Minca sits in the tropical mountains above Santa Marta. I’ve been told it’s ‘cool’, but what strikes me first is its lush jungle beauty, which it wears unpretentiously.
When you drive in (on a motorbike, with your suitcase on your lap), a banner tells you that Minca is an ‘ecological town’. Its tiny centre essentially consists of a curly main street, and the atmosphere is laid back. There are plenty of places to hang out and sip freshly squeezed tropical fruit, or sample chocolate brownies. There is lots of WiFi. Backpackers and locals seem to get on well.
From its centre, Minca shoots out tentacle roads that run along the mountain. Most places cling to the mountain high up from the road, so the first thing you typically need when you arrive somewhere is to start climbing. I go up and down a lot of steps in Minca.
There are very few cars in the area; the roads are just not good enough. Robust weather has inflicted deep gashes that would quickly ruin the belly of most cars. There is only one means of transport, and it’s motorbikes. In Minca, I surrender to them. I convince myself that the young drivers must know what they are doing, but I do stipulate that I get to wear the (one) helmet, which they agree to straight away. They drop me off exactly where I want to be, and are waiting for me when I want to be picked up again. The journey is the best part.
I visit Finca La Victoria, where coffee beans are still processed through a traditional water-based system. I take the cacao tour at La Candalaria, and am astounded to see where chocolate actually comes from. I walk, too, but how often do I get to sit on the back of a motorbike? I make the most of it.
The mountains around Minca stretch down to Parque Tayrona near the coast. Tayrona (or Tairona) is the ancient land of four indigenous ethnic groups that still inhabit the area. They are affectionately referred to as los hermanos mayores, the older brothers. They view the Gonawindua mountain as the heart of a world that they are taking care of and trying to keep in balance. The Kogui are unique amongst Colombia’s indigenous population in that they managed to escape the worst effects of the onslaught of colonisation by withdrawing into the mountains.
Until the 1990s, Minca kept close ties with Tairona indigenous groups through yearly gatherings. But all that changed when the town became a flashpoint in the conflict between guerrillas, paramilitaries and cocaine traffickers. Both locals and indigenous people were caught in the crossfire. Many people fled the town, which only became safe to return to about eight years ago.
I learn all this from a young American woman, married to a local school teacher, who guides me through the humble, extraordinary memorial museum she and her husband have created in part of his family home. Together, we look out over the area where a particularly bloody battle was fought, which her husband witnessed when he was a child.
Bloggers and backpackers have put Minca on the tourist map of Colombia over the past few years, and it is now a chill town. But the Casa de la Memoria exists to remember the past, including the very recent past, and to restart the programs which once supported positive relationships with Tairona indigenous groups. Just now, the tiny museum is funded exclusively by donation.