Manifest Destino: Cartagena, Colombia

Even your mustache sweats in Cartagena. Our cleaning lady decided to get in the fun, even asking us to send her this picture for her facebook page.

I like the word sultry. I used to think that made me a pervert, but now, I'm not so sure.

Hot, verging on sweltering, moist, wet and loaded with a nasty drainage system, the streets of Cartagena are by definition, sultry. They move, languid with people and unchanneled, undrained rain water. Most of the city is a chaotic miasma of selling (perhaps hustling is a more apt word), shouting and honking; a cacophony of noises that leaves the unaccustomed reeling. This is the hidden beauty of a city that, in relation to other hubs of Colombian big city life, doesn't fall prey to modernity or the structure and order which that accompanies.

The famous beauty, however, which makes Cartagena the setting of classics such as Romancing The Stone not to mention a destination for cruisers, Americans and tourist from the more affluent walks of life is its walls. A sacked city, one that has been burned, raided, pillaged, destroyed and then done all over again countless times. We read somewhere that the gold, silver and precious metals Spain mined (either from the people or the earth) in South America financed the empire for two centuries. These metals weren't left in SA, but rather shipped across an ocean rife with pirating and Cartagena was often times the exit point to Spain, thus a simple target for pirates, as well as enemies. Eventually they fortified, erecting two sets of walls, one inner and one outter. (1) Thankfully this was either expertly done or by the time of its completion Spain was beginning to run out of its financing, because today, centuries after it was finished, the wall is still relatively in tact, standing tall and welcoming tourist to a unique and vibrant city.

The walls surrounding the inner city.

I'm rambling, so let me get to the point. We saw a castle, we went to a rumba club, we drank Ron, we stood outside of churches (Kim helped sponsor Catholicism by paying $10 for a tour; Beth and I abstained, for moral and monetary reasons), walked the walls, drank an overpriced beer at casa de la cereza, but at sunset and atop the wall--it was worth it, ate shrimp cocktail from vendors on the street (delicious, with champagne--that's what the bottle said at least--based cocktail sauce), singlhandely destroyed trees of zapote and maracuya by drinking approximately ten juices (fresh and the best in SA) a day, and most entertainingly braved the streets of the outter wall during and after the many storms, which left us wading through (2) the streets in knee high rivers of street scum, brackish water--it was, for lack of a better word, awesome. As was Cartagena.

The imprenable fortress, with a statue out front of an English pirate, who may or may not have sacked and taken the fortrees. Statues in South america are mostly bewildering.

Said fortress or castle, was dark, and moist in the interior, even a bit creepy, kind of like Beth in this photo, or when she's had too much caffeine.

From there we headed to Panama city via plane, for the last two weeks. Thus ending South America on the perfect chord, with the most friendly country and with a purely South American city. Ciao South America, we will miss you.

(1) these two sets are now no more than the American equivalent of train tracks, dividing rich from poor in a clearly delineated fashion with no questions as to where the respective parties reside. The inner wall is an immaculate, well policed, gentrified haven for tourist, the rich and (during the day) those that serve them. The outter wall is as I said, beautifully chaotic, but absolutely filthy and filled with not only rainwater, but trash and dirt and an abundance of degeneratees who can't or choose not to live off of tourism. [note: the city is MUCH larger than this portion now. It's forty minutes from the bus terminal to the beginning of the outter wall. But, a) this is where we stayed, hence our experience, b) the only affluent area we encountered in the city, besides a few high-rise condos across an isthmus from us, which is sheltered in its own right and c) outside of going to a Colombian League Baseball game (tickets paid for by the generous and outstanding Justin Segal of UCSB and Cartagena Tigre fame) and the bus terminal there is no real tourist draw anywhere else.]
(2) my favorite parts of having to Wade through each street, in order of favoritism:
A) leaving Kim at a juice stand at the start of a storm so she could stay dry. Returning five minutes later and finding her on an island, as the street around her had flooded. She looked bewildered and a bit frightened, like kids who are too young to understand Santa, but their parents take them to the mall to sit on his lap anyway, a big fat stranger dressed all in red with a massive beard. Stupifying and scary indeed.
B) the people who confusingly began setting up boards across the roads as it began to rain, then brilliantly began charging tolls as the water rose.
C) the carts. Same idea as B, but in your own little cart. Mainly used for busier roads which still required traffic to pass.
D) Kim reaching a curb, getting one problem free leg out of the water, then lifting her other foot towards safety and BAM losing her sandle, which then began floating away. This rceived a HUGe applaud of laughter from not only myself, but the grounp of men standing under the nearest awning waiting for the ran to die down.

Note on Rumba: as was explained to us, Rumba is a poor mans Salsa. Or I think it was Rumba, it's what we saw at the club in Cartagena. It's a bit like Forrest Gump doing Elvis, but faster and usually with two parties involved, though not always. I think it is pretty to watch, though there seems to be a dissenting opinion. I also think I could do it or somewhat dance it, which means the degree of difficulty, not to mention the necessity to be in unision with the music are essentially non-existent.