playa koralia

so right now, i’m lying on the beach on the northern coast of colombia with this behind me:

and i’m looking at this:

beautiful, right? well, lemme tell you what happened before i got here:

first, i woke up yesterday morning, packed, had a big salad and an arepa, went to a cafe around the corner for some fresh juice with corie and santi, and then cabbed it to the terminal de transporte de bogotá. there, some dude started talking to me as i compared prices for 3 different bus companies to santa marta. after i told him it would be pointless to exchange numbers because it’s not worth the extra 40 cents per minute for the international call, i searched the station for the biggest bottle of water i could find. i realized later that this dude was following me around the station. why? i don’t know, because he never said anything to me after i rejected his phone number. maybe he was going to rob me. or maybe he was trying to muster up the guts to ask me again, but i left too soon (an hour later). i don’t know, but the worst he managed to do was creep me out for a few minutes. i mean he was an attractive guy, but i seriously couldn’t tell if he was a stalker, a thief, a loiterer, or all three.

anyway, i found the water then decided on the cheapest company, with an 18-hour bus ride for 70,000 pesos (around $35). i get to the window and there is a different employee there than when i originally asked for the details a few minutes prior. so i ask for a ticket to santa marta, and she tells me it’s 80,000 pesos. now corie warned me that people would hear my accent and charge me like a dumb, american turista. but i didn’t expect this at the bus station. still, i asked her why it wasn’t 70,000 pesos like before. then she looked at me, clicked something on the computer, and changed the price to 70,000. i asked her if it was the same ticket or if there was a problem, and she said “no, santa marta. no problema”. wow.

eventually, i boarded the bus, which was far more accommodating than any bus i’ve used in the states. the seats were large and soft, they reclined way back, and there was plently of leg room. there were movies playing with perfectly clear sound and the bathroom was actually pleasant...though of course there was no tissue. (it’s ok though; i brought my own; thanks corie for the tip!) the temperature actually required less than a wool blanket, and somehow they had it smelling like strawberry shortcake for the entire trip. they played three american films with spanish voice-overs. one of them was the most recent fast and furious. watching tyrese and ludacris dubbed in spanish was hilarious! (kinda like that chinese dude speaking spanish in granada...)

as the trip went on, i began to realize that 1. they don’t announce the stops; you just gotta pay attention. 2. many of the stops are just in front of some fruit stand on the side of the road. no way to tell...unless you’re the bus driver i guess. now that i think about it, this is common for buses in the rural areas i’ve visited, including spain and morocco. 3. vendors can get on the bus and sell they’re stuff, while also getting a ride to the next town to sell their stuff on the street. seriously, i’m sitting there watching terminator, and this woman is waving an empanada in my face. i felt like i was back in the barber shop. #nostalgic

after some beautiful scenery, we got to the rest stop about 6 hours in, and instead of a nasty fast food restaurant (which in rural colombia would seemingly be an empenada or arepa spot), there was a real restaurant with cooked meals. it was awesome. (i’m running out of money, so i opped for a bag of chips, instead. but) the food looked wonderful. i’m talkin’ fish filets, beans and rice, soup. mouth watering!

after the stop, i leaned back and got 9 hours of frequently interrupted sleep. (turns out those chairs were nice, but they ain’t no american first class recliners, and they definitely ain’t no beds.) i woke up to find that the the ride was actually 19 hours. when i realized we were at the santa marta bus station, i of course walked to the front of the bus to exit. but the driver told me not to get off. apparently he thought i wanted to get a snack or something and didn’t want me holding up the bus. damn, if this was 3 months ago, i would be lost somewhere in colombia because my spanish was como, nada. anyway, i told the guy that this is my stop, and he looked surprised until i repeated myself. we got off and unloaded my luggage, and i felt like i had just stepped into a new orleans july. it was hot as shit, and i was not prepared. after quickly stripping down to shorts, a beater, and sandals in the 900-peso-bathroom, i arranged a bus to the next farm, which is in a smaller pueblo called buritaca.

an hour-long bus ride ending in front of some food stand where the tortilla vendor also exited the bus with me + a short cab ride with the driver, his friend, and some kid they kept referring to as mono (monkey) = arrival at the gates of the beautiful koralia playa.

i had a short conversation with patricia, the manager, about my duties, hours, upkeep of my room, etc. she tells me that for my first few days, most of the help is needed in the kitchen. she said i can chill out for today, and tomorrow i’ll start volunteering around 7am for breakfast. meanwhile, a large turtle crawls into the office from outside and she pauses to feed him. what?! adorable!

i arrived right in time for lunch, so i was directed to the kitchen and served a plate of spaghetti. i decided to stand up and move closer to the table with the other volunteers, when slop! all of the spaghetti neatly slid off of the plate and splattered onto the floor. everyone laughed hysterically, as i scrambled for a...broom? mop? what is an appropriate cleaning utensil for this situation? i asked myself. after about 30 seconds, an employee (who reminds me a lot of you, aunt del) knelt down, picked the spaghetti up by hand, and carried it to the compost...all the while still laughing. i was so embarrassed, and i offered to help make more. but in all their hospitality, they refused my help. damn. what a first day.

later, i showered, had a little siesta, and then explored the hotel. i mean, it’s called a hotel, but it’s not like any i’ve ever seen; it’s not one big building with several rooms. it’s a buncha small buildings with hammocks on the front porches and palm trees, plants, and dirt paths in between. 22 of them to be exact, all made of straw, bamboo, and other natural materials. all the paths open up to the beach: playa koralia. it’s breathtaking.

on my way to the beach, i took a path that appeared to be less traveled, and had the shit scared out of me by large reptile scurrying across my path (i don't know the name of it, but here they've nicknamed it lobo, the spanish word for wolf. wtf!). thanks robert frost. won’t be doing that again!

i clenched my fists in fear and backed away from the area and back into the path more traveled by. and now i’m here, writing to you, for the first time in over a month. it feels good to be back.