Gloriously Gooey

On my rented-moto adventure just after we got to Cartagena (and still had hopes of a quick departure), I discovered Totumo, the Mud Volcano. Since I had just happened upon it during a day cruise, I was not adequately prepared to take a dip, but the locals advocated its health benefits and the lines of tourists climbing the hill clean and descending as mud monsters made animate sparked an interest within me. (The Dallas Morning News apparently did a story on Totumo back in 2008.)

When we realized Sarah and Nadine would have to come to Cartagena and spend a week here, this was one of the first sights that came to mind.

The drive was easy: about 40 minutes up the road from our AirBnB, along the shore and through the forests of northern Colombia. We arrived and were waved into a shady parking spot by a local guide, who then gave us the low-down on what to do next. We donned the apparel we were prepared to get muddy in, handed the camera to the guide, and mounted the mudpile.

The climb up was by way of a staircase molded into the dried mud on the sides of the volcano, with rickety wooden railings. At the top, we peered down into grey goop, cast our towels and sandals aside, and descended a rough-hewn ladder into the goo.


It was a very odd experience to descend into a pool of mud, bringing to mind childhood dreams of swimming in jello or tapioca pudding. It was a very loose, wet mixture, but as is sloughed off a raised arm, it left behind grainy bits of finely-ground minerals. There were a couple local guides offering massages when we entered -- though we opted to provide our own massages -- as well as another pair of visitors. This gave us plenty of space to ooze around and explore the experience.

As far as any of us discovered, there was no bottom to the pool of mud, but we found it easy to float only chest-deep and quite difficult to submerge ourselves up to the shoulders. I found myself "sitting" cross-legged most of the time, though any nudge off balance would send me into a slow-motion but inevitable tilt with my head dipping toward the mud.


After a half hour or so, with more tourists arriving, we worked our way toward the exit ladder, caked with stalactites of mud from previous climbers. With the first few steps, one of the workers at the bottom of the ladder became quite familiar with his hands to assist with scraping off the excess mud. At the top of the ladder, our guide gathered our belongings (since we were gooey from stem to stern) and we headed down the "dirty" side of the mound, where we traipsed down the brick road to the lake to rinse off. There were helpers here, too, waiting to assist with the rinse, but once again we opted to look after ourselves.


Mud. Was. Everywhere.

The rinsing process took some time, checking all nooks and crannies. At one point, I stood up to prepare to head to shore and then discovered a load of mud all around the waistline of my trunks. Back down into the water to flush it out. Eventually, we were shoreside again, back down to skin and swimwear, and we headed back to the bikes.

At the shack where we had parked, we were offered lunch (for a reasonable fee), so dried in the breeze and took in some hydration. As we waited for lunch to be served, we watched several tourist buses unload, sending their contents up the mud mound into a long and slow line waiting in the sun. So glad we arrived before the rush!

After lunch, we parted ways, with Nick and Nadine heading directly back to town (and the beach in front of our AirBnB) and Sarah and I looped the long way around through the mountains on a lovely motorcycle excursion. It was a hot one, but well worth it to be in the saddle again; better: with Sarah along for the ride!