"Family" "Vacation" in Cartagena

Sunday afternoon, I arrived in Cartagena, a city of about 1 million people that is the main tourist destination for wealthy Colombians and most international tourists. Its main attraction is the well preserved colonial architecture that’s contained in its charming old town area. But, as it’s popular and now is high season, it’s a bit of a scene. I arrived sans reservations (not highly recommended strategy in Lonely Planet, but what else is new), and asked at the tourist desk if it was possible arrange a short-term homestay. I was eager to follow up on the knowledge I’d gained of Colombian families from the movie El Paseo last week and force more conversation in Spanish. No such luck; I was handed a map and told to go to the neighborhood of Getsemani. Lonely Planet suggested this area too as most of the hostels are there, but Sandra from Hotel Platypus had written down a place she liked that was further out on the peninsula on Boca Grande. Decisions, decisions. I decide that since everyone on my flight is going to Getsemani, I might as well split a cab with someone. I see a guy with a giant backpack getting into a cab, so I say, “Are you going to Getsemani?” He stares at me hard and says, “No, I’m going to Boca Grande.” “Oh, alright. Want to split a cab? Me too.” Still staring at me, he sort of nods, and given that I’ve pretty much already jumped in, he has little choice. I didn’t consider that this being Colombia, there might be stories of women pretending to be working solo and slipping drugs to guys in taxis and stealing all their money. Instead, I just think the guy’s a little strange calling his mom every 5 minutes to give her an update about our location. Always nice to learn what vibes you really give off!

Turns out Camilo is here for a week of family vacation, and intends to use the time to tell his parents that he’s not moving home as anticipated, but rather staying in Bogota and hoping to head to Spain for school. He’s quit his job, recently broken up with a girlfriend, and a little disillusioned with the world. What better time to meet a gringa loca blowing through Colombia? He invites me to join his family as they go sightseeing that evening. The sociologist in me jumps at the offer.

Shoe-da, coulda, woulda

So I go from a party of one to a fiesta of nine Sunday afternoon. We fill two cabs to get down to the “zapatos”, a sculpture of two shoes that is a symbol of Cartagena. Camilo’s dad has his camera bag around his neck and is barking out orders for different permutations of the family to pose. I manage to wrestle to camera away from him for a few shots so that he too can pose. We then take a detour into a mall for a bit to escape the heat. Three-year-old Ana spies a booth selling watches and convinces her dad to buy her one with hello kitty on it. We then walk over to the castle, the largest that the Spanish built in Latin America, but don’t actually pay to go in, instead just take our pictures in front of it. Camilo’s family insists that I get in for several of the photos. I’m convinced that when they look at them in five years, they’ll have no recollection of who the blondie is. There are shots from the bay of me in between Camilo and his dad, others of me with his sisters, and then full family shots. And of course, they are all on facebook now. I can’t help drawing comparisons to El Paseo and laughing to myself (not really sure how to translate “inside joke”, so I don’t try).

Aren't we cute?  In front of the castle

After a long walk through the cobbled streets of the old part of town and dinner, they drop me off at my hotel. I’d greeted them all with handshakes that afternoon, but now feel we’ve worked out way up to the obligatory kiss on the cheek, so I do the rounds. They say, See you tomorrow! And leave me standing there, still slightly surprised at how quickly I’ve been adopted into the family. Only Ana maintains her suspicions.

Yesterday after a run and some fresh juice, I call la familia to see what we’re doing. My calls go unanswered! I am hurt; I thought we had a truly special connection. So I set off for old town on my own, to see the plazas in the day and potentially pay the entrance fee to the castle. The heat is amazing; I am sweating buckets within a few minutes and find myself ducking into designer stores here and there to get a break. Around lunch time I arrive in leafy Bolizar Plaza. I had noticed a lot of people in the area eating lunch out of Styrofoam boxes, and saw guys with plastic bags full of them that looked like they were selling them, and now I see the cart where they all originate. I wander over to get a better look at what they’ve got. A professor of history is getting his lunch at the moment, explains the offerings to me, and invites me to dine with him in the park (to explore the old city, he says, one must bring their plazaporte (passport in Spanish is passaporte.  Well done, sir)). He’s been living in Cartagena for thirty years and has written two books on the city, including one, I later find out, that has “scientific proof” for the existence of ghosts. He takes me through the gold museum for a very thorough understanding of the cultures of local indigenous groups, and then we take a walk through the old town. I learn that three American presidents and Condoleeza Rice have been to Cartagenas, see where Marlo Brandon smoked marijuana when they were filming “Burn!” in 1969, and where Bill Gates stayed, as well a more about the history; the waves go parallel to the coast in front of the old city walls because there are underwater walls built to wreck attacking ships, how during the inquisition a woman could be killed for speaking to a man other than her husband after dark, unless she had bars on her window which protected her chastity (you can imagine the faces I’m making at this point), and a lot about the architecture from different periods. “Prof” (as many greeted my companion on the street) and I spent about three hours together, stopping twice to buy plastic shot glasses full of tinto (strong black coffee) from guys that kept it in a thermos on a cart, and then I decided to peel off. But I have to wonder, does this happen in the U.S.? Do we adopt strangers spontaneously and show them around? Here people are anxiously for me to like, see, and understand Cartagena, and are willing to invest their own time in ensuring that my experience is positive. It’s not what I expected, but it’s certainly been a nice window into the lives of various Colombians, which I certainly find fun and rewarding.

Again, it’s these types of interactions that also point out the holes in my Spanish. I don’t have the little words that evidently form the basis of my extremely evolved and sophisticated modes of communication and humor: weird, awkward, riiiiight, really(?). Also 100% of the jokes that I made on Sunday went unrecognized (even when I introduced what I was saying by saying, there is a joke about that. . . ). Ouch. (another word I don’t have). Yesterday, when I eventually DID make contact with the family and joined them for an evening stroll around the harbor and lagoon, I tried harder. Camilo had outed me by telling them all that I’d seen El Paseo and thought it resembled their family (not exactly a compliment, as you can imagine). Luckily, they took that in stride and as a result insisted that we take even MORE pictures together. My favorite is one where we’re all standing on little pier in the lagoon and I’m in the middle with my arms outstretched in front and a super excited expression on my face. They said if I come back next year I can even stay in the apartment with them. So for all that I want to milk the situation for humor, they are unbelievably warm and a lot of fun to spend time with after a few days of solitude.

She only looks cute and innocent!

Ana, meanwhile, insisted that we weren’t friends. But on the walk, we passed an amusement party and she really wanted to go in. Camilo said, Ana, I want to go to, but it costs money and I don’t have any. She’s quiet for a second and then says, “Maria, have you seen my hello kitty watch?” I admire it. Meanwhile, she turns to Camilo and whispers, “does Maria have money?” Sneaky, especially for such a young age! I felt so used. If only I could make a joke about it. . . .

Back to the beach--don't hate the playa, hate the game (playa=beach in Espanol :)