Four days with no signal in the Sierra

I came down from the cold of the mountains straight into wet heat, and the sky didn't care at all that I'd packed for sunshine. The first beach I saw near Tayrona was grey and furious, driftwood everywhere, waves throwing themselves at the sand. I loved it immediately.

But the signal stopped at the gate

The retreat was a short drive inland, where the Sierra Nevada starts climbing out of the jungle. Small, quiet, a few huts in the trees and a river somewhere below that you could hear but not see. My phone found one bar of signal by the gate and nothing after that. For the first hour this made me anxious. By dinner I'd forgotten where I left it.

To reach the river you cross a long hanging bridge that moves with every step. I crossed it very slowly the first time and almost ran the last.

My hut was walls of dried palm, a mat, a clay pot with one red flower in it, and the sound of rain on the roof all night. I slept better than I have in months.

Therefore, I slowed down

Every evening a circle of cushions was laid out on the bare ground under the trees. We sat there and drank warm cacao, thick and bitter, out of small glass cups, while the light went blue. Nobody had to talk. Most nights nobody did for a long time.

The retreat belonged, as far as I could tell, to a large orange cat. He inspected every new arrival, approved of nobody, and slept on my mat anyway.

Back toward the world

On the last day I moved down the coast toward Palomino and slept one night in a white tent under the palms, salt in my hair, listening to the sea and the frogs argue.

Then Santa Marta, loud and warm and full of people, which felt like a lot after four days of cushions and birds. I walked into the cathedral just to stand somewhere cool and quiet for a few minutes more.

That evening the sun went down orange behind the boats in the harbor, and I watched it with my phone in my pocket, buzzing with four days of messages I wasn't ready to read yet.