ISLA BARU

 

Isla Baru is actually not an island at all, more like a little peninsula about an hour drive from Cartagena. I had wanted us to have some rest and relaxation after touring such big cities, and this was totally the right call. We had a terrifying time getting there, if you can imagine navigating a city you've never been in before where you only really speak 1/8 of the language. The owner of our guesthouse had arranged for a car to pick us up from the airport, where we had our first little twinge of fear (is this guy in a beat up pickup truck with lumber in the back our taxi driver??) and a second mega wave of fear after getting stuck in what seemed like a parking lot full of oil tankers and angry truck drivers after the sun set. "¿Qué pasó?" I asked him, trying to sound totally unconcerned and not terrified. "La línea para el ferry," he answered. We were waiting in line for the dumbest way I ever saw to cross fifty feet of water, basically a ferry where they squeezed four or five trucks at a time to float for 30 seconds to get to the other side.

We weren't murdered or robbed, and we ended up safely at the guesthouse I had booked. We were staying only two nights at the lovely Hostal Ecológico Baruchica, a tiny place with only four rooms run by a former photographer on its own isolated beach. There are hammocks and no TVs, the food is prepared by a staff of two, and there are beers you can take from the fridge and mark down on a little sheet that Olga, the owner, adds to your bill for when you leave. There are no stores to buy things like junk food or suntan lotion. (We got pretty sunburned). Our bathroom was open air, and the first two nights I had to chase giant spiders out with a magazine. (I learned I am much less afraid of things like big bugs and ghosts than my boyfriend.) There are two dogs and a cat, and no wi-fi. It was incredible. We spent the entire time laying in hammocks, reading, swimming, and eating. Every meal was at a big table where you eat with the other guests, but luckily the people who search out such an out of the way destination tend to be pretty cool. We had a fancy French family with three children who all looked like models and were incredibly well-behaved; an Argentinian couple of graphic designers; and a young midwestern couple who surprisingly lived in Williamsburg until 2008 before abandoning New York for their roots. (I hope they thought we were cool.)

Our bed had mosquito netting. I read Márquez, of course.

Our bathroom had the cutest lock I ever saw in my life. It was on the outside of the door, not to actually lock the door (NONE OF THE ROOMS HAD LOCKING DOORS) but to hold the door from banging around since the actual bathroom was open air and the wind would blow in. The open-air bathroom freaked me out at first, but when you're tan and full and happy, you'd be surprised how fast you stop giving a fuck.

One of the most common dishes in Colombia is Mojarra, a deep fried whole fish usually served with rice and smashed plantains. It's delicious and I actually think we got sick in Bogotá eating it, but that didn't stop us from eating it constantly. We resolved on trying to find it back in the states and were disappointed to discover it's basically just a type of tilapia.

Our last night, Olga lit a bonfire on the beach and everyone sat on logs around it, drinking beer and sharing travel stories. We drank her out of beer that night.