30 November to 1 December 2015
Dad and Latoya had left and after a long time I had no definite plans. I decided against the trek to the Lost City. I didn’t feel like doing another jungle hike in the humid heat with 20 other people. Maybe I will regret it one day. Instead I booked a three day desert tour of Guajira and the most northern point of South America.
In my group were an American sheriff, an Australian world traveller and a Dutch couple. Very nice people that also agreed to play Wizzard with me one evening.
My memories of Guajira are of a vast and windswept landscape that reminded me of an African Savannah, although I have not been to one: low bushes and yellow-red earth. The whole region belongs to the indigenous Wayuu, who have their own language and are the only ones who can own land there. Our guide explained that a German couple who owns a Kitesurf school at Cabo de la Vela first needed a Wayuu friend in order to settle there. Only then could they could rent a house and open their business.
It’s a very poor region. The Wayuu live of herding goats and making colourful bags and hammocks. The houses/huts look very basic. The fences are often made of cactuses and the water comes from cisterns. I can’t remember about electricity. But I do remember that in comparison to most of Colombia, there was an enormous amount of rubbish around. Plastic bags had been caught everywhere in the bushes, the ground was full of plastic bottles.
After hours of driving, we got off the main road which runs alongside the same rail tracks that run through Aracataca and transport the coal to the harbour. On the bumpy and windy sand piste that followed, the car often got stopped by road blocks erected by the Wayuu children. The toil to lower the string they had fixed across the street were sweets or bottled water. It was their Christmas holiday entertainment it seemed.
In Cabo de la Vela we walked up a hill and had a wonderful view of endless sand, rocks and the sea. We were protected by some very young army recruits who were also there on a day trip. There is a year long military service for all eighteen year old Colombian men, although those with enough money can buy themselves out of it I heard.
In the evening, we saw a beautiful sunset over the sea and slept in hammocks in an open hut at the beach. I woke up with the first light and watched the sun coming up over the hills shining red and golden over the water.
Punta Gallina, the most north in the south, is not that spectacular, but the nearby enormous sand dunes that end directly in the sea are stunning. It does feel like the end of the world. There is nothing there, which obviously makes up part of its beauty. Although I had secretely hoped for a little kiosk serving ice cold beer to enjoy with this evening’s sunset over the dunes. I got the beer later together with fresh lobster. The night that followed got quite fresh with a strong wind and I needed an extra blanket in my hammock.
The day though was scorching hot and I was glad that the 4×4 we travelled with had airconditioning. The drive back to Santa Marta was long, but beautiful through this empty arid landscape.
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lisaimwunderland.com 
Hallo Lisa,es kann sein ,Dass du diese Mail schon erhalten hast.
Sehr gute Fotos,wie z.B. : Taroa dunes
Wer nie in der Fremde war,weiß nicht,was Heimkehr,Heimat ist.
On,on!
Liebe Grüße
Rudolf
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Dear Lisa
You are obviously having a great time. Thanks for your blogs they have been superb. Have an excellent trip and look forward to seeing you on your return
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