It, like most other days began at 00:00 midnight, so this is where the tale will commence. It was the last night of what had been a near perfect week. Just for a change we had a few beers to wash down the barely tolerable hour old lobster, salad and coconut rice. After a drinking game called ring of fire which always involves much silliness, this time in the form of talking like one of our favourite film characters (I was the T800 aka Arnie) it was almost time for bed. That was until we remembered that Loz (who was on the last day of a 2 week holiday) had never seen phosphorescence and we were literally meters away from the sea and this most incredible phenomenon. Half cut and half dressed we entered the Caribbean sea. It was dark as the moon had almost wained but there was a strange glow in the waves as they broke upon the shore. This was the start of something special. Every movement disturbs the phosphorescence and covers the shape of whatever is moving in a mythical turquoise neon cloud. Until you witness your arms turn into light sabers it is really hard to believe this is happening and not just a magic mushroom inspired vision. Even carefully crafted words fall short of doing this moment any justice as is so often the case.
We woke up for the last time on this unbelievably remote and stunning part of the Caribbean coast. A vast desolate beach littered with palms and coconuts providing the backdrop, the regular but timid waves providing the sound track and the local hens generously providing breakfast.
As this is a travel day the following necessary activities must be completed -
Finding, sorting, folding, rolling and arranging of clothes.
Wetting, cleansing, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying of body.
Searching, checking and rechecking of room.
Clearing of bill and arranging of transport to next location.
Local bus with school kids playing hand clapping and singing games. I am only aware now when people are not staring at me. A stunning drive down the Caribbean coast which led to a humbling by the vastness of the ocean. It really is beyond comprehension.
We disembark in the middle of the Santa Marta local market. The following assault of the senses commences. A narrow path with insufficient head room leaves little room for personal space. Drying carcasses and fish guts blend with the undeniable aroma of rubbish and excrement. The 35 degree heat and the 15kg back pack team up on your skin and this abuse makes it weep floods of tears. The sound of the ever welcoming "Hey you" or being counted like cattle "uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco gringos" makes us all feel welcome.
Money is needed to pay off friendship loans that are often created when you live away from the world for a week and lose most of your money. Several banks do not work despite claims of VISA availability. The international banks I used today probably gave the worst feedback possible. Even diminishing increments of money could not remove the dreaded "insufficient funds". We had to transferred and switched and recalculated until all was sorted, said goodbye to 'Mum and Dad' and ran for the sanctuary of our new hostel.
The was a problem that could only be solved by one of the modern heroes of the travel world. Yes this was a case for Wi Fi. After acquiring the secret password and completing a day at the office, within the hour of arrival we were back on the streets feeling like new - the sun on our backs, the sea breeze on our faces, with all our debts cleared, walking a new path with money in our pockets.
Lunch, coincided with a Premiership football game so I was left alone for 45 minutes of good times. The beer was cold and it was great to see a game of football but it did not quite end as I had planned. The team I wanted to win lost and the beer was clearly processed with some kind of poison which does not generate good flavour or a good disposition after drinking. I left the restaurant feeling dazed and confused in desperate need of some fresh air. I found the girls sipping a different type of beer at what turned out to be a working girls hangout. They smoked cigarettes and danced to the excessively loud distorted Salsa in between prowling the streets. I still needed more air and we all craved somewhere nicer so we took our feet walking.
We eventually found somewhere suitably scenic by the sea and after bartering for the price of beer we sat down. A large TV screen was playing music videos of pop divas and the girls and the metro Colombian bar staff were quite content watching Madonna, Kylie, Beyonce and co. do their thing. I must confess to enjoying a few myself but we were frequently disrupted by the vendors selling us something else we clearly did not want. I took the brunt of this as I was facing the other way, people watching. "No quiero gracias" is the important phrase here or just a classic shake of the head and a wave of the hand. There are so many and you are so certain that you do not want their wares you barely even pay any attention to their appearance or their items. This over exposure and alcohol induced complacency was to be the cause of the next few hours of anger, distress, excitement and awe.
One seller came rather close and I vaguely remember glancing at his laminated poster and saying the magic phrase and he was gone just like the rest. I thought nothing of it until our Australian friend minutes later started panicking and saying something about losing her wallet. In an opportune moment the seller had reached under his poster and taken her wallet. We started running down the street after him but already feared we were much too late. We saw the police and explained what had happened and the next moment we were getting into the police truck in search of the thief. I moved a few folders on my seat and was about to sit down until the male officer starting proclaiming that something was wrong. It turns out I was about to sit down on a loaded gun! Not only did I have to explain it all in Spanish but we would have had hardly anything to say about him in our first language as before he took the wallet he was just another face in the crowd. The next hour turned out to be a bizarre and unique tour of the dark side of Santa Marta, one which we would have never been able to see alone. The barrios are the home of the drug addicts and prostitutes and the sights and sounds were both mesmerising and disturbing; Young children cowering in the corners covering up their faces, men dressed as women and women dressed in almost nothing, Caribbean sounds blaring and with both expert dancers and those barely capable of standing still staggering to the salsa beat, drug addicts desperately searching for their next high and those caught in the act who were promptly told to "batir" or throw away their drug of choice (the officers informed me it was crack cocaine) meters from our eyes.
This truly was an eye opener and our senses were overwhelmed. We kept being reminded that we were to keep searching for him but we barely knew what he looked like and staring at the underbelly of Columbia directly in the eye was not for the faint hearted. At one point we went searching on foot and I could not help but wonder what we would do even if we did find him. After a quick inquiry it was pretty clear that violence was coming his way. We were not sure whether justice served in this form was worth the 60 pounds that Sally had lost. This never materialised as we were never going to find him and never did. We returned to a slightly concerned Chantelle with a crazy story after what turned out to be an incredible if not slightly expensive tour of Santa Marta's dark side. In a moment that is now quite amusing on reflection the metro Colombian blamed himself for paying too much attention to Beyonce and not enough on his bar. Hard to blame him really as she is rather mesmerising dancing in a swim suit.
As I drank another beer surrounded by working girls behaving extremely strangely, deafening Colombian beats and beggars I sunk into a very contemplative state. I wondered just how much of the world I had really seen up to this point after over 30 months of international travel. It also made me think about England and the sheltered lives that most of us lead. After those 15 minutes of whirlwind thought, it was easy to think ignorance is bliss and for most of us I am sure it is. However the world is full of as much beauty and wonder as it is depravity and darkness and I count myself lucky to have bathed in as much of its waters as I have.
Joseph Thomas Davies.
10 o'clock pm English time on the 10th of the 10th two thousand and 10.
The awesome image is from http://www.philhart.com/content/bioluminescence-gippsland-lakes
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