At some point last week, we got a notice that the electricity to the area would be out on Friday for the local utility company to do "training." I thought this might make a good opportunity to go visit our friend to the South, Esmaralda. I have previously posted about her here and here, and this seemed like a good time to go see what had changed.
Esmaralda lurks just down the beach from us, and my bedroom looks out on the crepuscular terror of her abandoned, hulking edifice, seen here during dawn. (Don't worry, I'm done with the big words now.)
We set out for our visit during a somewhat more socially acceptable hour, with a small finch wishing us death and breadcrumbs as we left.
It is normally a fairly straightforward walk down the beach to get to Esmaralda, so we set out that way.
Unfortunately, the rains had made the beach impassible just past this, so we had to walk through a big field of dirt.
The degree of difficulty here was high, as the mud here is riddled with burrow holes. These belong to lizards, crabs, or sandworms depending on who you ask, and they collapse when you step too near them.
If the holes don't get you, the fossilised coral might. It is not a trip for sandals or the faint of heart. Unfortunately I had both.
As the legend goes, Esmaralda was a hotel project started by Pablo Escobar which was abandoned years ago. Because things on the island are built of concrete, this means its still fairly sturdy and can be safely explored. Locals often come here on holidays to set off the loudest fireworks they can just to hear the echoes. Since my bedroom window faces this direction, the noise often keeps me awake. Recently, a club/restaurant was built along the shoreline. The club has a habit of playing loud, bass-heavy music well into the night every night, making me wonder if the fireworks weren't actually the lesser evil.
My mother is fairly certain that this lagoon was meant to hold hippos. It is significantly cleaner than the last time I was here.
The whole building is deserted and spooky, but the only truly terrifying thing there was the Crossfit business that has taken over part of the bottom floor. It seems to be popular, which is just horror-fodder as far as I'm concerned.
In addition to rope shaking and tyre lifting, the locals often use Esmaralda as a large canvas. The art often changes between visits, this time the outside has a number of pieces from this artist.
Inside gets a little spookier and a lot graffitier. In the words of some sage, "this bitch haunted af."
The graffiti here ranges from murals of local landmarks...
...to the more prosaic. Unfortunately much of the latter is over/obscuring the former as everyone attempts to leave their own mark.
Come along, we'll go upstairs.
Every wall has its marks. There are a lot of wonderful murals.
Last time I was here, I took a photo of this "Kale Chips" graffiti...
which now is nearly lost among its brethren. Which is fine with me, kale chips are gross.
Some of you will be happy to know that the Doombunny was well represented.
I love the art, but for me the building and the views are the real star of a visit to Esmaralda. I love the way the broken down building frames the views outside, and how the ocean seems to mock the hotels rotting impermanence.
If you're brave enough, and not afraid of heights or OSHA violations, you can go all the way to the roof of the hotel.
You can see a lot of the island from here. Because of the rains it is unusually green. My bedroom is the one with the blue outside in the middle of this photo.
We left via the front door and walked down the road to get home, avoiding sandworm burrows and offering some other perspectives.
By the time we returned home and took a cooling dip in the pool, the power was on. Internet was back, and we were all saved!
