Along the two hour trek from the Tayrona Park entrance to my destination, Cabo San Juan , I passed untold legions of leaf-cutter ants, a lone burro and four capuchin monkeys who were well ... monkeying around. Litteraly. The completely unpeopled trail I was on had lead to wildy-woven fantasy that when I reached Cabo I would have the place to myself. My fantasy found a still birth when I came upon two Europeans pitching a tent. Had the beach not been something just short of Eden I might have taken offence. This was a national park after all and so I quickly disposed of the false sense of entitlement my fantasy had spun.
My first sensation I had in Cabo San Juan was one of deja-vu. It took me a minute to put my finger on it but this was how I had pictured the island in The Lord of the Flies back in high school. It was not an island of course but rather the unspoilt Carribean Coast of Columbia, rain forrest jungle ends where the sandline begins. There is little transition. They bays are failry deep and well dilenated by large granite rocks. The granite looks as if it could have possibly been hurled down from the top of the mountain by some ancient Kogi Indian god in some myth creating act of violence. The water itself is warm without being bath water and there is nobody trafficking the beach trying to sell you hippy bracelets. If it weren´t for the breaking of the waves on the shore I believe you could actually hear yourself think in a place like this.
There is one restaurant on the beach that is run jointly by a couple of families. Thier operation is a primitive one as there is no power in the park. From 7-9 PM they fire up a gas powered generator that allows them enough power to light a couple of fluorescent lights and offer a dinner service. Aside from the fish the food is not much to speak of but who orders pasta when the red snapper was swimming within the last 30 minutes?
The night was arguably as enjoyable as the day light. After dinner and dominoes it was a flashlight trek back up to the Gazebo where the hammocks were strung up. Perched up on the Granite overlooking the Carribean was about as much of an accomodation as one actually needed out here. The breeze the flowed into the open-walled structure defrayed the onset of mosquitos. The only thing better than sleeping outside is sleeping outside without being slathered in nauseating scent of insect repellent containing high levels of DEET. Sleeping in a hammock for the entire night sounds like an enticing proposition until you realize that shifting positions requires waking yourself up to so. Being of the mind set that there is no worse sleep than that which comes in fits and starts I discovered another use for my small red raft the next night. The second night I realized that the raft would in fact fit into the width of my hammock. The sight of this of course was much laughter on the part of my neighbors. This laughter quickly subsided when they realized that I had in indeed created the ultimate hanging luxury bed. Ha, my MacGyver moment!
When the heat stroke and 1st degree burns began to set in I turned my attention to the jungle and rain forrest behind me. The park is named after the Tairona Indians. The Tairona are believed to be the oldest "indigenos" on the continent. It was these folks who were first greeted by the Spanish n 1493. A two hour hike from the beach will lead you up a series of primitive rock steps to Pueblito, the ruins of thier former settlement. It´s all very Indiana Jones type stuff when you leave the beach.
There are some pics of the park HERE
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