by Hawys Boobier
Longlisted in the PureTravel Writing Competition 2023
We were given two options: horseback or hike. What, no boat? Our visions of sunning ourselves on the idyllic beaches of Tayrona National Park definitely hadn’t included a three-hour trek to get there.
Faced with the terrifying thought of trying to rein in a temperamental Colombian horse, trekking seemed the lesser of two evils. And so, ten minutes later, my travel buddy Jade and I were venturing into the jungle.
The first stretch did its best to lure in us reluctant hikers. Logs lying haphazardly on the ground transpired to be strategically-placed stepping stones. ‘We can do this’ we told ourselves, skipping over bubbling brooks as we quickly became experts at manoeuvring our way across, our Converse-clad feet barely skimming the water.
The river was our first real hurdle. It was time for the trainers to come off. As we waded thigh-high through the murky water, we were suddenly grateful for the small fortune we had shelled out for that yellow fever vaccination. An imposing tree trunk blocked the way. ‘Watch out for the crocodile!’ yelled a trekker up ahead. Thankfully we only later learnt he hadn’t been joking.
Our hesitant pace soon saw us fall behind. A wave of panic hit as we realised that we had lost sight of our trusty trek leaders. We crept gingerly onwards, silently hoping our high-pitched shrieks would carry through the jungle should anything go awry.
A rare signpost informed us we were only a third of the way through. I heard a scream. Much worse than the realisation that we had well over half the trek to go, Jade had discovered a pack of black centipedes with fire-red legs crawling frantically over a rock. We grabbed the nearest hanging branch and swung through the air to safety.
Far from dry land, what met us on the other side was a swamp, and no way around it. With no idea of its depth, we took the plunge into the unknown. Knee-deep, we squelched our way through, consoling ourselves with far-fetched images of a pampering mud bath.
A barely-there breeze briefly punctured the oppressive 40-degree heat. It was enough to give us a newfound sense of bravery, and soon we found ourselves clambering over boulders, barefoot and scantily clad. By this point we were fearless jungle adventurers that even Mowgli would have been proud of.
Our explorer bravado was short-lived as we reached a clearing revealing the other trekkers, suspiciously clean by comparison and sniggering at our less-than-pristine demeanour.
I prepared to retaliate when, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the million camera flashes of the Caribbean sea sparkling in the sunlight. We had reached Cabo San Juan beach, its horizontal palm trees arched lazily in the late afternoon sun.
In the space of a few seconds, any hard feelings I had towards the arduous trek had vanished. Here was paradise.
Photo by Olimpo Ávila Salazar on Unsplash
