Palomino: Surf, Silence, and the Joy of Saying Nothing

I came to Palomino without much of a plan—just the sense that I needed quiet. I’d been moving around Colombia for a while, working from cafés and coworking spaces, keeping a fast rhythm. I wanted to slow everything down. So I booked a place for a month and let things unfold from there.

Palomino is small. One main road, no streetlights, and a long stretch of beach where most days feel like Sunday. It’s not polished, not trying to be anything. Which is exactly what I needed. Life here moves slowly, and I adjusted quickly.

I’d wake up early, walk to the beach, and sometimes surf. The waves were consistent and easy to read—not too crowded, not too wild. I’m not chasing anything out there. I just enjoy being in the water. It clears my head.

Most days I didn’t talk much. I’d buy fruit, read, cook, or just sit in a hammock. The silence wasn’t lonely—it was restful. There’s something refreshing about a place where nobody asks what you do for a living.

Every now and then I’d take the same long walk to the river, where people go tubing. I never felt like rushing. Even simple routines—buying a coconut, walking home through the dust—felt grounding.

I didn’t do much work. I told myself I would. But then the quiet set in, and I realized how rare it is to be in a place that doesn’t demand anything from you. That became the focus: doing less, and being okay with it.

After a few weeks, locals started recognizing me. The woman at the bakery knew I liked my bread warm. A man at the beach taught me how to cut a mango properly. Nothing huge. But when you stay long enough, small things become the rhythm of your day.

Would I go back? Yes.
Would I stay for another month? Probably.
Palomino isn’t loud, or fast, or full of plans. But if you give it time, it gives something back.