Colors of Colombia
Several years ago when I was in college I was working as a remote intern with a social enterprise from NYC. My manager told me and another intern one day that she was quitting to move alone to Colombia. “The country? I asked. Isn’t it dangerous?”
Due to Colombia’s recent tumultuous past many people still hold these reservations, but after spending five weeks there I found nothing but warm and generous people. The graffiti tour guide in Bogota, the random woman who spent 30 minutes helping me find a bus in Medellin, the kitesurfing instructors in Cartagena, and the hostel operators in Galerazamba and Puerto all went out of their way to make me feel welcome and comfortable. There seemed to be endless numbers of things to do, vibrant art at every turn and incredible landscapes.
An unexpected highlight of my trip was a town called Guatape. I almost didn’t go, it was a day trip from Medellin and most people describe it as just a big rock that you can hike up. Luckily, I decided I might as well go since I was nearby. By lunchtime, I was plotting how to reschedule my flight to my next city in order to stay in Guatape for several more days. The main attraction in Guatape is El Peñon. The giant monolith seems interesting when approaching it, but looking at it from below offers no insight into what you can experience from the top. After climbing the 740 stairs the view unfolded in a series of snake-like arms of blue water that surround thin stretches of land, some of which were dotted with houses and boat docks. The stunning singularity of the place had me daydreaming about a future lake house and what life might be like living in the mountains of Colombia.
The town itself was just as endearing. It’s known for its zocalos which are brightly painted concrete relief sculptures lining all of the buildings. The center has a large church and plaza with a fountain and the streets are full of cafes and restaurants pandering to the Medellin visitors. I stayed at a guest house that was combined with a pizzeria and enjoyed the smells of freshly baked pizzas in the evening and bread in the mornings. Luigi, the owner, was from Italy and he seemed to have created his dream life, free to enjoy the mornings and perfecting the art of pizza making in the evening. His craft was so refined that eating a Margherita left me wondering if I had been transported back to Naples.
I was anxious to get on the lake and explore so I rented a jet ski and cruised around through the twists and turns of the lake. I passed by the remains of one of Pablo Escobar’s bombed out mansions. The walls were charred and crumbling; they had long been searched for the elusive cash stores said to be hidden throughout his homes. Another day I rented a scooter from a French girl to drive through the mountains and explore the nearby towns, the river, and a waterfall. On the way back I got caught in a heavy rainstorm. Despite nearly driving blind from the intensity of the downfall, I made it back into town wet and cold. The French girl was relieved to see me and we chatted about her experience living in Guatape for past two years. She’d come as a backpacker and never left. Life was easy and scenic in Guatape and without the allure of other cities, I could’ve also gotten stuck there for a while.
After passing through several cities and towns along the Caribbean coast I made my way to Santa Marta. I unknowingly booked a stay at a Hare Krishna temple that doubled as a hostel. The leader of the group was a young twenty-something man who looked like a foreigner with light skin and blue eyes. He wore the traditional orange garb with Tilaka (paste marking) on his forehead and a Shikha hairstyle (shaved head other than a little rat tail off the top). He greeted me warmly and I could sense the calming and mindful presence of someone who is intimately connected with themselves and their surroundings. He looked like a teenager playing dress up but it was obvious there was something much deeper about his commitment to his lifestyle. I soon realized that I was the only non-member in the hostel after walking in on my roommate chanting and seeing the other one joining in on the nightly ceremonies.
One evening I was at the promenade enjoying the sunset. I ran into a group of American Peace Corps workers and became friends with them, mostly due to their enthusiasm to speak English to another American. We were walking to find a dinner spot and I had captured their interest by telling them about my hostel experience with the Hare Krishna crew. Moments later we heard a loud chanting noise and down the promenade came my Hare Krishna friends from the hostel, chanting and dancing excitedly in a little parade. “Those are my people from the hostel!” I said to the other Americans. They were ecstatic to have a visual to go along with my story. The leader of the Hare Krishna group and I made eye contact as they passed, and we waved to each other.
Minca was just up the mountain from Santa Marta, and while it was small, it proved to every bit a little paradise as other travelers had told me. One afternoon I hiked up the mountain to a cacao and coffee farm. The way was steep and a bit strenuous but when I made it to the top I was warmly greeted and offered a banana and a drink. A beautiful local woman in her mid-thirties offered to give us a tour of the farm. She wore a tank top and cargo pants with big work boots and seemed perfectly at home trudging up and down the trails at the farm. She showed us how cacao is harvested, dried, roasted, ground and eventually becomes the base for chocolate or an energizing drink.
After the tour, some friends and I sat on the balcony soaking in the view. It was a sunny afternoon and from the mountain, you could see miles of lush green valleys and hills as they extended all the way to Santa Marta. The sun gleamed off the ocean in the distance. A toucan that apparently lives on the farm created some excitement as it tried to bite into my friend’s bag of coffee. The owner came out and began to play with it as you would a puppy, stroking its head and putting her hand in its beak as it nibbled on her fingers.
I spent several days in Minca exploring swimming holes and hikes, trying the local restaurants and frequenting the French bakery for pan de chocolate and fresh hummus. My last night in Minca I visited the giant hammock at Casa Elemento to watch the sunset. I ran into my scuba diving partners from the nearby Tayrona National Park, the second time our paths had crossed since diving together. It’s a small world as a backpacker, I’ve had many experiences of running into people multiple times in different cities and even countries and it’s always refreshing to reconnect with people who intimately understand and have shared in your journey.
There was never a moment where I felt unsafe in Colombia and now I can fully understand why my manager would uproot her life to move there. The natural beauty, friendly people, delicious cuisine and thriving art scene make it a must visit. Of course, if you’re still scared to visit that will only preserve it for the rest of us. 🙂
Check out some more of my favorite photos below:
Bogota
Medellin
Cartagena
Galerazamba
Puerto
Santa Marta
Originally published at www.hastyville.com.

