Desierto de Tatacoa

We didnt know much about Desierto de Tatacoa. Its not in my Lonely Planet South America, for one, and no other backpackers we d crossed paths with had tipped us off to it. We found a passing reference to incredible star scapes and free camping by an observatory, so we jumped a bus south from Bogota.

After arriving late and setting up our hammocks in the dark, we awoke to this.


This is the Labyrinth, a stunning collection of sand stone rock formations that lies near the mouth of the Tatacoa Desert. I say desert, but in technical terms it is actually a dry tropical forest, according to Juan Tatacoa, our guide who drove us through the wonderland in his wonderfully-upolstered tuk-tuk.

Juan took us to his cousins on our second day in the desert, where he said we could see the natural pools and camp. Orlanda, his cousin, runs a restaurant-bar-farm on the side of a dusty road far out in the desert. Estadero Los Hoyos, as her digs are dubbed, has a little of everything. A little of ducks, a little of goats, a little of cats and dogs and sheep and cows and pigeons and medicinal scorpions and beer and lunch and coffee and children and camping space and posts to hang our hammocks. It was great, but we couldnt sleep past six am because of all the noise the goose was making.

Her family has also dug swimming pools into the sand that are fed by natural springs. We hung out in these desert oaises, completly alone save for the hawks flying overhead



and then ventured further into the ollas, the curving sand cliffs carved by a muddy river into separate living rooms, each with its own array of spiky bushes and patches of cactus friends.


Shootdang, I cant get that photo to flip around- turn your head to the right to get the true quality Caitlin Donohue orientation.

I love cactus. They are like the mushrooms of the desert, look how cute they are! Sitting on a throne formed from dried mud and cliff face I had a bonding moment with the desert. It all of a sudden reminded me of my grandma Rosettas paintings my mom has so faithfully carted with her across the country. Windows onto meses, tough plants with the occasional pink flower, unadulterated beauty that doesnt succor you into shooting a postcard of it. It made me miss... Texas?

Time for a return to the homeland?

Maybe.
Love,
Cait