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Taganga

After arriving in some small town we were shifted onto a bus to Santa Marta, where we had had enough of buses and splashed out on a 15 minute taxi to Taganga. The hostel that had been recommended to us was full, as were several others. Walking around in 2354% humidity, in the sun, battling off touts, with all our stuff and no sleep was exactly what we wanted to be doing right now. We briefly chatted to a normal looking French couple who recommended their hostel up the road. Which meant walking up the hill to Germany. We finally got there, sweat pouring down us to be told there were no rooms available. J was really struggling at this point so V took charge and managed to organise an exclusive V&J waiting list and informed the girls at reception that we will be in these hammocks until further notice. And we probably won’t leave until you sort us out a room.

A few hours and a snooze later V managed to force them into giving them a room that they had just chucked some people out of. She moved a very poorly looking J into bed with the fan on him and went and got some lunch alone.

After lunch she grabbed J some plain bread from the worlds most miserable Colombian and went back to be Florence Nightingale. By Florence Nightingale I mean laugh at how pathetic J was being. She was not quite that bad but V was struggling herself and being informed that ‘the flannel isn’t cold anymore, make it cold again’ did not strike up a sympathetic attitude.

J spent the day in bed and got progressively worse, probably because V told him he has Dengue Fever as revenge for being ordered around all day. V read the rest of her book, got bored, went on the internet, got more bored, wrote some more blogs, then the electricity cut out. This was boring. Plus it meant no fan in the room, so J lost 7 stone.

V ordered a Thai chicken curry from the hostel, which was surprisingly amazing and she is now in love with the chef because he just put Fillet Mignon on the menu, and it actually looks like steak.



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