From Palomino to Cabo de la Vela. Guajira. Colombia

20/10/2013

Map !!

Palomino-Riohacha

Planning the next steps with my favorite travel companion

Buses apparently do not comply with the highest standards in Guajira, which entails that, en route from Palomino to Riohacha,
1) I didn't succumb to the soft embrace of a freezing death
2) my back was constantly being beaten by a few hard parts of my seat, which were made to stick out by an evil maker.
Just a few soldiers were scattered patrolling the road, probably protecting the gentle white pearl of Riohacha by the growing threat of barren soil and diminishing vegetation.

Ah, Riohacha ! Shining medallion of gold in the East, gate to fabulous riches, ward of the pyramids so many weary travelers have spotted, glimmering on the horizon in the middle of the desert heat.

Yes, a sultry, bleak town with little to offer but transportation and lousy food (truth be said, the area by the coast is not so horrible, but I need to keep complaints frequent for some inexplicable internal urge).

Riohacha-Uribia

Cootrauri (calle 15 @ 5-39, as per instructions from Lonely Planet - from the bus terminal, just follow calle 15 in the direction you came from, second the left-right bend, cross the road and you'll find it on your right. Looks a little sketchy, but it actually isn't) quickly provided me with a 4x4, a pilot, three silent fellow travelers, probably shocked by my gulping unreasonable amounts of beer at 10am (wtf, it was hot !), and some 20 minutes wait in which I was lucky enough to see the final scenes of Face/Off: John Travolta, Nicholas Cage, tawdry camera movement and slow motion, cheesy lines, horrible plot. Fuck you IMDB.

In the end, the road to Uribia proved exceptionally smooth, as it was an almost empty, largish asphalt road which stretches from Riohacha all the way to Maicao and beyond, into the Venezuelan territory. It was also decently kept, so that we didn't really need all our 4x4 power. But we would. Soon ..

Closing in toward Uribia, the vegetation grows scarcer, while more and more cacti decide to exploit the thin awning provided by sad looking local trees, just a hue away from dusty green, well far from the lush colors of tropical forests.

The town is quite ugly, but the market area is teeming with life: everyone has apparently a share in the trades, everyone's buying and selling. I guess that one huge achievement of modern distribution systems is to get rid of the redundant intermediaries (which are therefore free to dedicate themselves to more productive activities - such as a PhD in physics ?)

Here my westerness/europeanness/whiteness was inevitably spotted, and truck drivers tried to exploit my innocence and kind heart (heart begins with a "ha!" sound) by trying to extort 30k COP for a ride to Cabo de la Vela. Sensing - with a broken "Ha!"rt - an attempt of ass-fucking, I politely (but not so much) flipped the bird, disembarked and boarded a different truck.

The truck was a pick-up (take this, make everything old and rusty) to which someone had added a metal structure, for overhead luggage room, and a few benches, and then decided to cram as many people as would fit (something like this). In our specific case, we had a few guys hanging on the metal structure (quite outside the enclosed part), suckling babies, aguardiente addicts, and a tied-up goat, whose bleats are positively akin to babies'.

No information on the goat's fate has ever reached me. My guess.

Uribia-Cabo de la Vela

And, finally, we hit the road !

And what a road: an unpaved, dusty carretera extends into the desert, cutting through the scant vegetation of cacti, pools of water the color of mud, trees so thirsty you feel like watering them is your sacred duty, sparse flocks of handfuls of goats. The road unchanging, unbending for hundreds of miles (about 40 actually, all the way to Puerto Bolìvar), running parallel to train tracks apparently only worthy of transporting wares (btw, whom do they belong to ? Multinationals working in the Guajira ? Yes, apparently it's the Cerrejón, which mines thermal carbon). Oh, right: a few wagons lie warped and broken by the tracks, sad mementos of a dateless bombing. Well it could be this bombing (October 13, 2013!), while this happened right after I got back from Cabo de la Vela (October 23, 2013). Authorities suggest that this kind of bombing is FARC's doing.

After about one hour on this stretch of road, things got dire: we turned left, into some godforsaken, mud-encrusted track, elegantly waving amidst the dusty cacti-and-trees condos; the apparent thirst of the road was quenched by countless pools - formed by either lluvia or evil-minded gods - interrupting the track,
Our engine failed, in no particular order, in the middle of these lagoon sized ponds, a few meters after passing them, right before the crossing, and also on completely dry ground. Just about everywhere.

I'm pretty sure big G is saturating the colors..

Just as the dust on clothes, hands, head, lungs becomes almost unbearable, the Caribbean Sea suddenly opens up on the horizon, and the wind blows strong and sweet, making the sun of the early afternoon a trifle to withstand. Or Burn, Baby, Burn.

I survived

Windsurf

As I learned from one of my fellow truck-travelers, a kite surf school has opened - and is rolling - in Cabo de la Vela. I couldn't really find online info about them. Windsurf is actually the only thing you can do in Cabo de la Vela, and the spot is just Perfect: absolutely flat sea, with no waves at all, while a strong wind is always blowing outwards. I'm still wondering how that's possible. In particular considering that I was suffering from otitis at the time.

Tours

Apparently, at least a couple of places in the pueblo (all along the sea) offer tours to Punta Gallinas directly from Cabo de la Vela. I didn't inquire as to the prices, however, as my interest was thwarted by the sudden realization that 1) there was no ATM in the village, and 2) I had a grand total of about 70k COP, which needed to cover for all my expenses for two days - lodging included. Shit.

Lodging

I stayed at Jarrinapi, which offers cabanas for 35k (private restroom) or amacas for 10k. Due to my funding problem, I took a hammock: power is available, but restrooms were quite dirty, the lack of non-dusty surfaces is kinda annoying,  and there is no running water: baldes y pozos - ay carajo !

The Village (horror vibe intentional)

Cabo de la Vela is evidently a fishermen's village (no sails though, it's all so engine operated - sigh), and no other activity whatsoever is apparent; the unreasonable amount of "restaurante y hospedaje"s hints at a lively high season, as does this flyer I found, hanging on the wall outside a random tiendita.
Oh, right, fuck their (somewhat appropriately) goddamn christian radio blabbering in the background. It was even worse than Radio Maria.

Highlights:

"Peddlers must not exist, if they are there they must be located in a specific place" (...)

"Collaborate on the measures to be taken about the sale of hallucinogens"

"The sale of dusts is completely forbidden"

I guess they must have fun !

As I ended up there in Extremely Low Season, I was surrounded by Wayuu: I asked "Wayuu here ?", and they would reply "Wayuu here ?".
...
Yes it's a pun. No they don't speak English. My jokes are wasted on you people. (Hint: Wayuu is pronounced as in "Why you")

Hello Polly !

The only other Westerner - as inappropriate as the noun is - was Nunu, a Portuguese now probably in Venezuela, or Rio, or Portugal. As he's an architect, we sat staring at local cactus-made cabanas, reverse engineering the construction technique. I think I got it.

So did the night descend. And I wasn't ready. Not at all. A mix of heat, cold, mosquitoes, ear pain made me hope desperately for dawn. Which did come, in the end, opening to a new glorious day of dusty empty roads, glaring locals and little desayuno. (As a side note, the second night was way better, as I had found the One Secret to be able to sleep on hammocks without mosquito nets: just cover every fucking inch of your body, and stop breathing for good measure. Scientific literature states that bugs start feasting on corpses from the second day on.)

Sightseeing

After waking up and downing a poor excuse for a breakfast (pina, 2 maracuyas and a beer), and killing time until 2 (what the hell did I do ?? Oh right, I took a shower .. Technology FTW !), I finally decided to go explore the coast, as Lonely Planet promised me

1. A Lighthouse !!!!
2. A wonderful bathing spot of crystal blue water called Ojo de Agua
3. A blissful orange beach known as El Pilon de Azucar (The sugar heap)

So, after trudging my way up a hill, well into the first hour of walking, I was faced with a handsome promontory featuring a tiny islet, apparently uninhabitable and uninhabited, and a minuscule version of the tour Eiffel, sporting a light at its very top. DEFINITELY not worth it.

The querido Ojo de Agua was a likewise waste of time (a small beach enclosed in rock walls, neither high nor remarkable in any way), and trusted information mongers revealed that Pilòn de Azùcar is more remarkable for its general lack of hygiene and abundance of glass shards than its wonderful colors. All in all, Meh !

Last positive note: I  spent my last for an effin good whole jarrona (some kind of fish?), with a decent amount of vegetables to round things up.

Fuck Yeah !

So, after a better night, blessed by an abating otitis and better anti-mosquito tactics, I was finally able to get back to civilization.