WHEN A DREAM TURNES INTO A NIGHTMARE
Empower Your Living
February 19, 2026 · 12 min read
February 19, 2026 · 12 min read
Country number seven on this journey awaits me. As I board the plane taking me to Cartagena in Colombia, I am beyond excited to return to the South American continent. The last time I was here was in 2020 — before the pandemic that changed not just travel but the world as a whole — when I visited my beloved Argentina. I haven’t been back since, but it’s planned for the end of January 2026.
I am even more excited to finally visit Colombia. It has been a dream of mine for many years. Now the time has come, and I’m looking forward to spending New Year’s in the vibrant and colorful city of Cartagena, where I hope to find a perfect mix of South America and the Caribbean.
As I exit the airport, I’m greeted by a throng of people from all walks of life — and a wave of heat that almost takes my breath away. Little do I know that this muggy heat will become my constant companion for the remainder of my time in Colombia.
Living In the Epicenter
As a traveler, I like to dive straight into a new culture. Choosing an eclectic Airbnb felt like the right thing to do: mingling with locals, tasting new flavors, hearing music everywhere, and maybe finally learning how to salsa dance.
Getsemaní becomes my neighborhood for the next six nights, within walking distance of Cartagena’s walled Old Town, with its colorful houses, wooden balconies, narrow streets, and hidden patios. For a moment, I consider booking one of the boutique hotels, but by the time I check availability, prices have skyrocketed.
So the eclectic Airbnb it is — three floors up at dizzying heights, mural paintings on the walls, and two patios overlooking the city. It feels like I’ve hit the jackpot… if only I knew what was coming.
No Time Like Now
Unpacking can wait. Not only am I hungry, but I’m giddy to dive into Cartagena’s vibrant energy. As I enter a restaurant, music blasts from the speakers and it’s impossible to stay still. My body starts moving to the rhythm, a smile lingering on my face.
Again, I think about doing a salsa immersion somewhere along this pilgrimage. I’ve done some research, but nothing is set in stone. I want to move more with the flow and leave my overly organized self behind. Easier said than done. Being an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), structure gives me comfort.
But as I always say: “Outside the comfort zone is where the magic lives.” And honestly, I’ve been living outside my comfort zone since leaving home on July 23 — five months ago. If you’ve read my previous travel updates (> all updates), you know I’ve had my fair share of nerve-wrecking, nervous-system-shaking moments, especially since arriving in Mexico at the end of November 2025 (> “Diary Of A Mental Crash And Reclaiming Balance”).
Battling the intense heat, I wander through Cartagena’s Old Town. I love colonial cities — the vibrant colors, intricate architecture, and beautiful patios hidden behind high, often unremarkable walls.
24 Hours — And the Magic Is Gone
Day two in Cartagena brings practical tasks. I’m long overdue for a haircut. Finding a good hairdresser while traveling is always risky. With Google’s help, I find several salons in a nearby market hall. None of them really appeal to me — and neither does the result.
I end up looking like a boy. My hair is cut painfully short, despite carefully explaining — in Spanish — what I wanted. Those who know me know I’m not vain, but this feels crushing, especially while my soul is still tender.
Next mission: getting cash. I’ll soon be traveling to remote areas where ATMs don’t exist. One hour and seven machines later, I still don’t have a single Colombian peso. Neither my bank card nor my credit cards work. I try every option imaginable — credit, debit, smaller amounts — nothing works. Frustration turns into panic.
Desperate for air-conditioning, I return to my flat hoping to cool down. Wishful thinking. The next blow arrives quickly: one of my credit cards has been blocked for unknown reasons. Suddenly, I have only one remaining way to pay.
Exhausted, I force myself out for dinner, then collapse into bed. After two hours of sleep, I jolt awake — there’s a cat inside my apartment.First the meowing. Then scratching at the bedroom door. WTF.
The next morning, I find it calmly sitting under the kitchen counter, clearly confused why I’m not thrilled about my new roommate. As much as I like cats, sharing my space with a street cat is not an option. I know one thing: I need to leave.
My nervous system crashes again. I feel like I’m going mad. Will I ever get out of this mess? My trip suddenly feels haunted.
A Glimmer of Hope
After three nights confined to an expensive Western hotel, mostly sleeping, I convince myself the next part of my journey will be better. Staying positive — no matter how bad things get — is one of my strengths. Resilience is another.
I treat myself to a private transfer for the five-hour drive to my next destination. The thought of a crowded, overheated bus feels unbearable.
In Santa Marta, I stay at La Casa de Acequia, a charming boutique hotel that feels like a band-aid for my bruised soul. The heat still overwhelms me, so my exploration of town is short. The pool and quiet moments are far more appealing.
Meanwhile, travel logistics refuse to cooperate. My upcoming scuba diving trip to the Galápagos requires endless emails and follow-ups just to clarify misunderstandings. It’s exhausting, and I simply don’t have the nerves for it anymore.
Pulling the Emergency Brake
After another restless night, I wake up drained — but for the first time in weeks, my mind is crystal clear. I can’t continue like this.
Constant movement, new countries, and nonstop stimulation are preventing my nervous system from finding stability. I decide that after Colombia, my pilgrimage will lead me back to my birth country — Canada — where I will slow down drastically. It’s a heavy decision, but necessary for my physical and mental wellbeing. I still have eight days of scuba diving in Providencia and a couple of days in Bogota scheduled. Something to look forward to.
This also means letting go: no Galápagos diving, no return to Argentina and the tango dancers in Buenos Aires, no Breathwork & Psychedelic Retreat with my friend Henrique in Brazil, and no definitely no diving in the waters of the Brazilian archipelago of Ferando de Noronha
Even writing this hurts. But I know it’s the right choice. There will be another time to do it.
Finally: Time to Breathe
After all the uproar I long for much needed recharge time. Miguel Ángel drives me to paradise: Finca Cuipo, highly recommended by my dear friend Karin, who also loves exploring off-the-beaten-track-places. The finca is nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta with sweeping Caribbean views, it’s the perfect place to simply be.
I skip Tayrona National Park entirely, although it was the reason I come to this area. I don’t have the energy for crowds.
For three days, I’m the only guest. Sun, silence, reading, and incredible food prepared by Helmut — one half of the owner couple — slowly bring me back to myself. For the first time in weeks, my soul begins to unwind. I have almost forgotten what that feels like.
I silently congratulate myself for turning three nights into five — and for finally choosing stillness over another adventure.
The Final Blow
On my last day at the finca, I’m looking forward to nothing more than a slow, peaceful day — lounging by the pool and enjoying happy hour in the hammock at my bungalow before two long travel days ahead of me.
But life — or maybe higher forces — has other plans.
As I settle in by the pool, I suddenly feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my right foot. Instinctively, I glance down… and see the snake. In that exact moment, I know that everything has just changed. I’ve been bitten by a highly venomous snake.
Time seems to freeze. Shock rushes through my body. I sit there sobbing, my whole body shaking, unable to believe that yet another blow has hit me — and this one could be life-threatening.
There is no time to process. Decisions have to be made instantly. Getting to a hospital becomes the only priority. Everyone at the finca switches into action mode. The essentials are packed for me, a reliable driver is organized, and within thirty minutes I am on my way to Santa Marta — a two-hour drive that suddenly feels unbearably long.
I remain calm. Somewhere deep inside, I know that panic would only make things worse. So I focus on breathing, holding on to the only thing I can control in that moment: staying as steady as possible while everything else spins out of control.
Maybe It Wasn’t Meant to Be
My remaining two weeks in Colombia are over. No diving in Providencia. No Bogotá. I cancel everything 😩.
I feel lonely, exhausted from constantly swimming against the current, as if caught in rapids trying desperately to keep my head above water.
When is enough enough?
For the first time, the answer feels clear. Leaving Colombia as soon as possible is the only option left. Risky or not, I book the next available flight to Toronto.
But with distance — and a nervous system that finally feels safer — I’ve made peace with what happened.
And yes… it makes for one hell of a story.
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