Cabo de San Juan, Tayrona Park - Thursday, January 30th

I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, quietly congratulating myself for getting on the top bunk without incident. The whole night had felt like a lucid dream. Although the smell of wood smoke on my clothes suggested otherwise.

After lunch I decided to go for a long walk down the beach. As I was going to be walking a fair bit in Tayrona park I needed to know if my vertigo would be a serious impediment. I crossed my fingers and set off. On my left the jungle and the thunderous azure crashing on my right. Barely a soul in sight.

After half an hour I reached the end of the beach. A river seeping out to sea had severed the beach in two. A local girl with a shaved head had appeared beside me, her boisterous dog in tow. Despite the language barrier we were able to swiftly conclude that crossing the river would probably land us a Darwin Award.

I about faced and set back where I came. Once past The Dreamer I set out to find the other end of the beach. The wind had kicked up a fine cloud of dust over the horizon. The sand, jungle and sky were frotted together in a haze. Again, I felt like I was inhabiting my own dream. Despite the crashing of the waves, there was a palpable silence to the landscape. Daft Punk’s (sadly overlooked) Make Love kept appearing in my head and the song held me in good company for the long walk.

Out of the mist I saw a lone figure walking towards me. It looked like a young Jesus. Given how surreal the walk had been so far this could well have been the man himself. In fact it was John, the affable Canadian biologist I’d met in Santa Marta.

Both of us were relieved to see each other. The Dreamer had been filling up with dull couples and John had been lumped with the quietest hotel in the world. We agreed to meet at The Dreamer bar for drinks and dinner.

After two hours of negotiating wind, dunes and a reality crisis, I returned to The Dreamer. The vertigo hadn’t been much trouble. I was ready for my trip to Tayrona, by all accounts one of the most beautiful places on earth.

That evening John pitched up and we set the world right over Mojitos and pizza. I told him of my evening with the Danes and it was decided that the only thing to do was repeat the endeavour.

Once our fire was lit, we were joined by two Chilean girls who were staying in John’s incredibly boring hotel. They didn’t speak a word of English and I was just about done with trying to speak terrible Spanish with people. Thankfully John was better equipped and took the helm. At midnight we cheered in my 26th birthday under a canopy of ebullient starlight. It was the first and probably last time I’ll be singing happy birthday to myself in Spanish.

We were joined by a Dutch person called Arjan. He had seemed quite normal during our conversations in the hostel and we had agreed to walk to the Cabo together earlier in the day.

Over the course of the evening I came to regret our agreement as the rum slowly exposed his inner lunatic. Having been a fairly reserved and genteel character during the day he descended into what I can only describe as sheer madness.

He began by accusing the very sweet and well meaning John of mis-translating his English in order to stop him getting with the two Chileans. This seemed strange as neither of them were particularly attractive. Quite the contrary, truth be told. This only served to reinforce his aura of imbalance.

We then moved to a fire nearby that had been started by some locals. John and I were tired of fetching wood from the forest we thought it would be nice to be on the receiving end of other people’s warmth. Amongst the locals was a scraggly Irishman from Cork called Paddy. He had a Colombian girlfriend and had joined the throng of sexual refugees who were scattered around the country.

Then Arjan really took a turn. John, Paddy and myself exchanged panicked looks as he began singing in tongues to the drumming of a bongo. Funnily enough the locals found it all very amusing. Their patience was tested, however, when Arjan seized the bongo and began beating it in the fashion of an epileptic under the influence of an industrial strength stimulant.

Arjan had been travelling since early 2012 and, much like Neil in Bogota, was a heady reminder that the drudgery of every day working life does have a net benefit for your mental health. It was all a little too much and I sent myself to bed. I had a very early start for my trek to Cabo de San Juan.

At 6 45am I was up and out. I had just enough time to Skype Ali and receive my fantastic birthday gift. I’m now a card carrying member of the Institute of Contemporary Arts and look forward to milking it for everything it’s worth.

I was sad to say goodbye to Ali as I’m certain to be spending the rest of my day with strangers. The sadness was tempered a little by the fact that I was destined for the legendary beauty of Cabo San Juan. Twin coves of crystal blue sea nested against the hills of the Sierra Nevada.

A one hour bus and a short minivan drive later I was at the entrance to the national park. From there is was a two hour trek to the beach. The jungle was rich with noise and I quickly became entranced by the feeling of isolation. It was only disturbed by huffing hikers passing in the opposite direction. The jungle steadily descended into silence. Every step seemed to echo around the dense corners of the undergrowth. I could hear my heart beat at times.

I passed a trail of fire ants, some as big as 1p coins. They were determinedly hulking leaves 20 times their size into a nest buried in the undergrowth. My head filled with visions of them taking residence in my hammock and I decided to take off and forget I’d seen them.

After two, sweaty hours I arrived. It was exactly as the pictures had promised. Two pristine coves separated by a thin sand bar. The enormous boulders that surrounded the beach had all been relentlessly buffed smooth by the sea, wind and rain for thousands of years. The water glittered with fool’s gold and was an aquamarine quite unlike any other I’d encountered.

A hut filled with hammocks sat on top of a rocky outcrop, almost entirely surrounded by the crashing sea. The place felt like a fantasy. I find myself referring to dreams a great deal but it’s hard to give places like this their proper context. It really felt like I’d stumbled across an alien world, populated almost exclusively by Argentinians.

I decided to set up camp on the bar of sand between the two coves. This seemed to be the only answer to the tough choice over which beach to choose. While basking I was greeted by two Canadians I’d met in Medellin. They had been in Taganga for a week and looked like they had been thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Sadly they were off on the boat back to town that eve so once again there was a question mark hanging over my company for the evening. All things considered, this wasn’t the end of the world.

As I typed the full stop on that last sentence I felt a tap at my shoulder. It was Chris, the mild mannered Dutchman from Taganga. He no longer looked like the icy grip of his uncontrollable bowel movements was upon him. We went for a stroll. He was staying at another beach with his female travelling companion. It was getting dark so we said our goodbyes and once again parted ways.

I sat down in the only dining area, a large nameless grass hut by the sea and quietly read. My solace was short lasting. I asked a group of British ladies (the only English speakers around) how the ordering system worked. The blonde one with a tattoo of a lizard on her arm replied.
“Are you alone?”
Well…yes.“
"You’re not now.”

Soon I was surrounded by 7 British ladies of all ages and virtues. Three were on a uni year abroad to Buenos Aires. The rest had been a slow gathering of older women who were on very extended trips. One had been going for over a year and looked a little fed up with it all.

They had smuggled in some Aguadiente, Colombia’s wretched answer to Sambuca. Upon discovering it was my birthday I was given a great deal of it. It was as perfect a birthday as I could have wished for. The girls had a riotous sense of humour and soon everyone on the beach was coming over to our table and giving me a happy birthday kiss.

For dessert I was presented with a surprise fruit platter presided over by a candle. As we were singing happy birthday I noticed a piece of pineapple had been carved into a large ‘A’. They treated me like I’d known them for years and capped off what was easily one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Obviously there’s only so much fun you can have without your nearest and dearest but this was as good as I could have wished for.

As the hours went by one by one they began their slink to bed. When they had all departed I went to the beach and ended up drinking beer under a cloudless night sky with two Canadian blokes and yet more Argentinians. I lay on the beach for some time and soaked in the heavens, hoping I would never forget this night.

I decided it was time for bed. As I was passing through the restaurant I noticed that one or the girls was still up and partying with the restaurant staff. They beckoned me over and handed me some beer.

The owner of the restaurant, Carlos, sat next to me and was in very high spirits. Thankfully Lisa, the English girl, had lived in Colombia for some time and was on hand to translate. I noticed the young DJ was using an original 1st generation iPhone. I told him jokingly that it was probably a collectable item. He beamed and I suddenly worried that I may have gotten his hopes a little too high. 

Carlos didn’t seem to have great control of his faculties and would hammer out sentences which, even in Spanish, we couldn’t make head or tail of. Then he jerkily reached into his pocket, eyes cocked and akimbo, producing a large bag of cocaine. Everything made sense now. He gurgled something about this being “min dosa.” Which roughly equated to him saying that the bag was all about to go into him.

He disappeared to the loo and returned with renewed spirits. His entire body gurned vigorously. He then produced a loaded revolver from his pocket and began furiously waiving it in the air. My eyes nearly fell out in horror. Lisa and I exchanged looks of pure terror. It turned out that he was trying to explain that he was required by law to have one on the premises. Lisa said that we would be more comfortable with the revolver in his pocket. Given the lack of control of his faculties, it seemed the best place for it.

We were then joined by a young Colombian in shorts and a bright yellow t shirt. It turned out that he was the beach’s resident policeman. He too didn’t seem to think Carlos’ state was in any way unusual. As we were drinking beer after hours and making a fair amount of noise I expected him to be shutting down the party. Instead he went behind the bar and produced yet more free beer.

The fiesta continued for another hour or so until my eyes could no longer stay open. I said my goodbyes and collapsed into my hammock. It had been a memorable birthday.