Vamos a la Playa Blanca

One funny quirk about traveling in South America is that you never know exactly how you are getting to where you are going until you are on the way. We left for Playa Blanca, a textbook Caribbean beach on an isolated peninsula about an hour from Cartagena by boat. Unfortunately, we didn't go by boat, figuring we would save a little money by taking a bus instead. Along with our new Australian friend, James, we grabbed a taxi from the hostel up to this ghetto outdoor market on the Southern outskirts of the city, where we grabbed a rotten 70's bus to the town nearest to Playa Blanca. There we got some bags of water and asked a few locals (all of whom were super dark Caribbean people) where to go next, and they pointed us down this dirt road through some miscellaneous shanties. At the end of the road, a guy was waiting with a rowboat, and took us across a wide channel to a dirt road on the other side.



Waiting there were three guys in their early 20's sitting on motorcycles. They explained that Playa Blanca was 18 kilometers away, and offered to take us for 70,000 pesos, about $35, a lot of money in Colombia. We talked them down to 50,000 pesos (still a rip off, but we were stuck otherwise), hopped on the back of the motorcycles, and took off down the rough dirt roads, swerving to avoid the larger rocks and potholes. The ride took about 25 minutes, all of which we spent desparately trying to stay balanced, fighting our heavy backpacks on the corners and clutching our five liter plastic bags of water with our sweaty arms.

Finally we arrived at the beach and the worth of the long trip there was immediately apparent.



The white sand beach stretched into the distance, curving along the florescent blue water, with the palm huts of restaurants and hammock shelters dotting down the coast. We walked down the beach a bit before settling in and renting a hammock from this really nice couple who also ran a tiny food stand and restaurant. We hung out the rest of the day on the beach, swimming in the warm water and sitting in plastic chairs under thatched roof canopies.





Periodically, groups of Caribbean women would come up trying to sell massages or trinkets. James spoke no Spanish and had a hard time insisting on saying no, and he paid the price. At one point we looked over and he had three women massaging him, one on each arm and one on his shoulders, while some weird guy was installing a rainbow-colored cloth braid in his hair. Yikes.

That night we had dinner and made a small fire on the beach, using coconut husks as kindling.

Waking up the next morning in my hammock was one of my favorite moments. I opened my eyes to see the ocean sparkling and tropical trees growing in the white sand. It looked like a Corona commercial. I stood up from my hammock and walked directly down and into the water. The perfect way to start the day.



We decided to take a boat back to Cartagena that afternoon rather than dealing with the motorcycle / rowboat / bus combination again. We paid $7 and got on a big cruiser boat, where we were able to sit on the deck and watch as we sped past the outlying fortified islands surrounding Cartagena. It was incredible to imagine huge fleets of pirate ships staging an attack, pushing in towards the city through a gauntlet of canons.