Let’s have a drink or six before I leave Santa Marta!

And so, the intrepid (in hindsight, a more appropriate adjective would be half-witted), adventurer left his newly found Moët & Chandon converts behind and set sail for Cartagena.

Why?

I’m still asking myself the same question, though impending alcohol induced liver failure does come to mind…

The sensible thing to do, given that it was blowing a gale, would have been to stay an extra day, or week for that matter. I certainly had the incentives. However, my departure documents stated I was leaving “pronto”, and who was I to contradict what was signed, stamped and dutifully bound in triplicate.

Changing my mind would mean having to repeat the whole week long check-in rigmarole, much to my agents joy, and my wallet’s distress.

Santa Marta to Cartagena via the mouth of the Magdalena River off Barranquilla

I left it to Eileen of Avoca, (once again), to do all of the hard work of taking me from point A to point B. Having set her try-sail, stay-sail, wind-vane and other hyphenated sail-things, I thought it best to settle down below to nurse what was rapidly becoming a contender for the title of “mother of all hangovers”.

On route, I spent as little time on deck as possible. Partly because there was very little traffic to worry about, but mainly because I didn’t like what I was seeing there.

Surf…

I’m not generally worried about big seas, the exception being when those seas break, as was the case a mile out from the mouth of the Rio Magdalena. It’s not the first time I’ve been among breakers with my Yarmouth23. You would think that I have learnt by now how to avoid them (breakers that is, not hangovers…), but no…, It’s much easier to sit through yet another lesson on white-water induced cork dynamics. In fact, I’m thinking of taking a double major in it.

Through Boca Grande and on to Cartagena

Thankfully the turbulent effects of the river were short-lived, even if Eileen didn’t seem adversely effected by it. By morning (24 hours after leaving Santa Marta), I found myself motoring tranquilly through Boca Grande.

Safely docked at Club Nautico, it was time to play tourist.

Foremost on my (predictably one-track mind? but let’s say…) agenda, was discovering whether Aguila girls prefer Cartagena to Santa Marta?