We've prolonged and prolonged, spent months in countries we'd only planned weeks for but after over six months on the road, our worldwide itinerary ultimately dictating, the time finally came to say goodbye to the beautiful South America, the charming colonial city of Cartagena our last stop. Like so many other places we've visited, this place has a long and interesting history, its colonization dating back to the 1500s!
First up for us was the obligatory explore of the old town, which sits majestically on a peninsula, encircled by a large stone wall built by the Spanish to ward off pirates and the like. The first of a number of visits, this one was probably the best. The shops and restaurants were almost all closed and even some of the street vendors had taken the day off, a by-product of the election weekend. The only place that was buzzing with life was the main plaza, which had been transformed into a voting area, lined with the ever-present Colombian army and their heavy-duty firearms. But it was the empty streets where, for us, the real Cartagena emerged. Splashes of vibrant colour around every corner, large colonial homes with heavy wooden doors adorned with intricate wrought knockers. We spent hours wandering along the cobblestones, taking respite from the fierce Caribbean humidity under blooming bougainvillea or in green leafy plazas. I felt like a character from Love in the Time of Cholera, which I'd finished reading not long before. With no people around it was like taking a step back in time. In saying that, the election brought us luck. The next couple of times we visited it was hard to avoid the barrage of street vendors, or the countless restaurant menus that were shoved in our faces. While this somewhat compromises the magic o f the place, the way history has been preserved is a marvel.
Colombia’s stunning coastline had whet our appetites for the beach. After taking in the old town, however, we soon discovered that although conveniently positioned Cartagena doesn’t boast anything special on the beach front. Thankfully for us, a short boat ride away was Playa Blanca (‘White Beach’). We decided that instead of just going for an afternoon visit we’d trade the hostel for a night on the beach in a hammock. As it would turn out, the following 24 hours weren’t exactly as we’d hoped. We organised a tour through our hostel, which was to take us for a cruise via the Rosario Islands to Playa Blanca. Instructed to arrive sharply at 8am, we ended up sitting on the boat for over an hour before the engine finally started. It was at this point we had the pleasure of meeting the cruise steward, Santiago, who spent the first 20 minutes awkwardly singling out passengers, asking where they were from with the strict requirement that the whole boat cheer for each represented country. The cringe factor only got worse when Santiago donned his DJ hat, our boat transforming into something like one of those tacky party buses that crawl the city streets on Saturday nights. Santiago would frequently interrupt the beats with deep-voiced Richard Mercer-esque commentary, naming the islands we passed. I definitely needed the scheduled intermission at an aquarium on one of the islands. There we enjoyed a dolphin show and another consisting of nurse sharks that had been trained to heave themselves completely out of the water and onto a platform for a feeding frenzy.
The slightly bizarre nurse shark show
By the time we got to Playa Blanca it was lunchtime and we were told the boat would return to the mainland at 3pm. Just as we were piling onto the barge that was to transfer us from our moored boat to the beach, the heavens opened in a big way. With the thought of having endured Santiago’s disco boat for only a couple of hours of beach time in torrential rain, we were somewhat happy we’d decided to stay the night. And it was just beautiful. The sand lived up to the beach’s name – white as white could be – and the water was a clear twinkling sheet of different shades of blue, its beauty only accentuated by yet another amazing Caribbean sunset.
Playa Blanca
Apart from being absolutely ravaged by mosquitoes that evening, Playa Blanca had one major downside: the beach vendors. These people are out of control, and that’s saying a lot in South America. Massages, necklaces, fruit, seafood – you name it, they’d try it on you. I’ve never been so hassled and hounded in the space of 24 hours in my life, it was exhausting! ‘Lady, lady, you want massage? Necklace?’, followed by a comment about needing the money to feed children. The worst was trying to eat my lunch while suffering at the hands of ‘Mary’ who insisted I sample her skills in the art of massage, the whole while pummeling at my shoulders. Not wanting her to think I'd succumbed to her barraging, regretably I said: ‘maybe later’, which, on this continent is the widely understood euphemism for: ‘I’m not interested, please leave me alone’. To Mary, however, I was a sure sale. She followed me along the beach and sat, waiting on the shoreline for a good half an hour for me to get out of the water and return to my towel, harassing me until I finally caved. Accepting her offer was my second mistake because, following the massage came ten minutes of her insisting I pay her more than what was agreed. Multiply this one experience by ten similar instances and you have Playa Blanca! I was first on board the boat back to Cartagena when it arrived the following day and I’ll admit, I was even a little relieved to see Santiago again.
A scrum of beach vendors surrounding an incoming boat
With one full day left in South America there was a final activity on the agenda: the Volcán El Totumo, a mud volcano about 60 kilometres outside of Cartagena. About 20 metres high and over two kilometres deep underground (or so we were told), this place is just a sludgy pit of fun, every child's dream! So thick you can hardly move, your only choice is to bob like a floating apple while being maneuvered around the four-or-so square metres by the same guys who treat you to a full body mud massage on entry. We looked supernatural by the end of it all. And they say that mud has therapeutic qualities, well I must have been glowing for a week after this treatment. But how were we to get all that mud off, surely we weren’t expected to sit on the bus all the way back to our hostels, caked from head to toe? Of course not! Most conveniently there was a wash down service set up in the nearby lagoon. There was, however, a little surprise attached. The wash down ladies were rather forward in ripping off your swimmers, leaving you to float with fellow tourists in the nud while they rinsed them of mud. You’d think this would be slightly awkward, surrounded by naked strangers you were about to share a bus ride back with, but luckily that particular nudist lagoon was a nice shade of murky brown, covering all the important bits. I wont say it didn’t catch me a little off guard though.
So our time in South America had come to an end and although we didn’t know it yet, we only had a few hours before we’d endure the security gauntlet at the Cartagena airport: finger printing, full body x-ray and, for me, a bag search – apparently they were certain I was carrying ethanol and even I was disappointed when they didn’t find anything remotely resembling it, considering they’d cleared my backpack of every item. So what does one do with their last hour in South America? Well we thought it appropriate to say goodbye in style. For us it was a final Caipirinha cocktail at sunset at the trendy ‘Café del Mar’, reminiscing about the past amazing six months.
Hasta luego sudamerica!
The view of the old town from Cafe del Mar
One last drink with our friends at Cafe del Mar
No comments:
Post a Comment