Dispatch Number 59 -Sage

This is the first in a series of a one month journey in the northeastern region of Colombia on the Atlantic coast near Venezuela that I just competed. I am in Cartagena for a couple weeks to study Spanish and have time to write. Travel was a mixture of group and solo.


No matter how poorly planned the journey into the desert was it began to take on good omens the night before our departure. Over dinner Andreas and I decided to leave in the morning; by midnight the truck was full with a newly formed travel family: two very attractive women, a drunk Swiss man, and a Colombian from Cali who was mute most the time. Warm with friendship and red wine I went to bed happy reflecting on this mix of characters.


The night before our journey into the Guijira Desert we met an old man who spoke with a mystical air of the place and things we would find there. He proclaimed we had the right truck for such a difficult overland journey where there are no paved roads, only a maze of dirt tracks that lead in all directions. A compass would be mandatory; I own one and do not know how to use it. In places like this, I have learned the gas gauge is the one to watch.


When he spoke of my truck is such good light and told my friends who were assembled that I was a good leader, I thought to myself, flattery will get you most everywhere.


Sitting on the seawall in the sleepy fishing village of Taganga we were growing more excited about this adventure into the desert. He was tall and thin, carried a small satchel and wore faded white pants. With gray hair and leathery skin the old man exuded an air of special knowledge or at least possessed talented theatrics with the spoken word. He had little and was hungry, we shared our food. In a gravely voice, verging on dramatic he spoke of the pleasures of the desert, its beauty and simplicity. A Smugglers Paradise where cheap Venezuelan gas and beer enter and cocaine leaves via illegal dirt airstrips, boats, and now submarines.


He went on to explain the intricacies of Colombian culture in this remote desolate region. A place known to be dangerous in parts with friendly people if you minded local customs. Dangerous and friendly, was one of those dichotomies Colombians use to describe their country; this only heightened my interest in the area. Guides are recommended and I hired none, choosing instead
to rely on intuition and people for directions and places to sleep.


The old man had an air about him; the next day we tried to characterize him to each other and all arrived at the same word, Sage.
The Sage made me feel good and gave me confidence to travel this remote and harsh region. As the driver and group lead I felt a sense of responsibility for my friends no matter how poorly I planned for it.


David
Cartagena, Colombia