Why Tayrona National Park Is Perfect for Budget Travelers Who Love Nature

I never imagined I’d be checking my work emails from a hammock strung between palm trees and the sound of the Caribbean Sea in the background. But that’s exactly what happened when I set up my remote “office” in Tayrona National Park, Colombia.

This is my personal journey through Tayrona with all the practical tips a budget traveler and digital nomad might need.

From affordable transport and rustic hammocks to Wi-Fi in the wilderness, I’ll explain why Tayrona is a paradise for nature lovers who want to live and work on their own terms.

Getting to Tayrona on a Budget

I kicked off my Tayrona adventure by getting there the most frugal way possible. After wrapping up a week of work in Cartagena, I took a local minibus to Santa Marta, the nearest city to the park.

From Santa Marta’s chaotic Mercado Público (central market), I hopped on a brightly painted local bus heading east along the coast. The ticket was only about 10,000 COP (Colombian pesos) – roughly $2.50 – for the one-hour ride to the park entrance.

The bus was filled with a mix of backpackers and locals (plus a few chickens clucking in the aisle, because this is Colombia after all). I made sure to tell the driver “El Zaino, por favor,” which is the main entrance of Tayrona, so he’d drop me off at the right spot.

For those coming from further away, there are other budget-friendly options too. From Cartagena, you can take a door-to-door shuttle van for around 69,000 COP (about $17) that will pick you up at your hostel and drop you at Tayrona’s gate. It’s pricier than the DIY bus route but super convenient if you’re carrying a lot of work gear.

Some travelers I met even shared a private taxi from Santa Marta – splitting the cost came to about 80,000–100,000 COP total, which made sense for a group (and got them there faster in air-conditioned comfort). If you’re really short on time or want a scenic route, speedboats run from the backpacker beach town of Taganga directly to Tayrona’s most famous beach, Cabo San Juan.

I skipped the boat (I’d heard the ride can be bumpy), but it’s an option at around 150,000 COP round-trip. Just brace yourself – between October and March the sea can be rough on that route, so waterproof your laptop and gear if you go by boat!

One tip I embraced: travel light when heading into the park. I left my big backpack at a hostel in Santa Marta (most will store it for free while you explore) and only carried a daypack with essentials: my laptop, a change of clothes, bug spray, and a swimsuit.

The lighter load made the journey – and the upcoming hike – much easier. With my bus dropping me at El Zaino entrance, I was ready to enter the jungle with both my budget and excitement fully intact.

Seasons, Weather, and Park Closures

As a remote worker, I have the luxury of timing my trips, so I did my homework on the best time to visit Tayrona. I decided on early March, and it turned out to be near-perfect. Generally, December to April is the dry season on Colombia’s Caribbean coast.

I had mostly sunny days and warm, humid nights – ideal for beach time (and for my laundry to dry quickly on the hammock line!). However, I also wanted to avoid the worst of the crowds. Tayrona is a beloved getaway for Colombians too, and it gets very busy over the holidays.

Local advice (now backed by my own experience) is to avoid late December through mid-January, when Christmas vacationers flood the park, as well as Easter week (Semana Santa) and the school break in late June and July.

During these peak times, not only are there more people, but prices creep up (the park charges a higher entry fee in high season) and accommodation in and around the park fills up fast. If you can swing it, aim for shoulder season: just before or after the big holidays. My March trip had manageable crowds – lively but not overrun – and I still got that dry-season sunshine.

Nature has its say too. The rainy seasons here typically fall in April–May and again in September–November. Travelers who’ve come during those months tell me the trails can get muddy and some afternoons bring tropical downpours.

On the upside, those wetter months are considered low season, meaning far fewer visitors; you might have some beaches nearly to yourself if you don’t mind a bit of rain.

As a budget traveler, I also noticed that local guesthouses drop their prices in the off-season. So, there’s a classic trade-off: go in the dry high season for perfect weather but bigger crowds (and slightly higher costs), or go in wetter months for tranquility and savings, armed with a rain poncho and a sense of adventure.

Since I had work obligations that required reliable weather (nothing like a thunderstorm to knock out power or cell signal), I chose the dry window and felt it was a good call.

One critical thing to know: Tayrona closes three times a year for restoration and indigenous ceremonies. I can’t stress this enough – I met a traveler who showed up to the park entrance in early February only to find the gates literally chained shut.

Each year, usually in February, June, and October, the park is off-limits to let the ecosystem rest and to allow the local indigenous communities (the Kogi, Arhuaco, Wiwa, and others) to perform spiritual cleansing rites.

As of the latest schedule, the closures were Feb 1–15, June 1–15, and Oct 19–Nov 2 (dates can vary slightly year to year). I planned around these dates – arriving just after one of the February closures – and the park was beautifully fresh and clean when it reopened.

If you’re plotting a visit, double-check those closure dates in advance so you don’t accidentally time your “workation” when the park is off-limits. The good news is that outside those periods, Tayrona is open year-round, and the park hours are generous (typically 7am to 5pm for entry in low season, with visitors allowed to stay until about 6pm in high season).

Early mornings are the best time to arrive – I got to the gate by 7:30am, which helped me beat the worst of the line and guaranteed I secured a spot to sleep that night.

Entry Fees and Hiking Costs

Entering Tayrona National Park isn’t free, but it’s a worthwhile investment in my book. At the El Zaino entrance, I joined a short queue of sun-hatted tourists and Colombian families, all of us fanning ourselves in the humidity.

When it was my turn at the booth, I paid an entry fee of 73,500 COP (about $18) since it was low season – in peak months the fee for foreign visitors rises to about 87,000 COP (around $21).

The cashier also charged a small mandatory insurance of 6,000 COP per day (this is basically a park visitor insurance in case of accidents; it’s now standard for all guests). They slapped a paper wristband on me as proof of payment, plus an extra wristband showing I had the insurance.

I noticed Colombian nationals in line were paying a lot less – the park has a tiered pricing system, so locals and residents of Andean countries pay heavily discounted rates. But even at foreigner prices, I found it reasonable.

The fee covers up to 7 days in the park (single entry). Considering the pristine beaches and trails awaiting me, it felt like a fair deal – roughly the cost of two cafe lattes back home for what could be multiple days of tropical bliss.

Before I could stride in, though, there was one more checkpoint: a bag inspection by park rangers. They take conservation seriously here. The rangers politely rifled through my daypack and asked a few questions in Spanish.

The goal is to ensure you’re not bringing any prohibited items into Tayrona. I already knew the rules, so I had packed accordingly – no single-use plastics (I had a refillable water bottle instead), no alcohol, and of course no drones or drugs or anything of that sort.

The plastic ban impressed me; they’re trying to reduce litter, so even plastic bags and plastic bottles are technically forbidden. I did have a Ziploc around my trail mix, which the ranger gently reminded me to pack out and not toss anywhere.

They also won’t allow big speakers or musical instruments that could disturb wildlife (so leave your guitar at the hostel, as hard as that is for the wandering minstrels among us). With my bag cleared and my entry paid, I was finally in!

From the entrance, the journey into the heart of Tayrona really begins. The beaches are not immediately at the gate – you have to hike in a few kilometers through the rainforest. Some travelers budget for a little shuttle ride inside the park, and I did too.

Right past the entrance, I and a bunch of others climbed into a small park-operated shuttle van that covers the first 4 km of road. It cost 5,000 COP (a little over $1) and saved me an uninspiring hour-long road slog. The shuttle dropped us at the trailhead where the real hiking starts.

From there, it’s about an hour or two of trekking (depending on your pace and how often you stop for photos or water) to reach the main beach camps. The hike is absolutely gorgeous – a dirt and wooden-plank trail winding through dense jungle and along the coastline.

It’s hot and sweaty but not particularly difficult; I saw people of all ages managing it, and the path is well-marked and well-traveled. This “mandatory walk” is part of Tayrona’s charm: there are no roads to the beaches, so everyone, even day-trippers, earns those views with a bit of legwork. I considered it my daily exercise (and a justification for an extra fried plantain at dinner later).

If hiking isn’t your thing, there are horses for hire at the trailhead – local guides offer horseback rides to the main campsites for a fee. As a budget-conscious traveler I skipped the horse (and preferred to be on my own schedule), but it’s there as an option.

There’s also a boat option within the park: some days local boats at Arrecifes or Cabo San Juan beach will ferry people back to Taganga in the late afternoon. I kept that in mind as a possible exit strategy if I didn’t want to hike out, but in the end I walked both ways, happy to soak in the jungle atmosphere.

So, all in all, getting into Tayrona set me back about 84,500 COP (entry + insurance + shuttle) – roughly $20 – plus whatever I’d spend on food and lodging inside. Not a bad price to trade my office walls for wild jungle and beach. And speaking of lodging, the next big question was: where would I sleep? Time to talk about hammocks and camping, the quintessential Tayrona experience.

Hammocks, Ecohostels & Budget Stays

I’ll never forget the first time I saw the hammock hut at Cabo San Juan. After trekking through humid jungle for two hours, I emerged onto a golden beach fringed with coconut palms.

There, perched on a rocky point overlooking twin bays, was a rustic two-story open-air hut with hammocks dangling from its rafters – swaying gently in the sea breeze. This was to be my home for the night.

For budget travelers, hammocks are the name of the game in Tayrona. At the popular Cabo San Juan campground, I rented a hammock for the night at 50,000 COP (about $12). That was the price for a standard hammock in the main area under a thatched roof.

They also offered “premium” hammocks up on the second level of that iconic boulder-top hut for 60,000 COP (which has a stellar panoramic view, but I was warned it gets chilly and windy up there at night). I opted for the regular hammock closer to ground level, which came with the added benefit of being nearer to the bathrooms and showers.

Upon paying, I was assigned a specific hammock number and even given a small locker to stow my backpack and laptop securely – a nice touch for us nomads paranoid about our electronics.

If you arrive early enough in the day, you can often choose a hammock with a prime view or spot. I got there by lunchtime and managed to snag one with a direct line of sight to the ocean, so I could literally see the waves from my “bed.”

Not into hammocks? Tayrona’s campsites also rent tents. At Cabo San Juan, a two-person tent (with thin mattresses provided) was about 40,000 COP per person, so 80,000 COP if you want the whole tent for two. I peeked inside one – basic but decent.

One benefit of tents is a bit more privacy and protection from mosquitoes, but they can get stuffy in the heat. A couple I met chose a tent and slept fine, though they mentioned the tent area was a bit crowded with guy lines crisscrossing everywhere. Another option is to bring your own tent.

If you lug your personal tent into the park, you can pitch it in designated zones for about 30,000 COP per person. I saw a few seasoned backpackers do this; it’s the cheapest way if you already have a tent, essentially paying for the spot and use of facilities.

For those who want a little more luxury (or are traveling as a pair and can split costs), some camps have a few cabañas or private huts. Don’t expect anything fancy – at Cabo San Juan they jokingly called it the “casita” or shed. It was basically a wooden cabin.

The price was a steep 200,000 COP for two people, which is way above a backpacker budget. I personally wouldn’t splurge on that in Tayrona because you’re still getting very simple accommodation (and the fun vibe is really in the hammocks area), but it exists for those who aren’t into camping.

Beyond Cabo San Juan, there are other campsites along the trail where you can stay. The first major site you reach is Arrecifes, about 45 minutes into the hike from the trail start. Arrecifes has a large campground that’s quieter at night (no party atmosphere, which Cabo can sometimes have).

I checked it out on my way and noted they offered hammocks for around 30,000 COP – cheaper than Cabo – and tents as well. If Cabo San Juan is full (which can happen on very busy days), Arrecifes is a good Plan B for a place to sleep.

There’s also Camping Bukaru and Castilletes near the park entrance, and a campsite at Playa Brava on the more remote side of the park (for the adventurous who hike a separate trail).

Each has similar pricing with slight variations. Generally, hammocks ranged from 30k–60k COP across the park’s sites, and tents from about 30k per person up to 50k, depending on location and season.

Budget Accommodation Comparison

For clarity, here’s a quick rundown of the budget accommodation options in and around Tayrona:

As you can see, camping in the park is extremely affordable – even the most expensive hammock is under $15 a night. I found it an incredible bargain to sleep in such a spectacular setting.

Sure, it’s not luxury: you’ll be falling asleep to the sound of waves (lovely) and the occasional snorer (earplugs recommended, as 40 strangers in hammocks make some noise).

The washrooms are basic, with cold-water showers and sometimes lines in the morning. But there’s nothing like waking up at sunrise, from a hammock, to see the sky turn orange over the ocean.

That said, combining remote work with such basic living required a bit of planning. I treated my hammock nights almost like camping off-grid – I made sure to charge my laptop and phone when the campsite ran the electricity (usually only a few hours in the evening). I carried a power bank for backup charging, and used a headlamp for reading and moving around after dark.

If hammock camping isn’t your cup of Colombian coffee, you can stay just outside Tayrona and still enjoy the park by day. In fact, I did this for a couple of nights when I needed stronger internet (more on Wi-Fi soon).

The nearby area of El Zaino (by the main entrance) and Los Naranjos (a bit west along the highway) has a handful of eco-hostels and guesthouses. I stayed at one called The Journey Hostel in Los Naranjos for a few nights and loved it – it had a jungle-meets-beach vibe, a small pool, and solid Wi-Fi in the common area.

It was about a 20-minute walk (or 5-minute mototaxi) from the park entrance, so I could easily shuttle back in for more hiking. Other travelers recommended Yuluka Eco-Hostel and Mundo Nuevo as well. Prices outside the park were still budget-friendly: I paid around 50,000 COP for a dorm bed with breakfast.

These places often have the perk of lockers and secure storage, so you can leave your non-essential luggage while you camp in the park, and they’ll sometimes even shuttle you to the gate at 7am for free to help you be first in line.

Whether you choose to sleep inside Tayrona under the stars or just outside in a comfy hostel, the good news is that there are plenty of budget accommodation options.

You can mix and match: do a couple of intense nature nights in a hammock, then retreat to a hostel with hot showers to catch up on work. I personally found that combination ideal – it gave me the best of both worlds.

Remote Work Realities

As a digital nomad, I’m used to scoping out the Wi-Fi situation wherever I go. Let’s be clear: Tayrona National Park is not the place to be doing Zoom calls or uploading huge files on a deadline.

This is a get offline and unwind kind of destination – which, frankly, is part of why it’s amazing. There is essentially no reliable internet or cell signal inside the park. I had read a warning before going, which turned out to be true: “there ain’t no wifi here” one traveler wrote bluntly.

Indeed, once I hiked beyond the entrance, my phone signal dropped out and the only “notifications” I got were bird calls and the crash of waves.

I’ll admit, the prospect of being unconnected made me a bit nervous at first – how would I manage work if something urgent came up? But with some planning, it turned into a welcome digital detox that didn’t hurt my productivity at all. Here’s how I managed it:

Before entering the park, I let my clients and coworkers know I’d be mostly offline for a couple of days. I took care of any pressing emails in Santa Marta (where internet is decent) and scheduled my work tasks so that my time in Tayrona would be as free as possible.

I downloaded any documents I needed to read or work on to my laptop so I could access them without internet. Essentially, I treated going into Tayrona like going on a short camping trip off-grid.

Inside the park, Wi-Fi is nearly non-existent. The campgrounds do not provide Wi-Fi for guests, except for maybe a very weak signal at one of the larger restaurant areas (I heard a rumor that the Arrecifes campsite had a bit of Wi-Fi near the reception, but when I passed through, I couldn’t detect it – it might have been turned off or just extremely slow).

The only place with internet in Tayrona is the high-end Ecohabs Hotel area near Cañaveral, which has Wi-Fi in its reception for guests. But that’s a luxury lodging far from where I was staying, and definitely not a spot a backpacker can pop into with a laptop. So, practically speaking, assume no internet in the park.

I shifted my mindset to embrace this. In my hammock in Cabo San Juan, I spent my evenings reading a paperback novel and writing in my journal instead of scrolling through Twitter.

During the day, I jotted down notes and ideas for work articles in a notebook. It’s amazing how creative you feel when disconnected from the net – I outlined two weeks’ worth of blog content while swinging in a hammock, the kind of deep work I struggle to do amid online distractions. As a remote worker, this was a refreshing change: my brain felt uncluttered, as there was no ping of incoming emails to interrupt the flow.

Of course, I did still need to check in on work periodically. For that, I relied on my accommodation outside the park. Each time I exited Tayrona (every couple of days), I’d return to a hostel with Wi-Fi. At The Journey Hostel where I stayed, they had free Wi-Fi in the reception and bar area.

It wasn’t the world’s fastest connection – sometimes a video call would sputter or the connection would drop for a few minutes (the staff openly mention that due to the remote location, the internet “may vary” in reliability).

But it was good enough for uploading my latest set of travel photos to the cloud and sending off a few work emails. I scheduled any necessary video meetings for those out-of-park days when I knew I’d be at the hostel.

On one occasion, I had an important call and I actually went into Santa Marta city for the day, where I worked from a café with solid broadband. Santa Marta even has a coworking space or two – I spotted one called Flamingo Coworking advertised, and some nomads base themselves in Santa Marta for longer stays.

Personally, I found Santa Marta’s hustle a bit distracting and preferred to be closer to nature, but it’s an option if internet is a priority.

Interestingly, mobile phone coverage was patchy but occasionally present in certain high points of the park. I noticed on a hill near Pueblito (an archaeological site in the park), suddenly my phone buzzed with pending text messages – I must have caught a cell tower signal from somewhere. It was very spotty though, and I wouldn’t count on it.

If you’re on Claro or Movistar (major Colombian carriers), you might get one bar at some hilltops or at the very edge of the park by the highway. But essentially, while in Tayrona’s beach/jungle zone, you should plan to be offline.

For power, remember that in the campsites the electricity is only on for a few hours in the evening (roughly 6pm to 10pm via generator). I made sure to charge up my laptop, phone, and power bank during those hours.

I often sat in the dining area where there were a few outlets, guarding my devices while having dinner. It’s a low-tech environment, but it works if you come prepared. Also, bring battery-powered everything (headlamp, etc.) and maybe a spare battery for your camera if you plan to take a lot of photos.

One creative workaround I saw: a fellow traveler was tethering internet from a local SIM card using an extended antenna to get signal from outside the park. This seemed excessive and I’m not sure how well it actually worked (or what hill he had to climb to catch a signal).

For most of us, it’s better to embrace the disconnection. If you absolutely must stay connected for work, I’d recommend not sleeping inside the park – instead, stay at a hostel like Villa Maria or Maku Eco Hostel just outside, which have Wi-Fi, and do day trips into Tayrona. There you can be online mornings/evenings and offline exploring during the day.

In summary, Tayrona is a great test of a digital nomad’s ability to unplug. With the right planning, I turned it into a productive reset: doing analog work (writing, brainstorming) while in the park, then doing the online tasks (emails, uploads) when back in Wi-Fi range. And honestly, some of my best “office” moments were sitting on a driftwood log at sunset, scribbling ideas for a project while the sky turned pink.

No, I couldn’t Slack my team from that spot – but I returned to civilization recharged and bursting with new creativity. In our hyper-connected lives, a place that forces you offline can be a blessing in disguise.

Jungle Life and Natural Wonders

Trading my computer screen for Tayrona’s natural beauty was the whole point of this trip, and it did not disappoint. Tayrona National Park is a mesmerizing blend of jungle and beach, where the Sierra Nevada mountains meet the Caribbean Sea.

By day, I hiked under towering green canopies alive with wildlife; by afternoon, I lazed on pristine beaches; and by night, I fell asleep under an explosion of stars, with the waves as my lullaby.

One of my most vivid memories is from my first morning inside the park. I woke up around 6 AM in my hammock at Cabo San Juan, driven by the internal alarm clock of excitement (and maybe the distant roar of a howler monkey, which sounds a bit like a heavy metal singer clearing their throat!).

Stepping out onto the sand, I was greeted by a pair of lime-green parrots squawking as they flew over, and cottony clouds still hanging low on the forested hills. As I started a gentle yoga stretch (perk of a beach office: outdoor yoga studio!), I spotted movement in the trees at the edge of the beach.

It was a white-headed capuchin monkey peering down at the waking campers. Soon a whole troupe appeared – moms with babies clinging to their backs, agile teens swinging on vines. They were probably hoping for breakfast scraps, but I remembered the park rule not to feed wildlife. Still, seeing monkeys in the wild, basically within arm’s reach, was thrilling.

Throughout my stay, I encountered plenty of fauna. Tayrona is home to nearly 300 species of birds and a menagerie of animals. I’m an amateur birdwatcher, and hiking the trails I saw brilliant blue morpho butterflies flutter by and heard the distinctive hoot of an owl at dusk.

On one hike, I was lucky enough to glimpse a sloth high in a tree, doing its usual thing (moving in slow motion) – a fellow hiker pointed it out, otherwise I’d have missed it. And something truly special: I caught a flash of movement on a branch and realized I was looking at a Cotton-top Tamarin, one of the world’s tiniest monkeys with a shock of white hair, endemic to this region.

I couldn’t believe it – these little guys are endangered and hard to spot, but Tayrona’s protected habitat gives them a refuge. Moments like that made me forget about any work worries entirely; I was just another creature in the jungle, sharing space with these amazing animals.

After the morning’s monkey business, I would usually pack up a day bag and explore the beaches and trails. Tayrona’s main draw are its spectacular beaches tucked into coves of turquoise water, backed by jungled hills and giant granite boulders.

The hike from the entrance takes you sequentially to several beaches: Arrecifes, La Piscina, and finally Cabo San Juan, with a few smaller ones beyond that. Each beach has its own character.

Arrecifes was the first large beach I reached – a long, wild stretch of sand with foamy waves. It’s breathtaking to look at, but no swimming is allowed there due to deadly currents. In fact, I passed a sign that somberly noted how hundreds of people have drowned ignoring the warnings over the years.

That was enough to keep me firmly on the shore! Arrecifes does have a campsite and a little restaurant where I stopped for a cold drink. I remember sitting there, watching the relentless waves, feeling tiny in comparison to nature’s power. It’s a reminder that while Tayrona is beautiful, it’s also untamed – and we visitors have to respect its limits.

A 20-minute walk further brought me to La Piscina, which means “The Pool” in Spanish. True to its name, La Piscina is a calm natural swimming pool of ocean, protected by rocks from the rough surf. This became one of my favorite spots.

The water was so clear I could see fish darting around my legs. I had brought a snorkel mask, and I’m glad I did – just off the shore, the shallow reef was teeming with tropical fish. I floated face down, watching neon striped sergeant majors and blue tangs flit around coral outcrops.

It was like swimming in an aquarium, for free. (If you don’t have your own gear, there are sometimes locals offering snorkel rentals or tours at La Piscina for about 40,000 COP per person. Either way, don’t miss snorkeling here if you enjoy marine life.)

Finally, the trail culminates at Cabo San Juan, arguably Tayrona’s most postcard-perfect beach. It’s actually two crescent beaches wrapping around a rocky point. On that point is the famous hammock hut I slept in, which appears in a million Instagram photos.

The scene at Cabo during midday can be busy – many day-trippers aim for it. But it’s popular for good reason: Cabo San Juan’s bays are gorgeous and, importantly, safe for swimming. I spent my afternoons swimming in the gentle waves at Cabo, followed by a lazy nap under a palm tree.

One time, as I was wading out, someone pointed excitedly offshore – a sea turtle had popped its head up! A few of us floated quietly, hoping it would come closer. I only saw it briefly, but just knowing such creatures were around made the water feel even more special.

If you walk past Cabo San Juan (most people don’t, since that’s the end of the main drag), you find a couple more beaches: one nicknamed Playa Nudista (yes, some folks sunbathe in the buff there, though it’s usually pretty empty), and Punta Piedra, a rocky point with small sandy inlets.

These spots were much quieter. I went there in the late afternoon once and shared the entire beach with maybe two other people – it was serene. Swimming wasn’t recommended there either (waves can be rough), but the tranquility was worth the walk.

Beyond the beaches, Tayrona offers a few other natural and cultural attractions for those who stay longer. One morning, I decided to hike to Pueblito, an archaeological site of the ancient Tayrona people located high in the hills.

The trail to Pueblito starts near Cabo San Juan and climbs steeply through the jungle. It’s a 3-hour round trip hike that is pretty vigorous – at one point I was literally scrambling up big boulders, using my hands to steady myself. In the humid heat, it was a workout, but I had the trail almost to myself (most beach-goers skip it).

Reaching Pueblito, I found a clearing with moss-covered stone terraces and house foundations – essentially the ruins of a 500-year-old indigenous village. The site is small, but the aura is peaceful and a bit mystical. There were two Kogi men (descendants of the Tayrona people) sitting quietly at Pueblito, dressed in their traditional white garments.

We exchanged respectful nods. It struck me that Pueblito is still a sacred place to them, not just a tourist attraction. I didn’t linger long, but I was glad I made the trek – it added a historical dimension to my Tayrona visit, reminding me that these forests have been home to humans for centuries.

On another day, I explored the “9 Piedras” (Nine Stones) Trail, a short loop near the Cañaveral area by the park entrance. It’s an easy 1.5 km walk, but it features some fascinating large boulders with ancient circular holes carved in them.

These were used by the indigenous people for astronomical observations. Along this trail, there’s also a lagoon where I almost bumped into an alligator (caiman) – its head poked above the green water as still as a log. That definitely made me step back!

Birders love this trail because you can often see herons and kingfishers by the water. I also saw dozens of colorful butterflies fluttering around a mineral lick on the ground – a true rainbow coalition of wings.

Every corner of Tayrona seemed alive. By day, lizards skittered across the paths (some bright green, others the color of sand). By night, I’d see countless fireflies blinking in the dark bushes and hear an amphibian orchestra of frogs. If you’re a nature enthusiast, it’s heaven.

And even if you’re not a “bird person” or don’t know a lot about wildlife, you can’t help but be enchanted when a blue hummingbird zips by your breakfast table or a troop of monkeys uses the trees above your hammock as a highway.

One practical tip: bring insect repellent and use it liberally. The only wildlife that truly bothered me were the mosquitos and sandflies, especially around dusk.

They can be fierce, and you’ll want that repellent (and maybe long sleeves/pants in the evening) to avoid itching through your work Zoom calls later covered in bites! I was there in dry season, and bugs were moderate, but in the rainy season I hear they can be really intense.

In summary, Tayrona’s natural attractions are the star of the show. You get jungle treks, exotic wildlife encounters, and idyllic beach time all in one place. For a budget traveler like me, it felt like I had entered a million-dollar National Geographic scene for the cost of a cheap hostel.

And as a remote worker, these experiences became the best “water-cooler moments” to share later – forget chatting about the weather; I was telling colleagues about dodging monkeys on my way to the “office” (they were very jealous).

Tips and Park Rules to Know

While immersing myself in Tayrona’s wild side, I also made sure to stay safe and abide by park rules – crucial for both my well-being and the protection of this beautiful place.

Here are some safety insights and rules I picked up, wrapped in a bit of narrative from my time there:

1. Follow the Swimming Signs: I love the ocean, and nothing tempted me more than those crashing waves on a hot day. But Tayrona’s coastline can be treacherous. As mentioned, at beaches like Arrecifes and Playa Brava the currents are extremely dangerous.

The park has clear red signs in Spanish and English at these spots warning “No Nadarse – No Swimming” and even tallying the number of lives lost to underscore the point. I heeded these without question. Locals told me even strong swimmers have been swept away by sudden riptides.

So I stuck to designated safe swimming beaches: chiefly La Piscina and Cabo San Juan, where natural rock barriers or the shape of the bay keep the waters calm.

Even then, I stayed within reasonable distance of the shore and kept an eye on my stuff on the beach (I usually befriended fellow travelers and we watched each other’s bags while taking turns to swim).

2. Don’t Hike After Dark: The park officially requires visitors who aren’t camping to leave by 5 or 6 pm (depending on season). If you’re overnighting, you should still stick to being at your campsite by evening.

There are no lights on the trails, and once night falls, the jungle gets pitch black. I remember one evening at Cabo, a traveler arrived late after dark with a headlamp; they’d had a bit of a scare stepping off the path accidentally.

It’s easy to get disoriented at night, and there’s also wildlife that you don’t want to surprise (like snakes). I planned any moving around the park for daylight hours only.

When nature’s day was done, so was mine – which actually aligned well with getting rest (early to bed, early to rise in Tayrona). Around the camps, I always used my headlamp to avoid stepping on anything or bumping into a wandering hermit crab.

3. Respect the Wildlife: This might go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: do not feed or harass the animals. Those monkeys I saw can get aggressive if you offer food, and feeding them is bad for their health and makes them dependent on humans.

The park rules explicitly say not to feed animals, and to keep your distance. I kept my snacks zipped in my bag (also to avoid overnight invasions by rodents – apparently there are little agouti or rats that will chew into unattended food). When I encountered the reptiles or bigger creatures, I gave them space.

For instance, when I saw the caiman in the lagoon, I slowly backed away – I’m no Steve Irwin, and that’s a wild alligator in its home! Common sense goes a long way: I treated the wildlife like the real inhabitants of Tayrona, and myself as the guest.

4. Stay on Marked Trails: The trails in Tayrona are well established – you can’t really bushwhack anywhere, nor should you. Straying off trail can mean getting lost (everything can look the same in dense jungle) or accidentally damaging plants.

Plus, there are some areas the indigenous communities consider sacred where tourists shouldn’t wander uninvited. I stuck to the main paths between sites. One path I didn’t personally take is the Calabazo entrance trail – it’s a more strenuous route that goes by Pueblito and down to Cabo San Juan from the back end.

Hikers who did it told me it was rewarding but tough (lots of climbing). If you go that way, it’s best to do it in the morning and ideally with a buddy. The main El Zaino trail, in contrast, always had a friendly flow of fellow hikers, so I never felt isolated or at risk of not being found in an emergency.

5. Mind Your Belongings: I was pleasantly surprised that I heard almost no reports of theft inside the park. Tayrona feels quite safe in terms of petty crime – perhaps because everyone sleeping over is in a communal camp setting and there’s a basic honor system among travelers.

Still, I didn’t tempt fate. I used the locker provided with my hammock for my valuables, and carried the key on a necklace. When I went to swim, I either asked a neighbor to eye my bag or I hid it under my hammock and kept an eye out from the water. At night, I kept my daypack at the head of my hammock as a pillow of sorts (a common backpacker trick).

I also carried a copy of my passport rather than the original to reduce risk. Basic travel smarts apply: don’t flash cash, don’t leave your phone on a random log and walk off, etc. In the hostels outside the park, I used their lockers too.

Santa Marta city has a bit of a reputation for pickpockets in crowded areas, so when passing through the market or bus station, I was more vigilant. But in the park itself, I genuinely felt very secure.

6. Follow Park Etiquette: Tayrona is a national park and a sacred indigenous area, so they have some special rules beyond the usual “no litter” (which of course, is critical – pack out all your trash!).

The no plastics rule I mentioned meant I brought a refillable water bottle and refilled it at camp (they sell treated water, and some camps have potable water taps).

This greatly cuts down on trash. Also, no alcohol can be brought in by visitors. They will confiscate bottles at the entrance if they find them. Now, interestingly, the restaurants at the camps do sell beer and cocktails (a bit ironic, but I guess they control it that way).

So you can enjoy a cold beer at dinner, but you’re not supposed to have your own wild booze party on the beach. I was fine with that – I just bought a beer when I wanted one and it saved me carrying extra weight.

Loud music is also a no-no: no big speakers. People mostly played soft music on their phones if at all, but by 10pm the camps go quiet. Tayrona is more about the sounds of nature at night.

Another piece of etiquette: photography. It’s generally fine to take photos of the scenery and wildlife (no drones allowed without special permit, remember). But if you see indigenous folks (Kogi, etc.) in the park, it’s polite to ask before photographing them, or simply refrain.

Many prefer not to be photographed. I recall one magical moment: at dusk on the beach, a group of Kogi men came walking along the shoreline, wearing their traditional white robes, with silhouettes against the purple sky.

It was beautiful and I admit my photographer’s finger twitched, but it felt more respectful to just soak it in with my eyes rather than stick a camera in their space. These communities have generously allowed tourists on their ancestral land; respecting them is an important part of visiting Tayrona.

7. Health and Hygiene: A few quick safety tips on this front: water – don’t drink from streams; bring a filter or purification tablets if you want to drink park water, or buy bottled/treated water at camps (I did the latter, and also brought electrolyte tablets to stay hydrated while hiking).

Sun protection – the UV is intense, so hat and sunscreen are musts; I saw some very sunburned folks who underestimated the equatorial sun on a cloudy day. Heat exhaustion – take breaks when hiking, carry enough water (I carried 1.5L and refilled when I hit a campsite), and listen to your body. It’s not a race to the beach; it’s okay to rest in the shade.

And one more: snakes. They exist here (including some venomous ones, like bushmasters or coral snakes), but sightings on the main trail are rare because of all the foot traffic.

I never saw a snake, thankfully. Still, I always wore closed-toe shoes while hiking (not flip-flops) and used my phone light around the campsite ground at night to ensure I didn’t step on any surprises.

The old adage “they’re more scared of you than you are of them” holds true; making a bit of noise while walking and using your light at night usually ensures any snakes slither away unseen.

Overall, Tayrona felt very safe as long as I respected the rules and nature’s boundaries. The park staff and rangers were around if needed – I saw them patrolling occasionally, and they were friendly when approached for info.

By being a conscientious visitor, I not only kept myself safe but also helped keep the park pristine and peaceful for everyone else. It’s the kind of place where the biggest “danger” is getting so enchanted that you never want to go back to normal life!

Local Flavors and Culture

Working and wandering in Tayrona isn’t just about the scenery – it’s also a chance to savor a bit of local Colombian Caribbean culture and food, even on a tight budget. As someone who’s always curious about local life, I made it a point to interact with people and sample the regional cuisine during my stay.

Food in the Park

Given Tayrona’s remote setting, I was surprised (and grateful) that you can actually buy hot meals in the park. Each main campsite has a rustic restaurant.

At Cabo San Juan, the open-air eatery became a frequent hangout for me at meal times. The menu was simple but hit the spot after a long hike or swim. For breakfast, I’d often get the “desayuno típico” – arepas, eggs, and coffee. Lunch and dinner offerings ranged from pasta to the more local catch of the day.

One evening I splurged on a plate of fresh fish with coconut rice and patacones (fried plantain) – a coastal specialty – for about 30,000 COP. On average, meals inside the park cost between 18,000 and 40,000 COP, depending on what you order (vegetarian pasta was on the low end ~18k, seafood dishes on the high end 40k).

A basic pasta I had was 18k, quite reasonable, and definitely carb-fueled me for the next hike. The restaurants do tend to close for a few hours in the mid-afternoon (siesta time for the staff) and then reopen for dinner around 6 or 7 pm. I learned to plan my hunger accordingly; one late afternoon I showed up starving at 4 pm only to find I had to wait until dinner time.

Snack-wise, there are usually locals walking around the popular beaches selling treats. I bought the most delicious meat-filled empanada from a vendor for 5,000 COP and a fresh fruit cup (mango, pineapple, watermelon) for about 7,000 COP – nothing beats juicy fruit under a tropical sun.

One clever vendor at Cabo San Juan was selling homemade sandwiches for 7,000 COP right on the beach. Those sandwiches became my go-to lunch on the cheap: simple ham, cheese, and tomato, but when you’re hungry and lazy to walk to the restaurant, they taste like heaven.

Drinks in the park: yes, you can reward yourself with a cold beer. The campsites sell Aguila and Club Colombia beers for around 7,000 COP each. Sipping a cold Aguila while watching the sunset from Cabo’s rocky overlook is one of those moments I’ll treasure.

They also sell bottled water (a 1.5-liter was about 6,000 COP) and sodas, as well as fresh fruit juices during meal times. A couple of nights, I treated myself to a coco loco (a tropical cocktail served in a coconut) from the Cabo bar – pricey at 20,000 COP, but it was a fun indulgence.

Keep in mind the restaurants only take cash (pesos), and there are no ATMs in or near the park, so bring enough cash for your food and drinks. I budgeted around 100,000 COP for two days of food in the park and came in under that by also bringing some of my own snacks (granola bars I’d packed, etc.).

Food Outside the Park

Once back in the “civilization” of the nearby villages or Santa Marta, the culinary scene opens up. The area just outside the park entrance (El Zaino) is pretty sparse – a few local kiosks sell drinks and ice cream.

But along the main highway in Los Naranjos and further towards Santa Marta, you’ll find roadside eateries called “puestos” where locals cook meals for travelers. I stopped at one called Donde Tito by the highway one afternoon.

There, for 15,000 COP, I got a huge plate of pollo guisado (stewed chicken) with yuca, salad, and the omnipresent coconut rice. It was delicious and a nice break from park food.

In Santa Marta city, where I spent some time working, the food is both cheap and tasty if you go where the locals go. My favorite was finding a “corrientazo” (set lunch) spot near the market.

For 12,000 COP, I received a bowl of sancocho soup, a hefty serving of fried fish with more coconut rice and beans, plus a drink. That kind of value is hard to beat. Santa Marta also has a bustling street food scene in the evenings – think grilled arepas with cheese for 3,000 COP, skewers of meat (chuzos) for 5,000 COP, and cups of exotic fruits sprinkled with salt and lime by the Parque de Los Novios (the main square).

Local Culture and People

As I journeyed through Tayrona and its environs, I also got to interact with different groups of people. First are the locals working in the park: many are from nearby villages or the city. I practiced my Spanish chatting with a park ranger about the weather and animals.

He had a thick costeño accent (people from the Caribbean coast speak Spanish in a sing-songy, rapid manner peppered with unique slang). He taught me a local phrase – “¡Quihubo, parcero!” – a friendly greeting akin to “What’s up, friend!” which got a laugh when I used it later with a souvenir vendor.

The indigenous communities of the Sierra Nevada are an integral part of Tayrona’s identity. The Kogi (or Kággaba) people, direct descendants of the Tayrona civilization, live in the mountains above the park but often come down to the park areas to coexist with tourists (and sometimes to sell handmade crafts like bead necklaces or small woven bags).

I encountered a Kogi family near Arrecifes – they had a little stand with handwoven mochilas (shoulder bags) made of natural fibers. I ended up buying one for 40,000 COP, both as a souvenir and as support for their community. In our brief exchange (in very limited Spanish, as Kogi speak their own language and only some Spanish),

I felt their gentle presence and the weight of their connection to this land. It made me appreciate that Tayrona is not just a park; it’s a living cultural landscape.

These indigenous groups consider themselves guardians of the Earth, and seeing them in their traditional dress, tending to their children or performing a quiet ritual by a stream, was humbling. It reminded me to thread lightly – to honor that this isn’t just my playground, but their sacred home.

One evening back at the hostel, the staff organized a little arepa-making night for guests. A local cook showed us how to form the corn dough, stuff it with cheese, and grill it on a hot plate.

We all got our hands messy and ended up with a stack of delicious arepas to share. Around the communal table were travelers from half a dozen countries plus a few Colombians on holiday.

We traded travel stories and tips on other Colombian destinations. Naturally, I slipped into tour guide mode, gushing about Tayrona’s highlights to those who hadn’t been yet and giving my fresh insights on costs and routes.

I also want to mention Taganga, a fishing village near Santa Marta known for diving and a bohemian vibe. It has a bit of a reputation for party life and has had safety issues at night, so I was cautious. I visited one afternoon for a diving trip (there are cheap dive courses there).

The village is rough around the edges but offers a glimpse of local costeño life – fishermen mending nets on the beach, kids playing soccer in the alley. I mention Taganga because some backpackers stay there as a base for Tayrona, and because from Taganga you can take that direct boat to the park.

I didn’t remain there after dark, but in daytime it was fine. It’s definitely more budget and gritty compared to touristy hotspots like Cartagena or Medellín, yet it’s real.

Language note: English is not widely spoken by locals outside of tourist staff. I got by with Spanish. Even my basic phrases earned big smiles. If you don’t speak Spanish, you may miss some nuances, but you’ll still manage; just be patient and perhaps learn a few key words (like “la cuenta” for the bill, “agua potable” for drinkable water, etc.). The younger hostel folks often spoke a bit of English, and they loved practicing with foreigners.

In terms of local music and vibe: Santa Marta and the coast sway to the sounds of Vallenato and Champeta music. One night, from my hostel’s hammock, I could hear distant music from a village fiesta – an upbeat accordion-driven vallenato song that is so characteristic of this region.

It was a sweet soundtrack to fall asleep to. The park itself, of course, is mostly natural sounds, but whenever I was at the outskirts, I was reminded that Colombian culture – joyful, musical, and friendly – was never far away.

To sum up, experiencing local culture and food added a rich layer to my Tayrona trip. Even as a budget traveler, I feasted well on Caribbean flavors and connected with people whose lives are entwined with this environment.

Whether it was sharing a bowl of fish stew with a fellow traveler, buying a handcrafted souvenir from a Kogi artisan, or simply learning a new dance move at the hostel (yes, spontaneous salsa happened!), these interactions made me feel more than just a visitor.

I felt, in a small way, part of the community of travelers and locals who love Tayrona. And that sense of belonging – that’s what truly makes a place perfect for a digital nomad like me.

How Long to Stay

One big question I had when planning the trip: How long should I stay in the Tayrona area, given I needed to work remotely part of the time? In hindsight, I’d say a week to 10 days is an ideal sweet spot for a digital nomad wanting to both enjoy the park and stay productive. Let me break down how I approached it and some strategies I found for balancing work and play:

I ended up spending around 2 weeks in the Santa Marta/Tayrona region. During that time, I did two separate overnight trips into Tayrona Park (each 2 nights in a hammock), and used the rest of the days working from hostels outside the park or in Santa Marta.

This schedule gave me alternating doses of “full disconnect” and “connected work time.” It was a bit like a workation sandwich: work days on the outside, adventure filling in the middle, then repeat.

Staying Overnight vs. Day Trips: Some travelers do Tayrona as a day trip from Santa Marta or nearby towns, but I strongly feel staying at least one or two nights inside the park is worth it.

As I touched on earlier, a day trip means a lot of walking for just a few hours on the beach. Plus, you miss the magical early mornings and evenings when the park is quiet. I noticed a huge difference at Cabo San Juan after 4 pm – once the day-trippers left, the vibe turned mellow and intimate.

We small band of hammock-dwellers practically had the beach to ourselves at sunset, and it felt like our own little community around the dinner tables at night. In the mornings, I could wander from beach to beach in solitude, meeting only the occasional park ranger or fellow camper, and it was absolutely peaceful.

Those are the moments you can’t get on a rushed day trip. So, if you can spare the time, plan to overnight in the park. Many recommend 2 days/1 night as the minimum to justify the effort and cost, and I agree. Two nights was even better for me – I wasn’t in a hurry to leave and could explore further (like do the Pueblito hike) on the full day in between.

I structured my work obligations in chunks. For example, I told myself I’d be fully offline and enjoying Tayrona Friday through Sunday, and then be back online Monday to Wednesday to catch up on projects.

This kind of block scheduling might not work for everyone’s job, but with flexible freelance work it can. If your job requires daily presence, you might consider doing what one German remote worker I met did: he stayed at a hostel right outside the park (with Wi-Fi) for two weeks, and each day after finishing work at 3 pm, he’d dash into the park for a quick hike or a swim at a nearby beach, then come back by evening.

He also took one full day off to do an overnight in the park on a weekend. So, there are ways to slice it.

From a productivity standpoint, I found my focus improved after my Tayrona breaks. When I sat down to work at the hostel, I was re-energized and plowed through tasks faster than usual – partly motivated by wanting to finish and get back to the beach, and partly because my mind was rested.

Honestly, one of my most productive afternoons of writing in recent memory happened not in a coffee shop, but on the veranda of that jungle hostel after a morning surf in Los Naranjos. It’s like the brain works better when you give it doses of nature.

Recommended Itinerary for Nomads

If I were to suggest a plan: base yourself in the area for 7-10 days. Pick a good hostel or budget hotel in Santa Marta or, better, near Tayrona (El Zaino/Los Naranjos or even the quiet beach town of Palomino about 45 minutes east). Ensure that place has reliable Wi-Fi for your work.

Then schedule maybe two chunks of 2-3 days where you go into the park and stay overnight. For example, work Monday-Thursday from your base, then Friday morning unplug and go into Tayrona until Sunday, come out Sunday evening. Repeat or adjust as needed.

This way, you enjoy two separate experiences of the park – maybe the first time you focus on the main beaches, the second time you go to a different sector or revisit your favorite spots.

During workdays outside the park, there’s plenty to do in downtime too. I took some Spanish lessons in Santa Marta on one off-day, and did a day trip to Minca (a mountain village with coffee farms and waterfalls, also somewhat popular with remote workers seeking cooler temps).

Minca has some eco-lodges with Wi-Fi where a few nomads were stationed, and it’s only an hour from Santa Marta. That could be another nice base if you like mountain climate. Again, Colombia offers a lot of flexibility – you could be brainstorming on a beach one week and debugging code from a café in Medellín the next.

Comparing Stays: I also want to briefly compare Tayrona with other places I’ve worked from or visited to put its unique value in perspective.

For example, earlier in my Latin America trip, I spent a month in Medellín, which is famed among digital nomads for its developed infrastructure and hip cafes. Medellín was great for getting things done, but it can’t match the raw natural inspiration Tayrona provided.

On the flip side, I’ve been to remote nature spots that were too off-grid to realistically work from (like the depths of the Amazon, or the salt flats in Bolivia) – incredible experiences, but you have to fully disconnect for longer periods.

Tayrona, however, struck a balance: it’s remote enough to feel wild, yet close enough to Santa Marta (a city) to dip back into connectivity when needed.

When comparing to other national parks in Latin America I visited as a backpacker (pre-nomad life), Tayrona stands out in a few ways relevant to budget and remote work:

• Versus Costa Rica’s parks: As I touched on, Costa Rica is wonderful but expensive. In Manuel Antonio NP, I paid a hefty entrance fee and the nearby town’s hostels were twice the price of Santa Marta’s. Also, Manuel Antonio was a half-day visit max (small park, no staying inside). In Tayrona, I could afford to linger longer and actually live in the park for a bit. It’s more nomad-friendly in cost and time flexibility.

• Versus Patagonia (Chile/Argentina): Places like Torres del Paine or Fitz Roy in Patagonia are hiking paradises but require more gear, planning, and money. Also, internet is non-existent in those multi-day treks, and coming out to the nearest town might still leave you with slow Wi-Fi. By contrast, Tayrona’s proximity to Santa Marta meant I could be back on decent internet in an hour if I really needed to. It’s much simpler logistically – no need to pack freeze-dried food or rent expensive camping equipment. Just a hammock and good vibes.

• Versus Machu Picchu (Peru) or Tikal (Guatemala): These are archaeological sites with surrounding nature. Stunning, yes, but also more touristy and regulated (and neither had reliable internet nearby back when I visited). Machu Picchu’s entry ticket and compulsory buses/trains add up to serious cash. Tikal was cheaper and you can stay in lodges near the ruins, but the experience was more about ruins than relaxing in nature. Tayrona gave me a more rounded experience – a mix of beach chill, cultural insight, and self-guided adventure – all at low cost. And frankly, beaches > ruins when it comes to unwinding after a work sprint (just my opinion!).

• Versus other Colombia spots: Colombia has a lot for nomads – Medellín for urban life, Cartagena for history (though very touristy), the Coffee Region for quaint towns. But none of those are national parks. One comparable nature-centric spot might be Palomino (close by, a backpacker beach town) or San Gil (for adventure sports). Palomino is chill, cheaper than Tayrona, and you can work from a hostel there with ocean views. However, Palomino’s beach, while nice, can’t compete with Tayrona’s untouched beaches inside the park. It’s more of a hangout town. San Gil is inland and more about adrenaline sports (rafting, etc.) – fun, but not the same tropical paradise feel, and again you wouldn’t find working conditions in the wild there.

In my view, Tayrona hits a sweet spot for a certain kind of remote worker: one who values experiences over high-speed internet, at least for a short time. It proved that I could interweave productivity with adventure seamlessly.

I delivered my projects on time (pro tip: batch your work and use offline hours for deep focus tasks, then upload/send when back online), and I got to hike to palm-fringed bays in between.

If you have an understanding boss or clients, you might even turn Tayrona into a sort of personal “creative retreat.” I know one freelance designer who did just that – she rented a cabana outside the park for two weeks to draw inspiration from nature for a big project.

As for how long to stay inside the park itself, I found 2 nights at a time was enough. By the third day, I was craving a proper shower and an electrical outlet.

Most people I met stayed 1 or 2 nights. A hardy few did 3-4 nights, hitting every nook and cranny (like camping at Playa Brava after Cabo, etc.). They loved it but noted that by the end they were out of cash (since you must bring enough pesos) and quite sunburnt and bug-bitten.

So, I’d say plan 2 nights, with maybe an option to extend to 3 if you’re absolutely loving it and have the supplies. Remember, you’ll need to carry in whatever cash, medication, or special snacks you might need for the duration.

Finally, listen to your own rhythm. One thing remote work teaches us is everyone has their most productive times and styles. Some might treat Tayrona as pure vacation and not attempt any work – which is completely fine. In my case, I like blending things.

I might work intensely in the morning, then reward myself with a hike in the afternoon. Or vice versa. In Tayrona, I allowed myself to not work at all on the days I was inside.

But interestingly, I still found myself mentally working – coming up with ideas as I floated in the sea or scribbling notes at 6 am when inspiration struck with the sunrise. If you’re the creative type, you’ll likely find that nature fuels your work in unexpected ways.

When it was time to finally leave the Tayrona area, I genuinely felt rejuvenated and accomplished. I had new stories to tell, fresh ideas for my projects, and a tan (despite my sunscreen vigilance) that prompted colleagues on video calls to ask if I’d been on holiday. “Well,” I replied, “sort of – I was working from a national park.” How cool is it that we can even say that?

Conclusion: Paradise Found

On my last day in Tayrona, I woke up extra early. I didn’t have to. I wasn’t working that day and checkout time for my hammock was quite flexible (“leave whenever, amigo,” the staff said).

But I wanted to soak in one last sunrise over the ocean. I brewed a makeshift cup of coffee with my travel kettle (plugged into the single outlet I found in the bathroom block during generator hours the night before, haha) and walked to the beach.

The sky was starting to lighten in the east, a gradient of purple and orange. I sat on a driftwood log, warm coffee in hand, and watched nature put on its daily spectacle. A few other early birds – both human and pelican – were around, but mostly it was quiet. In that serenity, I reflected on my time here.

Tayrona National Park had been more than just a place on my travel map; it became a teacher and an inspiration.

As a travel writer and digital nomad, I’ve seen many stunning places. But Tayrona has a special place in my heart now.

For anyone reading this, especially fellow nature-loving nomads and backpackers on a budget, I hope my story conveyed not just the facts of Tayrona – the costs, the logistics, the Wi-Fi situation – but the feeling of being there.

As I finally boarded the bus back to Santa Marta, dusty boots and all, I took one last look at the green hills of Tayrona receding behind me. Muchas gracias, I whispered, thanking this park for all it had given me.

Until next time, Tayrona – because I know there will be a next time. And I’ll be counting the days until I can once again sling my hammock in your palms and call your shores my office.