MASKING IN A COLUMBIAN VOLCANO

I try to fit in at least one unique, local beauty-themed experience when traveling. When researching Cartagena, I found one I knew I had to try--a mud bath in the El Totumo Volcano. The volcano is about an hour drive from Cartagena, accessible by tour bus or car. Fifty feet tall, the volcano is said to be chock-full of minerals such calcium, sulfur, silicon and potassium. I figured I could get behind that. 

We initially planned on renting a car and driving, but we decided last minute to take a tour bus. Very unlike us--and definitely a mistake. The tour buses all arrive around the same time with hoards of potentially questionable passengers. Although the tour included private access to a guest house with the only lockers on site, the luxury wasn't worth the crowds. We changed into bathing suits and took off our shoes (nothing is allowed into the volcano) and gave one of our tour guides our phone for photos. I wasn't quite sure how this guy was going to keep track of our phone vs. the ten other iPhones in his fanny pack, but I figured 1. I’ll probably leave with a great shot of the Colombian family of seven in line ahead of us and 2. It's Jeremy’s phone.

They asked us ahead of time if we wanted a massage once inside the volcano, which I assumed I would. Once I climbed the rickety ladder leading up to the volcano and peeked inside, I quickly changed my mind. It was basically an orgy of fifteen or so people in a tiny pool of mud, trying to stay upright without falling into the stranger next to them. I politely declined the massage and tried to keep my legs beneath me until Jeremy was done with his. Judging by the mud itself it seemed like it had the potential to be a beneficial treatment, however it was hard to imagine that this muddy bath teeming with sweaty tourists was purifying in any way. 

After the mud orgy, we were brought to the “cleansing station”, which is a group of local women who fill up buckets of muddy brown water and dump it on your head, inside your bathing suits, and everywhere else they can get their hands on. Panicking at the thought of this water being poured over my head and face, I clearly requested “no cabeza, por favor” to the woman hosing me down. She complied and sang a chorus of “no cabeza, no cabeza” for the duration of my rinse. 

The result? My skin was a bit smoother, but my pride was left on El Totumo.