Those Who Live on the Coast

The Caribbean is a place where people drop their consonants, and ride loud motorbikes, and where skin is tanned and glistening from sweat. Everyone sweats, and the dirt from the roads sticks, no one cares. The sea roars and the music roars louder. The Caribbean coast of Colombia is no different. It is a certain kind of paradise.

To be fair, if I hadn't made friends in Cartagena it may not have been the same, but this was, of course, meant to be. And to my advantage, my friends had a zest for life to rival the costeños - eat at 10, drink until 1, dance until it makes sense (outside, inside, who cares?) Sweat a lot, laugh a lot, begin to recognize the same songs that you've only been hearing for three days. The city of Cartagena in the daytime is hot, crowded, noisy, frenetic and without many unique qualities. Colonial cities are colonial cities, remnants of an ambitious time, eventually left to rot in the salty sun. These cities did not crumble, though they did fade a little, but over time cities like Cartagena have risen with the advent of cruiseships and the boom of Regaeeton.

Playa Blanca is evidence of greater social constructs that take place on Latin coasts. A one hour bus ride dumps you in a dusty parking lot in Baru, a community of AfroColombian slave descendants. Welcome to the beach of black serves white. Want a massage? A mango? A jet ski ride? A shiny rock? A mussel? The beach churns in front of the turquoise water like a segregated, blazing-hot Disneyland for beach-goers. And how hot was it? Hot enough that even though I stayed under the umbrella for 75% of the day, I still ended up with burnt legs. My friends told me it's because I'm unhealthily white to begin with. Cultural wisdom is precious.

There's only so much Caribbean party a body can take before a break is needed. Stopping in Santa Marta - the super ugly step-sister of Cartagena and oldest city in Colombia, the next destination: Tayrona National Park. Jungle hiking meets the sea, and after two hours of twisting through the set of Jurassic Park, you arrive on Playa San Juan and breathe paradise.

Many people advised against Playa San Juan. It's too crowded, too popular. But I'm enjoying people. I can do solitude just fine on my own. And so amongst the throngs of paradise-seekers, hot and dirty from the trek, I passed the day and night jumping off rocks and wading into the fuzzy water (a lot of seaweed bits) - occasionally kicking a tropical fish (on accident). If you're lucky, your bus driver will be the one with the giant photo-stickers of motorcycles and Jesus on the front window as he plays "Bad Bunny" music videos up front next to his green and blue steering wheel and stick shift. If you're lucky, you'll feel awfully lucky that you got to spend time in this place.