Barranquilla

Its reasonable to think that now that I am out of the mountains and along the coastal flatlands that life on the road would get much easier. O contraire! The riding from Cartegena to Barranquilla was some of the hardest days I've experienced and for a multiplicity of reasons. Namely the strong headwinds that have plagued my progress and hammered at me consistantly. I don't want to forget too soon -- because there were some great beaches out there too that might dull the memory -- how miserable so much of that riding was. A rippin wind right into my face all day combined with an equally vicious sun created for some hard times. It was pure desert out there. I was sandblasted by gusts from the beach which stuck to my sweaty skin and over the course of several hours it was uncomfortable, to say the least. Necessitated much swimming when the beaches were accessible, but much of the time it was close but too far to make a trip over a kilometer of dunes worth while when I could just put my head down and ride. It was bath water anyway and not that fun in the middle of the day when all you wanted to do was "get there", wherever that might be.

Thats the thing about bike touring, and this has been on my mind a lot lately: look, I recommend bike touring to everyone because I'm sure its the best way to really experience a place if you've got the time, but there is no hiding. You've got to ride those miles! So many times I just wanted to say "uncle" and thumb a ride or catch a bus, but... well, I kept on, and I guess thats what makes me a cyclist.

My first night out of Cartagena there was no "where" and I ended up camping in my most compromising situation yet. This entire region was bleak: hardly any towns and those small outcroppings of civilization which existed were nothing like the similar places down south for here I could not find even one tienda, not one crumb of roadside food for sale, no water! It was bleak, and the people were none too friendly either, for the most part, and so when I decided to hold up on the beach in the middle of this little village I was... concerned. These towns are full of machette toting hombres who chop things for a living: sugar cane mostly, but its a bit daunting to have all these guys along the roads playing with their huge knives and not exactly thrilled with my presence. So setting up my tent on their beach didn't seem like a great idea, but I was completely whooped beyond all belief and needed to sleep ASAP. I waited until the sun went down then found a nice little surfside cabana amongst many to call home and I was luckily undisturbed for the duration of the night.

Frankly, I don't think I'm in the mood to recall the horror of those days and so I'm just not doing it justice, but its understood when I'm now parked on an amazing beach of a small fishing village where the water is calm and cool and the air is fresh... that sun actually feels nice out here.

In Cartagena a traveler told me that Barranquilla was a dump and so I had to stay a night and see for myself. I pretty much concur however, there are some redeaming qualities and it was still a worthwhile visit. And besides, I wasn't riding any further that day so where else to go? I found a street pizza vendor and thought that I'd make a slice an appetizer before finding a place for a proper meal, but it was so damn good I ended up having 3 huge pieces and calling it good after a jugo de nispero, my new favorite juice. It might not have been "proper" but it was damn good.

I splurged on a hotel with AC, oh what a treat that was, and it had TV. I woke up to Ferris Buellers Day Off (renamed "An Expert in Diversion" for Spanish) and caught an episode of the Simpsons in espanol.