Breakfast wasn’t until 7:30am at Casa Felipe, so Kathleen and I met Trip at a restaurant in Tanganga around 6:45am. A good meal and we were off to the ‘bus stop’ near the police station in Tanganga. After a 20-minute wait, a mini-bus arrived to take us to Santa Marta where we would board another bus that would stop at Tayrona (Tay-rohn-ah) National Park (Parque National Tayrona).
With Trip, and his command of Spanish, our travel to the entrance of Tayrona National Park was flawless. Instructions to the park were provided at Casa Felipe Hostel. However, they were vague and not intuitive. Some leaps of faith were required. The local bus dropped us off at one intersection; however, we needed to travel some blocks to wait for the bus that would take us to the park. Fortunately, Trip was able to ask some locals where we were dropped off for the bus to Tayrona.
After an hour bus ride with all the usual stops, we arrived at Tayrona around 8am. We had to go through a security check where the soldiers were looking for drugs and guns. Fortunately, neither of us had any.
We paid our entrance fee, equivalent to $15 USD, and took the shuttle into the park. Yep, along the way in, we stopped to pick up someone. Turned out, Margie, was from Philadelphia and we found out she was staying at a house where the owners had rooms with private baths and would cook meals. She was paying $25/day for this luxury. Kathleen and I knew what we were going to do when we come back through on our motorcycles.Upon arrival at the park headquarters we all four trudged off on a trail that made a loop. All four? Margie tagged along. Kathleen and I quickly realized we could spend a number of days just along the trail.
However, as we were with non-birders, we hoofed along taking in as much as we could. The trail popped out on to a great lookout affording wonderful views of the coastline and back towards the forest.
As we came to a boardwalk crossing a lagoon, I could hear high-pitch squeaks. I saw some boulders and from the boardwalk, could see into some cracks. Bats! I thought so. 
With her camera, Kathleen was able to take photos. Her Canon Powershot SX200is has an incredible 12x optical zoom lens that allows Kathleen to compose magnificent photos. The bats were in a crack some 40ft away.As we hiked back to park headquarters, we came across groups of tourists off the cruise ships docked at Santa Marta. The tour guide was feebly trying to explain why leafcutter ants were hauling the chunks of leaves.
After listening for a moment I couldn’t stand to have the group be told the leaves were to build their ‘houses’. I butted in to explain the ants use the leaf material to cultivate funguses – fungi – which the colony eats. They are actually, providing fertilizer for their fungi farm. We hiked back to the park headquarters where we parted ways with Margie. Kathleen, Trip and I continued hiking along the coast where a number of little villages could be found. The trail to these villages was often busy with pack horses, mules, and donkeys hauling supplies, people, and backpacks. The trails were heavily subjected to the bowel movements of these beasts of burden.
So much so that hikers were widening the trails to go around the messes. Additionally, a number of places along the trail had evidence of erosion advanced by equine traffic and heavy rains.
Kathleen and I would have spent considerable time along the route looking for whatever critter could be seen. Indeed, we heard and saw a number of birds along the trail before arriving at one of the first villages. Turns out the villages were actually camp grounds and establishments where a cabaña could be rented. Some cabañas had private bathrooms. The beaches were festooned with sun and ocean revelers from many nations.
We walked along the coast till we came to El Cabo where Kathleen and Trip jumped into the water while I stood guard over their stuff. I don’t think anything would have happed, yet, ya don’t know.
After Kathleen and Trip enjoyed the Caribbean waters, we ate at the restaurant where we bumped into the mother-daughter French ladies that had helped Kathleen and I get to Tanganga. They were enjoying their holiday immensely. By late afternoon, rain began to fall and we joined the mass exodus of tourists hiking back to the park headquarters. Like the three of us, many were only here for the day.
Back at the park HQ we packed into a shuttle bus which took us to the highway. Here we caught a bus into Santa Marta as the sun set.
The rain became quite heavy at times before letting up some in Santa Marta. We stood at the designated intersection waiting for a minivan or taxi to Tanganga. A minivan pulled up and the driver beckoned us in, however, the van was already packed. Kathleen made an attempt to go in and she bashed her head on the door. The thump was load and her knees buckled as I caught hold of her while she began to fall backward out of the van. She fortunately recovered quickly as a lump formed along the hairline of her forehead. We waited a little longer watching one packed minivan after another go by bound for Tanganga. Finally, a taxi came by and we got in. The ride to Tanganga was to be equivalent to $7 USD, however, the driver wanted $8 because of the rain. Trip and the driver quibbled about this for the entire 20-minute ride to Tanganga. We paid the drivers price, however, Kathleen and I paid our share mostly in coins which was not desirable. Neener, neener, neener. I had been sweating all day and drank down a 2-liter bottle of water. The shower felt good and we did laundry in the sink.
With the rain falling, the ceiling fan whirring, and no one smoking in the hammock outside our window, we fell asleep quickly.
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