We lobbed into Santa Marta on a mid morning flight from Bogota, and made our way by taxi to Casa Familia, via an unorthodox route through Rodadero (either the taxi driver was scamming us or there was a break down in communication).
After all the modern convenieces and comforts at Lucia and Peter´s, and the benefit of having someone around who could speak fluent Spanish, we quickly realised that we were back on the trail and on our own again. The break had been nice, but it was good to get back to feeling out of our comfort zone.

A bit of a sleepy Columbian holiday destination on the Carribean coast, Santa Marta was a lot more confronting in terms of the apparent poverty and quite a contrast from Bogota in terms of both climate and fashion. Whereas Bogota had a more European feel with a cooler climate and well dressed locals, Santa Marta definitately had that Carribean feel.

We spent the afternoon getting our bearings and learning to deal with the constant barrage of goods proffered by the local street merchants. No gracias, no gracias. After a few beers in the setting sun, we headed for a local pizza place opposite the beach, for dinner. Just as we were sitting down, a girl approached and asked if she could join us. As the question had been in Spanish, I neither understood, nor paid it any mind. I´d learned from experience that random approaches by strangers always have an agenda.

Bizzarely enough, Dan accepted the offer and we three sat down for a meal. While I sat slightly bemused, slightly aloof, Dan attempted small talk with our new friend, quickly realising that her story didn´t add up. Strangely breaking into German every now and then our ´friend´claimed she was on a group vacation and that all of her friends had disappeared. Exhausting his knowledge of spanish small talk, we sat there in awkard silence while she helped herself to some of our pizza, and then some of Dan´s beer which Dan preferred not to get back.

Although it began to get very weird, I saw the lighter side of the situation and laughed quietly to myself, telling Dan it was his making, he could deal with it. Meal finished, we decided to make a break for it as she leaned in to try and kiss Dan and said something along the lines of wanting him to be her boyfriend. We made a hurried exit and took off down the street, into the Casino. Escape successful, we discovered the casino was nothing more than a bank of Pokies and an electronic roulette wheel. I hit the feature on both machines I played and cashed out with 6000 from each (all of about $7). We´d managed to loose Dan´s friend though and found our way to a nearby pub/club called La Puerta. Wednesday night obviously wasn´t the most happening of nights, and we walked into a room of no more than twenty Columbians, watching us curiously as we ordered a beer. A few beers later and we were still being watched intently by a group of two guys and a girl opposite us.

When I came back from the bathroom, there was Dan chatting to one of the guys, or rather the other way around. Dan must have a gift for meeting the weird ones though, because as we joined the three of them for a few drinks, while nice and friendly enough there was just something a little odd. They kept asking what we did and how we could afford to travel here. Our response: we´re at university, and it´s funded by debt.

Most of the conversation was carried on in Spanish, which I struggled to follow so I drifted off into thought, which they took to mean I wasn´t having a good time. Their agenda became clear when they asked us if we liked guys or girls. The two guys were gay medical students, and the girl had “something that other girls don´t have.” Whether they were referring to her fake breasts or an extra appendage, we didn´t stick around to find out. With the bar closing, we followed them out back towards the busier street opposite the beach a bid a hasty goodbye.