To the best of my knowledge, there is no legend of a curse associated with Islas de Rosario. Nor am I aware of any folklore or tall tales associated with the islands. But nonetheless I have decided to become convinced that a curse does exist, if only applicable to me and my fellow travelers. I wrote in a previous post about going to visit the islands with people from our conference, and the exorbitant price that we paid for the day trip. And now I have another tale to tell.
This past weekend, Katie and I decided a day trip to the infamous Playa Blanca was in order, partially due to the arrival of her boyfriend Andy who is visiting her for the next week and a half. Playa Blanca is known as the best beach near Cartagena, argued as potentially being one of the best beaches in Colombia, and noted for it's white sand beaches and crystal clear waters. It's located on the Baru Peninsula, and is a popular destination for Colombians visiting the coast. In the "Getting There and Away" section of my handy LP, it notes that while it's easy to catch small boats by the market Monday to Saturday, Sundays are a no-go for that option. This meant that we had to opt for a more expensive choice of going with a tourism organization. Just outside the wall of El Centro is a marina, lined with tourist booths to meet a variety of needs. Katie and I went a couple days in advance, haggled the price down, and eventually agreed we would each pay $40,000COP for a round trip boat ride to Playa Blanca, including a standard lunch (fish, rice and salad).
The morning of, we awoke (or were awakened during the night) to the heavens pouring down on us. Knowing that the weather can change quickly here, and at the very least wanting to get our deposit back if the trip was canceled, we made our way to the marina. Pulling up it was evident the rain wasn't a deterrent - the place was packed with people in beach attire, in addition to umbrellas and the occasional rainjacket. We paid for the rest of our tickets, joined the queue, paid the marina tax, and began waiting for our boat to leave. We continued waiting for what would end up being almost 2 hours until our names were called and we were brought to our boat. To the best of our ability, we strategically chose seats that were least likely to be the "wet seats", as we've ended up in those on more than one boat ride. And then we were off.
Katie noticed before I did that something wasn't quite right. I've never been one to boast of having excellent geographic orientation skills, and in truth I wasn't paying much attention to which direction we were heading in. I did, however, begin to grow a bit confused when it felt like we'd been on the go longer than I'd anticipated, and I was still waiting to spot the white sandy beach. When we finally slowed to a stop (for the second time, I'm not referring to the incident when something went wrong with the motor earlier on), one of our guides started speaking in Spanish. The first words I caught were "Islas de Rosario". A desperate glance across the aisle confirmed my new-found fear: Katie nodded her head, a look of exasperation that I'm sure mirrored my own. She had began to realize we were going in the wrong direction much earlier on, and was more disappointed than surprised in the confirmation.
We had ended up on one of the standard tours that takes you to Islas de Rosario where you have the option of paying to go to the aquarium (which we visited on our first trip) or paying to go snorkeling (even if you have your own snorkel, as I did, it still cost extra). We opted out of both choices and hung out by the docks waiting for the group to return to the boat. Afterward we finally made out way to Playa Blanca, where we would have lunch and a mere two hours to enjoy the sun and surf. Luckily the beach was beautiful, and not as packed and hectic as I had feared. The hawkers were also not as overwhelming as I had thought they would be, although some of them were quite insistent (such as one of the women offering massages who's hand I had to physically remove from my leg as she tried unsuccessfully to convince me I wanted a massage). We wandered down the beach from where we'd arrived and settled into an open patch of sand and spent our time rotating through swimming, lying in the sun, walking up the beach and reapplying sunscreen. Although our day had clearly not gone to plan, we did enjoy the time we spent at the beach. After unsuccessful attempts to explain to the woman why we might deserve a refund once back in Cartagena, and feeling unsatisfied by her explanation that it all happened because of the weather, we shrugged it off and bought some ice cream.
This past weekend, Katie and I decided a day trip to the infamous Playa Blanca was in order, partially due to the arrival of her boyfriend Andy who is visiting her for the next week and a half. Playa Blanca is known as the best beach near Cartagena, argued as potentially being one of the best beaches in Colombia, and noted for it's white sand beaches and crystal clear waters. It's located on the Baru Peninsula, and is a popular destination for Colombians visiting the coast. In the "Getting There and Away" section of my handy LP, it notes that while it's easy to catch small boats by the market Monday to Saturday, Sundays are a no-go for that option. This meant that we had to opt for a more expensive choice of going with a tourism organization. Just outside the wall of El Centro is a marina, lined with tourist booths to meet a variety of needs. Katie and I went a couple days in advance, haggled the price down, and eventually agreed we would each pay $40,000COP for a round trip boat ride to Playa Blanca, including a standard lunch (fish, rice and salad).
The morning of, we awoke (or were awakened during the night) to the heavens pouring down on us. Knowing that the weather can change quickly here, and at the very least wanting to get our deposit back if the trip was canceled, we made our way to the marina. Pulling up it was evident the rain wasn't a deterrent - the place was packed with people in beach attire, in addition to umbrellas and the occasional rainjacket. We paid for the rest of our tickets, joined the queue, paid the marina tax, and began waiting for our boat to leave. We continued waiting for what would end up being almost 2 hours until our names were called and we were brought to our boat. To the best of our ability, we strategically chose seats that were least likely to be the "wet seats", as we've ended up in those on more than one boat ride. And then we were off.
Katie noticed before I did that something wasn't quite right. I've never been one to boast of having excellent geographic orientation skills, and in truth I wasn't paying much attention to which direction we were heading in. I did, however, begin to grow a bit confused when it felt like we'd been on the go longer than I'd anticipated, and I was still waiting to spot the white sandy beach. When we finally slowed to a stop (for the second time, I'm not referring to the incident when something went wrong with the motor earlier on), one of our guides started speaking in Spanish. The first words I caught were "Islas de Rosario". A desperate glance across the aisle confirmed my new-found fear: Katie nodded her head, a look of exasperation that I'm sure mirrored my own. She had began to realize we were going in the wrong direction much earlier on, and was more disappointed than surprised in the confirmation.
We had ended up on one of the standard tours that takes you to Islas de Rosario where you have the option of paying to go to the aquarium (which we visited on our first trip) or paying to go snorkeling (even if you have your own snorkel, as I did, it still cost extra). We opted out of both choices and hung out by the docks waiting for the group to return to the boat. Afterward we finally made out way to Playa Blanca, where we would have lunch and a mere two hours to enjoy the sun and surf. Luckily the beach was beautiful, and not as packed and hectic as I had feared. The hawkers were also not as overwhelming as I had thought they would be, although some of them were quite insistent (such as one of the women offering massages who's hand I had to physically remove from my leg as she tried unsuccessfully to convince me I wanted a massage). We wandered down the beach from where we'd arrived and settled into an open patch of sand and spent our time rotating through swimming, lying in the sun, walking up the beach and reapplying sunscreen. Although our day had clearly not gone to plan, we did enjoy the time we spent at the beach. After unsuccessful attempts to explain to the woman why we might deserve a refund once back in Cartagena, and feeling unsatisfied by her explanation that it all happened because of the weather, we shrugged it off and bought some ice cream.
Turns out I didn't take many pictures before arriving at the beach, having the 'been here, done this' attitude. And then I didn't take many photos after arriving at the beach and being too busy with the difficult choice of swimming or sun.
While we waited for lunch, a hawker showed off his many necklaces for sale to a member of our tour group. I've learned to be cautious of my casual glances at wares for sale - my curiosity marks me as a potential buyer.
Looking down the beach. The small structures on the right hand side are rented out for shade. A couple plastic chairs until a plastic tarp held up by poles or branches. It's also popular along the beach across from our hotel.
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