Nuqui, on Colombia’s Wild Pacific Coast

Today on Go Nomad, we're heading to one of the most remote and untamed corners of South America, Nuqui, on the Pacific coast of Colombia.

It's a place where the rainforest falls straight into the sea, where there are no roads, and where the only way to get in is by small boat or plane.

If you're unlucky by boat.

It's also the story of how this region has changed and how it hasn't in the years since.

We had spent a week at an echo resort further up the Columbia coast, and it was time to move south to our next destination.

Most people fly into Nuqui, but not us.

We made the mistake of going by boat.

The morning began with leaden skies and a torrential rain.

We woke at 5:15am pulled on rubberized ponchos and walked through the downpour to the boat ramp.

Our cameras were stuffed into the forecastle and we hoped the wooden hatch would keep them dry.

We sat on hard plank seats as the boatmen pushed us out into the gray Pacific.

Visibility was almost zero.

A Spaniard on board sat hatless, letting the rain pelt his bald head as if it were nothing.

The rest of us huddled under our ponchos as the waves grew higher.

Each swell lifted the bow and slammed us down again, water pooling around our feet, floating logs drifting past, some as big as telephone poles.

The boatmen pressed on, unfazed.

After nearly three hours of this, we finally reached the shore.

We stumbled out like shipwrecked survivors, where the lodge owners greeted us with hot coffee and dry towels.

I asked our host later how many guests arrived by boat.

He laughed.

Only the tourist board does that, he said.

The lodge we stayed in, called El Cantil, it was a pioneering eco resort built by a couple who believed in the region and its people.

They hired locally, supported local schools, and tried to encourage small scale entrepreneurship in a place where most commerce was still barter.

One of their former employees bought an old boat motor from them, saved up for a boat, then another, and eventually he built a small water taxi business, essential in a region with no roads.

But El Cantil is gone now.

Its era came to a quiet end, yet its spirit lives on.

Today, a new generation of eco lodges has taken root along the beaches south of Nuqui.

One of the most notable is La Cuca, a beautifully designed, low impact lodge on Guachilto Beach.

La Cuca follows many of the principles that made El Cantillo special.

Sustainability, community partnerships, and a deep respect for the rainforest and the Afro Colombian communities who call this coast home.

We sat in a dugout canoe propelled by two men using long poles.

The river was quiet, the jungle was dense, and the only sounds were bird calls and the gentle ripple of water against the hull.

After an hour, we reached a small stream and hiked to a waterfall with a deep pool perfect for diving.

It was a magical place.

Remote, peaceful, and completely untouched.

And the good news is that experience still exists today.

In fact, it's now run by local guides who have built a sustainable tourism model around it.

Well, for one, access is better.

Flights to Nuqui and Bahia Solano are more frequent and more reliable.

Whale watching has become a major draw.

From July to October, humpback whales migrate to these warm Pacific waters and give birth.

Back then, it was a niche activity.

Today, it's one of Colombia's most iconic wildlife experiences.

I remember the open boats and chasing after those whales.

It was a real interesting experience, kind of like whale watching in the rough.

Community leadership has grown stronger here.

Afro Colombian and indigenous communities now run many of the region's tours, from surf lessons and tamales to hikes in Utrea National Park.

The region still faces challenges, of course.

Choco is one of the rainiest places on Earth, and climate change has made these rains even heavier.

Conservation groups are working to protect mangroves and marine life.

Lodges like La Cuca are building responsible tourism, and travelers are arriving with a greater awareness of their impact.

Yet despite all these changes, Nuqui still feels wild.

The rainforest still tumbles down to the sea.

The beaches are still black sand, empty and pristine.

The air is still thick with humidity and bird songs.

And that sense of discovery, the sense of being somewhere truly off the map, is very much still alive.

The only risk, they say, is wanting to stay.

And in Neuqui, that might still be true.