Introduction: When El Rodadero Was a Whisper of Palm Trees
If you close your eyes and stand on the sand of El Rodadero today, the first thing you hear is the roar of speedboats, the reggaeton from portable speakers, and the shouts of beer vendors. But if you sit with a grandparent from Santa Marta under a palm tree, the story changes. Fifty years ago, this same place sounded like gentle waves, falling coconuts, and the creak of hammocks hung between trunks. There were no fifteen-story buildings or shopping malls. Only wooden houses painted in pastel colors, a fishermen's pier that smelled of salt and wet wood, and a gazebo where young people danced boleros on Sundays.
In June 2026, El Rodadero is the tourist epicenter of Santa Marta, with hotels, restaurants, and nightclubs that receive thousands of visitors each month. But beneath that neon and concrete glow, the stories of those who arrived first are still hidden. This article is not a guide to beaches or nightlife. It is a journey to the El Rodadero that no longer exists, told by those who lived it: the grandparents who still walk along the main avenue with the same unhurried pace of decades ago.
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El Rodadero in the 70s: Empty Beaches and Wooden Houses
In 1970, El Rodadero was not a neighborhood; it was a fishing hamlet. The streets were dirt, and the only way to get there from Santa Marta was along a dusty path that is now Avenida del Libertador. Not all houses had electricity, and water was collected from cisterns or bought in barrels brought by tanker trucks.
Doña Clara, 84, has lived since 1965 in a house she inherited from her parents, just two blocks from the beach. When I ask her what life was like back then, she lets out a laugh that sounds like an old bell:
—Sonny, there was nothing here. The beach was ours. You would arrive, lie down on the sand, and not see anyone for kilometers. Tourists were rare, and when they came, they stayed in family homes because there were only two hotels: Hotel Tamacá and Hotel Balneario. The rest were little wooden shacks with palm-thatched roofs.
The wooden houses were the soul of El Rodadero. They were built on stilts to protect against humidity and high tides. They had large windows without glass, only wooden shutters that were closed when the wind came. The patios were huge, full of mango trees, coconut palms, and hibiscus flowers. There, children were raised, hammocks were hung, and neighbors were welcomed for afternoon coffee.
The Fishermen's Pier: A Vanished Place
One of the most missed places is the old fishermen's pier, which was located where the tourist pier of the Marina is today. It was not an elegant structure: it was a platform of wooden planks supported by mangrove trunks, extending about thirty meters into the sea. There, fishermen arrived at dawn with their canoes loaded with red snapper, kingfish, and lobster. The women waited for them with baskets to take the fish to the market, and children ran among the nets drying in the sun.
—That pier was the town square —recalls don Pedro, 78, who worked as a fisherman from the age of twelve—. You would arrive, throw the fish onto the wood, and people would come to buy. There were no fixed prices; you negotiated. And at noon, the women would fry the fish on wood-fired stoves right on the shore. The smell of fried food mixed with the salty air, and that was El Rodadero.
The pier disappeared in the late 1980s, when construction began on the Marina and large hotels. The fishermen were displaced to other areas, and many ended up selling coconuts or renting umbrellas on the same beach where they once fished.
The Gazebo: Boleros and Lovers
Another place that no longer exists is the gazebo that was in the central park, where the Iglesia de San Miguel now stands. It was a concrete structure with a tile roof, surrounded by wrought iron benches. On Sunday afternoons, the municipal band played boleros, porros, and cumbias, and couples danced under the watchful eyes of mothers sitting on the benches.
—That's where I met my husband —says doña Clara, her eyes shining—. He was a skinny boy who worked in a fabric store. He asked me to dance a bolero by Los Panchos, and from that day on, we never separated. The gazebo was the place for lovers. Today it's all noise and motorcycles, but back then you could feel the love in the air.
The gazebo was demolished in 1995 to build the church, which the neighbors requested after a hurricane damaged the wooden chapel that was there before. Some say the gazebo's tiles were used to repair old houses. Others claim they are still buried under the concrete of the square.
What to Do Today to Connect with the Past
If you came to El Rodadero looking for the history that still breathes, not all is lost. Although the neighborhood has changed, there are places and activities that allow you to glimpse that past of palm trees and wooden houses.
Walk Along 14th Street: The Last Block of Old Houses
On 14th Street, between 2nd and 3rd avenues, three original wooden houses from the 1950s are still preserved. One of them is the Casa de la Cultura del Rodadero, a small community museum open on Saturdays from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. There are old photos, fishing tools, and a model of the neighborhood from 1970. Admission is free, but voluntary donations are accepted.
—That house belonged to don Efraín, the first owner of the grocery store —explains doña Clara, who sometimes gives talks there—. It still has the original cedar beams and the shutter windows. If you touch the wood, you can feel the history.
Visit the Beach at Dawn: The Fishermen's Ritual
Before the tourists arrive, between 5 and 7 in the morning, the beach at El Rodadero transforms. Artisanal fishermen still go out in their canoes, though there are fewer than before. If you walk towards the Edificio Oasis area, you will see don Óscar, 72, who has been casting his nets for over fifty years. He doesn't sell fish, but he loves to chat.
—Come by one day at 5:30, sit on the sand and watch the sea. You'll see that El Rodadero of before hasn't completely disappeared —says don Óscar while rolling up a net—. The sea is still the same. The palm trees too. What changed was the people, but the soul of the place is here.
The Handicraft Market on 10th Street
It is not a historical site, but it is a must-stop if you want to feel El Rodadero of the families. On 10th Street, between 1st and 2nd avenues, there is a handicraft market where they sell hand-woven hammocks, vueltiao hats, and tagua nut necklaces. Doña Rosalba, 68, has been selling there for 40 years. Her stall is # 7, and if you ask her about the El Rodadero of before, she will tell you stories while showing you how she weaves a mochila bag.
—I arrived here in 1983, when this was all wilderness —she says—. I sold coconuts on the beach, and then I switched to handicrafts. I've seen the buildings grow, but I've also seen friends leave. Every hammock I sell carries a piece of my memory.
Where to Eat or Drink: Flavors That Haven't Changed
The food of El Rodadero also has its history. Some restaurants and street stalls maintain recipes from decades ago, and they are the best thermometer to measure the neighborhood's change.
Don Memo's Coconut Stand
On the beach, in front of 12th Street, is don Memo's stand, an 82-year-old man who has been selling coconuts since 1968. His stand is a wooden cart painted green, with a sharp machete and a cooler. It has no sign, but everyone knows him.
—A cold coconut costs 5,000 pesos, and if you want me to scoop out the pulp, it's 2,000 more —explains don Memo as he splits a coconut with a single blow—. I used to sell coconuts for 50 cents. People would sit here, drink the water, and leave happy. Now tourists want photos, but the coconut is still the same.
Don Memo is an institution. The grandparents remember him from childhood, and the young people respect him as a symbol of resistance. If you want to taste a flavor that hasn't changed in half a century, his stand is the place.
Restaurante La Casa de la Abuela
At 2nd Avenue with 11th Street, this family restaurant has been open since 1975. The owner, doña Lilia, 76, cooks the same recipes she learned from her mother: coconut rice, fried fish, patacones, and shrimp ceviche. Prices are affordable: a plate of fish with rice and patacones costs around 25,000 Colombian pesos (reference prices from June 2026).
—I don't use written recipes —says doña Lilia while stirring a pot of sancocho—. Everything is by eye, the way I was taught. The secret is love and fresh coconut. The same customers have been coming here for forty years, and now their children and grandchildren too.
The restaurant preserves the original tile floor and wooden tables. On the walls are black and white photos of old El Rodadero, donated by the neighbors themselves. It is a place to eat and also to chat.
Heladería El Rey del Coco
On the main avenue, near the Rodadero shopping center, this artisanal ice cream shop has existed since 1982. It is not an elegant place, but its coconut, soursop, and mango ice creams are legendary. A single cone costs 4,000 pesos. The owner, don Carlos, 70, assures that the recipe hasn't changed in forty years.
—The base is fresh coconut milk, panela sugar, and ice —he explains—. I used to sell it from a cart, now I have a shop, but the flavor is the same. Tourists ask me why I don't have fancy flavors like pistachio or Belgian chocolate. I tell them: here we only sell flavors from the land.
How to Get There and Transportation: Then and Now
Getting to El Rodadero today is simple. From downtown Santa Marta, there are city buses that charge 2,600 pesos per trip (Rodadero-Bastidas or Rodadero-Taganga routes). There are also taxis that charge between 15,000 and 20,000 pesos, depending on the time and negotiation. If coming from Simón Bolívar Airport, a direct taxi costs about 30,000 pesos.
But in the 1970s, getting there was an odyssey. There were no direct buses. People traveled in wooden trucks called "chivas," which left from Parque de los Novios in Santa Marta. The trip took an hour along a dirt road full of potholes. The chivas had canvas roofs and wooden benches, and the passengers were packed in, but they sang and laughed throughout the journey.
—The chiva was a party —recalls don Pedro—. You would get on and you knew you were going to meet someone. Musicians sometimes got on with their guitars, and everyone sang. When we arrived at El Rodadero, we were so happy that the dust on our clothes didn't matter.
Today, chivas are only seen on tourist tours, but the grandparents still remember them fondly. If you want to relive that experience, you can take a "chiva tour" that leaves on weekends from the Marina, but it is more of a spectacle for tourists than real transportation.
Local Tips: How to Experience El Rodadero Like a Grandparent
If you want to experience El Rodadero beyond the hotels and nightclubs, follow these tips that the grandparents themselves share:
- Get up early for the beach on Saturdays: On Saturdays at 6 a.m., a group of older neighbors gathers on the beach in front of 9th Street to exercise and drink coffee. They bring their own chairs and thermos. If you approach respectfully, they will invite you to talk and listen to stories.
- Don't use cheap sunscreen: The grandparents recommend natural coconut oil, which is sold at the handicraft market. They say it protects better and doesn't harm the sea. A bottle costs 10,000 pesos.
- Avoid peak tourist hours: Between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m., the beach fills with vendors and loud music. If you want to feel the tranquility of before, go before 8 a.m. or after 4 p.m.
- Talk to the umbrella vendors: Many of them are children or grandchildren of fishermen. Ask them what the beach was like when they were children. Most have photos saved on their phones and show them with pride.
- Visit the Capilla de San Miguel: Although the current church is modern, the original wooden chapel was where the parking lot is now. The grandparents pray there every Sunday at 7 a.m. and then stay to drink coffee in the square.
Comparison with the Present: What Was Gained and What Was Lost?
It is easy to romanticize the past, but the grandparents are the first to recognize that today's El Rodadero has advantages. There is electricity 24 hours a day, running water, hospitals, schools, and shopping malls. Young people have job opportunities in tourism that didn't exist before. The neighborhood's economy grew, and many families who lived in poverty now have decent homes.
—Before, there was no doctor —says doña Clara—. If someone got seriously ill, you had to take them to Santa Marta by donkey or chiva. Now we have a clinic and ambulances. My grandchildren went to university thanks to tourism. Not everything is bad.
But what was lost is intangible: the tranquility, the sense of community, the time to sit and talk under a palm tree. The wooden houses were replaced by concrete buildings. The fishermen's pier is now a yacht pier. The gazebo where boleros were danced is a church. And the beach, which was once a place for family gatherings, is now a business where every meter of sand has a price.
—What I miss most is the silence —says don Pedro, looking at the horizon—. Before, you would sit on the beach to listen to the sea. Now you only hear engines and shouts. But well, that's life. You adapt or you get bitter.
The Importance of Preserving Memories
El Rodadero is not just a tourist destination. It is a place where thousands of people grew up, loved, worked, and grew old. The stories of the grandparents are not just nostalgia: they are a living record of what life was like on the Caribbean coast before globalization. Preserving those memories is a form of cultural resistance, of keeping the neighborhood's identity alive in the face of the advance of concrete.
There are local initiatives that seek to conserve this memory. The Casa de la Cultura del Rodadero, though small, collects photographs, documents, and objects donated by families. There is also a project called "Memorias del Rodadero," which records interviews with the elderly and uploads them to YouTube. If you want to contribute, you can donate old photos, write down your memories, or simply share this article with someone who loves the history of Santa Marta.
Because in the end, every palm tree that remains standing is a witness to what we were. And every story that is told is a seed that keeps the past from dying.
Frequently Asked Questions
When Did the Tourism Boom in El Rodadero Begin?
The tourism boom began in the late 1980s, with the construction of the first large hotels such as Hotel Irotama and Hotel Estelar. Before that, tourism was limited and concentrated during peak seasons like Holy Week and December. The construction of the Marina and the paving of the road from Santa Marta accelerated the process in the 1990s.
Are There Still Original Wooden Houses in El Rodadero?
Yes, very few remain. The best known are the three houses on 14th Street, between 2nd and 3rd avenues. One of them is the Casa de la Cultura, which is preserved exactly as it was built in the 1950s. Other wooden houses have been converted into restaurants or shops, but they have been modified. If you want to see an original one, visit the Casa de la Cultura on Saturday mornings.
What Happened to the Fishermen Who Worked at the Old Pier?
Many relocated to other sectors of the beach, such as Playa Salguero or Playa Grande. Some left fishing and went into tourism, renting umbrellas or selling handicrafts. Others, like don Óscar, still fish artisanally, but on a smaller scale. The fishing community was drastically reduced, and today only a few remain who maintain the tradition.
If you have an old photo of El Rodadero, share it in the comments and tell us what you remember. Every image is a piece of history that deserves to be told.