Que vaina bucana...

"Begone pissers, we don't want you here. Get educated."

(well, it rhymes in Spanish...)



Cartagena, Colombia

Okay I feel like after my last post, I have to write this absolutely warranted, more optimistic follow-up. Lovely, fortressed, hot and humid, Cartagena. The former slave trading post reminds me of Brazil. Not just in racial distribution and year-round summers, but in the warm attitude of its people. I complimented a cathedral janitor on his paper hat after which he promptly insisted I keep it. It was broken and tattered and made of the same material used to make cereal boxes and I cherished the blessing under that beating sun until I gave it to the jovial taxi driver who listened attentively to my story of recent maritime distress and who happily accepted my token of gratitude for his empathizing ears.* The open friendliness I encountered in Cartagena completely warded off the bad memory of Ruben aka Satan incarnate. Two giggling adolescent girls noticed me looking at my map and asked if I was lost. A man in the street who looked himself in a hurry was intent to help me find a public bathroom so I could blow my nose. There was no one I couldn't easily approach and no one seemed to feel any hesitance in approaching me, usually curious of my origins and my story and enthusiastically offering local knowledge or in one case a free cup of tinto(iced tea).



*I might have gotten carried away in using zero discretion with whom I regaled my horrific experience at sea (since clearly I'm still seething about it), but everyone, from the taxi driver to the hostel receptionist expressed sincere support and affirmed my hopes that Ruben's behavior is not at all typical of Colombians. Very much the opposite.

The paper hat I cherished for 5 hours before passing the love to another deserving soul



characteristic Spanish colonial architecture (for you Kate, my favorite Spanish architecture-phile)

Another Brazil parallel! Pan de queso. Fluffy, cheesy with the perfect amount of crisp. I was first introduced to PdQ in Rio de Janeiro last year and assumed they were unique to Brazil, but to my delight they also fancy jumping borders. What a lovely surprise! Like running into an old friend. Could anthropomorphizing food be a symptom of travel loneliness? Nah.

I stayed with a humble family in the outskirts of town who cemented my already adoring impression of Colombians. Before taking off for Bogota, my host mother prepared some arepas (cheese and chicken-stuffed fried tortilla patties) for my journey and after goodbye kisses and hugs they told me to come back next year when construction on the house is finished. Three days in my first city in this giant country and I'm already smitten with the place.



Stay tuned for more of the safest country in Latin America (seriously)...