The Guajira Desert is one of those places on Earth that shakes your reality. Villages forgotten by gods and humans, covered by an alien natural beauty that combines desert and sea. One of those dramatic parts of the world where in the 21st century, children are still dying of starvation and common diseases.
I was in Panama when I decided on Colombia as my next destination. I began my research on which areas were worth a stop as I traversed this vast country. There is a lot of information online about the classic destinations (dance salsa in Medellin, swim in the green waters of the Caribbean and see the wildlife in the Amazon) but I was looking for something different. What sets your trip apart from the predetermined travel destinations that without a second thought many travelers follow.
Lucky for me, at the same time I met my Colombian friend Juan who sat with me for hours and helped me map out my travel plan. As we wandered northern Colombia together through his stories of how the river meets the sea in Palomino, he showed me on the map an isolated area in one corner of the country. “If you have the time and the courage, make it this far, it’s the northernmost point in South America,” he told me, and from that moment I knew I would soon be in this adventurous place.
Arriving at Campo de la Vella.
A few weeks after my flight to the unique Medellin, I found myself in Palomino, a quiet Caribbean coastal village inhabited by the indigenous Kogi tribe. In this special place I met my friend Lien, where together we started our journey to the Guajira Desert.
Initially, we had to take a bus to Riohacha. To the driver, you have to explain that you want him to drop you off where the cars depart for Uribia. At this point, several private cars will be waiting for you, operating as taxis, taking passengers to the largest city in the region. Seeing that you are a foreigner, they are likely to try to raise the ticket cost, but if you insist and demand the right price you should only have to pay 2-3 euros.
The town of Uribia was the abrupt introduction to this new world. We are now very close to the border with Venezuela. The easiest place for long suffering Venezuelans to leave their country behind, but a place that has little to offer its inhabitants. The people seemed different, more sullen than the super-smooth and super-familiar residents I met throughout the rest of the country.
Colombia is famous for its lush green landscapes, but around and within this city there wasn’t a single tree to break the hazy brown dust that covered everything. Everywhere you turned your eyes you saw piles of trash, and flying plastic bags drifting randomly in the strong winds. To this day, I have never seen a dirtier city in my life.
Uribia certainly doesn’t invite you to spend time in it, so I sought out the next mode of transportation to the final destination in Cabo de la Vela. The options are two. On the cheapest one (about 5 dollars) you can start early in the morning with a colectivo which transports food and passengers to different areas of the desert. You will need to travel most of the day and in quite difficult conditions. It is however , a beautiful adventure that will bring you closer to the magic of Guajira.
The slightly more comfortable option, at a cost of around 12 dollars, are the 4×4 jeeps that depart from the headquarters when they are full of passengers. The journey takes about two hours. It was already midday, so we settled on the second option.
Before leaving, the driver suggested us to buy water, toilet paper and some food from the market , as they are either expensive or non-existent at our destination. As we were doing the shopping, a crowd of small children were queuing around begging for a chocolate or chips. Lien bought a bag of candy and handed them out to the kids while I picked out our supplies. I was particularly impressed with the water packaging. A large plastic bag containing many small plastic bags full of water. No wonder the trash had taken over the town.
So we were ready for the last ride. The five passengers and the driver got into the jeep and we were outside the city limits. A normal desert now. Vast sandy expanses, zero vegetation and unbearably high temperatures. If I automatically transported you to this place, and told you we were in the Sahara, you would surely believe me!
From the first few meters of the drive into this inhospitable landscape, we once again saw what we didn’t expect to see. On the sides of the road, standing under the hot sun were children and families.
The children would hold the two ends of a chain and when a car approached, they would lift it in order to force the driver to stop. To our eyes, the sight seemed shocking but the driver didn’t seem to be upset. He continued on his way unmolested, and when he was now a breath away from the chain held by those children, with a sudden movement they abandoned the chain and let the driver pass. If the baby children had lingered a second in this hideous game, the jeep would have swept them away.
This did not happen once or twice. It happened dozens of times throughout the trip. Sometimes the children would manage to force an inexperienced driver to stop and they would run to the windows begging for money or food.
Our jeep also stopped a few times and we asked the driver to let us give some of our supplies to the kids. He only opened a small section of the window, and from there we handed out some candy to the outstretched weak hands struggling to reach the opening.
It was one of those moments that change you forever. It’s one thing to see these images of human misery in a documentary, and another to live them. I found it inconceivable that a few hundred kilometers away, locals and tourists alike are immersed in a disgusting abundance. How did we close our eyes and accept the living conditions of these people? We know who they are, we know exactly what they need but we choose not to help, without any excuse. Politics, money, religion, ideologies and other man-made concepts have led, for no reason, to a world of very different gears. The “protected” developed world where nothing bad can happen to it, and the “unfortunate” second speed world where it is okay for a bomb to go off now and then or for people to starve to death.
We continued the drive on the roads carved out by the jeep, and about two hours later we saw the sea for the first time. The scattered wooden huts in the sand signaled that we would soon arrive at our destination, the village of Cabo de la Vela.
Accommodation and food in Cabo de la Vela
The jeep dropped me and the rest of the passengers off at the beginning of Cabo de la Vela. The “village” was a single dirt road by the sea, with a few houses, wooden settlements and restaurants/guesthouses on either side of it.
Where the jeep dropped us off, there was also the most secluded and quiet guesthouse in the village. You won’t find it on Google for booking, of course, so we asked on the spot for accommodation options.
A local woman greeted us with a smile, and showed us around the guesthouse. On the lower floor of the wooden structure was the restaurant, where breakfast and a few typical local dishes were served. Upstairs, there was an open deck, a stone’s throw from the sea. Throughout the deck, the owners had placed hammocks which they would rent out for accommodation to guests. “It costs 20,000 COP (about 4 euros) a night,” explained the cheerful local as I gazed out to sea, mesmerized. It was a pale blue colour and was so calm it looked more like a swimming pool.
I brought the luggage on deck and chose the hammock that would become my new home. In the Guajira area, they make the best and most expensive hammocks in the world. Such a hammock might cost a few thousand euros abroad, but here you could find dozens of them in every guest house as a simple, taken-for-granted thing.
After the long journey, a quick shower and some food seemed essential. Not so surprisingly, there was no running water in the area. A bucket of fresh water, which was more precious than gold, was included in the cost of accommodation. As for the toilets, every now and then, the local workers, of the guesthouse filled buckets with water from the sea, and made sure that the contents were plunged, as far as they could, into the toilets.
The shower no longer seemed so necessary; I could, after all, with one step dive into the sea and be content with that for the cleanliness of a few days. Therefore, we set out to cross the only street in the village to see what food options were available.
In the Cabo de la Vella, as you might expect, the menu is limited. All the guesthouses offer fried fish caught every morning by local fishermen. The most common platter includes fried carvina with rice, salad and fried plantain (a type of banana) for about 4-5 euros. Cost much higher than a similar meal in any region of Colombia. The meat is even more expensive, with goat stew being a typical dish of the region.
Wherever I travel, I try the typical dishes and choose almost exclusively local cuisine. However, I try to cook and supplement the nutrients I need and inevitably lack in restaurant kitchens. So, Lien and I bought some fruits and vegetables at the only stall in the village and asked the guesthouse owners to allow us to use the kitchen. The surprise in their eyes showed me that we were probably the first guests to ever ask for this.
The electricity generators only work from 6-9pm, so we had to share the kitchen with the locals who were struggling to catch up on business and serve the other guests before the power went out. They were all cheerful and helpful with us. At the northernmost point of South America, in a wooden inn in the Guajira Desert, we felt that warmth while cooking and joking with this native family.
The native Wayuu and what to do in Cabo de la Vela.
Before the sun had even begun to dawn, the native men would start getting the boats ready for today’s catch. Crowds of pelicans would gather around the boats, waiting for yesterday’s fish bones to be thrown back into the sea by the fishermen.
Lien and I would set up two plastic chairs on the beach every morning, and watch the movie spectacle for hours. After the preparation of the fishermen, the parade of Wayuu women from the surrounding villages would begin.
The indigenous Wayuu make up the majority of the population in the Guajira Desert. They are known as the sand people. In their long history, they fought against Spanish conquerors, governments, and now struggle daily with racial discrimination and physical conditions.
They live mostly in huts called rancherías with roofs made of cactus or palm leaves, walls made of yotojoro (mud, hay and dried sugar cane), and with basic furniture of hammocks for sleeping and a small fireplace for cooking.
The peculiarity of the tribe is that the houses belong exclusively to the women, who are the heads of the family. The men work the land and the animals. Almost all women today weave the impressive Mochilla Wayuu bags, which stand out for their striking co lours and intricacy.
So every morning, we would see the talented weavers passing by, laden with their elaborate bags heading to the village centre. Some, would carry cocadas, the traditional Colombian coconut pastry, while others would offer empanadas for 1 dollar. With them were the young children, many of whom would now know us and would stop every now and then to play or watch a video on my phone.
Two of these little girls spent a lot of time with us on the beach. I asked them if they went to school, and they replied that every morning they had to wake up at 04:00 to walk to the nearest classroom. When they returned, in the late afternoon, they would help their mom make empanadas and sell them to tourists on the beach. Another hard story from their lives. But this time I felt no regret. They had a will and vitality in their eyes that you couldn’t feel regret, only admiration for them.
Every sunset in Cabo de la Vella is an experience. Around 5pm, when the hot temperature starts to drop, locals and tourists alike gather on the central part of the beach. To another surprise, I learned that Cabo beach is one of the best places in the world for windsurfing all year round. Some local instructors would charge about 25 euros for the lesson and equipment. The sea would be filled with flying surfers as an orange sun would slowly sink into the horizon.
For an even more spectacular sunset, you must visit el Faro, the lighthouse of the area. At sunset time, jeeps depart from the village and take visitors up the hill for 1-2 euros. From there you’ll get a panoramic view of the Caribbean, covered by the serenity of the desert.
For those with the time and money, two-day excursions depart daily from Cabo to Punta Gallinas. The area is uninhabited and even more isolated, with stunning beaches and other-worldly scenery. The cost would be around 60-100 euros, and the guesthouse could arrange the guide.
Final thoughts on Cabo de la Vela.
The Cabo, is not one of the usual tourist destinations you will encounter in Colombia, or anywhere in the world. You won’t find comfortable accommodation, good food or nightlife there. It is not the place to rest your body, but it is the place to exercise your spirit.
Travelling, you learn that the world is not only beautiful but also ugly. You come out of the bubble that you’ve been built into about what life is like. Life changes, depending on how each person experiences it. And in the Guajira Desert, life is different, different than anything you’ve seen or heard of. It has adapted to a harsh natural environment, a constant play between the sea and the desert. For people who were easier to forget than to help. If you want to experience reality, Guajira should be a place in your bucket list.
