From A to B with Buxton: Sleeping in Hammocks

You might think the idea of sleeping in a hammock on a Caribbean beach is idyllic.

Personally, I had my reservations due to my fear of insects, stray dogs and the dark, amonst other things. However, when I arrived at Playa Blanca on the island of Baru, just off the Colombian mainland on the Caribbean sea, I changed my mind. The sand was white and powdery. The sea was warm and turquiose. And the hammocks were cheap and literally on the beach. It was like stepping into a postcard. We´d met some new friends, Niall, Riva and Matt and we sat on the beach congratulating ourselves on just being there.

Arriving at Playa Blanca

Not a bad way to spend January

The day trippers left, we got the beach to ourselves (and the other overnighters, of course), we had some beers and 2-4-1 cocktails as the sun went down and we all agreed we were in paradise. Then it started to get a bit chilly.

Now I feel the cold. Always have, probably always will. My dad tells me he thinks I was born in the wrong country. It has to be what other Brits would call ridiculously hot for me to consider going outside without at the very least a cardigan, whatever country I´m in. But we´d caught a boat from Cartagena, just across the water from Baru, and Cartagena was hot even at night.

So I arrived at Playa Blanca with a thin three-quater length jacket and nothing else remotely warm. And I was so cold all night it kept me awake. Well, that and the pelican that Riva and I were sure was nesting above our heads (the boys think it was our imaginations but what do they know?). It was one of those nights where you just can´t wait for it be morning so you can stop trying to sleep.

Stop. Hammock time.

Blissfully unaware that it was about to get COLD

We all agreed we'd had a terrible night's sleep and felt pretty groggy and achy (hammocks are really only comfortable for an afternoon snooze in my opinion) when we awoke, instead of full of joy at the sound of gentle waves just metres from us. But then all we had to do was roll out of the hammock and into the sea and all was right with the world again. And I could have stayed there forever...

Actually, I say that, but two days later when we tried to leave and failed, I didn't feel quite the same way. We fell out with our boat company over how much it would cost us to return to the mainland, and I refused to travel with them on principe. The guys who owned the hammock place had told us he could get us on a boat the following morning at 6am, so we marched back there, sat on the beach and decided it wasn´t the end of the world to have to spend another night here.

Seriously though, what´s not to like?

Six AM the following morning we were sat on the beach ready to go, soaking up the beautiful view one last time.

Six thirty we were still there, trying to appreciate the view still but generally getting annoyed. We asked the guy if everything was ok with the boat. He said yes, then sauntered down the beach for a coffee.

Six fifty, we saw a boat speeding away from us from the other side of the beach towards the mainland. Our guy was running furiously along the beach after it on his mobile phone.

He took his time walking back to us and of course we knew what was coming. Apparently, the boat was full, of course it wasn't that he hadn't phoned them until it was too late...

There were no other boats leaving until gone three in the afternoon, too late for us as we wanted to catch a bus onto our next destination that same night. So then the guy starts drawing a 'map' in the sand with his finger of what I believe was the island, and started explaining that - good news! - there was another way. All we had to do was catch a motorbike to the other side of the island, get another boat back to the mainland, then catch a bus to the centre of Cartagena. And - more good news! - it would be cheaper and we would be there in an hour!

This so-called ´good news´ went down like a lead balloon and we doubted if we'd ever make it back. But as we stood around, now blind to the paradise that surrounded us, it became clear we didn't have much choice, so off we went with two strangers on the back of their little motos. I should also mention that I'm afraid of riding on bikes, after my first experience in Kavos when I was 18 with my cousin Kat ended immediately after it had began, in a ditch across the road from the rental place. I've hardly been on a bike since then, but I really enjoyed it, and at least we got to see some more of Baru than just the beach.

We had arrived from Cartagena on a three-hour cruise boat with about 200 people on board. We left on a five-minute, small, slow motorboat. It didn't even look like the sea we were crossing, rather a big pond and I was convinced they'd dumped us on another island. We got on the bus with no idea of where we were or where it was going. When I asked the conductor, he reeled off a list of places, none of which sounded like Cartagena. To make it worse it was rush hour and we were standing up amid a sweaty crowd.

But, eventually, the city skyline came into view and we breathed a sigh of relief. We were on the mainland and we were in the right city. Happy days.

Five minutes after our anxiety abated, the bus stopped in front of a road blocked off by a police car. The bus driver made an announcement we didn't understand, at which half the people on the bus got off and the other half pushed to the front and started to have a heated argument with the driver. We sat where we were and concentrated really hard in the hope that we would get some kind of clue as to what was happening.

Slowly, it became apparent that the bus wasn´t going anywhere. I asked how far it was to walk, too far was the answer. We wandered up the road to where another couple of tourists were standing, and suggested to them that we share a taxi, but they explained that this was the problem, taxi drivers were striking and blocking all entrances into the old town. Great. Our only option was to pay someone on a motorbike to squeeze between the blockades and take us to our hotel.

It all sounded a bit Mission Impossible to me (except the bikes were only 50cc), but we did as we were told and made it in time to have a quick breakfast, grab our backpacks from the hotel and board another two buses to Santa Marta, another city further up the Caribbean coast, from where we were travelling to Tayrona National Park.

If only it came with Jack and Sawyer...

Tayrona is beautiful. The first beach you arrive at there is like the one from LOST - ocean one side, rainforest the other. We stayed at a campsite called Don Pedro´s with our Canadian friends from Playa Blanca, Matt and Riva. Don Pedro´s was set back from the beach with two other campsites between it and the sea, so in their own words: ´We don´t get mosquitoes here!´

This was lucky for us as we´d arrived at the national park without mosquito nets, bug spray or malaria tablets. This occured to me on arrival, so I asked a fellow backpacker, ´There´s no malaria here, right?´

´Right´. He said. And that was that.

The beach closest to us was a no swim area, as several signs reminded us that over 100 people had died in these waters, and asked us please try and not become another statistic.

At the end of each beach there was a trail through the forest to another beach. All the beaches were different, all were lovely.

lovely beach

Another lovely beach

So basically we spent our time in Tayrona walking through forests and lazing on beaches. It was bliss, a truly beautiful place and if you´re ever in Colombia then don´t miss it.

At night, with no mosquito net, there were bats everywhere. There was a cover over the area the hammocks were pitched, and a bat had got stuck underneath it and was frantically flying about inches from my head. At least after last time, we´d learnt our lesson from being cold and brought jumpers and jogging bottoms... not enough. Everyone else had sleeping bags, we´d left ours at the hostel in Santa Marta. I cursed my stupidity as I shivered through the night with a sarong over my head to protect me from bats flying into my open mouth as I slept (could happen).

The next night, I rejoiced that it could be the last night of my life that I ever slept in a hammock.