13th January 2025

Accustomed to early starts, we were awake before 6am, but unlike the last couple of days could rest in bed a little while longer. Eventually we got up, ate scrambled eggs served with toast and a banana and began sorting through our packs. 

At the main road we sat down under a fan and ordered two cold Coca-Colas from a roadside establishment, where we tried to work out how we would get to Tayrona National Park. Taxis and Ubers weren’t an option. Watching the street, I noticed a white local bus kept passing in the direction we wanted to go. We changed tact and waited about twenty minutes by the dusty roadside for another to appear. We stuck out our hand and with no one to ask, took a gamble and climbed aboard. The bus was small, hot and crowded. The 16 chairs were all occupied and the rest of us lined the thin walkway holding onto ceiling-fitted handlebars. The heat, body odour and proximity to one another reminded me of the London Underground. Each window was rolled down allowing a breeze to cut through the stuffy bus, a luxury the Victoria Line will never know. Relief came quickly when we stopped at El Zaino, our intended destination.

We worked our way through the complex ticket process and found ourselves inside the park. We opted not to take the minibus to save money and instead chose to walk the 2km to the hostel. Distracted by a bird singing from above us, I didn’t see a sharp dip in the gutter and tripped, my body bent forwards by the motion so that my heavy pack weighed me down throwing me over my left shoulder and once I hit the floor I continued to roll. I had managed to cut my left calf, grazed both hands and my left elbow. Otherwise, I was fine.

At 1pm we arrived at the hostel, sweat-soaked and hungry to find that they were not catering for lunch today and signposted us to Playa Cañaveral, a 4km walk away. We quickly packed our day bags and ran back out into the jungle. It dawned on me that despite my nature to plan everything I had not put much thought into Tayrona, and there would be no time to see the famous beaches properly. Preoccupied by this, I became distracted but Dan pulled me out of my funk by throwing a hand over my chest his other hand pointing silently to the trees. A distinctive chattering sound was coming from the canopy. Just above us stood a capuchin monkey, he was snapping twigs and calling to his buddies who we could now see in neighbouring trees. He moved so gracefully, each movement of a limb or tail purposeful and controlled.

We carried on and I felt a bit better knowing we had seen some wildlife, more was to come though when we spotted a giant lizard noisily scurrying away when we startled it, and later we saw a Central American Agouti, a small brown mammal which looks like an enlarged rat. We continued, turning off the main path to find a restaurant under a straw circular roof overlooking the fierce waves of Playa Cañaveral. We ate here and formed a plan. Both keen to see the main beaches, we agreed to walk from Cañaveral to Cabo San Juan. This would be a walk of about 18km in a limited time frame as the sun would set in 4 hours.

We headed out on our mission and were surprised by how spectacular the walk was. The path varied from wooden plank walkways through flooded jungle, to smooth grey stone boulder climbs, and sandy pathways creeping their way around and over huge circular rocks. The jungle would also change, thinning out as we neared the beaches, the sound of waves coming and going with it. The path wound up and down, round tight turns and across rivers. Butterflies and small colourful lizards darted away from us as we hurried through, the ticking clock a constant driver in the back of our minds. We stopped halfway and enjoyed an ice cream which melted on us as we walked.

We reached Cabo San Juan with some time to enjoy our destination. Blue water curved along two beaches so that the waves broke on a central split of pale yellow sand, at the end of which was a circular wooden structure housing hammocks. Palm trees and smooth grey rocks lined the shore. This view was made famous from the cover of the Lonely Planets Colombian travel guide (which since then has been replaced by The Lost City). While beautiful, the beach felt a little underwhelming, especially after such a beautiful and varied hike, which I would argue as being more spectacular than the beach itself. In all fairness we may not have seen the beach on the best day: the sky was a little overcast, the beach too full of people and we ourselves were pushed for time.

We continued back the way we came and under the dense canopy of the jungle and the descending sun, the path darkened quickly. While the crowds lessened, the buzz from the jungle never died, a constant reminder we were far from alone. Horses and mules trotted next to us carrying tourists too tired to walk. We reached the wooden walkway which carried us up huge boulders littering the beach. Here we turned back, catching the sky accepting the end of the day, tinges of yellow glowing behind obscuring mountains. The green canopy contrasting with the pale sand and the blue sea. All felt calm and beautiful and a sense of tranquility unexpectedly passed through us before we pressed on, keen to exit the jungle before nightfall. 

We reached the hostel, again drenched in sweat. We had managed to make it back to the hostel ten minutes after nightfall and had walked the last section with bats swooping alongside us. We showered in cold water, something that we now welcomed, before sitting down to high carb meals. After dinner we retreated to our hut, climbed into bed and drew our mosquito net. Our supposedly relaxing day had turned into a 24km hike against the clock! We welcomed sleep which came quickly.