Samario Glossary: 15 Words You'll Only Understand If You Grew Up Between the Hill and the Sea

Have you ever heard a samario say they're going to “coger la moto” and it turns out there's no motorcycle anywhere? Or worse, have you asked for a “raspao” and they looked at you funny because here it's called “raspaíto”? Living in Santa Marta is not just about learning to endure the August heat (which in 2026 remains relentless), but also about deciphering a parallel language woven between the Cerro de la Candelaria and the Bahía de Santa Marta. We samarios have a particular way of seeing the world, and that vision is reflected in every word that comes out of our mouths. It's not just the sing-song accent that sounds like the sea is dancing inside the vowels; it's our own vocabulary, inherited from the fishermen of Taganga, the merchants of the Centro Histórico, and the grandmothers of El Rodadero who still say “mi alma” when they see you arrive. This glossary is not in Spanish textbooks, let alone in internet translators. It's learned on the street, in neighborhood shops, and in corner conversations when the sun goes down. If you're about to move here, if you've been living in the city for years but still get lost when someone tells you to meet them “al pie de la letrina”, or if you simply want to sound like a true local, this article is your ticket in. I'm going to tell you the 15 words and expressions that only a true samario understands, organized by areas of the city because here even language has its own geography.

Language as a hidden treasure of samario identity

Santa Marta has an identity problem that is actually its greatest wealth. We're not exactly pure-blooded costeños like the people from Barranquilla, nor do we have the slow cadence of the guajiros. We're a rare mix: a port city, gateway to the Sierra Nevada, home to indigenous people, Afro-descendants, and a class of merchants who have seen everything pass through, from English pirates to tourists looking for Shakira (who isn't from here, but that's another story). That mix shows in our speech. Our words have layers of history: some terms come from Quechua, others are adaptations of sailors' English, and many are simply local inventions that became legend. When a samario tells you they're “haciendo vaca”, they're not talking about cattle farming; they're talking about a collection to buy beer. If they tell you something is “más perdido que el hijo de la Candelaria”, they're not talking about religion; they're telling you they have no idea where their lighter ended up. This vocabulary is not a whim. It's a form of cultural resistance. In a city where tourism has transformed the Centro Histórico into a succession of hostels and vegan restaurants, keeping these words alive is like planting the flag in the sand. Every time a young person in Taganga tells their friend “tranquilo, mi llave”, they are reaffirming that they belong to a place with memory, to a territory that doesn't surrender to gentrification.

First stop: Terms from the Centro Histórico and the port

The center of Santa Marta is the foundational heart, the place where the city began in 1525 and where you can still breathe that mix of port warehouses and colonial cathedrals. Here, part of our most characteristic vocabulary was born, influenced by commerce, maritime life, and the constant flow of people arriving and leaving with the ships.

1. “Calle del Sol” (and it's not the literal street)

When a samario tells you they're going for a walk “por la calle del sol”, they don't always mean Calle 13, the one that goes from Parque Bolívar to Avenida del Fundador. Sometimes we use it to talk about any place where it's extremely hot, which in Santa Marta is practically the whole city between 11 in the morning and 3 in the afternoon. It's a flexible expression: “me voy para la calle del sol a comprar unos tenis” means you're going to the mall, but “este cuarto está como la calle del sol” means the air conditioning isn't working.

2. “Bollo” (more than food, it's a state of mind)

We all know that bollo is that corn delicacy wrapped in leaves, eaten with costeño cheese. But in the center, the word took on another meaning. “Estoy bollo” means you're tired, exhausted, out of energy. It's the samario version of “I'm dead” in other countries. If you see a market vendor sitting at 2 in the afternoon with a lost look, they're not sad: they're bollo. The word is used for both physical fatigue and existential boredom.

3. “Hacer la calle” (it's not what you think)

In the center's slang, “hacer la calle” has nothing to do with sex work. It means going through the shops, comparing prices, haggling, and finally buying something you didn't need. It's a social activity in itself. Samario grandmothers “hacen la calle” every morning, not because they need something specific, but because it's their way of socializing. When someone asks you “¿ya hiciste la calle hoy?”, they're asking if you've already gone out to fulfill the ritual of walking through the center.

4. “Mocho” (the one who shows up empty-handed)

In the port, this word is used to describe someone who arrives empty-handed. “Llegó mocho a la reunión” means they didn't bring the sodas or the ice. It's a word with a hint of criticism, but also of affection. We all have that friend who always shows up mocho, and even though we love them, we always say the same phrase: “¿otra vez mocho, hermano?”.

5. “Ponqué” (the cake that isn't a cake)

This is one of the words that confuses tourists the most. In the rest of Colombia, a ponqué is a sweet sponge cake served at parties. In Santa Marta, “ponqué” refers to yuca bread or pan de bono, especially when bought at bakeries in the center. If a samario offers you “un ponqué con café”, they're offering you a warm yuca roll, not a cake with candles. The confusion is so common that it's already part of the local joke: “here even bread is called something different”.

Second stop: Words from artisanal fishing and life in Taganga

Taganga is that fishing village that became a backpacker destination without completely losing its essence. Here, the vocabulary has a different rhythm, more tied to the sea, to the nets, and to conversations on the beach when the boats return with the day's catch. These are the words you'll hear if you sit on the sand or in one of the restaurants facing the sea.

6. “Cayuco” (the everyday canoe)

In Taganga, the cayuco is not just the wooden canoe fishermen use to go out to sea. The word is used as a metaphor for life. “Cada quien rema su cayuco” is a phrase you'll hear constantly, and it means everyone handles their own problems. It's also used to talk about something disorganized: “ese proyecto está como cayuco sin remo” means it's not going to get anywhere.

7. “Pargo” (the fish and the person)

The pargo is the most famous fish in the bay, but in Taganga the word has another use: a “pargo” is someone a bit naive, who gets fooled easily. “No sea pargo, mi llave” is a warning for someone not to fall into a trap. It's curious because the red pargo is a beautiful and valuable fish, but in local slang it became synonymous with innocence. Fishermen say the pargo bites the hook without suspicion, and that's why the name stuck.

8. “Tarraya” (the art of casting the net)

The tarraya is the circular net that fishermen cast from the shore, but the word is also used as a verb: “tarrayar” means to throw something randomly, to try your luck. “Voy a tarrayar a ver si consigo trabajo” is a common phrase among young people in Taganga looking for work in the area's hotels. It's a word that reflects the uncertainty of coastal life: sometimes the net comes up full, sometimes empty, but you always have to try.

9. “Guacuco” (the tiny mollusk and the coin)

The guacuco is a tiny mollusk found on the beaches that people collect to make soups or ceviches. But in local slang, “guacuco” is also used to talk about money in small amounts. “No tengo ni un guacuco” means you're completely broke. It's a playful word, as if money were as small and elusive as that shellfish that hides in the sand.

10. “Marea” (the mood of the sea and of the people)

In Taganga, everything has a tide. “Está con la marea baja” is said of someone who is sad or depressed, while “está con la marea alta” describes a euphoric or very active person. The word is also used to talk about the general atmosphere: “la marea está mala” means things aren't going well, the catch was scarce, or tourism is slow. It's a way of understanding life through the rhythm of the ocean.

Valentina Gómez

|Curadora de Arte, Festivales & Cultura

Cultural manager and events journalist. Covers festivals, independent theaters, art galleries, and local celebrations.