Cartagena, Colombia.
Kara says:
So Colombia. Been here a week now and no kidnapping, no shoot-outs, not so much as a single offer of cocaine, all in all very anti-climatic. I was certain I had spotted a drug dealer across the road from our hotel (stood around his car, waiting, all day, doing nothing but making occasional contact with people who seemed to be customers), I had him under surveillance from my balcony but then he disappointingly turned out to be a car washer.
Cartagena, on the Corr-iiii-bi-on, mon. A whole new sea! That doesn't happen everyday. And i finally got to swim!!! In a clear, warm sea by a proper sand-coloured sandy beach. I have developed a new appreciation for beaches, I admit I used to take them for granted, avoid them even at times, but not anymore. Every Saturday morning when Karl gets up to surf he's under strict instructions to remind me of my beach craving and how hard they were to come by in this neck of the woods and insist I come up the coast with him. Only in summer though, obviously, I haven't completely lost the plot.
We out to an island (a Corr-iiii-bi-on aye-lond) just off the coast (walk to the pier, wait at the pier forever, get in the boat, wait for the boat to leave, 45 minutes later finally a beach - and i used to turn down Karl-chauffeured 5-star trips up the coast with coffee on the beach and a fry-up to follow!) for a fabulously relaxing day on the beach doing nothing. Went on on super-fast speed boaty thing with spray flying so high you couldn't actually see anything out the side. The uniform for boat drivers/captains/whatever seems to be a bare torso and a large gold medallion. Could be worse. It felt alot like Moreton actually, at Bulwer, until about an hour before we left when the hoards arrived on the tour boats. There's a little log police station on the beach and see photo of two police officers with one of Colombia's tougher beats. Also photos of me having lunch and beers and generally stressing out.
Cartagena is a beautiful colonial city, on the coast, surrouded by bays and thick walls to protect it from pirates (arr) due to being a major centre for storing loot from the new world before it was transported back to Spain and also the main centre in the americas for slave trading - first stop after west Africa. Sir Francis Drake made serious efforts to get his hands on some of the treasure (arr) apparently. The old town is really well preserved and although there are plenty of tourists and souvenir stalls it still feels like a real town with lots of locals working and living here. Wandering around in the evening looking for dinner there's a real european feel - like sauntering around Rome of an evening in the middle of summer. But there's also a really strong Afro-Caribbean influence in the bright colours, the music and dance (africany drum rhythms with violent jiggling and wiggling and thrusting) and the penchant for carrying things on their heads.
We went to a Spanish Inquisition museum (the general jist of which was "it wasn't all THAT bad", everyone used to torture each other back then) and saw lots of nasty ways to die. Our favourite was a device that slowly crushes your head (pressure from chin to top of skull) with a lovely description of how it works - teeth sockets are the first thing to collapse, followed by jaw, and things end around about the time your brain sqeezes out through your eye sockets. See photo of me with the far more humane guillotine and the Grim Reaper (there were several of him around the museum).
Other photos of Cartagena generally, a sort of sunsetty thing from our hotel, Karl camoflaged against the orange wall (at least that was his excuse for the t-shirt), Karl (the amazing human German-restaurant-detector) enjoys a weissbier before tucking into a plate of sausages, local police officer gets his prioities right - futbol first, obviously. And me at the fort overlooking the town for further protection against pirates (arr). The fort, not me.
So Colombia. Been here a week now and no kidnapping, no shoot-outs, not so much as a single offer of cocaine, all in all very anti-climatic. I was certain I had spotted a drug dealer across the road from our hotel (stood around his car, waiting, all day, doing nothing but making occasional contact with people who seemed to be customers), I had him under surveillance from my balcony but then he disappointingly turned out to be a car washer.
Cartagena, on the Corr-iiii-bi-on, mon. A whole new sea! That doesn't happen everyday. And i finally got to swim!!! In a clear, warm sea by a proper sand-coloured sandy beach. I have developed a new appreciation for beaches, I admit I used to take them for granted, avoid them even at times, but not anymore. Every Saturday morning when Karl gets up to surf he's under strict instructions to remind me of my beach craving and how hard they were to come by in this neck of the woods and insist I come up the coast with him. Only in summer though, obviously, I haven't completely lost the plot.
We out to an island (a Corr-iiii-bi-on aye-lond) just off the coast (walk to the pier, wait at the pier forever, get in the boat, wait for the boat to leave, 45 minutes later finally a beach - and i used to turn down Karl-chauffeured 5-star trips up the coast with coffee on the beach and a fry-up to follow!) for a fabulously relaxing day on the beach doing nothing. Went on on super-fast speed boaty thing with spray flying so high you couldn't actually see anything out the side. The uniform for boat drivers/captains/whatever seems to be a bare torso and a large gold medallion. Could be worse. It felt alot like Moreton actually, at Bulwer, until about an hour before we left when the hoards arrived on the tour boats. There's a little log police station on the beach and see photo of two police officers with one of Colombia's tougher beats. Also photos of me having lunch and beers and generally stressing out.
Cartagena is a beautiful colonial city, on the coast, surrouded by bays and thick walls to protect it from pirates (arr) due to being a major centre for storing loot from the new world before it was transported back to Spain and also the main centre in the americas for slave trading - first stop after west Africa. Sir Francis Drake made serious efforts to get his hands on some of the treasure (arr) apparently. The old town is really well preserved and although there are plenty of tourists and souvenir stalls it still feels like a real town with lots of locals working and living here. Wandering around in the evening looking for dinner there's a real european feel - like sauntering around Rome of an evening in the middle of summer. But there's also a really strong Afro-Caribbean influence in the bright colours, the music and dance (africany drum rhythms with violent jiggling and wiggling and thrusting) and the penchant for carrying things on their heads.
We went to a Spanish Inquisition museum (the general jist of which was "it wasn't all THAT bad", everyone used to torture each other back then) and saw lots of nasty ways to die. Our favourite was a device that slowly crushes your head (pressure from chin to top of skull) with a lovely description of how it works - teeth sockets are the first thing to collapse, followed by jaw, and things end around about the time your brain sqeezes out through your eye sockets. See photo of me with the far more humane guillotine and the Grim Reaper (there were several of him around the museum).
Other photos of Cartagena generally, a sort of sunsetty thing from our hotel, Karl camoflaged against the orange wall (at least that was his excuse for the t-shirt), Karl (the amazing human German-restaurant-detector) enjoys a weissbier before tucking into a plate of sausages, local police officer gets his prioities right - futbol first, obviously. And me at the fort overlooking the town for further protection against pirates (arr). The fort, not me.
Comments
Post a Comment