There are a number of places on the Internet that one should visit while in Colombia. We don't usually follow them, as most of us find ourselves boring. But is there a place that has “curbed” our curiosity, whether it is heard from travelers or locals, seen through the internet, or outlined in our short life path, and standing somewhere else buried in other dreams? It's not a question of asking - there we are!
This is how we ended up in Cartagena, a Caribbean city we had heard about some fairy tales from the people we meet, a city with a population of over a million and included in the UNESCO list. We swallowed the fact that it was large and full of tourists, and after 3 hours of searching for something economical to sleep in, we disguised ourselves as tourists and embarked on a busy old city. We walked around as if searching for something that seems to be done by all the travelers in the city, from every corner of whom salsa, reggaeton or rumba can be heard.
The mood swept through the streets conquered us, but after long walks we decided that a day was enough. And so quickly, boldly, skillfully, accustomed to this sweet routine of preparing our luggage every day, we tidied up our rucksacks and headed for Totumo Volcano. He grabbed us the opportunity to germinate. Yes, literally! Immerse yourself in a volcano whose throat has no lava but mud. - "This is something new now. We are there!"
We have never booked a hotel in South America. We are always on our way to the next destination, driven by curiosity and good intentions. This time we did the same. We stopped in a small town near a volcano. As we descended, we learned that it was located on the shore of the sea, more precisely on a bay. We also didn't need to look for a hotel. It was so small that apart from asking for a house with a yard, with little space for a tent, we were left with nothing.
We got down to work and people told us to ask on the shore for Senor Hansi but not to go across the deserted beach because it was dangerous. We had learned so much about Senor Hansi's lesson and the dangerous beach that at one point we were finishing people's sentences. What else is left for us to do except to find the famous Hansie.
It was not difficult. We found ourselves in front of a half-roofed bar, posing as a hotel and the "hottest bar" in the village. It was writing a hotel on one of the walls. It turned out that they were offering a room where, we later found out, the hosts were actually sleeping. We set up the tent under the "thundering" music at the bar, overflowing with people drinking beers and it started! Several nice-looking people came to us and said, "Colombia is great!" - until they hear us say it. The other thing they said was that there was no need to be afraid. Interesting, because we had no such intention.
The accumulated heat, accompanied by "sea - jungle" moisture, had become unbearable on our shoulders. So instead of joining the adult beer circle, we went for the kids' fun.
We jumped with the kids from the pier in the warm like tea, salt water until we were driven out by the insolent mosquitoes, who warned that they were the proud owners of the twilight and were forced to head to the tent.
We thought a good quiet night at the beach was waiting for us: what turned out to be a thunderstorm, loud music in the house next door, and relentless, thirsty peasants looking for beer, even at the closed doors of the bar.
However, we got hungry for 'muddy' emotions and set off on foot after a long persuasion to get a taxi. We were just about to reach the last stretch of 1 km when a motorcycle taxi approached, saying: - I will not charge you money, get up there, and it is very hot to walk!
We didn't object, we got on the motorboat (in Colombia it's no problem to have more than two people on a motorboat, sometimes there's a 4-5) which took us right in front of the volcano.
We changed our clothes and climbed the ladder waiting for our muddy line. We were unpleasantly surprised. Anton and I were in front of a small pool, 3 by 3 meters, full of 20 people. They all looked like happy, tickling piglets in my eyes, and I admit, if I hadn't paid the entrance fee, I'd have walked back up the stairs.
By the time it was our turn, the muddy adventure seemed to me the most normal thing. Anton lost to "stone, scissors, paper," so he was hired as a photographer. By the time I was immersed in the mud, I was already grabbed by someone's hands, massaging me. By the time I turned down for the massage, other hands had already pushed me, others had pulled and hop! - I found myself in the opposite corner. They had to clear the place for a potential person wanting a massage, which of course paid.
A fight has begun! The hard way was to understand that the mud pool has no bottom, I was stuck to the surface thanks to my lungs. It took me a long time to get to a piece of railing to hold. I called a lot of people until I reached my goal - obviously no one minded. However, each one kicked the other in order to maintain some balance.
Anton stepping in, I pulled him in and arranged a piece of railing. It's different to have relationships, right? We hung out together and headed to the nearby lake for a wash.
There we were greeted by cheeky grandmothers with handcuffs, wishing to bathe the poor "muddy" people, like a mother bathes her newborn baby, and accordingly take his money. We bathed alone, which in grandmother's eyes seemed an achievement.
This whole 'muddy' process, it took about an hour or two, from which we had fun in the child, despite the unpleasant views. So, more thirsty than ever, we headed to the pier, which promised to wash us away from our muddy past.
