Leaving Punta Gallinas, back on the boat (life vest under ass makes for much more enjoyable ride), talk with “S” on the boat ride back, “Duro de Matar” is Die Hard – which has international staying power, boat lands and we hop in Range Rover with The Man (The Man is the guy with ten wives and a hundred kids), sit next to Argentine woman who tells us her horror story of getting to Punta Gallinas (spending three times as much money to get there, paying for some random lady, and getting swindled at every step of the way – I feel bad for her but she knows that she’s getting fucked and not doing anything about it, so…), Argentine talks about how The Man and his people used to run shit for Escobar in La Guajira and that he did a few years in prison for slaughtering a village (apparently The Man was bragging about his life to Argentine), but now The Man is in the tourism industry (“It was a pretty easy transition, one minute you’re slitting the throats of villagers, and the next you’re…”) The Man is nice enough and takes us where we need to go at the price agreed so fuck it.
Get back to Riohacha and have the taxi drop us directly in front of the bank, we have two thousand Colombian Pesos between the two of us (1$US) are caked from head to two with the desert and sea, sand and salt, burnt, but all is well, take money out from bank, walk one block and find a joint that sells… calzones, big wonderful giant calzones along with a fresh jugo and we’re back in business.
Cab to bus station, understanding Spanish extremely well at this point, bus to Santa Marta is about three hours and we arrive at 6pm, Hostel Noctambulo is so sick, hammocks and couches and loungers and a man named Pedro who is unbelievably friendly, hostel is full of gorgeous German women, go buy some beer from the tienda and I couldn’t be happier, take shower, feel great, feet up, nothing but smiles. Santa Marta is a beautiful city.
Feed the good wolf... 