Earlier this week we set off for Tyrona, one of Colombia's lovliest, jungliest national parks, near Santa Marta.
The guide read:
'be wary of snakes. If you get bitten DO NOT let anyone take you Santa Marta! Find antivenom within the park!'
Which implied that if they did take you to Santa Marta, you might not be in need of any assistance at all. By which I mean, you'd be totally dead. From a snake bite. Oh the fear.
We arrived into Santa Marta in glorious sunshine. We arrived into Tyrona 2 hours later in pouring rain. So I put the special waterproof cover on my rucksack, Miranda stretched a ripped plastic shopping bag over her handbag, and we began walking incredibly carefully through muddy, rocky, thin paths. It didn't help that the path is strewn with roots to trip over occassionally, and more frequently to confuse with SNAKES.
The good thing about this state of terror though is that it doesn't, it can't, last for very long. Once you've walked an hour without being mawled by a jaguar, and a massive spider hasn't even jumped on your face like that scene in Aracnophobia, you begin to forget how utterly predatory the jungle is. With the fear evaporated, you begin to realise that the jungle is just the sort of place that holidays are made for.
Colombians are fully aware of this already. In fact, our campsite was so full of drum-playing, conga-line-forming Colombians that we had to spend the first night hammocking in the kitchen hut. The second night, however, we managed to haggle our way into the most extraordinary place I've ever slept... in a hammock in a tiny hut sitting on a rocky outcrop in the Carribean.
As the pitch black night descended, we decided to hit the sack. Turning on the torch we discovered a yellow snake right next to us. We screamed.
we slept up there
we trekked with our new Colomibian amigos Monica and Jose, a telenovela actor who managed to get a discount from everyone who recognised his chiseled face
sleeping in the kitchen tent
bloody look at it
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