About 200k up the Caribbean coast from Cartagena is the city of Santa Marta. According to my Lonely Planet, it is "South America's oldest surviving city". I was looking forward to more of the magic that we had found in Cartagena before heading west to find the Pan American highway. Our plan was to take the bike off the trailer and spend a few days getting organized for travel, a bit of wild beach at the Tayrona National Park and a museum where I could learn more about the lost city I had read about in David Mann's wonderful book, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus.
We choose a campsite in El Rodadero, next town over from Santa Marta, that I had read about in the incredibly helpful blog Seventeen by Six (seventeenbysix.wordpress.com) maintained by two journalists from London with a van on an adventure similar to ours. They called the campsite "The closest we found to a US-style RV park/campsite in Colombia." After our experience driving to Florida, to me this meant electrical hook ups, neighboring campers with lots of advice, kids on swings and helpful people in the office. Maybe a pool. Perfect for our first time on our own, right?
Well of course it was not what we expected. There were colorful murals and swings, the occasional electrical outlet, but not a single other camper. October and November are the rainy season in Colombia, and we were the sole campers of any sort at the campsite for the 4 nights were were there. In addition, the campsite was very close to the water, which in a resort town in Colombia now means that many high-rise condominiums and hotels are under construction all around it. So we were not really alone. In addition to the owner, who spent many years working in Hilton Head and would be very helpful at the end of our stay, there were always other people about: the groundskeeper, who lived in a tent close to our site; a man who lived in the vacant lot next door which he entered through a locked gate; Angie who ran the spa and her employees and children, and the residents of a house (some of these employees and their children) one of whom had recently gone to school in Hartford, CT. And, of course, all the people going by on the road to the beach and looking down on us from the high-rises under construction.
In Colombia, we get noticed. We are getting used to it. We are two white people with a camper van (very unusual in Colombia) with a huge motorcycle. When we walk down a street, random children will say "Jhello" or "Moto" or "Camper". At the campsite, they probably also saw us walking about the campsite with our phones or computers trying to get wifi service or find an outlet to get things charged up.
By the end of our third day we finished our chores, and prepared for our first van drive/bike ride the following morning. Both of us were nervous and anxious to get some experience behind us, so an early start to Tayrona 35k away seemed perfect for our first separate ride. The day before I spent a lovely hour sitting in a cafe by the beach in Santa Marta drinking limonada under an umbrella. I got some information about where to stay in Tayrona and was disappointed to learn that the Santa Marta museum was inexplicably closed until some vague point in October (for the rainy season).
Neither of us slept well that third night. It rained (it is the rainy season) and there were more dogs in the night than there had been. I even remember sitting up and putting my ear to the window trying to differentiate the separate sounds. When we finally got up, Luc knew right away something was wrong. The screen over the front window was ripped, and the things we had stowed on the front seats in the night were strewn over the front of the van: my briefcase, backpack, swimsuit, etc.
We realized quickly that the van had been broken into while we were sleeping. My backpack had contained a set of keys to the motorcycle, so the "ladrones" had used the keys to remove the panniers from the back of Luc's bike. With the help of some of our neighbors, we quickly called the police and found various items scattered close to the fence that the thieves had cut through: my agenda book with all my notes and passwords, the keys, even my Lonely Planet and maps stacked neatly on the front wheel of the van where they wouldn't get wet. A bit later, Luc found the panniers unlocked in the vacant lot, with only his new motorcycle rain suit missing.
We spent the morning with the police. Lieutenant Andreas Molano, age 21, accompanied us to the main Santa Marta Police Station in the camper and helped us complete the police reports. We spent the afternoon regrouping and counting our blessings (including full computer back up, no missing wallets). We contacted friends at home and in Colombia for help and advice, and I think, just to feel connected. We decided to forego Parque Tayrona this time due to the chance of rain and the realization that we just weren't ready to leave the van and motorcycle alone while we hiked to the Tayrona beaches. That will have to be for another time (maybe on our way to the Ciudad Perdida on our return trip?).
Jeremy and Paula of the Seventeen by Six blog end each post with the number of days traveled (their most recent 1,068), number of miles traveled (23,986) and "Things we now know to be true". If they ever see this post, I hope they will feel that mimicry is the highest form of flattery:
This is us as of our last day in Santa Marta:
Days (in South America): 37
Kilometers Traveled: 115
Things we now know to be true: When bad things happen, there are good people to help you.
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