No Waves, No Worries: An Aussie Surfer Falls for the Mountains of Jardín

Right, so here's the thing. I'm a surfer. Born in Byron Bay, raised on saltwater, spent the last twenty years chasing swells from Bali to Portugal to Costa Rica. My whole identity is basically: board, beach, beer, repeat. So when my mate Diego — a Colombian bloke I met surfing in Santa Marta — said "Johno, come to the mountains with me," my exact response was, "Mate, why would I go somewhere with no waves?"

Diego just grinned. "Trust me, brother."

And look, I've learned over the years that when a Colombian tells you to trust them about a place, you trust them. These people know how to live. So I chucked my board in storage in Medellín, packed a daypack, and hopped on a bus to Jardín. Three nights. That was the deal.

Best three nights of my entire Colombia trip. No waves required.

Getting There: The Bus Ride That Sorted Me Out

The bus from Medellín takes about four hours, and honestly, the ride itself is worth the trip. The mountains here are absolutely bonkers. Like, I've seen some landscapes — the Kimberley, the Norwegian fjords, the Na Pali Coast — but driving through the Andes in Antioquia is something else. Green mountains stacked on top of green mountains, clouds sitting in the valleys like someone spilled cotton wool everywhere, and these little fincas perched on ridiculously steep hillsides where you think, "How does anyone live there?" and then someone waves at you from their porch.

Diego slept the whole way. Typical.

Isla de Pascua: The Hostel That Gets It

We rocked up to Isla de Pascua mid-arvo, and the first thing I clocked was the pool. A legit, proper pool. Surrounded by gardens and mountains and this insane sunset light that was happening right as we arrived. I dropped my bag, did a running jump into that pool fully clothed, and came up laughing like a kid.

Diego was already in a hammock. "I told you, brother," he said.

The hostel just gets it, you know? It's not trying too hard. It's not one of those places with "artisanal cocktail bars" and "curated playlists" that feel like they were designed by an Instagram algorithm. It's just... good. Good beds, good vibes, good people. The common area is the kind of space where you sit down to charge your phone and three hours later you're playing cards with a German backpacker and a Colombian grandmother and nobody remembers who started the game.

La Garrucha: Getting My Adrenaline Fix

Now, I'll be honest — I was a bit worried about the adrenaline situation. When you surf every day, your body gets used to a certain level of "oh crikey, this could go wrong," and without it, you feel a bit flat. Diego knew this about me, so on day two, he took me to La Garrucha.

For those who don't know, La Garrucha is this cable car that goes across the valley. But calling it a "cable car" is generous. It's more like a metal box hanging from a wire, and you sit in it as it swings over a massive valley, and you look down and see... well, a very, very long way down. It's brilliant.

I was absolutely stoked. I went across three times. The second time, I stuck my head out the side like a dog in a car window, and Diego took a video that I've since sent to every surfer mate I have with the caption: "Who needs waves?"

The view from the other side is unreal — you can see the whole town of Jardín laid out below, the Basílica looking like a toy, the mountains rolling off in every direction. I sat up there for a while, just taking it in, feeling that same buzz I get when I'm sitting on my board watching a set roll in. Different energy, same stoke.

The Hostel Crew

The best thing about Isla de Pascua, hands down, is the people. Not just the staff — who are legends, every single one of them — but the other guests. In three nights, I managed to assemble a crew that I reckon I'll be mates with for life.

There was Valentina, a Colombian girl from Cali who was celebrating finishing her law degree by traveling solo for a month. She had the best laugh I've ever heard — you could hear it from across the hostel. There was this French couple, Jean and Marie, who were cycling through South America on a tandem bike, which is either the most romantic or the most insane thing I've ever heard. And there was Tomás, a local guy from Jardín who came to hang out at the hostel because, as he put it, "the gringos are funny."

We spent every evening by the pool, sharing beers and stories. Valentina taught me to dance salsa, which was genuinely one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, but she was patient and by the end of the night I could do the basic step without falling over, which I'm counting as a win.

The Food Situation

Can we talk about the food? Because I need to talk about the food. Colombian food is already incredible, but the restaurants in Jardín are on another level. Diego took me to a place on the plaza where they served trucha — trout, fresh from the local rivers — and it was so good that I ordered a second one. I'm not a small eater, but even Diego looked impressed.

The bandeja paisa was an absolute unit. Rice, beans, chicharrón, avocado, arepa, egg, morcilla, and plantain, all on one plate. I looked at it and said, "This is a meal for a surfing competition," and the waiter laughed and said, "This is a normal lunch." Legends.

And the dulces. Oh mate, the dulces. These little sweets made from fruit and panela that they sell in the plaza. I bought a bag and ate them all in one sitting by the pool. Zero regrets.

Night Out in Jardín

On our second night, Diego insisted we go out for the nightlife. Now, I've been to Full Moon parties in Thailand. I've been to beach raves in Goa. I was expecting Jardín nightlife to be, well, quiet. Wrong. Very wrong.

The bars around the plaza come alive after dark. We ended up in a place with a live vallenato band, and within ten minutes, Valentina had dragged our entire crew onto the dance floor. I was terrible. Spectacularly terrible. But nobody cared, because that's the thing about Colombians — they don't judge you for being a bad dancer. They just make sure your glass is full and the music is loud and everybody is having a good time.

At some point, Tomás taught me to say "qué chimba" which he said meant "how great" and which I've been saying to every Colombian I've met since, possibly in contexts where it's not entirely appropriate. Apologies.

Why Three Nights Wasn't Enough

Look, I only stayed three nights because I had a flight booked from Medellín. If I hadn't, I'd probably still be there. There's something about Jardín that just slows you down in the best way. It's like the town is saying, "Oi, relax. Have a coffee. Watch the sunset. Everything else can wait."

And Isla de Pascua is the perfect headquarters for that energy. The pool is world-class — I've stayed at resorts in Bali that didn't have a pool this good. The hammocks are the kind you fall asleep in and wake up wondering what century it is. The WiFi works, the showers are hot, and the staff remember your name by day two.

Diego told me on the bus back to Medellín: "See? No waves, no worries." And he was right. I've spent my whole life chasing water, and it took a mountain town in Colombia to show me that the stoke isn't in the waves. It's in the people, the views, the food, the moments. The waves are just a bonus.

I'll be back, Jardín. And next time, I'm staying a week. Minimum.

— Johno, writing from a surf camp in Ecuador, still dreaming about that pool