One night in February, Antonio Villamizar received a panicked phone call in the early hours. “Hurry up, your restaurant is being swept away,” he was told. Rushing to his beachfront establishment with his sons, he discovered it had vanished. The rising seas had obliterated the two-storey wooden structure, sweeping away plastic chairs and tables, collapsing walls, and ruining the kitchen.
“The sea came in and took it all away. I lost it completely,” says Villamizar, affectionately known as Toño. “It made you want to cry.” Despite the devastation, he was not surprised. Over his 12 years owning the restaurant on Palomino beach in Colombia’s Guajira region, he has been forced to rebuild and relocate 10 times due to rising sea levels and coastal erosion. Since last December alone, he has had to relocate four times; his latest restaurant is now positioned on an estuary where the Palomino River meets the Caribbean Sea. In the past years, two other local restaurateurs have closed their businesses due to similar erosion damage.
“We are losing the beach very, very quickly. We fear rebuilding; it’s daunting to risk losing money again,” Villamizar shares, surrounded by customers at his red plastic tables. “But we must keep rebuilding and find new ways to fight, as much as the sea allows us, because this is our livelihood.”
The entire coastline of Palomino, a relaxed beach town, is on the frontlines of Colombia’s erosion crisis. While storms and relentless waves naturally exacerbate the issue, rising sea levels—a consequence of the climate crisis—worsen the situation further. Additionally, human activities like deforestation and urbanization have compounded the problem.
An independent 2022 study on coastal changes in Palomino from 1985 to 2020 estimated that the shoreline retreated by about 20 to 30 metres every decade, a rate that appears to be accelerating. In the last 10 years, the beach has receded by 47 to 50 metres along almost four kilometres of coastline, according to state maritime authorities.
Palomino, known for its beauty and popularity among backpackers and families, features a long stretch of fine sand bordered by tropical forests and palm trees, set against the Sierra Nevada mountains, with a variety of welcoming beachfront hostels and restaurants. Yet, the signs of coastal erosion are stark. Headless palm trees dot the shore, continually falling into the sea. In 2021, the local government declared the situation a “public calamity” and urged state intervention.
Palomino’s beach is punctuated by makeshift concrete barriers and sandbags set up by hotel and restaurant owners to safeguard their properties, many of whom have already suffered losses to the waves. Despite their intentions, experts argue that these temporary structures are often counterproductive.
Nerlis Vergara, manager of the Finca Escondida hotel and restaurant, describes the situation as a constant emergency. “We tried to construct walls, but they didn’t work at all. We cannot afford to wait too long as we are severely impacted.”
“It’s a series of investments with no guarantees, and they often face criticism for not being aesthetically pleasing. We know it’s not the best for the environment, but we must protect ourselves. We’re just trying to survive,” she adds. In the last five years, Vergara has lost two bars and beach volleyball courts. Weddings, once a significant revenue source for the hotel, have ceased due to diminishing beachfront space, as waves crash against the hotel’s walls and guests balance their loungers on makeshift platforms atop sandbags.
According to the Colombian Institute of Environmental Studies, sea levels along the Caribbean coast could rise by 9-12 cm by 2040, 16-22 cm by 2070, and 23-32 cm by 2100.
Juan Manuel Díaz, director of Fundación MarViva Colombia, a conservation group, acknowledges the natural occurrence of coastal erosion but highlights its link to climate change. The environment ministry, collaborating with the Netherlands since 2012, has identified 104 critical erosion sites along Colombia’s coasts, yet many in Palomino feel abandoned by both regional and national authorities.
Odacir Ospina, secretary of Dibulla municipality, which encompasses Palomino, states, “It is impossible for a municipality like ours to resolve this issue. The national government must take the Caribbean coast’s situation more seriously.”
The National Unit for Disaster Risk Management did not comment, but the environment ministry noted efforts toward ecological restoration in four coastal municipalities of La Guajira to alleviate pressures on Palomino’s beaches and mangroves.
Residents express frustration over governmental inaction, feeling as if they are living on borrowed time. Villamizar, contemplating leaving the area, admits, “We are on our own. Nobody has helped us.” He believes that if conditions do not improve, he can only sustain operations for another three years, lamenting, “I don’t see the light of hope.”
Díaz shares a similarly bleak perspective, emphasizing the risks to thousands reliant on tourism. “We must adapt or move. The investment needed to address the problem doesn’t seem worthwhile to the government, which is why it isn’t prioritized.”
In a recent meeting with Dibulla authorities, tourism secretary José Silva acknowledged the declining tourist seasons in Palomino but assured that they have not forgotten the area. As the coastline recedes, so do opportunities for tourism, leaving many facing an uncertain future. Leison Jiménez, a surf instructor and national bodyboard champion, warns, “Without a beach, there is no work, and I’d have to find alternatives. We cannot fight against the tide.”
