KIRAN GOES PLACES
Day one: a hostel that doesn't feel like Colombia
We made it onto the bus in a mad scramble, the kind where they just shout where it's going and you throw your bags in the back next to someone's vegetables. A couple of hours later we arrived at Viajero Hostels, right on the coast near Santa Marta, and the reception alone told us this wasn't going to be a normal hostel stop. It's nestled in the trees, and the path down to the beach opens up onto a pool right on the sand with two bars either side. It genuinely looked like one of those beachside places you'd find in Fiji or French Polynesia, not what either of us pictured for Colombia's Caribbean coast.
The pool right on the beach, with a bar on either side. Didn't feel like Colombia at all.
We couldn't check into our room until 3pm, so we came early on purpose just to sit in the shade at a table by the beach for a few hours first. Music was already drifting over from the bar area, and they had a boat-shaped wood-fire grill going, cooking fish on it for the day. Beauty comes with a price though, this was one of the pricier hostels of the whole trip, so we were staying in a dorm rather than a private room. Not that it felt like a downgrade, our 8-bed dorm was spacious, every bed had its own storage cabinet underneath, and the bathroom was entirely outdoors.
The view from a beachside hammock, which was basically the whole plan for the afternoon.
The plan for the next few hours was exactly that simple, lying in a hammock by the beach, doing nothing. Turns out we'd picked the day the hostel throws its big evening party. As the sun set, the whole place got properly vibey, DJ on, everyone down by the pool with drinks, and people from other hostels along the coast turning up too. Our room happened to be about as close to the party as it's possible to get, so it was going to be a fun night, and also a loud one.
We happened to land on party night. Loud, but a genuinely good one.
Day two: the world's most ashamed pizza, then into the park
Morning after felt like that scene after a really big party, people quietly cleaning up, everything gone still. We headed to breakfast feeling a bit worse for wear, but fresh juice, coffee and poached eggs sorted that out fast. This hostel really is built around slowing down, table tennis, yoga decks, all before the sun goes down and the party mode switches back on for whoever's still there.
That evening was make-your-own-pizza night, everyone gathered round a central beach hut pressing dough and piling on toppings before they went into the oven. Mine came out looking rough enough that I was genuinely ashamed of it on camera, but it tasted fine.
The next morning we set off for the park itself with some new friends we'd made at the hostel. Tayrona National Park sits where the foothills of the Sierra Nevada meet the Caribbean, and it's known for its coves, lagoons, rainforest and biodiversity. We'd heard through a friend of a friend that you could sleep overnight in hammocks at a viewpoint inside the park, arranged through a slightly cryptic WhatsApp number, and decided that was exactly what we wanted to do. On the way in we left our overnight bags in storage near the entrance rather than carry everything the whole way.
Leaving the heavy bags behind before the hike in, one of the better calls of the trip.
The trail itself I've written about in more detail in a separate Tayrona planning guide, the entrance, the passport rule, the famous bread, the swim zone warnings, all still true here. One moment that stuck with me though was deep in the jungle, walking in silence, when we came across a big rock where people leave small offerings of sticks. Someone explained it as humans giving the offering of sticks to the big rock in order to restore balance. Whether or not you buy into it, it's a genuinely striking spot in the middle of the rainforest.
The offering rock, deep in the jungle, somewhere between superstition and tradition.
Night at Cabo San Juan
We hiked through a string of beaches, past the famous bread guy, past a sign warning that more than a hundred people have drowned in these waters (a hard no on swimming there), until we reached Cabo San Juan. Seeing that viewpoint hut in person, perched on the hill between two beaches with the sea hitting both sides, made the whole walk worth it. I can completely understand why it's the spot everyone talks about, that ridiculous turquoise water and the quiet once the day-trippers clear out.
Inside the hut there are around twenty hammocks strung up close together, and one of them was ours for the night. No mosquito nets, but apparently it gets so windy up there that the bugs don't bother anyway. It's easily a contender for the strangest place either of us has ever slept, properly windy, noisy from the sea on both sides, and squeezed in next to strangers all night.
The view from the hammock, hills on one side, sea on the other.
Apparently it gets so windy up here that the mosquitoes don't stand a chance.
Woke up to sunrise over the hammocks, which is apparently the whole reason so many people make the effort to stay the night. Between the hostel that felt like a different continent and a night suspended over the sea in a hammock, this was one of those stretches of the trip that didn't need much of a plan to be one of the best parts of it.