Asymmetrical sunrise at sea aka boats make terrible tripods
Colón, Panamá to Cartagena, Colombia: 20 hours of seasick delirium, panoramic cloud impressionism, and an assault on my lifestyle du jour
I was able to hitch a ride through (deep breath) my aunt's company driver's colleague's friend who happened to be leaving in his fishing boat for Cartagena the night of my inquiry. What luck! A bit bittersweet because I had to leave quite suddenly and I'd miss my aunt who I was really starting to bond with. But I wasn't sure when the next opportunity would come along and I am on a limited schedule (a month to be in Chile).
When I got to the marina and stepped onto the boat, it was immediately apparent that the captain (who was about my father's age) and his girlfriend (who was my age) did not want me there. They were simply doing their friend a favor. A friend I had met that day. But it wasn't only the obscene number of degrees of separation that explained their unfriendliness. They were clearly from a different world. This was made obvious when Ruben (the aging captain with a model-esque girlfriend who could be his daughter- no judgment, just an observation) let out a malicious, maniacal laugh when I told him I had about $30 in cash. He asked me if I needed to shower in a way that said "you need to shower" not because I smelled bad or looked dirty, but because I was clearly a backpacker. They both carelessly talked down to me, completely shocked when I said I'd probably just find a hostel when I arrived. With wide, judging eyes they reminded me that I had to share a room with...other people, like I didn't fucking know what a hostel was. They actually gasped. And it wasn't with a kind curiosity; they gasped with full-blown, unmasked, pompous disgust. They might as well have spit on me. Ruben shook his head. "Con otras personas? Que no conoces? Esa, no es vida." With other people who you don't know? That isn't life. He continued to lecture me on how dangerous Colombia is, like all Latin American countries (a clueless opinion that shrinks to nothingness when compared to the countless stories I've come across praising Colombia as generally very safe and respectful) while I sat gritting my teeth, restraining my indignation. You think you know what life is? A nice hotel room with a private bath and a girlfriend half your age?! How would you know how dangerous Colombia is when you never leave your upper-crust bubble of Rolex watches and ridiculously shiny cars?! His demeanor didn't indicate a contentment with life. He was a self-entitled curmudgeon, brazenly disrespectful to his infantile girlfriend, and perpetually irritable and grumpy. I'd heard of people like this but only in movies or on TV. Those strange beings who genuinely believe their moral superiority rests on their wealth. But I'd never met them in person. Just when I thought this guy couldn´t possibly be more of a dick, he told me that I should wear smaller glasses. He was dead serious. That was it. The line had been crossed. You can insult my vagabondish lifestyle and I´ll bite my tongue, but insult my glasses and you are dead to me. Since I figured they were at least giving me a free ride (which I would later find out was untrue) I tried to be upbeat and just stay out of their way.
When we finally arrived to Cartagena, he dropped the bomb asking me how I was going to "contribute" to the boat. After suffering bouts of motion sickness coupled with the wonderful timing of excruciating menstrual cramps (and the added bonus of Ruben and his girlfriend's pretension), I was heartbroken. Contribute? He had never mentioned a "contribution" before and he knew I wasn't living on much. We settled on $250 (outrageous!) and I took a cab to a hostel where I frantically wrote a long, useless email to my aunt ranting about Ruben, which I want to publicly apologize for here. He was born in Colombia but spent most of his life in the U.S. Navy and had really only spent about a year in Colombia itself. At least my first impression of Colombians can't truly be found in this money-obsessed douche bag.
I was able to hitch a ride through (deep breath) my aunt's company driver's colleague's friend who happened to be leaving in his fishing boat for Cartagena the night of my inquiry. What luck! A bit bittersweet because I had to leave quite suddenly and I'd miss my aunt who I was really starting to bond with. But I wasn't sure when the next opportunity would come along and I am on a limited schedule (a month to be in Chile).
When I got to the marina and stepped onto the boat, it was immediately apparent that the captain (who was about my father's age) and his girlfriend (who was my age) did not want me there. They were simply doing their friend a favor. A friend I had met that day. But it wasn't only the obscene number of degrees of separation that explained their unfriendliness. They were clearly from a different world. This was made obvious when Ruben (the aging captain with a model-esque girlfriend who could be his daughter- no judgment, just an observation) let out a malicious, maniacal laugh when I told him I had about $30 in cash. He asked me if I needed to shower in a way that said "you need to shower" not because I smelled bad or looked dirty, but because I was clearly a backpacker. They both carelessly talked down to me, completely shocked when I said I'd probably just find a hostel when I arrived. With wide, judging eyes they reminded me that I had to share a room with...other people, like I didn't fucking know what a hostel was. They actually gasped. And it wasn't with a kind curiosity; they gasped with full-blown, unmasked, pompous disgust. They might as well have spit on me. Ruben shook his head. "Con otras personas? Que no conoces? Esa, no es vida." With other people who you don't know? That isn't life. He continued to lecture me on how dangerous Colombia is, like all Latin American countries (a clueless opinion that shrinks to nothingness when compared to the countless stories I've come across praising Colombia as generally very safe and respectful) while I sat gritting my teeth, restraining my indignation. You think you know what life is? A nice hotel room with a private bath and a girlfriend half your age?! How would you know how dangerous Colombia is when you never leave your upper-crust bubble of Rolex watches and ridiculously shiny cars?! His demeanor didn't indicate a contentment with life. He was a self-entitled curmudgeon, brazenly disrespectful to his infantile girlfriend, and perpetually irritable and grumpy. I'd heard of people like this but only in movies or on TV. Those strange beings who genuinely believe their moral superiority rests on their wealth. But I'd never met them in person. Just when I thought this guy couldn´t possibly be more of a dick, he told me that I should wear smaller glasses. He was dead serious. That was it. The line had been crossed. You can insult my vagabondish lifestyle and I´ll bite my tongue, but insult my glasses and you are dead to me. Since I figured they were at least giving me a free ride (which I would later find out was untrue) I tried to be upbeat and just stay out of their way.
When we finally arrived to Cartagena, he dropped the bomb asking me how I was going to "contribute" to the boat. After suffering bouts of motion sickness coupled with the wonderful timing of excruciating menstrual cramps (and the added bonus of Ruben and his girlfriend's pretension), I was heartbroken. Contribute? He had never mentioned a "contribution" before and he knew I wasn't living on much. We settled on $250 (outrageous!) and I took a cab to a hostel where I frantically wrote a long, useless email to my aunt ranting about Ruben, which I want to publicly apologize for here. He was born in Colombia but spent most of his life in the U.S. Navy and had really only spent about a year in Colombia itself. At least my first impression of Colombians can't truly be found in this money-obsessed douche bag.
I like money more than happiness and that makes me better than you
breakfastColombia! South America! It's good to be back on this continent. Now's a good time to jump back a bit. After leaving Nicaragua, Annie and I stayed with our fabulous CS host Giancarlo in San José, Costa Rica. After only a couple days there, Annie had to catch her flight back home. We had a last hoorah, sharing a giant beer neither of us could finish. After dropping her off at the airport and a much needed nap all day, I booked it to Panama City. Costa Rica, filthy rich with eco-tourism opportunities as it is, is too expensive for my budget right now. Since then, I've been moving solo once again until I meet another friend in Quito, Ecuador on November 6th. I get Colombia all to myself.
I kind of want to delete this post.
I kind of want to delete this post.
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