The Sweat Box - aka Cartagena

I am surprised to report that although Cartagena is suffering from what felt like at least 100% humidity (or is that rain?) we stayed here for four nights. I actually can't believe I survived that long but it would have been a shame to leave the beautiful city any sooner and hey they had dorm rooms, jewelry shops and restaurants with a/c. What more could I ask for outside of the ability to draw breath while wandering around the old town?

To give you a sense for how hot it is I have started with a photo showing you a shop keeper just trying to survive. This guy LIVES here and he's struggling. We passed three other employees outside this shop before we entered.  ALL were lying across benches like melted cheese, arms draped over their eyes. Only one took the time to look over at us as we passed by. Not one rose to actually sell us anything. Including this fine gent.  Point made but maybe if he would sell us something he could afford some a/c. It's a thought. 

Here's a sample of what the old city looks like. Stunning. Obviously Joan Wilder knew there were more reasons to be here, outside of searching for her sister with Michael Douglas.

The old city is surrounded by an old stone wall separating it from the port and the new areas of the city which I honestly didn't have any interest in seeing.

One downfall of this place is the incessant honking, mostly from cabbies but sometimes it seems regular citizens join in for the joy of making LOUD NOISES (like Steve Carell in Anchorman) for no apparent reason. I will admit to getting a mild case of turrets after a few days. I mean for GAWD's sake why can't they just trust me to flag them down when I DO need a lift?

In order to make my feelings clear, I should have just "borrowed" this sign, which  I found in one of the squares,  and walked around with it over my shoulder.    They clearly know it is an aggravating problem if they are making signs right?

The two main adventures available around the Cartagena area include...

ONE: Soaking in the bubbling mud from a nearby volcano.

Riiiggghhht

Okay so this doesn't just sound gross... BUT... I needed a creative way to wish my girl Kate"PooPoo" Roy a Happy 6th Birthday and this seemed like the perfect venue.

Imagine sitting in a 15' wide "bathtub" of warm gurgling mud, elbow to elbow with 10 other gringos and 3 Colombian men would want to "massage" you (for a fee) while another guy takes photos (for a fee) and later women try to clean you off in the nearby lagoon (for a fee).  I agreed to photos only.

Yarf-ville

Nikki kept laughing at me, due, she said, to the pained expression I had on my face the entire time.  "Are we done yet?"

TWO: Visit Playa Blanco via a 20 minute poorly organized boat ride for the day. I say poorly organized because once again (why am I still surprised by this after almost five months of repeated exposure?) we learned we had to pay an incremental "park tax" after we'd bought our boat tickets at the hostel... TO - GO - TO - THE - PARK ... Why don't they just include everything in the one ticket? I mean you can't opt out of paying the park tax but still go to the park? Hello? Okay breath... it must be the heat.

Then they had us wait almost two hours in the sun at the port waiting to leave with no explanation as to why or when we might do so. Lack of information is a killer for North Americans Nikki and I have decided. Every time we asked for a departure time we received the "we will go in five minutes" lie. We started to count out our raging outbursts using the helpful, one one thousand, two one thousand method. Sheer Torture.

Anyways, you can stay on the island as well if you want but it's a 'sleeping in hammocks arrangement' peppered with swarms of mosquitos at dusk. We took a pass, and just enjoyed a day in the surf before buying our bus tickets on to Santa Marta for the following afternoon. I say afternoon because we had to squeeze in one more trip to the ice cream shop for my final bowl of Lulo and Mora helado before heading further up the coast.

xox
b