After nearly an hour of flying over the vast Eastern Plains from Bogotá, we landed in Puerto Carreño, a small town of 20,000 inhabitants located at a corner of the country bordering Venezuela. It is the capital of Vichada, the second-largest department in Colombia, covering 100,000 km²—about the same size as South Korea.The Orinoco River both divides and connects, depending on how you look at it, for about 300 kilometers to the south, forming the border with Venezuela. These same 300 kilometers would be our route, which we would travel by boat on this majestic aquatic highway on our journey to Inírida.
There wasn’t much to do in Carreño besides buying roasted chicken for lunch, withdrawing some money from the small central plaza, and then crossing a commercial passage on a motorcycle taxi to reach the “international dock.” The name seemed too grand for the small pier where we boarded the boat that would take us to our first stop: the Tambora camp on the edge of El Tuparro National Park.
We made a couple of stops first, one to rest after the initial four-hour boat ride in the town of Casuarito, and another to stretch our legs and begin to enjoy the first of many river and savannah landscapes that we would encounter in the following days. The walk was also a safety measure: the boat couldn’t cross the fierce Atures rapids with us on board, so we observed them from the riverbank.
Though the walk was short (about an hour) and on flat ground, the climate was already making its presence felt. The exhaustion we experienced was due not only to the 30-degree temperatures with over 75% humidity but also to the overwhelming sensation of being in the midst of such a monumental environment.
By late afternoon, we arrived at Tambora, a basic and, at first glance, unwelcoming camp located on a point jutting out by the riverbank. There stood a large building—large by the rustic standards of the few constructions we had seen along the way—which housed a primary school founded by the Italian priest Javier de Nicoló. We would spend our first two nights there.
The next day, we set out in the morning to explore the surroundings of El Tuparro National Park, one of the largest in Colombia, covering around 550,000 hectares. Less than an hour by boat brought us to Carestía Hill. Here, a trail led us up a rocky hill to reveal, at the top, a spectacular view of the river and the savannah. From the Venezuelan side, we had a perspective of the protected area on the Colombian side, and behind us, an equally impressive view of the Guiana Shield stretching westward.
After descending and taking a short break to drink cold panela water and replenish our energy, we continued to the Maipures Rapids, one of the most iconic sites of this excursion, which Humboldt once described as the eighth wonder of the world.
Aerial photographs and videos show the power and beauty of this rapid system, which spans approximately 8 kilometers. We passively observed it at river level, awaiting the adventure the next day when we would cross it by boat on our way to Matavén. After Maipures and before lunch, we headed to the Tuparro River, where we enjoyed a refreshing swim in the jungle. We spent some time watching a beautiful mirror-like body of water, which was broken by a group of dolphins hunting, taking advantage of the currents where the Tuparro River meets the Orinoco.
In the afternoon, we took the boat again to explore the Tomo River. We walked once more through the savannah and forests, listening to the sounds of the river and jungle, and watched the sunset from a rock where several fishermen were gathering and relaxing after their day’s work.
On the early morning of Day 3, we were awakened by a heavy downpour that lasted almost all day. We had to delay our departure by about an hour, waiting for conditions to improve and preparing our gear and boats for a six-hour navigation. After this long journey, we arrived soaked at Mataveni. The most thrilling part of the trip was crossing the Maipures Rapids for about 20 minutes. Our skilled boatman expertly navigated the turbulent currents, finding seemingly impossible paths through the water. We had unrivaled views while experiencing firsthand the river's force, which rocked the boat from side to side and up and down. Usually, this crossing is done by car, but because of the season (the rainy winter), the river’s volume allowed for a faster, direct passage over the water.
Despite the long day on the boat, the scenery never became dull. Although we had been sailing for three days, we never got used to the river's grandeur, and it was always a pleasure to watch the forests, water, and rocky mountains, which hinted at what we would see two days later in Mavecure. We counted no more than four or five boats along the entire route, plus the occasional settlement, heightening the sense of awe and solitude in the immense nature surrounding us. This, along with the monotonous sound of the boat’s motor during the long journey, curiously created an almost perfect space for disconnecting, reflecting, and even meditating.
We stopped to stretch our legs in a floating settlement where the community's lack of resources was evident. Despite living in an environment of incredible natural beauty and abundance, their lack of connectivity and basic necessities stood out. It seemed this population had been historically abandoned by distant governments that imposed arbitrary regulations on a territory they barely knew.
Around 2 p.m., we left the brown waters of the Orinoco and turned westward, sailing on the black waters of the Matavén creek. We arrived at the Selva de Matavén indigenous reserve, specifically the village of Sarrapia, home to the Piaroa community, located at the transition from the plains to the Amazon. There, we were warmly welcomed with a comforting lunch, and we enjoyed a peace that was very relaxing after the long boat journey.
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around the small village several times, chatting with locals, recovering our energy, and contemplating the river and jungle landscapes. A boarding school and two sports fields stood out among the wooden houses and the community’s gardens. Life there seemed peaceful, and the village’s routine appeared to be marked mainly by the schoolchildren’s schedule.
We awoke on Day 4 rested and ready for a new day. After a brief final tour of Sarrapia to say goodbye, we boarded the boat for a two-hour trip to Inírida, now in the department of Guainía and in the middle of the jungle, as the plains were far behind us.
The rain didn’t prevent us from enjoying the stunning natural scenery. Three spots particularly surprised me that day: the altar to the Virgin on a giant rock in the middle of the river, the confluence of the Guaviare, Atabapo, and Orinoco Rivers, and the majestic Mavecure Hills, seen from the Inírida River.
We said goodbye to the border with Venezuela and arrived in Inírida, the capital of Guainía. At first glance, the city seemed more dynamic and thriving than Puerto Carreño. We would rest there and have lunch before continuing for another two hours on the Inírida River to El Remanso, an indigenous village where we would spend the next two nights.
After the first hour of navigation, with the rain clouds clearing and giving way to the afternoon sun, we saw the Mavecure Hills for the first time.
The excitement was immense when Cerro Mono, Pajarito, and Mavecure began to emerge along the river, after so many hours of travel that seemed short compared to the more than 20 years I had waited to finally be there. We arrived at the Piaroa community of Remanso, at the base of Cerro Pajarito, the tallest of the three at 700 meters. There, we were welcomed into a comfortable and cozy lodge. After settling in, we walked with Cerro Pajarito always on our left, searching for the Inírida Flower, an endemic species. We followed a trail through the forest, crossing streams of deep red water and spotting the nests of oropendolas, whose excited songs filled the air before sunset.
The small village of Remanso, with less than thirty houses, appeared organized and efficient. It has a water purification plant powered by solar energy, an electricity generator also powered by the sun, a mobile phone antenna, a multipurpose sports field, and a plot where a large school is planned. We went to bed early, as the next day we would begin our hike at dawn with the goal of witnessing the sunrise from Cerro Mavecure, the only one of the three hills that can be climbed to its summit.
With the help of ropes to prevent slipping on the wet rock and a good cup of hot coffee before setting out, we began the climb at around 5:00 a.m. The ascent was just under two kilometers of hiking. Unfortunately, the sky was overcast all morning, preventing us from seeing the sunrise. However, we were not disappointed, as we were fortunate to watch low clouds pass between us, sometimes even below our feet, completely covering the view of the river and the other two hills. In those moments, it felt like we were floating among the clouds.
We spent a couple of hours at the summit of the hill, taking photos and admiring the landscapes repeatedly, as if we wanted to engrain each view into our memory forever. Upon descending, we returned to the lodge for breakfast and put on our swimsuits to explore the San Joaquín Creek, where we took a short hike and enjoyed a refreshing swim with Cerro Mono in the background. We walked through the neighboring community of Venado before returning to rest and prepare our bags for the next day’s departure to Inírida.
In the summer, it’s common to bathe on the beaches formed by the dry riverbed under the hills, but this time everything was covered in water, so we took advantage of the opportunity to sail and once again observe another group of dolphins hunting in the Mavecure Rapids.
The following morning, we bid farewell to the Mavecure Hills and boarded the boat for another two-hour trip back to Inírida, already feeling the sense of goodbye as we turned our experiences into memories. In Inírida, we had time to explore a bit before our flight back to Bogotá. We first visited the Vitina Creek, whose deep red waters looked perfect for a refreshing swim under the hot, humid weather, just as a group of children joyfully jumped off a bridge into the creek, over and over again.
We also saw a set of petroglyphs, the Inírida River flooding areas that six months later would give way to beaches and paths, and a bit of the town itself, passing through the colorful local market, the bustling central street, and ending at the airport, where we waited for our flight.
Thus concluded a journey that I had personally longed for many years and that, once realized, exceeded my expectations. I can’t find enough words to describe the sense of harmony, awe, and connection with nature I experienced here. My travel companion, a Basque client who became a friend after those six days, also left happy. Both of us took away memories from a place that seemed to belong to another world—a world full of water, greenery, and life.
In addition to the monumental landscapes, we reflected on the contradiction of seeing such natural abundance alongside the needs faced by indigenous and settler communities. These communities continue to seek space, respect, and recognition in this other Colombia—untamed and beautiful, yet always on the margins and forgotten by the centralist and indifferent gaze of successive governments. Far from mass tourism, this region offers a perfect environment for travelers seeking natural beauty, disconnection, a bit of adventure, but above all, authenticity.
Definitely one of the best trips of my life.
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