A few miscellaneous observations before I talk about my first day in Cartagena:
Felipe loved talking about conspiracy theories (especially 9/11) and words that had double meanings depending on the region they're used. For example, there's a word that means "move" in Spanish like, "get out of the way", but in Spain, it means to orgasm -- so if you go to Spain and try to tell someone "move, please," you may end up demanding them to climax (and we all know that almost NEVER works).
Felipe also made a joke about how English uses the verb "get" so much -- and when he tried to pass a language competency test for English, his trick was to just add "get" to everything, because that would increase his odds of getting it right: "get on," "get away," "get with," "get together," "get by," "get through," "get free," "get something," "get nothing," etc.... Ok fine, we do use it a lot. I get it. (See what I did there?)
Also, whenever the Spanish-speakers would describe, in English, a place when the people would clear out (e.g. when the roads are free of cars, or when the streets don't have people walking around), they would say the place is "lonely." I didn't correct them, because I think calling a place that has no people "lonely" is a better way to say it than to call it "empty," which is how English-speakers would normally describe that situation. It's not empty -- there are still things there. It just has no people, which means it's lonely.
Things went really smoothly at the airport for my flight to Cartagena, except when I passed through security. They wanted me to open my bag because they thought I had scissors in there... which I did not. But they did end up confiscating my nail filer.
Day 1 (of 9) in Cartagena
My AirBNB host mom made me a killer breakfast this morning: two kinds of home-prepared juice, one of "lula" (a Colombian fruit that doesn't have an English translation, but tastes a lot like guava), and one from the "grapes" that wine is made of; an empanada; arepa con huevo; and two other fried items. So good.
I asked Amalia how to get to the "old city" (the wall-enclosed colonial part of town), and it turned out to be close enough to walk. On the walk over, I went into a store to get some sunscreen, but couldn't find it, so I asked one of the workers who was handing out free samples of something, "Estoy buscando para algo parar el sol por mi piel" ("I am looking for something to stop the sun for my skin.") I don't know how to say "sunscreen" in Spanish, obviously. She totally had my back, and pointed me in the right direction. When I was outside spraying on and rubbing in the sunscreen, a water vendor spotted me and made a "rubbing in sunscreen on himself" motion, which at first I interpreted as weird/creepy, until he actually came up to me and offered a high-five, at which pointed I realized he just wanted some sunscreen too. So I smiled and gave him a few spritzes and he thanked me and then motioned for a kiss on the cheek. I declined, and in retrospect, kinda wish I would have just indulged, because what's the harm? I'm tired of feeling like I have to withhold even innocuous, innocent kisses to feel ladylike or something when really I would love to kiss most people on the cheek all the time.
I walked along the beach to the old city, and along the way I spotted either white flamingos or pelicans, shaded canopies for beach-goers to get relief from the sun, and a very colorful array of kites for sale:
After I got into "Old City" Cartegena, I stopped for an iced coffee at a place called KGB coffee (that's right -- themed liked the "Russian CIA" group).
I was scheduled for a walking tour at 4:00, but it was only about 1:00, so I wandered around aimlessly (and I mean that in the most luxurious and liberated way) for a couple hours, very casually keeping an eye out for a place to maybe grab a beer and do some more reading/thinking/people-watching. Around 3:00, I came across a place called El Balcon -- I assumed that meant "The Balcony", and that sounded promising. As I walked in, a man told me that they were closed, and then immediately asked if I wanted a beer -- because they could still give me a beer, but they were just reorganizing some things and it was a mess upstairs. I said, "perfect - a beer is all I want, and I don't mind the mess." He spoke some English, and asked me where I was from. When I said "Seattle" he said he was familiar with it, because his sister had gone to OLYMPIA to study English! I was like, "whaaaaaaa -- that's where my parents live!" And then he poured me a shot of rum and we became friends forever. If it wasn't for the walking tour I had to get to, I may have stayed there all afternoon. I really want to go back when they're actually open (although it was pretty great having the whole place to myself).
The walking tour was fantastic; I think my favorite part was experiencing something in a group finally (I've had a lot of alone time), especially one with people from all over the world. There was a couple from Hong Kong, a couple from Holland, a couple from Ireland, someone from Germany, and someone from New York City, among others who shared where they were from when I wasn't paying attention.
The tour itself was entertaining and VERY informative. Por ejemplo (expect increasing amounts of Spanglish in this blog as my linguistic wires begin to cross-fire more and more): The door knocks on the big beautiful colonial houses (which the tour guide referred to as "knock doors") were symbols of who lived there, or meant for a particular purpose:
Lion = home of a military man
Devil = to keep bandits away
Mermaid/fish = home of a sailor
Little hand = home of a priest
(I half-expected someone to say "Donald Trump!" when the tour guide asked whose house the little hand represented, but I guess that joke hasn't gone global yet)
We visited an emerald jewelry store next, and learned that approximately 75% of the world's emeralds come from Colombia. I also learned that if you look at an emerald up close and it doesn't have any lines in it, it's probably just glass. Evidently, emeralds have lines in them that make them unique, like fingerprints.
I also learned that the large stone wall surrounding the "old city" part of Cartagena was created in order to protect the gold brought back from Peru and Potosi, Bolivia. There was so much gold stored there, the tour guide said, that it could have paid for a bridge from the Americas to Europe. But alas, they splurged on sweet "knock doors" instead.
At some point along the way, we visited the cathedral of San Pedro (St. Peter), which was beautiful. (Always with the beautiful churches here.) There were two seemingly very poor men sitting right at the entrance of the cathedral begging for money. I walked in and passed right by them, very aware of how ashamed I should feel for wanting to go into this church and feel all connected to my Catholic heritage and religious traditions while completely ignoring the exact type of person that Jesus would have stopped to help. So on my way out, I gave one of them a handful of change -- not even all my change. Just enough to get back to the level of hypocrisy I'm comfy with, I guess.
Our last stop was an Argentinian restaurant that was known for its amazing steaks, and fun decor, even on the exterior. My photo is fuzzy but see if you can spot the picture of the Pope... There's also a sign I love that says "No tenemos wi-fi, hablemos entre ustedes" ("We don't have wifi, talk to each other / talk amongst yourselves").
The tour ended around 6:00pm. I remembered Jeannie telling me there was a cafe ON TOP OF the wall of Cartagena where you can watch the sunset over the sea, so I walked along the wall looking for it. Sure enough, "Cafe del Mar" was real -- and very busy. All the open air tables near the edge of the wall were taken, so I grabbed a couch near the bar and ordered a rum and a shrimp cocktail.
I was there for about an hour, reading, watching the sunset, watching people, and loving the breeze on a warm Caribbean night. And then I started having thoughts like, "I'm not supposed to be here".... but not in a bad, I'm-messing-with-The Universe-and-it's-going-to-backfire kind of way. More like the kind of feeling a person must have if they crash some big VIP celebrity party or political insider event -- that feeling that you've managed to convince someone you belong somewhere you really have no business being, somewhere it doesn't make sense for you to be. Like, "how did I get away with this?" How have I managed to be here, watching the sunset in Colombia, on August 24, 2016? I didn't make a lot of money and dream for years about where I would travel and save up for a trip around the world. It doesn't feel like I made this happen, or that I earned it. I would never be able to afford to do this without the Bonderman, and I have no idea why I was selected for this opportunity. It's all just too good to be true, and yet here I am.