Cartagena: the walled city

One of many fun statues in old town, Cartagena

Cartagena has inspired locals and travelers alike for centuries. It’s been well preserved and continues to enchant with its narrow allies and mosaic of mainly three-story buildings built through the various eras of architecture. One must brave the heat; midday it gets up to the 90s and is mercilessly balmy, with few options for seeking relief of the natural (shade) or manmade (AC) variety. The beach is banal, if any beach with smooth sand, gentle and warm waves, and throngs of happy people can be described that way. Though the constant march of walking vendors can get a little tiresome, it’s also pretty awesome to be able to get almost anything without having to move (and clearly I’m talking about food, not jewelry or chucharias—knick knacks—and such). Fruit salad, arepas, empanadas, a full lunch of fried fish, rice, patacones (smashed green plantains made into a patty and fried), gooey things with coconut and sesame seeds that I don’t recognize. . . .the options are endless. So endless that I’m often too overwhelmed to get beyond my staple of mango (but even then I have to choose green or ripe!! With salt? Lime? Honey? Picante? Condensed milk?). So banal, but still fun. The Colombians describe these beaches as “ugly”, but you have to understand that it’s a relative comparison to the other, super stunning beaches that Colombia has to offer. So take it with a grain of (sea) salt. And maybe some sand for good measure.

Rough on the eyes, I know

I fell under Cartagena’s spell not so much during the day, but at night. One night Camilo and I managed to pry two chairs and a couple beers away from the workers playing chess on the beach and enjoyed the cool night’s breeze, almost full moon, and the sound of the waves. I’m pretty sure that I could happily sit in that same spot every night for the rest of my life and never get tired of the sweet smell of the beach and the air caressing my hair. But, the next night we moved down to the old city, where the old walls have been converted into a bar (Café del Mar), where you can sit either in open air bar, which we did on Tuesday, and enjoy the 6000 peso (USD 3) beers, or climb up onto the walls themselves (which we did on Wednesday) and grab a drink from the guys passing by with coolers and containers of all sorts of foods and drinks (there a beer will run you more like USD 1). There’s a lighthouse out in the distance that we stare at for a while, wondering in the way that restless nomads do what the view is like from there (and if there, would we be wondering about the view from Café del Mar).

One of Camilo’s roommates is an Argentinian, and she’s on tour with 7 female friends from Argentina. They swoop into the scene, dressed to the nines, with a bottle of aguardiente (similar to Sambuca and the national liquor of choice), speaking the polished Castesssshhhhano that Argentinians do, and get the party started. We head off to check out some of the local dance clubs (remember that it’s a Wednesday night at 10:30PM)—I feel like a bit of an ugly duckling next to these glammed up girls in my flip flops and jeans, but music is a democratizing force. The dance floor welcomes anyone who has ganas de bailar. I have been taking advantage of the opportunity to get some free dance lessons from the locals and before long am “spinning like a top,” per Camilo (that is a compliment; I asked for clarification). When dizzy and tired from a workout to cumbia, reggaeton, salsa, merengue and techno, we are asked to leave at closing time, we retreat to the city walls to enjoy music blasting from a cell phone by the light of the moon. The sun is practically rising by the time we finally head back to Boca Grande, where I’ve now officially been invited into the circle of trust and am staying with Camilo’s family in a two-bedroom (three if you include the living room) apartment (we are nine heads!). While cramped, it was actually a lot of fun—having enjoyed many beach trips with my cousins all piled into bunk beds, it was fun to see what another family’s version was like. My favorite details: everyone (including me) took a siesta in the afternoon (which enabled the late night!) and we had oatmeal (in cups and crackers to dip in it) for dinner. I tried to explain grits to them; they looked pretty skeptical about cornmeal being boiled and resembling oatmeal in any way. Obviously my Spanish is not perfect yet.  I guess I'll have to stick around a bit longer. . . .

View from outside the walls at dusk

There are a lot of Cartagena’s “musts” that I didn’t do. I didn’t actually ever make it into the castle. Nor did I visit the house of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Or the mud pit that lies outside of the city that someone at my hotel in Bogota recommended, or the nearby beaches of Isla Blanca and Varu that the Colombians rave about. To be honest, Bogota had a vibe that I liked much more, despite being less flipflop friendly. Bogota felt like a place to live; Cartagena a place where all were there to visit de paseo and party hard. But Cartagena marked an inflection point, and the beginning of an adventure worth telling with all the salacious details that made it so fun. So stay tuned. . . .