"Learn Spanish, or You Will Die"

Santa Marta, Colombia

“Learn Spanish, or You Will Die”

That’s what an Argentinian told me last summer after I mentioned I was traveling to South America. He even chuckled a bit.

I chuckled too. Nervously. And took it as a sign to start taking my Spanish learning app seriously before the winter.

Now it’s winter

And my Spanish is comical.

I can order food and buy a bus ticket, but that’s pretty much it. But don’t worry, I didn’t let that stop me from coming to Colombia. Plus, I have a travel buddy. She can’t speak Spanish either, but there’s safety in numbers… right?

I’m in Santa Marta, about five hours up the coast from Cartagena, staying in a hostel in the jungle.

It’s everything you imagine: lush greenery, monkeys, and rainbows. There are chef-prepared meals and flushing toilets with a view. It actually feels like a dream. Then the mosquitos bring me back to reality.

After two nights, it’s check out day.

As I’m moving my luggage to the reception area, I get offered to join a 15-minute guided hike to a river.

Why not? I have 7 hours until I need to catch the bus to Palomino.

My travel buddy joins the hike with me, 4 Swiss, a French girl, and our Colombian guide on a shortcut through the jungle. At the halfway mark, our guide gives directions to find the main road and continue to the river. Then she leaves us to go back to work the reception desk at the hostel.

Mind you, these directions are in Spanish, and the only thing I catch is “cinco minutos”. Luckily, the rest of the group (except my travel buddy of course) speak Spanish, so it’s an easy trek.

We find the main road and come across an elixir lounge.

A former sailor created a wooden sailboat paradise in the jungle with a sea view. There’s even sand like a beach. Floor cushions and rugs and incense and tea and plant-based snacks. There’s even Wi-Fi.

My plan to dip my toes in the river turns into a two hour tea-time.

The group splits, and the Swiss continue to the river. The French girl stays behind to relax, and me and my buddy head back to the hostel.

As we’re walking back down the main road,

we miss our turn into the jungle.

We don’t realize it until after walking about a quarter mile too far, but we quickly turn around and find the turn. And then it’s downhill from there.

We get through (if I had to guess) 30% of the unmarked trail before we realize we’re lost.

What should’ve taken 15 minutes turns into an hour of repeated backtracking. We can't find the shortcut.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been lost in nature, but it’s unsettling.

Especially when it’s foreign terrain and you can hear animal sounds in the distance. And there’s no one around to ask for help. And Google Maps isn’t working to at least guide you in the right direction. And you’re barefoot.

We take several paths, crossing several creeks, searching for anything that looks familiar. But it all looks similar. To be honest, when we left the hostel, I wasn’t focusing on the trail since I wasn’t leading the group. And I was chatting. And I was looking down most of the time to protect my bare feet. I wish I had those shoes now.

After an hour of unsuccessful searching

We turn back. Luckily, we never wandered too far to not be able to find our way back to the main road.

We get to the main road and find a small shop. I call out for help and a woman appears from the back with a baby on her hip.

And then out of the need for survival, I speak perfect Spanish.

Or at least I wish that’s what happened.

I use Google Translate. Thank God I downloaded the offline Spanish version before coming to the jungle.

As I’m getting help from the shop owner, a man walks up and confirms her directions: walk down the main road until we see the soccer field and then take a left. The shortcut is no longer an option and we’re cutting it close on time to miss our bus.

We start our descent, and now I’m really wishing I’d worn shoes. This stone covered dirt road is slowing me down.

As I’m catching up to my buddy, I see she’s stopped to talk to a woman riding a donkey. She’s using Google Translate to ask the donkey rider to call someone to pick us up and take us to the hostel. She’s over it.

Ten minutes later, a guy pulls up on a motorcycle. He realizes we both need a ride and tells us to wait while he goes back for a friend on another bike. This time when he shows up, it’s with a posse: him, his friend, and two other guys here to see the show.

We must be a sight to see. Tired and barefoot and clearly not where we want to be.

We thank the donkey rider, hop onto the bikes, and get back to the hostel in time to shower and catch our bus.

So I still need to learn Spanish, but at least I didn’t die. Thanks Google Translate.