Taganga

  Last Friday was another three-day weekend for Thanksgiving.  Elizabeth and I headed on a four-hour bus journey to Taganga, a small fishing town north along the coast.  This village mainly caters to tourists heading into Tayrona National Park and has some great food.  Both Friday and Saturday night, we dined at Babaganoush Restaurant where you can get an appetizer, entree and dessert for only fourteen bucks.  Plus, they had happy hour all night long.  I would've paid fourteen dollars for the pumpkin soup alone.  

    On Saturday, Elizabeth, Jumana (had gone up on Thursday) and I took an hour boat ride with about 16 other people to Tayrona to spend the day snorkeling and enjoying the beach.  Little did we know that we'd be pounding against the waves in a slightly-larger-than-a-canoe death trap the whole way.  Although I was sitting in the back in the middle, I had absolutely nothing to hang onto as my seat was just a tiny addition to the steering console.  My legs got quite the workout just trying to keep me in.  Upon arriving at the first beach where everyone but Elizabeth, Jumana and me disembarked, a Spaniard ahead of me stated, "You have to go through Hell first before reaching Heaven."  You know it's been a rough ride when everyone claps with relief when we landed safely.  

  

  Unfortunately, the three of us still had another fifteen-minute ride to Cinto, a deserted bay area that Jumana's boyfriend had recommended.  Although it was quite pretty, there wasn't much of a beach, and the visibility for snorkeling was nil.  Luckily, the boat driver was there with us, so we headed back to Playa Crystal.  

  This spot was much better, and we were actually able to see colorful fish and coral.  Plus, they had a bathroom (costs a buck to use) with no running water or toilet paper.  The best!  

  The ride home was a bit rougher for me, as I had a seat in the very front.  The same Spaniard sat next to me, and I literally held on to his life jacket the whole time for fear of flying out of the boat.  Quite a few times, we hit a wave head-on, and our butteaus rose a couple feet from the bench only to thump back down a second later.  Let's just say the conversation was a wee bit stilted at times.  

  On Sunday, we shoveled down some breakfast and took the longer, five-hour ride home.