Cartagena

On return from Ciudad Perdida I suddenly realised I had been in Colombia a month and have grossly overspent and understudied, so I’ve made plans to head down to Ecuador stat for cheaper living and Spanish classes. This means my time in Cartagena was scandalously short, only leaving two nights for Colombia’s top tourist stop.

To be honest, Cartagena is beautiful but in my view a little overrated. My stay here was different because there was a huge biology conference on, so all hostels were flooded with Colombian postgrads as opposed to the usual gringo crowd. The famous Media Luna hostel, host to infamous rooftop parties and 160 beds ready for rum-rumbled (and generally Australian) heads, was a sore disappointment – too many patrons means they’ve taken the laid-‘back’ out of ‘backpacker’ and turned it into a brothel for rules and regulations. As usual, the gang saved the day and our Wednesday night ended on Thursday morning with many new mates and matching hangovers. Special mention goes to my fabulous roomies Juan and Pedro (I’m in Spanish name heaven over here, so many potential first-born-son ideas) and the Yorkshire boyos who I can’t believe have been going this hard for a year.

Cartagena is a weird collection of contradictions, it’s like nowhere I’ve ever been before. The strange juxtaposition of tropical palm trees, colonial European architecture complete with ornate churches and cobbled streets, silver sky rises reflecting the sun off the murky, warm sea is just generally weird.

The two days I had in the city were well spent wandering (read: getting lost) in Old Town, a little snippet of Europe enclosed in big colonial walls. The cannons lining the parapets and the grey Caribbean just beyond them had me dreaming of Orlando and Keira. Iced coconuts from friendly toothless old dudes, some awesome modern art, yet another Museo del Oro, ice cream ice cream ice cream (lactose intolerance pales in the face of 40 degree heat), street dancers, sunset cocktails with my Spanish guardian angel Paula, sickly sweet coconut cookie experiments and late night strolls under romantic Christmas lights were all squeezed in before my flight to Calí tonight.

Tourism in Cartagena was different from elsewhere I’ve been in Colombia thus far. As Lonely Planet’s number 1 recommendation, there were generally a lot more foreigners, particularly wealthy Americans and Europeans. Fancy hotels and posh boutique shops were commonplace, restaurants are ‘gourmet’, more people speak English.

Unfortunately, my visit here was marred by the warnings I’ve had from other travellers about how dangerous it can be. Despite its cutesey colonial appearance, I’ve heard so many stories about gringos getting robbed at gunpoint or knifepoint in the city that a few people even advised me to skip it altogether. I felt totally safe while I was there, but it did put a little tint on my time; all the friendly people who wanted to chat to me were potential thieves, I didn’t take anything valuable out with me, didn’t want to walk places solo, locked up everything all the time and just had to have safety at the back (or front) of my mind all the time. Of course it’s better to be safe than sorry, but it’s just a shame that the reputation of such a beautiful place can be so negative. I would advise no one to let scary stories about bad people put you off visiting somewhere like Cartagena. Just don’t be an idiot and know that shit happens.
^wise words someone should put that on a motivational poster

Just wanna give two quick shoutouts here: to my gorgeous goddess Claude who became a Grown Up Girl this week, can’t wait to celebrate your 21st in private (wink wink) when we reunite next year, and to my hugely talented sister who delivered her farewell address as head girl 2014 to over a thousand people in Sydney yesterday. I wish I was one of those thousand cheering for you Mia, you were keen in 2014 and we’re all heaps proud of you.

Froyo and fruit hats,

PT