The Tale of Tayrona
In which the author tries to add suspense and intrigue to an idyllic three days of jungle walks and beach hopping
It was a bright and Caribbean day when after scuba-ing around in Teganga for three days we headed east to Canaveral, the entrance to Tayrona National Paradise. Vehicles could only take us so far; so the final leg of the journey, through the coastal tropical forest to our campsite, was completed on foot. Little were we to know that one of us wouldn’t be walking back...
Our campsite was simple, tents or hammocks for rent with basic facilities in a tropical heaven. We settled in, tired from our journey and unaware of the misfortune that was coming. It would strike for the first time that evening, a warning shot across our (spaghetti) bowls.
Prewarned about high food prices we had come prepared to cook. Finding a (suspiciously) civilised kitchen complete with gas hob, we made dinner; ignoring the warning signs around us that this wasn’t in fact the camp kitchen but a local panaderia/bakery and we had just accidentally stolen 30 minutes worth of gas. Accosted by the indignant baker and forced to pay for our crimes (i.e. for the gas...) we were left poorer but with the silver lining that our Spanish has improved to be able to explain that we only cooked one pot of spaghetti.
For the following two nights we had to endeavour to cook over an open fire. Fortunately the indignant baker was also a talented one; we were able to supplement our meagre rations with cheese and ham croissants and banana/chocolate/orange cakes.
We spent the three days exploring the coast, making sure not to swim on the beautiful but deadly beach at Arricifes (but swimming everywhere else as often as possible). By the last day we had accidentally, while lost during our ill-fated attempt to find ruins of Pueblito, stumbled out to Brava Grande. A huge beach, gorgeous and almost deserted. While on the way we encountered the local fauna - monkeys, lizards and crabs.
Determined to make it to Pueblito we set out again that final afternoon, finally finding the ancient rock stairway that linked the village to the coast. It is an incredible climb but we never made it to the end. Nearly halfway up, sweating profusely from the tropical heat, Spike slipped and lost his foot down a chasm between two rocks. When he found it again the damage was done - big toenail close to severed, blood seeping from all angles and leg abraised. Binding the wound with what we had to hand (Katrina's top and palm fronds) we struggled to the closest campsite. Here help was at hand, and with a cold beer each and medical attention for Spike's foot it seemed the worst was over. The only question left was how to get out of the park before anything more could happen.
The group was forced to split, Katrina and I leaving by foot while Spike stayed to charter a horse. Hoping that he could learn to ride a horse in time, we reached the exit and waited anxiously. Spike made it, but not before a final attempt by Tayrona to finish the job it had started and finish him off completely - near death by falling coconut, avoided by a foot and a half while Spike waited to catch his 11 am horse, made it clear we had escaped just in time.
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