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COLOMBIA It would take two full days by car, motorcycle, bus,
and van to get from Cartagena to La Guajira, the desolate north-
ernmost point of Colombia where the desert meets the sea, so my
friend Sean suggested we stop in Palomino along the way. “We
can do yoga and be all zen,” he said. I was in; we’d be spending
our coming days atop seaside cliffs, trekking across hot sand
dunes, and sleeping in hammocks. We could use the time in
Palomino to prepare for the adventure.
Palomino is the type of place where soul-searching European
expats with dreadlocks come to find their tribe. It’s the type
of place I tend to avoid. On our way into town, our taxi driver
tells us it used to be quiet around here, a home for indigenous
people, but in the last few years travelers came flocking for the
beachy vibe and nearby Sierra Nevada range. Developers came
next, bringing yoga studios, vegan restaurants, and juice bars.
After checking into our hotel, we head straight to the beach and
spread out on the sand. The weather is perfect, the sky a clear blue.
I play music on my phone, and Sean buys roasted nuts in
an oil-stained brown paper bag from an elderly man. There are
vendors everywhere. They sell arepas, fresh fruit, woven bags,
and those patterned friendship bracelets seemingly everyone
brings home from trips. A dark-skinned woman walks by hold-
ing up a binder full of images of Kim Kardashian wearing “Bo
Derek” and “boxer” braids, claiming she can replicate the look
for “50 mil pesos.”
A few feet away I see a woman squeezing oil from what looks
like an old bottle of dishwashing liquid onto a man’s sunburned
shoulders. She’s crouched down on a small stool and her firm
brown hands are working on his back, kneading and slapping
and pounding.
She notices me watching and shouts, “You next, mami!”
When she’s done with the guy, she makes her way over toa monastery. Whitewashed cottages frame the dormouse-quiet
cobbled street, and time seems to dial back centuries.
I cycle back towards Patershol for a beer at local bar ‘t Velootje,
its wacky decor so crammed with old bikes I can barely get in
the door. Bearded owner Lieven de Vos has run this cherished
spot for more than a quarter of a century.
Exiting the bar, I find the city has had a costume change, with
all its iconic buildings lit from the ground up. Ready for a whole
new two-wheeled adventure, I set off into the jaws of the night.BY
GLYNN POGUESEE THAT THE
WORLD IS BIG
AND SMALL
ALL AT ONCE
WOMEN & ADVENTURE: TRAVEL LESSONS