The Village, or “Pueblito”, had been abandoned for decades. With a rapidly decreasing supply of water, and no food since the previous day, our plan to hike three hours into the dense jungle covered hills and stop here for provisions, was seemingly a foolish one. The heat was intense, our strength was waning under the weight of 20 kilo packs, we were at least a three hour trek up and down steep steaming jungle clad hillsides from any civilization, and we had yet to see another soul all morning. Finding a clear running stream at the end of the village we dropped our packs and soaked our feet, weighing the options ahead.
We had started early, at around 6.30am from El Cabo San Juan. The previous night we had spent being repeatedly tossed from our hammocks as a Caribbean gale buffeted our cliff-top perch. As the sun rose my two companions and I made a bleary-eyed decision to load up and head to a more secluded beach in Tayrona National Park, away from the backpacking crowds of El Cabo. We knew it was a good five to six hour march up and down steep and humid jungle trails, but we counted on being able to breakfast and stock up on water at a place marked on the map as “Pueblito”, meaning village, roughly three hours hike away.
Arriving at these remains of a civilization we were crestfallen. Unlike most other visitors to Tayrona National Park, who arrive by boat from nearby Santa Marta, party for a night, and ferry back with a hangover, we had hiked in fully loaded from the Eastern end of the park.
We were only two days in, but were feeling the effects of penetrating moist heat, heavy packs, and very steep, muddy trails, which were as arduous clumping down, as they were climbing up. After a sleepless night, no food and little water, we faced a real dilemma. Option one was to continue on to a potentially deserted beach, a gamble on there being someone there who could perhaps offer food and shelter for the night. We had heard from fellow travellers that there was a family in residence, but we couldn’t be sure. If they were not, we would be too exhausted to climb back out of the jungle and would be stuck there for at least one night without sustenance. Option two was to relinquish the dream of hiking through the jungle to our own paradise beach and head for the road, a three hour trek away to certain safety.
Four hours later, legs shaking with exhaustion, clothes soaked through with sweat and jungle moisture, and all trace of smiles wiped humourlessly from our faces, we stumbled out of the trees into the secluded cove of Playa Brava.