Barranquilla to Minca

Two-hour rides, then proper breaks. About 25km out, we found a perfect camp spot tucked away on the beach. Looked like it had been used before, but hey, it was home for the night.

Then, at 5am, two men stood outside our tent, talking to us.

I the dark of our tent we gave each other looks of concern. What to do???!!

"Uh… no Español?" I offered weakly.

They left.

Later, as we packed up, we saw them and a few others down the beach with a homemade fishing boat. They glanced our way. We waved. They wandered over. One guy seemed animated, possibly asking for money, but the others were calm. We explained (as best we could) that we were leaving soon. They nodded, satisfied, and that was that.

Phew.

With a new day came a new stratagy. No more full-send, pedal-’til-you-drop missions. Two hours of riding, then a decent break. That was the new rule. Because between the Colombian heat trying to roast us alive and my ongoing battle with bum rash, we needed a survival strategy that didn’t involve one of us collapsing on the roadside.

After cruising out 30km, we stumbled upon something... different. A Popeye-themed roadside restaurant and service station. Yep, someone out here had a serious infatuation with Popeye the Sailor Man and turned it into an entire roadside empire.

A little weird? Sure.

A perfect place to stop? Absolutely.

The staff were lovely, the menu del día was a banger, and most importantly—the baño was spotless. We fully utilized that pristine bathroom for a much-needed refresh. Nothing like a quick wash in a roadside bathroom sink to make you feel like a new person.

Feeling semi-human again, we rolled back out onto the road, embracing our new approach. Today felt good. A little cooler, a little more manageable, and—miraculously—my eyeballs weren’t sweating

At Ciénaga, we decided to get off the main road and take a parallel secondary route for 20km.

Secondary roads in Colombia are always a gamble. They might be smooth, scenic, and peaceful… or they might be brutal 4x4 tracks that make you question all your life choices.

This one? Actually pleasant. A rare win in the secondary road department.

By the time we popped back onto the main road at the base of the climb to Minca, we’d already logged 60km, but we were feeling good—just really, really hungry.

Enter: the best rotisserie chicken in town. Crispy, juicy, salty, and served with all the fixings. If I wasn’t already in love with Colombian food, this meal sealed the deal.

But there was one tiny problem…

Minca sat just 10km away, but 700m UP.

We figured, “let’s just start the climb, see how we feel.”

Two kilometers in, we saw a sign for Island Paradise Shop & Camping. Sounded promising.

Reality?

The place was run-down, operated by a slightly eccentric) woman who surprised up by speaking English. Her camping cost was a massive overcharge. But we were cooked. The idea of continuing uphill in the fading light was not happening. So we stayed.

"What’s that clicking, babe?"

We woke to what sounded like heavy raindrops hitting a tin roof. Except… it wasn’t raining.

Peering out of the tent, we spotted the culprits—squirrels. Loads of them, scuttering around in the trees above us, they were the clicking!!.

Fueled up on soaked chia seeds, raisins, and (surprise) another massive mango, we grunted our way up the remaining climb to Minca.

At the top of the hill we found Jungle Joe's Hostel.

Perfect. Except… it was full.

Enter: an Aussie bloke who struck up a chat with us, asking about our ride. Joe, overhearing the conversation, suddenly appeared and—clearly impressed by our adventure—found a spot for us.

Then, as if this guy couldn’t be any more of a legend, he made us sushi and fresh juice. Because, as he put it, “You must need food to keep you going.”

Jungle Joe, you absolute gem.

His place was exactly what we needed—hammocks everywhere, killer views, and that perfect remote-but-not-too-remote jungle vibe.

Feeling semi-human again after showering and ditching our layer of road grime, we set off to find a waterfall for a much-needed swim.

The universe, however, had other plans.

We arrived ro find the park gate was closing in 10 minutes.

No waterfall. No swim.

Slightly defeated, we did the next best thing—we plopped ourselves onto a rock on the side of the road, cracked open our beers, and just enjoyed the view.

With our roadside beers finished and the jungle views seared into our memories, we wandered back into town, weaving past Minca’s blend of tourists, backpackers, and locals going about their day.

While there were plenty of trendy cafés and gringo-friendly restaurants, we stuck to what we knew best—the menu del día. Tonight’s feast? Carne, rice, plantains, and whatever mystery side they threw in for good measure. Simple, cheap, and always satisfying.

Back at Jungle Joe’s, we put an idea into motion. The lack of a gas cooker had been a thorn in our side, so it was time for a little DIY ingenuity. Enter the penny stove—a homemade alcohol burner made from empty cans.

Maree, ever the engineer, successfully crafted a working stove. Me? Well, let’s just say I made an “abstract art piece.” But hey, one was all we needed, and knowing we could now make hot coffee in the mornings felt like a small but mighty victory.

I woke up the next morning feeling the kind of hunger that only a bikepacker-sized breakfast could fix. “Shall we go to breakfast, babe?” I asked Maree, already halfway out of my bed.

Unfortunately, we were too early, so there was nothing for it but to sink back into the hammocks and wait.

Jungle Joe’s breakfast, when it finally appeared, was worth it—not just for the food but for the hummingbird show. These tiny, zippy creatures flitted around the trees, so fast and iridescent they looked like little jungle spirits.

The rest of the morning was spent fiddling with our bikes—cleaning, checking, tweaking. After some more hammock time (because why not?), hunger struck again, so we rolled back into town for another menu del día.

With full bellies, we decided to tick off one of Minca’s famous attractions: Poso Azul Falls. The ride there was short but steep, a good reminder that we were in for some serious climbs once we left Minca.

Now, when you picture a waterfall in the jungle, you imagine serenity, cascading water, and maybe a few birds chirping in the distance. What we got was more like a beach party, but with waterfalls.

Coolers, camping chairs, music, kids splashing, and hordes of people filled the scene. Poso Azul wasn’t just a waterfall; it was a full-blown social event.

We climbed up to the top tier of pools, hoping for a little quiet. It was less crowded, though seemingly the designated teenage hangout. Regardless, we cooled off in the water, soaking in the scene—Colombian families enjoying their weekend, couples taking selfies, and kids jumping off rocks with reckless abandon.

Our stay in Minca had been everything we needed—jungle vibes, quiet mornings, and much-needed R&R. We could have signed up for coffee tours, cacao tastings, or jungle treks, but honestly? Lounging in hammocks, tinkering with bikes, and just existing in the moment was exactly what we had come here for.

Tomorrow, the bikes get loaded up, the wheels start turning south.