The Vacation

After several hot and strenuous months in the mangroves, filled with countless boat projects, it is finally time for a brief break. We leave Mabul behind almost rushed after finishing the last bits of work, hop on a plane, and start our boat break in Colombia. We land in Pereira, and soon after, charming Salento pulls us in. Big travel plans? Nope. The only thing that’s certain is that in two and a half weeks, we’ll fly back to Panama from Medellín – what happens in between is up to adventure.

All we really get to see of Pereira is the airport. A taxi picks us up and takes us straight to Salento – a picturesque but also rather touristy village, a good hour away. During the drive, I dig around for my headphones and suddenly find myself holding the keys to Mabul in my hand. I stare at them in disbelief – they definitely shouldn’t be here. Normally, boat keys are left behind in the marina or on board, depending on the location, in case someone needs to help in an emergency. Well, we’re only away for a few weeks, so it’ll be fine…

And when we arrive, Mabul, at almost 2,000 meters above sea level, suddenly feels infinitely far away. The climate is fresh and cool, and we breathe in the pleasantly dry air deeply. For the first time since my home leave, I put on long clothes and my trusty, lightweight hiking shoes again—and yet I still feel a little chilly in the evening. For the first few nights, we have taken up residence in the beautiful, quiet Terrazas de Salento Hotel to settle in and plan the rest of our route from here.

We deliberately take it slow, stroll through the town and discover all there is to experience here. Salento is located in the middle of Colombia’s coffee region – everywhere smells of freshly roasted beans, small roasteries invite you to try their specialties, and the cozy cafés serve really good coffee. If you want, you can even take coffee tours through the surrounding fincas. Almost more important to me: the countless restaurants. Thanks to tourism, I finally find a wide selection of vegetarian dishes here again – and I really enjoy getting my culinary money’s worth. Colombians are simply really good at cooking.

I set off alone for the Santa Rita waterfalls, while Karin prefers to enjoy village life. With water, my camera, and snacks in my backpack, I start walking. After half an hour, I leave the road and follow narrow trails. A hiker comes toward me and warns me that the trail ends at a finca with guest rooms and that you can’t go any further. However, I had read that 5,000 pesos – just under one euro – are accepted as a toll. So I continue on my way. A little later, I meet a friendly Colombian who works at the finca. After a short conversation and paying the toll, he leads me across the property, explains the rest of the way to me, and says goodbye with a smile and a “Feliz día”.

After a muddy section and crossing a river barefoot, I finally reach Santa Rita. Here, too, everything has long been developed for tourism, and the waterfall has been turned into a paid attraction—how I love that… But apparently, they don’t expect anyone to arrive on foot alone. In any case, the large parking lot for tour buses is completely empty. At the open entrance with the ticket booth, I cautiously call out “¡Hola?”, but no one responds. So I shrug my shoulders, ignore the souvenir shops, and continue on my way. The path winds its way through beautiful countryside, over rickety suspension bridges and finally to the Santa Rita waterfall. And what can I say – it’s just a waterfall, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I’m a little spoiled, but that doesn’t matter, because here the journey is the destination. For the way back, I choose a different route and dive into the humid rainforest. Several times I pass through small caves and over suspension bridges, everywhere buzzing and chirping with invisible forest dwellers. Back on the main road, heavy rain suddenly sets in. When it becomes clear that it won’t let up anytime soon, I hail a tuktuk to take me back to the hotel, soaking wet but satisfied.

In the late afternoon, Eric, our neighbor from Panamarina, gets in touch. He and Jamie want to know how we like Colombia – the two of them are planning a similar trip soon to get away from the boat for a while. Eric also mentions that it has been raining practically non-stop in Panama since we left. That was four days ago, and we have been running the refrigerator as our biggest power consumer. Without sun, this is obviously draining Mabul’s batteries, as she is not connected to shore power. Everything is still fine, but I ask Eric to check the charge status on the battery monitor the next day. Fortunately, he doesn’t need a key to do so…

The next day, we want to visit the famous Cocora Valley, where giant wax palms tower into the sky. It’s a textbook Instagram selfie influencer hotspot – and yet breathtakingly beautiful and absolutely unique. During our boat break in Colombia, I’m particularly looking forward to this trip. Unfortunately, I wake up with a sore throat and immediately realize that I’m coming down with something. Probably a combination of a drop in stress levels, the drastic change in climate, and the wet hike the day before. I can forget about the big round trip through the Valle de Cocora, but at least I should be able to make it to a viewpoint.

When we arrive, the clouds are hanging low and the fog is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. Nevertheless, the view is breathtaking. We had no idea that palm trees could grow at this altitude and in such a cool climate. We avoid the main stream of tourists heading for an artificially created selfie spot and instead end up on a small platform a little off to the side. From here, we have a fantastic view of the valley—down to the tallest palm trees on earth. And then, almost as a reward, the sun breaks through the clouds and bathes the scene in an incredible play of light. After a coffee with a shot of rum and lemon – said to work wonders for colds – we make our way back and encounter horses and donkeys along the way, curiously demanding our attention.

Then there’s a quick update from Eric: Mabul’s batteries have already dropped below 60% on day five – and it’s still raining non-stop. Now it’s getting critical, because we still have lead batteries. Normally, I would start the generator in a situation like this, but it can only be switched on below deck, and Eric can’t get there without a key. As a stopgap solution, he starts Mabul’s engine and lets it run for two hours. That should be enough to get us through another day or two of rain.

Early in the evening, I fall into bed exhausted but satisfied, hoping that sleep will ease my cold. But the next morning, unfortunately, it’s the opposite—I feel really bad. And today, of all days, is the day we’re moving to the glamping site. At least it’s not far, and Karin has already organized everything. So I put on all the long-sleeved clothes I can find and drag myself into the taxi with a runny nose. Shortly afterwards, we arrive at Glamping Rustiko – and the name says it all. The tent is a tent, the furnishings are rustic. Outside, the weather remains damp and cheerful, while inside I crawl under all the blankets I can find, fully clothed. In the early evening, a slight fever joins my cold, and I burrow deeper under the blankets while my thoughts circle around everything and nothing in my half-sleep.

Until they arrive back at Mabul’s batteries. In my rushed departure, I forgot something crucial. The starter battery is not connected to the service batteries because I didn’t flip a switch. That means that yesterday, when the engine was running, only the starter battery was charged – not the service batteries! My brain immediately goes into autopilot mode: they must have fallen below 50% by now. That’s exactly the critical threshold below which lead batteries suffer permanent damage. So if they’re not charged now, the refrigerator and freezer will drain the batteries for another night before the sun perhaps, perhaps shines on the PV system. And that could ruin the batteries, which are only a year old.

So what do we do? Nothing? Then we’ll have a new, rather expensive project as soon as we get back. So someone has to break into Mabul tonight, because I idiot took the key with me! That’s the only way to start the generator to charge the consumer batteries. Eric is unavailable, and the marina closed long ago. Then I think of Jack, with whom I have a good relationship; after all, we’ve known each other for a long time and he’s a doer. I call him immediately and explain the plan to him, half delirious with fever: Yes, break into Mabul! When? Now! Okay, how? I describe to him how he can break open the companionway with minimal damage. His comment: “That’ll cost you a few beers!”

Less than half an hour later, he calls me back via video call. He is sitting with his three-person crew on Mabul, with a six-pack of beer at the ready, just in case. The break-in went smoothly, only a bit of Plexiglas needs to be glued back together at some point. The generator is already running, the voltage of the service batteries is rising, so everything is fine. I breathe a sigh of relief—what a relief! But just as I’m about to thank him for this nighttime emergency call, Jack says dryly, “You know you have a leak in the engine compartment, right?” My feverish brain refuses to comprehend this until he turns the camera. And sure enough, water is bubbling merrily into the shaft seal under the engine, and has now also filled the shower basin in front of the engine compartment. There’s something else I forgot before departure: the bilge pump isn’t switched on! Fortunately, the water has flowed further into the main bilge, where the bilge pump there is busily pumping everything overboard in a high arc. I can’t believe it!

Logically, the leak must be repaired immediately – and I already have a theory: yesterday, when Eric ran the machine, the vibration of the motor and thus also of the shaft caused dirt to get between the sealing surfaces of the shaft seal. This PSS seal basically works quite simply: two flat surfaces, the rotor and stator, press against each other and thus seal. If dirt gets in between, water gets in. We had this happen recently when we were in San Blas. Karin is now texting Nelson, whom you already know from this blog, so that he can come on board and solve this problem. Fortunately, he is still available and at home, so we suddenly have a total of five people on board Mabul while we are sitting in a tent in the Colombian Andes… Nelson confirms my diagnosis and crawls headfirst into the engine compartment. Jack keeps the communication going, his crew bails out the water, and Nelson gets the seal tight again in a few simple steps.

And then it’s done: leak repaired, engine compartment drained, generator running, batteries charging. At this point, once again, a big thank you to everyone involved – without you, Mabul would simply have sunk. Slowly but surely. Because the refrigerator and bilge pump would have completely drained the service batteries at some point, and as soon as the pump stops, the water continues to rise until nothing can be saved. At least Mabul wouldn’t have gotten far, so close to the mangroves. But the damage would have been devastating. So: everyone can happily continue drinking on our tab, I end the video call – and in my feverish state, I’m not even sure if all this really happened. A few moments later, I fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, we still can’t believe what happened. Not even five days alone, and Mabul is already threatening to sink itself. Yes, it was an astonishing chain of unfortunate circumstances – but ultimately my fault: I took the keys with me, didn’t activate the bilge pump in the engine room, and didn’t connect the battery banks. Next time, I’ll take my time and prepare Mabul better for being alone. The hasty departure for the boat break in Colombia is a lesson learned.

After three days in a tent with a magnificent view of the mountains around Salento, we leave Glamping Rustiko and make our way to the thermal springs of San Vincente. The fever is gone, but I still feel weak – is bathing at an altitude of 2,500 meters really the best idea? When we arrive, we are speechless. The springs rise in the middle of an overwhelming jungle landscape, framed by two mountain ranges. In the Alps, you would be well above the tree line at this altitude, but here, nature seems to really explode. I’ve seen quite a few tropical forests, but this is another dimension. My jaw drops at the sight of this flora and fauna. Ferns as tall as trees, countless species of hummingbirds, plants that grow on top of each other and merge into one another. This is what nature looks like when humans stay away – and yet the thermal baths are only a stone’s throw away.

Since I’m still a little under the weather, I prefer to spend my time observing the forest and its winged inhabitants, while Karin soaks herself thoroughly in all the pools at the thermal springs. We originally planned to stay only one night, but it quickly becomes clear that we need to stay at least one more. Finally, I cautiously venture into the water. Just before reaching the thermal pool, I change out of my long clothes and into my swimwear, warm up in the natural steam bath, and finally jump into the warm water. Simply wonderful.

The boat break in Colombia is doing us both a world of good – so much so that we make a new decision: we want more of it. More of the country, more of Colombia, more of the good food, more of this pleasant climate. But we’re not giving up on our Pacific dream. Before we get there, though, we both need to recharge our batteries – and we can’t do that in this short vacation. It’s obvious, really: we’re already late in the season, the boat work isn’t completely finished, and after three years at sea, a real break from boat life would certainly do us good. So we’re postponing the Pacific crossing, but we’ll return to Mabul to prepare it conscientiously for a longer break and park it on land. After that, we plan to return to Colombia, because we fell in love with the country and its people from the very first moment. The big question remains: where exactly? We have about three months – and we don’t want to travel all over Colombia, but rather live in a beautiful place and relax. That’s why we decide to consciously plan the rest of this vacation around the country’s different climate zones.

We don’t want a hot place by the sea, neither on the Caribbean nor on the Pacific coast – we’ve had enough of that. Salento and especially San Vincente, on the other hand, are too cold and too humid for us in the long run. Nothing dries here that you hang outside, even when it’s not raining. So the truth lies somewhere between 0 and 2,000 meters above sea level. So we set off in search of our next stopover, continuing towards Medellín, but this time somewhere significantly lower and drier. It doesn’t take long before we discover the Hotel Tahiti, nestled among lemon groves at an altitude of 600 meters. The pictures are reminiscent of dry Tuscany: small private villas with fantastic views. We don’t hesitate for long and book a villa and transportation.

The next day, we leave the damp highlands behind and drive for several hours until we step out of the taxi in Puente Iglesias, sweating. “It’s warm here,” is our first thought – and at the same time: “Finally, sunshine again!” The landscape immediately looks different: no more fog, but clear, dry air and citrus groves as far as the eye can see. We move into our villa at the Hotel Tahiti and enjoy the seclusion, our small private jacuzzi, and the excellent cuisine in the restaurant. It almost feels like a little luxury vacation within a vacation. But we quickly realize why the villa is equipped with air conditioning. In the midday heat, it’s almost unbearable outside, and as soon as the sun goes down, countless bugs come out. Mosquitoes, flies, and other small creatures won’t leave us alone. The huge lemon monocultures, which seem idyllic at first, quickly lose their charm. Compared to the overwhelming rainforest of San Vincente, the surroundings here seem rather monotonous and a little lifeless.

Nevertheless, this stop serves an important purpose: finally, everything we barely managed to dry in the constant drizzle of Salento and San Vincente over the last few days is drying again. And it brings us closer to the answer to our big question: where exactly do we want to spend the next few months of our boat break in Colombia? Here in Puente Iglesias, it is clearly too warm for us, there are too many mosquitoes, and the vegetation is too monotonous. At least we can narrow down our comfort zone further: it must be somewhere between 600 and 2000 meters.

Nothing would make more sense than to make our next stop at the golden mean: approximately 1,300 meters above sea level. However, the choice of locations is quite limited, especially since we want to continue moving step by step toward Medellín. Basically, only the area around the striking Cerro Tusa comes into question. This mountain rises like a green cone from the landscape, exposed and unmistakable, and this is exactly where the right accommodation is located. The Hotel Cerro Tusa Springs promises relaxation in the midst of an exciting environment, making it ideal for our last stopover before we reach Medellín. However, it’s not quite perfect, as there are only rooms available for one night. We take it anyway – sometimes you have to seize the moment, even if it’s short.

And so we set off once again and are amazed when we arrive. “Influencer’s Paradise” probably describes it best. The entire site looks like a stage for perfect photos: huge, varied, and full of spots that seem tailor-made for showing off. The grounds are huge, almost like a park of their own, where you could easily go on a short hike. We encounter surprises again and again: several differently designed pool landscapes, a treetop route with long suspension bridges and sweeping views over the valley, and even a large shala where psychedelic retreats apparently take place regularly. The resort also spoils us with its cuisine: the kitchen offers an astonishing number of vegetarian dishes, finely prepared and varied. We treat ourselves to two full days of luxury – alternating between the sauna, pool, good food, short walks through the grounds, and simply being.

Finally, at the main pool, we witness a scene that is almost as entertaining as a small theater play: while an inflatable swan floats lazily on the water next to us, an influencer poses with all the trimmings—pouting lips, poses, endless repetitions. Her apparent unique selling point: her obviously surgically enhanced assets. Her friend behind the camera documents everything in epic detail, every movement, every detail. Product placement you can touch. For us, it was wonderfully amusing to witness this live – but definitely a type of work you have to like.

And then another abrupt change: we move to Hacienda San Francisco. This time we are the only guests, and the owner takes a lot of time for us. Not only does he personally pick us up from “Influencer’s Paradise,” he even takes us out to dinner in the nearby village of Venecia in the evening. Later, we sit in his small bar, where Pancho the mini donkey keeps us company and, with a mischievous look, pretends he would like to have a drink with us too. After three days here, we agree: this is it! Exactly the climate we were looking for. Warm during the day, but not oppressive, pleasantly cool at night for sleeping – without air conditioning. The pool is a welcome change, but not a necessity. There are a few mosquitoes, but they are surprisingly harmless and easy to tolerate even without high-percentage DEET mosquito spray. Even Karin is fine with it – and that really means something.

Mission accomplished – we’re continuing on to Medellín. However, we’re not heading straight to the metropolis, but to visit friends who settled in nearby Santa Elena a good year ago. We met Dini and Pablo and their three children in Guatemala, and since then our paths have crossed time and again. They have also moored their boat Da Capo in the Panamarina – just like we did during our boat break in Colombia. Now we are meeting for the first time on land, in their new home. It feels wonderfully familiar to not be staying in an anonymous hotel for once, but to spend real time with friends. No sooner have we arrived than Pablo enlists me in various projects: first, the lawn trimmer needs to be restarted – a tiny carburetor that is proving stubborn, but after a few tweaks it is running again. Whether it will last remains to be seen. Next, we tackle a broken toilet flush and the installation of a drinking water filter. It almost feels like a typical day of work on a boat – only on land. But that doesn’t matter. On the contrary: at the end of the day, we’ve accomplished everything on the list and everyone is satisfied. And while Pablo is working on the house, Dini has put her heart and soul into building her Refugio Zen – a place for yoga retreats, meditation, and breathwork surrounded by the green nature of Santa Elena.

After three intense days of family life, it’s time for us to say goodbye again. Many thanks to Dini and Pablo for their warm hospitality and the time we spent together! We cooked, ate, laughed, and simply shared everyday life together—from small projects around the house to cozy evenings with good food. Now we are moving on to Medellín to get a taste of big city life before returning to the boat. The route there takes us on a cable car that brings us directly down to the city from Santa Elena, almost 1,000 meters higher up. At first, the cable car glides quietly over dense forest, which spreads out like a green sea beneath us.

Then the cable car reaches the edge of the escarpment, and suddenly the view opens up across the entire valley. The city stretches out before us as far as the horizon. Streets, high-rises, and traffic appear small, yet at the same time overwhelming after so much untouched nature. The sounds of the forest give way to the hum of the city, and the shift from silence and greenery to concrete and people is instantly tangible.

We check into a hostel in the El Poblado neighborhood and head out to explore the surrounding area a little. First, it’s off to the barber, and afterwards we treat ourselves to an Indian dinner. The flavors, the spices, the act of sitting together and eating – after so many days on the road, it feels like a small highlight. Later, we go out for a drink. We try the hostel’s rooftop bar first, but only find young people there with loud, bad music. So we decide on a nearby bar instead, but it’s far too early, hardly anyone is around, and to be honest, I don’t really feel like diving into the nightlife. Neither the bar, nor the hostel, nor the city itself manage to truly excite me.

And so, after just one night, I leave the city again. The hustle, the traffic, the tourism, and the urban stench – after the past few weeks in nature, it all feels even more intense and more draining than exciting. Instead, I find a quiet hotel near the airport and savor the silence that surrounds me. Highland motmots fly around, curiously peeking into my lens from time to time. Karin arrives in the evening, and we spend one last peaceful night together, just the two of us, far away from the bustle. The next morning, our boat break in Colombia comes to an end: we head to the airport, fly back to Panama, and back to Mabul – to our boat, our floating home.

You can find more photos in this gallery, and here are the shots from birding in Colombia.

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