We were determined to find Gemma her beach. 

Instead we found a sloth in the Central Park in Cartagena. He was kinda cute but also looked like the Grinch. That was a big tick. THEN we set off to find Gemma her beach. We walked. For hours. And the beaches were shit.

In Cartagena’s defence Gemma already knew this through the ample blogs she had read so it wasn’t really a surprise. The good beaches were a boat ride away. Still – you can’t blame the girls for trying. 

Eventually we gave up.

“We’ll go to the apartment pool. The pictures look nice.”

So we got an Uber back. We should have known the day was still able to chuck some chaos at us as soon as the driver called Lyvette and said “Hello baby, where are you?”

Erm. I’m right here. Where I said on the Uber app. And I’m not your baby.

Then the random man walked past and sighed at Gemma; “You look so sexy when you drink water.”

At that moment she was actually parched and fuming at the non beach situation and patiently waiting for Hello Baby to come and collect her. I can confirm there was nothing sexy about her.

Finally Hello Baby arrived and didn’t appear to be the perve he had come across as over the phone. That was a win.

Back at the apartment I loitered in the lobby to use the wifi so as not to ruin my 7 year Duolingo streak and Gemma and Lyvette headed up to the second (of 15) floors to hit the rooftop pool (work that out…)

Five minutes later they were back.

Lyvette was crossing her legs so as not to piss herself and trying desperately not to laugh. Gemma was semi laughing whilst kinda raging with steam coming out of her ears.

Hmmmm, something fishy was going on here.

“They wouldn’t let us in.” Lyvette clarified, “because we don’t have swimming caps.”

“Oh. I see.” (I didn’t see)

“You’re not allowed into the pool area without a swimming cap.” Right.

“Was everyone sunbathing with swimming caps on then?” I asked, confused. Surely not.

“We weren’t allowed past the gate so we don’t know. But we’re going to the Hilton (across the road) to get a day pass.”

There was no debating, no arguing. Not even a question of cost. The Hilton it was. The girls had already rang ahead to confirm that no swimming caps were required. Fabulous.

The Hilton was fun and our heads roamed around cap free. We lounged, drank cocktails and got involved in the foam party. Gemma was happy. It wasn’t a beach but she was happy. So happy she actually found a beach for us to go to the next day…

The following morning we were up nice and early to get our private bus to Playa Blanca. The bus was old. Very old. And somewhat shaky. It did at one point, actually break down. However it still had all its wheels and windows so it was a step up from Barranquilla. Playa Blanca was very pretty, lovely crystal clear blue waters and rappers that we were told not to make eye contact with because that would encourage them to ask for money. A solid day out by all accounts.

Casa En El Agua 

Translating to ‘house on the water’ aka the hostel on the island. My housemate told us we should go. It took 1hr30 on the boat and it was quite plain sailing, which is good because Gemma had previously had a bad experience and is now scared of rough seas. The boat was where we met our new mates George and Graham, two lads from the UK.

As we pulled up to the tiny island/hostel (you could walk across it in 10 seconds) we were confronted by a plethora of guests doing a welcome dance to “My House” by Flo Rida. A full choreographed routine. I didn’t know where to look. Were we joining a cult? Do I clap? Smile? What happens next?

George clearly felt the same: “Oh look, forced fun. Excellent.”

There was only one thing for it, alcohol. And that was the start of a beautiful weekend on the island. 

We sat sipping margaritas and getting to know our new island mates and discussed our hit blog.

“You may even feature in our blog” Lyvette told Graham, “Two Small Mancunians.”

Graham started; “Two Small Rank-unians?!”

Erm…no, that’s a bit harsh.

“Yea we currently only have two followers” I continued, “Sally and Lyvette’s dad.”

Graham frowned, “Why does the vets dad follow you? Isn’t that a bit weird?”

This guy needed his ears cleaning out.

The conversation continued and George and Graham told us all about their work as “spunk salesman” – specifically for Angus Aberdeen cows due to their great quality, hence the high demand for them to breed. They found a market for selling this semen and carving a business for themselves. I was so confused. How had they gotten into this? How was this a legitimate business? 

It wasn’t. Obviously.

Turns out they are in real estate and journalism. 

It was a great conversation starter though and produced a lot of laughs. I think I’d signed up to be part of their business at one point.

Now, on the island we were staying in a 4 bed dorm. The only info we had on our roomie was that they had pink clothing and flip flops on their bed. After a few hours we finally met Steve. A Canadian nurse in his mid thirties. We loved him. He’d been on the island for 4 days (and it seemed he couldn’t get off). Casa En El Agua had taken him. It was also on the verge of giving Lyvette concussion as she hit her head on a wooden beam in our room, for the third time. She cried. It was all too much. That didn’t stop her walking into the beam, again.

Back at the bar I met a girl called Heather who lives in Worsley Rd (my actual old road in Manchester!) and we all got forced to perform the choreographed ‘Welcome Dance’ to the newbies. We’d officially joined the cult. Luckily the margaritas helped me through the forced fun. They did not, however, help me learn the dance moves as I kicked and span in all the wrong directions.

Even Graham (who happens to be a bit of a salsa dancer) looked me up and down in disbelief (drizzled with disgust); “What is wrong with you? You’re even making me feel confused!” He then elegantly swivelled himself around, sashaying his hips with his perfectly choreographed moves and welcomed the cult newbies to the island;

“We can’t wait to get to know you all!!” He yelled passionately to the boat as they reached the shore.

He then proceeded not to talk to any of them the entire time they were on the island.

There’s only so much Casa En El Agua time you can have before you need a break, so Lyvette and I hired a kayak and headed off into the wild seas. Steve joined us on his paddle board. And off we went into the wind. And very windy it was. We ventured across the sea to the mangroves, watched some wild pigs and then decided we were battling a bit and it was time to head back to the island for margaritas.

“Girls, girls!” Steve yelled, “are you heading back?? Because it doesn’t look like it!” As we veered off in the opposite direction to the island and headed towards Panama instead. 

Yes Steve! We ARE trying!

The wind really did a number on us, but it didn’t dampen our spirits as we headed out later that evening to do the luminous plankton tour. Which involved wearing a mask, swimming to the darkest part of the mangroves and looking at the luminous plankton under the sea. Everyone else was blown away. Myself and Lyvette didn’t really think it was anything special. We did however have the giggles. Lyvette’s life jacket was so buoyant that as she sat in the water peeing it pulled her onto her back and almost upside down.

“Look at me!” she yelled, “I’m peeing upside down” as pee sprayed everywhere.

Then we entered a particularly dark spot and Lyvette took this opportunity to accidentally karate kick Steve further into the mangroves.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!” he whined in his Canadian accent, “it’s dark in here and I don’t like it!” We may have answered his plea for help had he not then added at the top of his lungs; “WHERE ARE THE OLD GALS?!”

Old gals? Was that us?! Apparently so. At that moment Steve belonged in the dark mangroves where the old gals had left him.

And then, not-so-all of the sudden, our two long days on the island were done. And we jumped onto the departure boat and waved goodbye to Steve who was stuck, once again, on the island as he’d forgotten to book a boat ticket and it was full.

“I can’t stay here any longer. It’s been 5 days!” he cried. He looked like Tom Hanks in Castaway.

The boat was horrific. The sea was wild. It was so bad Gemma had a full on panic attack. And I nearly vomited. I ran across my new Argentinian friends to reach the side of the boat and heaved as everyone behind me ducked. For some unknown reason, after a few dry wretches the nausea went. The waves did not. People were crying. 

Then, finally, an hour later, someone managed to lift their head up above the spraying water that covered the boat and yelled out:

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

We looked up to find…Casa En El Agua.

What. The. Actual. F**k.

We’d been riding through hell for an hour and we were back where we started. At the Island.

Steve waved at us.

And the entire boat piled onto this tiny hostel on an island as the staff announced they needed to go and get a bigger boat if we were to reach the mainland in such bad weather conditions. George decided it was wise to have a beer. Gemma lay down and questioned her life choices.

Then, I swear to god, the EXACT same boat came back. Apparently it had an extra motor. Not that we could see it. And a space right at the front for Steve, who whooped in delight as he finally left the island. He, however, hadn’t experienced the previous hour of hell on the boat.

We all took a deep breath, wondering if it would be our last and climbed back onto the “bigger” boat. 

It was like a white knuckle ride. The boat submerged and then re-emerged from the depths of the ocean multiple times. Lyvette and Steve both lost their sunglasses. Waves aggressively engulfed us and ran away with our belongings. Walls of white water rolled over the top of us and I grasped my bag (with my passport in it) for dear life. I honestly thought we were going to capsize. Gemma didn’t breathe for 2 hours. People were shaking. And not one person on that boat had a dry patch of clothing.

Eventually we found the harbour and docked. And we all clambered, on shaky legs, out of the boat and wobbled onto solid ground. I had snot plastered all down my face. One girl had a knot of hair on the top of her head the size of a tennis ball due to the extreme winds she’d (barely) just survived. George nearly threw up his beer. Graham staggered up to collect his (soaking) bag; “Holy fuck, what was that?”

Steve peeled himself from the very front of the boat and whispered; “I thought it was the end…” and then walked straight into a human sized plant pot. That was the last we ever saw of Steve (god rest his soul) as he zig zagged into the horizon and made his way to Panama.

Myself, Gemma and Lyvette careful put on our soggy backpacks, wafted the water out of our passports and squelched our way to our accommodation for the night.

And that, my friends, is the story about the time we visited (and survived) the island…