Post-trek recovery
The morning after the night before, I woke up in my clothes, stiff, sore, and hungover. I decided within 30 seconds of waking up that today was going to be a rest day. I was staying in a nice guesthouse with my own private ensuite room, my own double bed, a personal hammock and decent wifi. In my current state, this was heaven. After booking an extra night, and a delicious guesthouse breakfast, and sleeping some more, the afternoon was spent in the Museu del Oro, the first (but if you know me you'll know it's definitely not the last) museum of this trip, which was pretty good, with some great information on the local indigenous groups of the area. Long story short: they were fucked over when the Spanish arrived, but they've managed to maintain their culture and some traditions in smaller isolated communities, as well as being integrated into Columbian culture as a whole.
Tayrona national park contains jungle rainforest that runs right up to some well nice isolated beaches. It was strongly recommended by my Amsterdam office workmate Saul, so my next day was spent getting there (but still taking it easy - I was still recovering from the trek). Before finding the bus, more important matters were at hand. The first leg of Ireland's World Cup playoff against Denmark was kicking off in the early afternoon, and I went hunting for a Santa Marta venue to watch it.
I ended up in some random hostel rooftop full of English posers with their shirts off. No other Irish, but I was happy to have the game and access to beer. Content with a decent 0-0 result, I made my way to Tayrona via a local bus, arriving at an entrance to the park at nightfall (it gets dark at 6pm here). I'd had enough of Santa Marta, and was happy to be out of the noisy city centre.
My Tayrona hostel was basic but really nice and laid back, being located pretty much in the jungle itself, with hammocks and no wifi. This would have been a good place to chill and do nothing for a couple of days, but my tight South American schedule was starting to gnaw at me, and I decided to "do" Tayrona park the next morning.
In hindsight, this was not a good decision. I ended up doing effectively a full day's hiking again, with my feet still badly blistered. Wearing sandals didn't help. The first part of the hike involved scrambling over big stones for 90 minutes, more technical than anything encountered in the big four-day trek. I slipped and banged my thigh on a rock at one stage.
Eventually I reached the beaches, which were really nice - but I've been totally spoiled by Sydney when it comes to beaches. Roughly following the shore to the other side of the park, I encountered mud similar and even worse at times to what I suffered through in the Ciudad Perdida trek. Sore feet. Sore ankles. Sore knees. Mud. Bleurgh. I was sick of this.
My spirits were lifted when I randomly bumped into Michael and Paula, the awesome American/Colombian couple that were part of my Ciudad Perdida group. Squelching through the mud together, it felt like old times ("old" being three days ago). It was good to have some positive company, and once we were past the worst of the sticky ground I started to look forward to the next destinations on my journey - comfortable cities, with no mud, and good coffee. I've become soft in my old age.
More Tayrona park photos
Tayrona national park contains jungle rainforest that runs right up to some well nice isolated beaches. It was strongly recommended by my Amsterdam office workmate Saul, so my next day was spent getting there (but still taking it easy - I was still recovering from the trek). Before finding the bus, more important matters were at hand. The first leg of Ireland's World Cup playoff against Denmark was kicking off in the early afternoon, and I went hunting for a Santa Marta venue to watch it.
I ended up in some random hostel rooftop full of English posers with their shirts off. No other Irish, but I was happy to have the game and access to beer. Content with a decent 0-0 result, I made my way to Tayrona via a local bus, arriving at an entrance to the park at nightfall (it gets dark at 6pm here). I'd had enough of Santa Marta, and was happy to be out of the noisy city centre.
My Tayrona hostel was basic but really nice and laid back, being located pretty much in the jungle itself, with hammocks and no wifi. This would have been a good place to chill and do nothing for a couple of days, but my tight South American schedule was starting to gnaw at me, and I decided to "do" Tayrona park the next morning.
In hindsight, this was not a good decision. I ended up doing effectively a full day's hiking again, with my feet still badly blistered. Wearing sandals didn't help. The first part of the hike involved scrambling over big stones for 90 minutes, more technical than anything encountered in the big four-day trek. I slipped and banged my thigh on a rock at one stage.
Eventually I reached the beaches, which were really nice - but I've been totally spoiled by Sydney when it comes to beaches. Roughly following the shore to the other side of the park, I encountered mud similar and even worse at times to what I suffered through in the Ciudad Perdida trek. Sore feet. Sore ankles. Sore knees. Mud. Bleurgh. I was sick of this.
My spirits were lifted when I randomly bumped into Michael and Paula, the awesome American/Colombian couple that were part of my Ciudad Perdida group. Squelching through the mud together, it felt like old times ("old" being three days ago). It was good to have some positive company, and once we were past the worst of the sticky ground I started to look forward to the next destinations on my journey - comfortable cities, with no mud, and good coffee. I've become soft in my old age.
More Tayrona park photos
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