Yarema's Latin American Journey: Cabo de la Vela: Where the Desert meets the Sea

La Guajira has a reputation akin to that of the Wild West of the United States. It was earned by the Wayuu who were unique among the indigenous groups of Colombia for having used horses and firearms to ward off the Spaniards in the 1700s. The northernmost point of South America, La Guajira Peninsula has for one reason or another remained off the well-beaten gringo trail. All I knew was that it was remote, the land arid and the views breathtaking. And with that, I was determined to see it for myself.

La Guajira is outlined in pink. The journey from Santa Marta (A), through Riohacha (B) and Uribia (C), to the fishing town of Cabo de la Vela (D).

On January 31^stI set out for Cabo de la Vela on the western coast of La Guajira Peninsula. Its 'Wild West'-like nature began to present itself during the bus ride from Santa Marta to Riohacha, the capital of La Guajira. As we approached Riohacha, cactus-studded plains replaced the jungle-covered mountains of the Sierra Nevada; tanks and soldiers were stationed along the road more and more frequently; and smuggled Venezuelan gas was sold for cheap all along the roadside. From Riohacha I had to take a colectivo to Uribia as no public buses ran further north. There I was immediately swarmed by what must have been half a dozen locals who were grabbing me by the arms and backpack, each hoping that he would have the opportunity to overcharge me for a ride to Cabo - i.e. to reap the benefits of the gringo tax. After fighting off the locals, relieved to find my wallet and camera still in my pockets, I chose a truck and waited as it was loaded up with supplies and people. And that is when the real adventure began.

Wayuu woman with her child

We drove down a bumpy and dusty road, past remnants of de-railed trains, before we pulled off into the desert. We stopped periodically to pick-up both cargo that flew off the truck and people who stood under the scorching sun waiting for a lift. Once we ran out of space within the bed of the pick-up truck, no problem, there was always space on the roof for more! As people were dropped off at their small huts in the middle of the desert, I found myself wondering how the hell these people entertained themselves.

The answer came four hours later, when I had my first glimpse of Cabo de la Vela. It was a fishing village just metres from the turquoise sea where the Wayuu welcomed tourists into their homes. If hungry I would ask one of the families what they had for dinner, which was invariably fresh seafood. While one can stay with a local family in one of their hammocks, I opted to pay a modest 5000 pesos ($2.50 US) per night to camp on the beach. Here I had a front row seat to watch the major pass-time of the village, kite-surfing.

Strong off-shore winds almost everyday of the year, coupled with the protection of the bay, make Cabo a kite-surfing mecca. The local kids were unbelievable at kiting and tried to convince me to try. Worried about getting blown out to sea, they attempted to reassure me by telling me that they could tie me to a rope with which they could pull me back to shore if anything went wrong. As tempted as I was, I decided to hold-off.

Since I didn't kite-surf, the only thing left for me to do was to explore the desert. And so, I put on my headphones, blasted some Eddie Vedder and walked 'into the wild'.