Siempre he dicho que uno envejece más rápido en los retratos que en la vida real.
– Colombian author and Nobel Prize Winner Gabriel García Márquez
Domingo
Panama was a nice starter, but I was ready for Colombia. After a shared airport taxi with a salon owner from Maryland, I was at the modern Cartagena Hampton Inn situated in the heart of the Bocagrande neighborhood, just mere steps from the north facing Playa Bocagrande. There I met Scuba Steve.
View of Cartagena from Convento de la Popa
This represented another jaunt in a string of shared treks. At the University of Tulsa, we helped build foundations for homes in Guatemala that later withstood the onslaught of mudslides. Last summer as a group of seven, we cycled across southern Belgium. Pepper and Scuba Steve both visited me in Peru when I volunteered with the Christian Brothers. Likewise, when he volunteered with the Capuchins in Papua New Guinea, Pepper and I visited him. Needless to say, he is up for a trip.
Cartagena de Indias, situated along the northern coast of Colombia, itself located on the northern segment of South America, was a vital Spanish port. Founded in 1533, this port shipped natural resources and South American booty back to Spain. The French, English, and even pirate ships attacked this strategical port. Yet the Spanish cleverly built fortresses to fend them off. It was successful most of the time. The French and English did finagle control a few times. The historical presence provided a foundation to Cartagena’s burgeoning tourist industry and livelihood. As Colombia currently sheds the black eye of the decades long conflict with the FARC, the flavor that is Colombia has drawn travelers and industries alike and Cartagena has been one of the main attractions.
Vivid Old Town Cartagena
After a brief nap, Scuba Steve and I headed to the colorful Old Town supported by a consistent northern breeze. The narrow roads were bordered by brightly dyed facades of colonial homes and buildings. We weren’t alone. On this extended Saint Joseph’s holiday weekend, thousands of wanderers roamed the same venerable pathways and established murallas. Interestingly enough, Cartagena is a favored spot to an eclectic mix of visitors from parts of Latin America, Europe, and North America. The Old Town was a fashionable place to be.
Sunset from Cafe Del Mar
Lunes
The next morning, our Islas del Rosario tour scheduled to pick us up between 6:15 and 6:45. My experience in Latin America meant that would be somewhere between 6:55 and 7:30. Much to my astonishment and Steve’s chagrin over a lazy breakfast, our guide Arthur pulled up at 6:10. He had waited for 10 minutes already. That pokes a hole in my conventional knowledge of Latin American timeliness.
This was without doubt the most eclectic and diverse group of tourists. There was a smattering of ages, homelands, professions, and personalities. There were two 20 something Ecuadorian guys from Guayaquil; a middle-aged couple from Cartagena, a quiet single Ukrainian woman who claimed to come to Colombia once a year; two younger girls from Mexico and the Dominican Republic pounding beers at 7:30 at the back of the bus; a young reserved German couple at the front; a North Carolina realtor couple. One a 60 something overweight, proud land developer and his surgically enhanced realtor wife; a pair of friends from Pamplona, Spain; a reticent American couple; and two New Jersey friends.
We traveled by bus for an hour to Isla Barú where we boarded two outrigger boats and departed swiftly to Isla Grande, Playa Blanca, and Playa Cholón.
Hundreds of meters off shore of Isla Grande, the boat set anchor, we entered the water over healthy and dead sections of coral reef with aquarium quality fish swimming around the healthy portions. One guide returned to the beach fishing . . . for a solo Spanish girl’s phone number.
Coral off of Isla Grande
Surfacing off of Isla Grande
The tour continued to Playa Cholón, the party beach replete with two-speed boats weathered down pumping Reggaeton off of the beach. The scantily clad girls danced happily on one boat while the guys clutched their cans of Club Colombia on the other. Despite our diversity, our group never revealed itself as a wild one, other than the Mexican girl downing beers for breakfast. Arthur questioned us whether or not we wanted to spend time on the spit of sand that is Playa Fiesta, but in reality, it was a requirement. The boats stop so the purveyors on this pitch of sun-drenched sand provide tourists who overpay for beer and lobsters while guides get a little kickback.
Our stay was brief, but Steve and I chatted up the unique pairing of New Jersey friends. Anna was actually a seasoned solo traveler and accountant born in Israel and her friend, whose name Steve and I never actually caught, was a delivery driver in the Bronx. They were a juxtaposition of travel savvy. She had been around the world and carried an aura of coolness, he on the other hand was awe-struck by . . . basically everything, and we got along with them well.
The chilled out sister to Playa Cholón was Isla Blanca. There we lazed on the beach. I admired lost friends, the sun and warmth, vital elements missing the last four months in the Midwest. While drinking my Coco Loco (a mix of young coconut water and rum), two touts approached. The first woman approached me and said, “Te pareces muy estresado amor. Necesitas un masaje” just as her friend repeated verbatim the same line to Scuba Steve and our unknown named Jersey friend (for now we’ll call him Dan). I mentioned to her that both of them had just said the same thing, so she changed it and replaced love with cutie. It felt more genuine at that point.
She leisurely sauntered behind me in the midday sun and started rubbing my shoulders. “¡Demasiado tenso amor!” At which point she grabbed my head and quickly gave it a quick turn to the right and my neck popped. If I had been in an episode of Narcos, I would have been one of the extras that got whacked and whose body went limp without uttering a single word. I’ll passed on the massage and happily accepted another Coco Loco.
We returned to Isla Barú through choppy surf to a lunch provided on a shaky second floor dining area overlooking the throngs of people fêting Saint Joseph’s Day at the beach. Hannah, “Dan”, Steve, and I agreed to meet up for rum flights and steak at a restaurant close to our hotels. Back in Bocagrande, we finished the day off with a fantastic steak and rum flight at Carbon de Palo.
There is one place I would highly encourage you NOT to dine. That would be the restaurant El Muelle at the end of the Bocagrande Beach. Especially if they claim to catch their lobsters right off of the pier. It’s not that we ate there. Steve and I had walked down to the end of the beach. As the sun set, we noticed a guy scamper over the massive black boulders serving as the pier. He briskly looked to his left and then to his right, reach down to untie his shorts, and in one fluid motion, popped a squat. Less than a minute later, another guy completed the aforementioned act, just ten feet away. At that point, we headed the other direction, further up wind.
Martes
Prior to our arrival, there was little commitment to planning. Tuesday’s goal? Visit the UNESCO site Castillo San Felipe de Barajas. Other than that, no real plans. Once we flagged down the part-time engineering student, part-time taxi driver, Sebastián calmly offered to drive us to the most noteworthy sites in town. We deliberated briefly and then eagerly agreed to tour the sites in his air-conditioned taxi. We climbed the hill up to Convento de la Popa and explored the convent overlooking the Old Town and the panoramic views provided from every direction.
Convento de la Popa Looking over Cartagena
The highlight of this afternoon, other than seeing through Steve’s sweaty shirt in the tropical heat, was our visit to the strategically located Castillo San Felipe de Barajas overlooking Cartagena’s port. This castle had served as protection to the city. Just as impressive as the Spanish ingenuity and architecture was all the Instagram and Snapchat worthy poses people struck. I tried my best to match their modeling prowess, but there is much lacking. The most ridiculous was the couple’s “spontaneous” kiss right on the corner of the upper level with the Colombian flag perfectly placed over their shoulders blowing in the wind. It only took 90 seconds to get that shot so we could pass.
Miércoles
Wednesday arrived and signaled our departures. Scuba Steve flew to Atlanta. My return flight included a ten-hour layover in Bogota.
Ideal.
Bogota from Cerro Monserrate
In general, I am not a big fan of art, but I do really like one artist in particular and he is from Colombia. The work of Colombian artist Fernando Botero is exceptional. He is originally from Medellín, but some of his work is on display at Donación de Botero in La Candelaria.
I disembarked the plane and hailed a taxi. Actually he hailed me and lead me to the parking lot, past the queue of taxis outside the terminal. What caught me off guard was not his cutting the line, but the sheer beauty of Bogotá. In my experience, I would rarely describe Latin American capitals as beautiful (i.e. Lima and La Paz), but the Cerros Orientales framed the city well and left me intrigued.
After perusing Botero’s work, I set out on foot under partly cloudy skies to the base of Cerro Monserrate. I rode the funicular up to Sanctuary and 360 degree views of the expanse that is Bogota. I concluded my layover with steak and conversations at the multi-floored restaurant Andrés D.C. In addition to the second best steak in Colombia, they created the most colorful and comprehensive menu I have ever seen. This menu could serve as a Spanish textbook for at least a semester.
Four days in Cartagena, Bogota, and Colombia was compressed, but captivated my attention and left me wanting more.
