Colombia’s Caribbean Coast – Palomino

Imagine a small village nestle by the coast; with a sprinkling of people soaking in the tranquil atmosphere along the beach; pelicans that glide effortlessly inches above the water; an inviting river that meanders into the sea and a light breeze to cool you from the searing sun.

I’d heard good things off other travellers. And from the various blogs. So decided to give it a go.

The bus from Santa Marta cost 10,000 pesos ($3, €2.80, £2). This can be caught close where Calle 11 crosses Carerra 11 (just ask for the bus to Palomino), which is about a 15 minute walk inland from the coast, through the town. The journey winds its way out of the city, past small villages that seem to cling tightly to the road and lush green tropical forests.

On arrival you are set down next to some awaiting motorcycles. I had been told it was about a 30minute walk to the beach (and they were right). With the sun beating down and a heavy rucksack the 3000 peso ($0.90, €0.80 or £0.60) was very reasonable.

Along the dirt road down there was a variety of accommodation to suit (camping, hammocks and tents- so don’t worry somewhere is likely to have a bed). I was dropped a short distance from the beach. About 5/6 hostels front onto the sea but many were full. Luckily the final place had a bed. Well hammock.

It costs 15000 peso ($4.55, €4.10 and £3.00). Surprisingly comfortable. The sea breeze and the fan even makes it feel cool at night (so think about going to bed with your towel or blanket). The hostel kitchen also makes food for most of the day (fish, chicken, beef, spaghetti) for around 10,000-35,000 pesos/dish ($3-10, € 2.80-9, £2-7). And with free coffee in the mornings I was set. To explore.

To the west, in the distance, over the sandy beaches, is a head land that juts out into the sea. Getting there became my mission. It was going well. For the first 10 minutes. Until you come to the point where the river meets the sea. It is hard to gage the depth.

Two local boys were fishing with spears they had carved from tree branches. And had quite a haul. As such assumed that they knew the area well so I asked them about the crossing. They assured me that the water would only come up to chest height. Now I felt foolish not crossing over.

I removed my camera, money and cigarettes from my pockets. Taking a deep breath, I begun the crossing. The sand crumbles beneath your feet plunging you lower that you were initially expecting. While I agree with the boys about the water height, what they didn’t warn me about was the current. This whips through the channel into the sea. My legs as such went and I found myself fully submerged. Hat and all. Simply my one arm out of the water like a beacon tightly gripping my belongings. I struggled like a dog with three limbs to bundle myself to the other side.

I got onto the other side before I was swallowed up by the sea and its thunderous waves. Dragging myself onto the sandy banks I found a small piece of dry drift wood to sit on. I had a cigarette to celebrate. Admiring the view I noticed a number of tourists looking in my direction. Couldn’t decide if it was shock, relief or comedy on their faces. Anyway I’d made it.

The stroll along the rest of the beach was rather uneventful. Although peaceful, as you are almost completely alone. Judging by the lack of footprints in the sand, few venture this way (I could see why after my previous adventure). It took me about an hour to reach the headland.

At this point you can wonder off the beach and back to the main road. Which takes you through the village. A line of single storey roughly put up buildings. With a mix of convenience stores, a pool hall (well two tables), petrol station and pharmacies.

The Forgotten Country- Paraguay

ENCARNACIÓN

Possibly on of the most beautiful cites I have visited. I say ‘city’ because that is what the locals call the settlement but with a population of around 100,000 it would barely register as a town in many countries. Most of the settlement is within easy walking distance, you could cross from one end of the place to the another in around one hour (allowing for the Paraguayan heat which can be savage and unforgiving). It is not flushed with fine European architecture, plazas to rival London, New York or Rome, world famous mountains and waterfalls or giant shopping department stores. But small uncongested streets, line with single and two storey buildings with a very South American feel, friendly locals and most spectacular of all next to the mighty River Paraguay with an uncrowded sandy beach with volleyball nets and a child’s playground with a boulevard where locals take leisurely strolls, bike rides and roller blading- seriously Brighton would dream of this. What also endeared me to the place was, hot and sweaty with my backpack so not concentrating, I stepped on to the road right in the path of an on coming motorbike. Completely my fault and usually in South America I’d be greeted with a loud horn, verble abuse and plenty of hand signals (understandable in most languages). I profusely apologised for my mistake but the rider just said ‘No worries, chill mate’ (obviously in Spanish) gave me a thumbs up and carried on. You could easily never leave.

About forty minutes away is the least visited UNESCO site in the world. Without a car to get there you need to take the local bus, ask the conductor to drop you at the ruins and he will put you outside the entrance (its opposite a town called Trinidad, but not the island in the Caribbean). You walk up a track made of mud, hardened by the sun, to an office where you need to purchase a ticket (approx £6/$8) and then you walk a short distance to the site of- The Jesuit Mission Ruins. A mass of finely built but crumbling structures with mighty churches and towers, cloisters, squares (presumably for commercial markets in its hay day), what could have been spas and houses that accommodated the local indian population. However, it is worth reading up first about the ruins as there is virtually no information on site. All I do know is that the Jesuits came not just to preach the bible but taught the locals how to farm and trade and were by all accounts good. They allied themselves with the Spanish Conquistadores initially and fought an almighty battle with a warring tribe from the area and won. However, as their success at trade grew the Spanish became suspicious and the warring tribe that lost said the Jesuits were spies and wanted to undermine the Spanish occupation. As such the Conquistadores invaded the site and sacked it.

I went with a Dutch couple and we played spot the tourist, we never got into double figures. You could see that they had tried to repair some of the ruins but the workmanship was appalling- stones and mortar that didn’t match, structures erected that seemed to have no bearing on the site and a telegraph line that ran through the site. I joked that someone in the capital was given $1000 to repair it, he then gave the organisation responsible for it $800… By the time it got to the builders they got $150, so they slapped a bit of cement around and spent the remaining $50 on having a few beers (I’m sure it didn’t happen this way!….).

The ticket you get initially includes three sites. But due to lack of information and the soaring heat one was enough for us.

QUIIDY

Why did I end up here? I was trying to find Ypoà National Park but information is so lacking about the country it was difficult to find the best place so I just chose a town that seemed close to the park. The first difficulty you will have is pronouncing the name, even for relatively fluent Spanish speakers. It heralds from the local language, Guaranie, so ask a local to pronounce it first or write it down, otherwise many people will simply not understand you.

I caught the bus from Encarnacion and was told it was a 5 hour trip. So I asked the attendant on the bus to give me a shout when we were close to the town… After six hours I decided to ask him if we where close: ‘no señor, we passed it 10km back’. So I angrily told him to drop me off at the next stop, which happened to be the side of the road, in the middle of no where. Fortunately a short walk away I found some policemen who said they would flag down the next bus heading that way.

On the next bus I explained why they had picked me up from the side of the road and that they needed to tell me this time. The young friendly attendant asked me where in the village I wanted to be dropped. I said near to the hostels. He smiled and explained that there was only one hotel in the settlement, I just nodded and said there then.

Quiidy is a small linear village that follows the main road. There are then a few streets that lead a short distance off this route. By now the sun was setting and I was tired so needed a bed. I wondered up to the hotel, apart from one other Paraguayan family I was the only person in there. Cost was G100000/night ($20/£13) for my own room with a/c (there is no other choice) which included wifi. However it is close to the local bar which thumps out music most of the night. Why didn’t you wear ear plugs, you might ask. I did but the bass still rocked the bed.

I went to ask the receptionist to change rooms. After he’d managed to peel himself from his girlfriend he explained they were all the same….

On a plus I wondered into the village and met some friendly locals and watched football with them. It seems much more customary for beer to be sold at shops and then plastic chairs to be arranged outside the shop with a TV, usually with the football on.

This then led to my epic failure of a day…

The following morning I arose early and had breakfast. I then wondered into the village and asked the local taxi driver how to get to the national park. He did not seem interested in going but drove me to his friend’s shop. The friend then explained that his son could take me up on his motor bike. I said that sounded great and asked how much, then they all stood and looked at each other. They said if I wanted to be driven up there to take a few photos and come back they would do it for G300000 (£41/$60), which sounded a lot for a few photos. So I thanked them and then got a local bus to another part where the taxi driver had told me was beautiful.

PARAGUARI

2.5hrs later the bus dropped me off in a small town, made of single storey buildings. It was getting nearer mid day and the heat was beginning to climb. I asked the locals if they knew of any hostels so they pointed me to one.

On arrival a sullen older man trundled out to meet me. I asked him how much the rooms were and he said G80,000 (£11/$16- which is actually quite a lot for South America). I asked him to show me a room. There were no windows and as such the room was airless, although painted white the walls were badly faded and dirty and the fan just seemed to push the air around the room (without actually cooling it) and the price did not include breakfast. I wasn’t that fussy about the place but thought better of it.

So spoke to a taxi driver who said he would drive me to the mountains and knew a hostel on the way. However, while they were prepared to cut me a deal at this hostel and it was beautiful at a cost of G160,000 ($32/£21) and being out of town (nothing to do) I said no. Then they reminded the taxi driver that if he wanted to see the mountains he had to book at least one day ahead. Dejected I headed back to town and caught a bus to my third destination of the day….

YAGUARÓN

Arrived here in the late afternoon, my first thought was to find a hostel, but with no information (online, maps of the town or LP) to help me this was always going to be difficult or actually impossible. On a hot dusty street I ask one old man if he knew of any where so he said his friend Jose would probably have a bed so directed me there. Jose’s teenage daughter stood outside the place playing on her mobile. When I asked her, she angrily looked up from the phone and just unhelpfully grunted ‘no’ and went back to her phone. Fortunately a short distance away I spoke to another couple who pointed me in the direction of another hostel.

I walked in the Paraguayan heat for another hour trying to find the hostel. Eventually I came to a building which seemed to be where the couple had said. The property was tatty and run down, the doors were padlocked shut and the chain was rusty. I asked the next door neighbours about the hostel and they said it had been shut for years….. but suggested someone else who’s mother owned a hostel.

Off I trotted back towards the town centre and eventually found the shop. The daughter said that her mother had given up running the hostel but suggested somewhere else. Four hours later, sweaty,  tired and hungry I finally found a hostel. It was ok but I wasn’t impressed with the price (no wifi). So decided to give up the hunt and walked to the church in the town that people voted for favourably on Trip Adviser. I included a photo above and for me, after seeing some ornate churches across the continent, it was pretty ordinary. I did though laugh as all the reviews are in local Spanish- as these people probably had cars and did not come to stay in the village (probably just passed through)….

I caught the late bus to Asuncion. This is a case of standing on the main road and putting your hand out when a bus for where you want to go is coming (there are no obvious bus stops and no agencies selling bus tickets).

CONCEPTION

When you meet local people in other parts of the country (including my friend Carlos from Asuncion) they will tell you not to go there as it is know for habouring the country’s terrorists- the EPP. As such there would be military personal and police in the streets, curfews and I’d likely be kidnapped for randsome (I was just planning on giving them my brother’s number- he has a larger debt then Argentina and Brazil combined, they’d probably end up sending him money)…

So with all the negative and frightening opinions of the place from the locals… I went anyway (didn’t tell Carlos till I got back).

The town is neatly arranged on a grid system and must have had an industrial past as old trains and engines from the 1800s line the centre of the main street, giving it an individual touch. A grand and beautiful statue of the virgin Mary makes a central point next to a decorative church. There is a main square dedicated to the war with Argentina/Brazil/Uruguay with an interesting fountain and playground. It professes to have wifi but it’s terrible!

The people were friendly and keen to tell me that the EPP were actually located in the countryside 3km north east of the town and they had never had any problems. I saw two police men whilst there (they were all over La Paz). One shop owner got me a beer and asked me to watch the football on tv outside his shop with others who all greeted me warmly. That evening at the bus station I met another couple of lads who said that if I came back they would take me clubbing in the town.

As such don’t always believe the hype. Town- Recommended.

Signing off with love from South America

The White Lagoon- La Laguna Blanca, Santa Rosa, Paraguay

Caught the bus from San Pedro de Ycuamandiyú to Santa Rosa, a cost of G20,000 ($4/£2). The town is pretty non descript with a cross roads at which point sits the bus terminal. Shops, some just shacks, then line the main road in all directions for about a km, mainly selling food, financial services and plumbing equipment.

The locals continually told me that there were many hostels in the locality. I walked the streets for seeming hours and if there were they did not advertise themselves! Hotels seem to cost from G80,000-120,000 (£11/$16-  £17/$25), which for Europe and the US might not sound a lot but by South Am prices is a little expensive. So finally I found a hotel down a dusty track a short way from the bus terminal for G60,000 (£8.50/$12.50). Private room with a/c, towel and soap thrown in. 

The mission though was to find what the locals told me was amazing: La Laguna Blanca. So after talking to various locals, the following days plans were made.

It started earlyish. Not having a car in Paraguay can be a real pain, as had to catch the only bus the locals knew about which was at 7am. The cost, one way, is G15,000 (£2/$3).

The bus trundled down the untarmaced road shuddering from side to side as it hit lumps of dirt in the track. As asked, the bus attendant gestured for me to come forward and prepare to get off. A few minutes later he said ‘We’re here’, so I stumbled off the bus.

With a plume of dust the bus sped away leaving the view of some ploughed fields and a crumbling metal barn. The thought then crossed my mind ‘Where the hell am I?’ I then noted a sign saying ‘Laguna Blanca’ with an arrow pointing along a track that split the two agricultural fields. With no one to ask I just did as the sign indicated.

There is a 2.5km walk from the main ‘road’ to the lagoon which takes you along a dusty track, big enough for a vehicle to go over. Firstly passed fields use for crop cultivation then thick forest crowds along the path’s edge. You are joined on the walk by sunbathing lizards, butterflies of vibrant blacks and whites or with flame tipped wings, birds that chime along in melody and the rowdy woodpeckers who hammer into the trees above.

Along the way a plaque indicates that you are able to take a path into the jungle, so off I went. The route once had signs which are now crumbling columns of wood with the direction arrows so worn as to make them unrecognizable. There are even points where the path divides in two directions with no indication of which way to take. I followed one route only to end at a grassy area where horses were grazing with a large pond. Firstly I thought this was the lagoon which looked good but honestly couldn’t understand the national recognition.

I walked back along the path and noted a point where it split. There was an arrow which definitely pointed in the direction to go. But childhood fantasies of intrepid European explorers wondering through the African bush filled my mind (that or too many Ray Mears episodes). So I took the other route.

At first it was interesting as the dry sandy soils changed to red earth. Plants grew across the path suggesting it had not been walked in a while. Then I begun to see black ants the size of a person’s thumb stroll across the path, termite mounds akin to small apartment blocks, angry dark coloured wasp buzzed menacingly around my head and once I caught two spiders’ webs in my face it was game over. My well honed jungle survival skills kicked in: get out of here as fast as possible and seek medicine- preferably from a ‘pharmacy’ that sells fizzy ice cold golden liquid with that refreshing alcoholic flavour…

Determined I wondered along the main path further. Then the landscape opened out into a tropical paradise complete with palm trees, clear calm waters, gentle breeze and bags of golden sunshine, looking like something out of a holiday brochure for the Caribbean. I was mesmerized by the sand. Forget Barbados or Bahamas, in all my years of travel I had never seen it so pure white and soft. It looked and felt like walking on icing sugar.

As a lagoon it had the interesting mix of being fresh water with reeds gently swaying along the banks and shoals of small fish glistening below the water as they glide past.

I waited for half an hour for a golden tanned bikini clad girl with a flower in her hair to sidle along to me and ask me what cocktail I’d like, but soon realised I was totally alone on the beach. There are umbrellas and sun beds so I imagine this place gets a number of visitors but today it was just mine.

There is a walk round the side of the lagoon which a local informed me was fine to take. He did though warn me to be aware of the jaguars, not sure if he was joking… Tried to take a photo along my walk and wondered from the path towards the water’s edge. But on route were some reed beds, take one step into their muddy terrain and you quickly sink up to your knees in thick black soil.

Recommended- just remember to take food and water (there are no shops) and the last bus back is at 5pm (miss it and it’s a long walk back to town)

Signing off with love from South America

Lima’s beach: Pebbles and Waves… But the Surfers seem to Love it