We're not really resort vacationers; the only times we've been are for family gatherings and conventions. But it happens, and this year found us in Santa Marta, Colombia, at the Irotama Resort, with old friends and retired colleagues.
And it's not a bad life. It lacks the opportunities to wander a city or village and learn about local life and history—but it also eliminates the need for decisions about when to wake up, where to eat, and whether it's safe to have a drink before going home.
And, as it turned out, it came with a built-in entertainment program of daily animal acts, along the paths, near the pools, on the beach, and especially at the outdoor breakfast tables.
So, yes, I enjoyed the huge swimming pool with its warm water, and the rooftop Jacuzzi, and our little thatched-roof bungalow, at left, below. I looked out over the vistas of ocean and beach, and enjoyed the sunset.
But mostly what I enjoyed was the opportunity for close observation of the birds and iguanas, and an occasional cat (yes, they do exist in real life, not just on the internet).
The iguanas were the big surprise; In my mind an iguana is about six or so inches long and lives in the FoxTrot comic strip. In real life, much bigger and much uglier. Many of the ones we saw at Irotama had 12-14" bodies and then the tail. It's kind of startling to meet your first by almost stumbling over it while it was lying in the shade, pretending to be a rock.
To my surprise, for all that fearsome look, their diet is mainly leaves, with the occasional insect when foliage is sparse. But their teeth are very sharp, the better to bite off small branches, so caution is advised.
They are also great climbers, and fascinating to watch as they extend their legs, hold on, and pull up. They'd give our North American squirrels a run for their tree-climbing money. There were squirrels at Irotama, too—and they had red fur.
But the iguanas were an occasional sight, while the birds were everywhere, at least everywhere food could be found. The site abounds with signs asking guests to not feed the birds, but voluntary feeding is not the issue here. Unless you can eat crumblessly and leave nothing on the plate, they'll be there to clear the plates even before the staff can clear the table.
We saw plenty of pigeons, some wading shorebirds, and surprisingly few gulls for a coastal area. What we saw the most of, however, was a black bird locally called Marta Mulata, actually a great-tailed grackle.
Not that there weren't others, including this pathetic little specimen. He started out as a rather dapper small bird, unidentified, who escaped my every attempt at a photo—until he took a dive into the pool and emerged, soaked and bedraggled.
Vendors were another feature of the beach, which some found annoying for their quantity and persistence. But some of them were selling quite nice locally-made jewelry. And these two...well, it's obvious!
Behind us, the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, whose appearance belies its name as 'snowy range.' It's got some unique distinctions, too. Isolated from the Andes, it contains Colombia's highest point, and comes within 20 feet or so of being the world's tallest coastal mountain range. Only Canada's St Elias mountains beat it on that.
Another of the resort's bars, this one perched on a cliff above the main swimming pools. Below, another Marta Mulata and some more iguanas.
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