off again, but not before a rather long stop at a local house to unload a mish mash of supplies- for what I don’t know.
Tim and I get to chatting as we wait impatiently to get going and hope we can still beat the rain, which is making itself known overhead in the form of regular rumbling thunder. Tim tells me he’s been to Casa Elemento a few times and that it’s everything you can imagine it being so by the time we get going again I’m pretty excited.
The whole ride up over the incredibly rough and at times muddy road I can only think how glad I am I didn’t hop on the back of an offered moto taxi, or worse still, walk. I’m in better shape than I was a few months ago, but I know the walk would have killed me. Of course by the time we reach Casa Elemento were both a little bruised and shocked to see the kiwi who’d been our truck, running up the driveway to the property. He’s drenched in sweat and dead, because he ran the whole way. I find myself loving the great variety of people’s insanities, and just as we climb out of the truck, the afternoon rain begins and cools the air further still.
We’re welcomed in past a construction site by two of the owners, a Scottish girl and a Canadian one. Tim is a known commodity and doesn’t need the tour, but both the Kiwi and myself follow Jean (Sp?) through the property which used to be a generals house. I choose to stay in a dorm bed made of wood recovered from the jungle for 25,000 pesos, the kiwi chooses a hammock on the covered porch for 17,000. I start to think I might need to learn how to sleep in a hammock.
Casa Elemento is still very much under construction and while I’m there the pool is closed and a new bar and reception are still being built. They welcome help but I know my limits well enough to know I’d be more in the way than anything. At any rate, Jean leads us through the house and I leave my bag on my bed without the vaguest thoughts of theft. We walk through the house and out into the open mountain top where everyone suddenly stops moving, the view makes both our jaws drop and the owner looks on knowingly. Clearly she’s used to this reaction.
The tour done I decide to ignore the ever growing rain for the moment and stay out near the giant hammock(more on this wonder of the world later) looking down towards the coast and the path I’ve taken. My eyes drift through the dense cloud forests and the distant outline of Minca, they zip past that to where the sea meets Santa Marta. The panorama is breath taking but eventually the heavier rain forces me inside to a comfy bed and a good book. (Brent Weeks- The Broken Eye)
Once the afternoon rains have passed I head out to the Giant Hammock again and climb in this time, amazed the net holds as I’m suspended over the beginning of the downslope of the mountain. As the afternoon passes and the clouds clear the view just gets clearer and bit by bit I’m integrated into the wonderful family that is Casa Elemento. The place is owned and operated by four people, and a friendly team of volunteers. There’s no real separation between staff and guests and after meeting a great handful of young people exploring the world I’m ready to witness the sunset and enjoy communal dinner. (A central European chicken and cream sauce dish of all things)
As the sun sets the air gets real chilly and I’m glad I bothered to pack my trusty Dal-theatre sweatshirt that has seen me through most of my trips safely. We settle down to dinner (prepared by two wonderful Colombian girls and some of the international volunteers) and enjoy a few hours of good food and sharing travel stories in the ever growing darkness. Casa Elemento has no wifi, and as I settle into a game of rummy with a few guests I’m surprised to find I don’t really miss it. Oddly enough, that didn’t really change, and by the end of my stay there I found myself wondering how much more productive I might be without this particular addiction.
The next four days pass all too quickly and I suddenly understand how some of the volunteers have passed more than a month in this little secluded paradise. Campfires, Great writing sessions in the treehouse with an unparalleled view, reading as the torrential rains drench the forest and bring it life, conversation in the giant social hammock, walks through the jungle to the fabled jungle hammock (another huge net), the constant trilling of birds, the raging echoing booms of howler monkeys conversing deep in the jungle, stunning sunrises and sunsets and a whole bunch of wonderful ever rotating family members are what fill my days here. All those things and a few spirited games of monopoly where I’m amiably mocked for my enthusiasm and energy, but manage to go 1 for 2 on wins.
On my last night there I lay on the biggest hammock in the existence (not certified by Guinness) and contemplate returning to the world as the sun starts to go down behind the mountains turning the partly clouded sky into a wordless mosaic of oranges, purples, and reds. This place doesn’t fully feel real, somehow separate from other places and special in it’s own way. Not perfect perhaps, but pretty damn close. As the sun continues to set I’m joined by lots of guests and volunteers of the place, getting high on conversation, good memories and a few other things. (myself excluded).
As the sky darkens the crowd thins and conversations grow more sporadic, each person reflecting on the infinite beauty and variety of this wondrous world. Then the lightening show begins, and people gather again to watch the bolts of violent electricity illuminate the distant canopies for brief instants, followed invariably by rolling thunder powerful enough to drown out all of the countless jungle sounds that have surrounded me for the past for days. What a show, and I am reminded again of the raw power of this world, and the things we couldn’t really hope to understand. (I know lightening has scientific causes, I just don’t care in that moment)
We share a wonderful dinner and end the night watching a few south park episodes on the television. The cynicism seems somehow out of place though still pretty damn funny and as I curl up into bed under the warm and oft needed blanket I start to make plans to come back here when I’m back here in Colombia, having explored what I can of the rest of South America, eager to remove myself from the world again.
The next morning I wake for sunrise and have the joy of having two toucans pointed out to me in the distance by Chase, one of the volunteers. The best vantage point ends up being from the Loo’s with a view, (Amazing bathrooms truly) Sadly they are pretty distant in the jungle and my i-pod camera doesn’t capture them in any detail. By the time I have my real camera gathered up from the room they are gone, but still I’m glad I caught sight of the majestic birds and hope that sometime during my adventures I’ll be able to get a bit of a better view.
I spend the rest of the morning watching Arsenal and Manchester city draw with one of the British owners of the property. From there I decide It’s time to leave this little elevated world behind and head back to Santa Marta. I spent so much on the truck up that I decide I need to walk to Minca, besides, Minkado waterfalls are on the way and that alone should make the walk worth my while.
At the last minute I’m joined by an Australian friend Kyle and together we make the walk down along the rutted and ruined road pass more quickly as we discuss anything and everything under the sun. Our minds are on deeper thoughts than usual from our time up in the mountains and a lot of subjects I rarely talk about with strangers dance into our conversation before we reach the falls about 90 minutes after setting off.
The walk has been easier than I expected but that all changes as we turn off the main road and head back up into the jungle. As sweat pours from every inch of me, I shake my head in frustration and regret not getting a gym membership this past summer, I need to get into better to shape. Again my mind wanders to my wisdom of not attempting the whole walk up. Know thyself for the win!
Luckily the walk up is not so long and while I’m winded the anticipation of more cascades keeps me going. As we crest the top and head down the worn path deeper into the jungle I hear the distant rush of crashing water and smile. We’ve stopped talking for the most part, and I don’t know if its our shared anticipation of the falls, or my lack of breath doing it.
Either way we make the short walk down into the jungle, pay our 3000 peso entrance fee, and aren’t disappointed. The first set of falls are maybe 30 feet high, water cascading down over water smoothed cliffs in several different streams, emptying into a man-assisted pool, made for swimming in the falls. There’s one or two gringo’s around and a very large Colombian family enjoying the falls up close and personal and posing for lots of photos.
We both agree swimming’s the only option and once again I find myself thankful for my pants which unzip to shorts in an instant. We slide into the cool water and I’m glad for this summer in Canada, where I got my body used to cold water. The river is incredibly cold, but just what is needed after the walk up into the jungle. Sadly the Colombian family does not move from under the flow of the main cascades and Kyle and I are recluded to being showered by one of the secondary streams. With that we gather our stuff, ask one of the gringo’s to take our picture and head up towards the second falls.
The climb is mercifully short and soon were at a ramshackle thatched roof cabin and presented with a choice, up or down. We head up the path for a stunning view of the much taller set of cascades. Here Kyle checks the time and decides he has to get going. He’s volunteering at a hostel in Costeno beach, somewhere he assures me, is equally incredible. We shake hands and he heads back towards the main road, I feel a little bad about not going with him, but with the sound of crashing water all around me I have to stay a while longer, and explore a whole lot more.
The path doesn’t properly continue to the falls and I’m left scrambling and hoisting myself up the muddy cliff side to reach my vantage point. Above the second set of falls I find twin cascades at perfect shower height, and quickly climb into the water, enjoying the ice cold sensation on my sweat drenched, sun kissed skin.
I spend a while up there above the falls, climbing around and looking over the edge, safety always foremost on my mind. Little tiny frogs jump in and out of the water along with what could be tadpoles or leeches. None seem to have attached themselves to me, so I guess they are the former and not the latter. After some time and a lot of glancing up at the sky I decide I should at least get back down to the bottom of the second falls before the afternoon rains which loom above me break free from their weightless cages and escape to us.
It’s the smart thing to do, and I manage to find my way down the muddy half path half cliff without injury. Once at the bottom of the second set, I peel off my shirt again and climb back into the water. Here there’s no proper swimming pool, just knee deep water a clear path to stand under the powerful falling water. It’s the perfect mix of discomfort and euphoria, and as I stand under the crashing liquid a smile cuts it’s way across my face. I raise my arms in triumph and start to laugh. (Yes, I’m a little weird around waterfalls, thank you for noticing)
After a little risky photography I settle down to get some writing done. A few promising pages later the rumbling sky makes me pack up sooner than I’d have liked, but there’s still an hour of walking to do, and the kind of downpours I’ve seen up at Casa Elemento can cut through raincoats, rain covers and anything. I’m thinking of all my technology and decide I have to get going.
Just as I reach the main road I run into two Canadians from my Casa Elemento family who are looking for the waterfalls but have turned back. I insist they’re being ridiculous and give them precise instructions to the cascades and more enthusiasm than they know what to do with before going on my merry way down to Minca.
The rain mercifully holds off and the rest of the walk goes smoothly enough, hopping over rivers that run straight over the road and managing to keep my precious shoes mostly dry. I’m warmly greeted by the occasional motorcycle or walking local until I arrive in the tiny mountain paradise town of Minca.
My stomach mirrors the thunder above me and as I pass the small church I stop in at a small empanada and ice cream shop run by a kind older man. This place is a recommendation from one of the owners of Elemento and it does not disappoint as the main delivers three still piping hot empanadas for a surprisingly low price of 4,500 pesos. They are bigger than usual and baked instead of fried and I quickly find myself regretting the fact that I’m not staying in Minca longer. Maybe next time.
As I reach the central square of town I let the drivers know I’m looking for a collectivo to Santa Marta and set to waiting for more people to show up. In the half hour I’m waiting I manage to meet six friendly Irish backpackers in varying stages of their travel. The 30 minutes passes quickly and the last two new irish friends end up hopping in the collective with me.
The car is ancient and the ride down is rougher than the ride up, but no one’s complaining and the old man driving us is friendly and always smiling. In a little over a half hour I find myself back at the Dreamer in Santa Marta, settling into a dorm again, my mind lost in fond memories of my time above the Colombian clouds at Casa Elemento. I do my best to extract a promise from myself that I’ll find my way back there before too long. I certainly hope I can keep that promise.
