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After the Lost City we figured we´d earned ourselves a few days of R & R so ventured into the Tayrona National Park, just up the coast from Santa Marta. Tropical jungle, amazing white sand beaches. Nice. We found a little campsite in a jungle clearing 10mins from the beach. Massive palm trees dotted the clearing and were stunning to look at – I gave them a rather wider berth after getting tonked on the shoulder by a coconut.
Three days of tanning (ok burning), swimming and living off a diet of tuna sandwiches and crisps. Perfect. Almost. We´d cut our budget very fine and so had about a fiver a day to live off. We burned like true Englishmen! I got an ear infection. And Marcus and I both almost collapsed on the 5 mile walk out of the park. I guess you can´t have everything, even in Paradise 🙂
We had another day of great weather and even better food in Santa Marta before leaving the coast and setting off inland. Our destination was San Gil, a little colonial town where we hoped to get some rafting under our belts.
It got even better though! We checked into Sam´s Hostel, which was ridiculous. Basically a penthouse apartment overlooking the main square. Terrace. Flatscreen TVs. Rooftop pool. And we were then told that Damien Rice was playing a gig that night in the neighbouring town of Barichara. He´d gone to the town with Colombian friends and while there had been told about Barichara´s chronic water problems – their reservoir had stood empty for months. Being the sound little Irishman that he is (and he is little, trust me), he´d decided to put on a concert to raise money for the town.
We headed over to the town, had a few beers in the main plaza and then wandered up to the open air amphitheatre where he was going to play, and were waiting in the queue as, with a delicious yet almost inevitable sense of irony, the heavens opened. It started to bucket it down. This in a town starved of water, where it hadn´t rained for months. On the very night when a high-profile singer was due to perform, outside, in aid of solving the water shortage. 🙂
Just as it was about to be called off they announced the venue was going to be switched, to the adjacent church. Surreal. Amazing. Before long Damien was up in front of the altar playing an intimate little set of all his better-known tunes, all to a crowd of less than 150 people.We´d had a few bottles of rum by this point, and more than a few beers, so it seemed only right to heckle the poor Oirishman. Damo feckin´ Rice. He didn´t seem to mind.
¨I´d just like to thank whoever it was that enabled us to play in such a fantastic setting, in this church¨
¨THANKYOU GOD!¨
Fun times. Marcus couldn´t actually physically stand by the end. Maybe he´d just been overcome by the music. Spent the next day taking it easy, having a dip in the river up above the town, wandering its ridiculously steep streets and enjoying the panoramas. The day after was bliss- we rented bikes and took ourselves off for a ride. Sunny, a bit of a cooling breeze, and hardly any traffic on the road. It felt like a perfect English summer´s day. Beautiful scenery either side. The river winding its way through the valley below us. We came to a village after 15km and headed up its ridiculously steep entrance road. Sweating, we made it to the top where stunning views greeted us. It seemed way to early to turn back though, so we headed on. More cycling, almost all of it on the flat, with not a care in the world, until we arrived at the Juan Curí waterfalls. 180m of cascades nestled in the valley wall, with a natural plunge pool at its base. Quick dip, bite to eat and then back towards San Gil. A perfect day!
However after three days we´d still not been able to do the rafting. For two days the river had been too high, too dangerous to raft. We were about to give up and move on to Bogotá when I woke up on the third day to be told it was still impossible. And then the phone rang. The river had subsided. We could do it. The only problem- we had 30mins to find at least 2 more people to do it. Time to round us up a rafting posse, get us some recruits! Mission accomplished: a couple of english guys and a couple of swedes. Rafting was on!
The Rio Suarez is the best river for rafting in Colombia, loads of Grade IV and V rapids. Churning white water. Lots of it. And the river was only just safe enough to run. This was going to be fun 🙂
It was everything i´d hoped for. And then some! Big rapids. Massive waves. We´d managed to navigate all the rapids with only one of the English lads, Jack, having fallen out. Great. Except it didn´t feel right. Rafting the Nile in Uganda we´d flipped 5 times in one day. Maybe on the last rapid we were going to get a little wet? A man can hope………..
Well my prayers were answered! The last rapid, La Sorpresa (the Surprise), was massive. Enormous waves. Really long too. We headed into the current and were doing great. Then all of a sudden we weren´t. The raft span 180 degrees. We were now heading for the most powerful part of the rapids. Backwards. 🙂 One of the kayakers was stood on the bank and started frantically blowing his whistle. He obviously knew something we didn´t. Then he hurled a rope into the raft. He said after that if we´d grabbed it he could have hauled us to safety. Well none of us did…
Whoomph! The wave slammed us backwards. Then another crashed into us from the other side. We were stuck in a hole created by the force of the current. The world around me went green. I was still in the boat. Strange. Then I twigged- the entire boat was underwater. The next second the boat was gone. After a couple of seconds I popped up, a long way further downriver. There were other helmeted heads around me in the water.
Hell yeah! Now this was more like it! Nothing like a good lungful of river water. I swam to the side and, along with a few others, scrambled along the bank to where the raft lay. Everyone else was there. It seems Marcus had had a rough time of it. He´d been trapped in the spot where we´d all gone in and been caught as if in a washing machine. Every time he went up for air the current dragged him back under. He eventually remembered what we´d been told to do, curled himself into a ball and the current spat him our further downstream. Shaken, sure, but not stirred.
Everyone was still alive, still in possession of all their limbs. It was time for a beer..
a tall traveller´s small tales 