To enjoy a lovely view of the Caribbean Sea around the clock, I rented a beachfront loft in a high-rise building in the El Laguito neighborhood of Cartagena, Colombia. In the distance, I can also see Isla Tierra Bomba, an island not far off the coast.
After running out of things I’d wanted to do in Cartagena, I did some further research for things to fill my itinerary, and found the Fuerte de San Fernando de Bocachica (Fort of San Fernando de Bocachica), located on nearby Isla Tierra Bomba.
About the Fort
I’m not sure why English translations online refer to the place as a “castle,” seeing as “fuerte” would be best translated as “fort,” which more accurately describes this defensive structure. Note that “bocachica” would be “small entrance” in English, referring to the fort’s location on the smaller channel of the Cartagena harbor. This strategic position allowed the fort to control access to the city for incoming ships through the channel.
The Fuerte de San Fernando de Bocachica was completed in 1759, built upon the ruins of its predecessor, the Fuerte de San Luis de Bocachica. The earlier fort was used by the Spanish to repel an attack in 1697 from French troops and pirates, and later again in 1741, when British troops gained control of the fort, severely damaging it in the process and setting it ablaze during their retreat. The new fort, bearing a different moniker, was erected in its place. The restored fort never saw any skirmishes, and today remains as an off-the-beaten-path tourist attraction.
Journeying to the Fort
Transportation to Isla Tierra Bomba is relatively easy. Dozens of small boats are moored along Cartagena’s coastline, serving as informal water taxis to take passengers to Punta Arenas, the principal tourist beach on the island. It’s a popular secondary destination for Cartagena beachgoers, so there’s a constant stream of small boats transporting passengers to the island from Cartagena.
The challenge is that there’s not a lot of demand to visit the fort, especially since Cartagena is home to a bigger, more famous, easier to access, and widely known military fort: Castillo San Felipe de Barajas.
Simply arriving at Punta Arenas is only half the journey, since the fort is situated on the other side of the island. One day, I walked out of the building where I was staying and strolled up and down the beach, asking boat operators about visiting the fort.
Eventually, I found someone who said that he could take me across the harbor to Punta Arenas, and he’d also make arrangements to have someone else take me to the other side of the island on motorbike to visit the fort. We agreed upon a time to meet up on the beach the next day.
The next morning, we boated down the harbor toward the island. Upon arriving on Isla Tierra Bomba, the boat operator introduced me to his partner, who would be transporting me across the island on motorbike. The next 30 minutes was an extremely bumpy ride down primitive dirt roads, with me white-knuckling the rear grab rail of the bike. We arrived at a bodega in the village outside of the fort to buy some water. It gets excrutiatingly hot in January, and the UV is monstrous this close to the equator, so staying well-hydrated is a top priority.
Almost all the inhabitants of the island are black or very dark-skinned mulatos (mestizo mixed with black). A white guy like me in the middle of their village sticks out like a sore thumb. Living conditions on the island are exceptionally poor, even by Latin American standards. In their minds, white skin equates to money, and plenty of the locals will try to find a way to capitalize on having a foreigner in their midst.
At the bodega, my driver attempted to sneakily get me to cover his own bottle of water at checkout, thinking that I either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t bother causing a fuss about it. He was wrong. When the cashier told me the total, I had to clarify that I was only paying for my own water. This would be only the first grift I’d experience today, but it’s something I’m prepared for, having traveled similar places in the past.
We hopped back on the bike and went the rest of the way to the fort, which was only a short drive further. Upon arriving, my driver found some reprieve from the sun in a shady spot under a tree, relaxing there while I walked over to the fort to begin my tour.
Touring the Fort
As I approached the fort, a man came out of nowhere, saying that he was a guide. He had casual clothes on, and he didn’t have a badge or anything else to indicate that he was actually a guide. I asked him if it’s necessary that I have a guide for the fort, and he said it was. I suspect that he simply lives nearby and lingers around to see if any tourists show up, so that he can earn a few bucks by convincing them a tour guide is mandatory. There was no one at the entrance of the fort, there’s no fee or tickets, and no personnel to be found, so I couldn’t verify this guy’s status as a guide. The second grift of the day.
You have to pick your battles, and having a “guide”—or whatever he is—tell me a few facts about the fort isn’t the worst thing in the world. So, into the fort we went.
Here are some photos I took outside the fort, before entering:
The fort may not be as impressive as Cartagena’s Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, but I think the remoteness and obscurity of it, along with its beautiful location on the sea, give it an allure that the mainstream fort can’t capture.
Arriving at Castillo San Felipe de Barajas from my rental wasn’t much of a journey at all, since I could just take a taxi. Contrast this to Fuerte de San Fernando de Bocachica, which required careful planning, traversing an island, and exposure to a very different environment. Not to sound cliché, but the adage “it’s about the journey, not the destination” certainly has some merit, and it made my trip to the island fort much more memorable.
Here’s the inside of the fort:
The fort is also home to bats that roost on the ceiling. I heard them fluttering around above my head when I’d go through dark hallways.
The Journey Back
I guess word got out that there was a white tourist in the area, because when I left the fort, I was swarmed by locals that wanted to sell me handmade souvenirs, such as necklaces and bracelets. This was on a Tuesday in the middle of the day, so I assume there’s not much of a job market for locals, since they were just loitering around the fort to approach the very few tourists that come by each day.
I felt bad for them and bought a bracelet from one vendor. I think it was a couple of bucks or so. Their insistence, coupled with the way I was practically pounced on, made the whole encounter feel like the third grift of the day, but I’m more okay with this one.
While ambling back toward the shady spot my driver had claimed, I was spotted by a local woman that approached me and started offering a massage. Despite declining repeatedly, I felt a glob of lotion hit the back of my neck, and next thing I know, her hands are busy at work on my neck and shoulders. The fourth grift of the day.
Of course she knew that slapping the lotion on my body without my permission would put me in a position where it’s much harder to refuse. And I can’t lie, the massage was just what I needed, as coincidentally, my neck was hurting from sleeping in a bad position the night before—“muy tenso” (very tense) she said. Another part of the scam is to perform the entire massage without ever mentioning the price. That way, you’re on the hook for whatever amount she decides to charge when she’s done. At this point, though, I just accepted that this was all part of the experience.
After a 15 minute massage of my neck, shoulders, arms, legs, and feet, she put my socks and shoes back on and said that the price would be 80,000 Colombian pesos (about $18 USD). This is actually a crazy price in Colombian standards, especially for residents of the island. I noticed my driver perk up when he saw me handing over the money to the lady, probably thinking that he would get a decent tip at the end of our excursion, since I’m willing to drop this much on a massage.
On the way back, the driver was telling me a sob story about how he injured is hand from working so much, and that he’d really appreciate a tip to help him out. Note that Colombia’s residents neither expect tips nor give them, but when they see a white foreigner, they shoot their shot. The fifth grift of the day.
We arrived back at the beach, and the driver told me the total cost. I gave him some bills, and when I asked for change back, his demeanor quickly changed. I’m not about to tip in a country that doesn’t have a tipping culture, especially after the stunt he pulled with trying to get me to buy his water.
I waited on the beach for the original boat operator to come pick me up. In the meantime, I took some photos:
Punta Arenas is overcrowded with bars, beach chairs, and umbrellas, on an already narrow stretch of beach. It’s also overflowing with tipsy Colombians on vacation, and the air is filled with loud music. Definitely not my scene, so I walked further down the beach to a mostly deserted spot to capture the photos above.
My boat operator was taking too long, so I decided to get someone else to take me back to Cartagena. Some photos of the ride back:
