Cartagena Before Lunch

Cartagena Before Lunch

By: Meko Kaprelian

The sudden jolt of changing altitude and speed is felt collectively throughout the plane; but nowhere is it felt more intensely than in my left hand as my wife squeezes it tightly with her right hand as she clutches the good-luck pendants around her neck with her left hand while giving silent prayer or thanks for our safe return to the Earth’s surface. We’ve arrived! Cartagena, Colombia; a trip to commemorate our five years of marriage and exploring this planet together. This trip had been a vague target on our travel radar since we tipped off our engagement with a three-week European vacation that included Barcelona, Paris, and Rome as our destinations. My wife’s reply of “Yes” a top Montjuic in Barcelona on that hot summer day not only agreed to marriage but also to a life-time of travel as well. Love was not the only bug biting that day and thus began our life of global-adventure together.

Colombia was never a well engraved destination on our ‘Bucket-List’ nor was it the location we ever spoke of during our years of vacations leading up to this partnership milestone of ours. However, as the years passed and our exhaustive internet searches narrowed; this unique destination of Cartagena emerged. Not being the typical Caribbean picture of tropical paradise, Cartagena offers something different: culture and history. As a nearly 500 year-old city founded by the Spanish during their conquests; Cartagena possess a deep history that not only spanned to Europe but to the Americas as well; most notably the United States. The Spanish initiated their African slave trade industry in these West Indias locations with Cartagena being the epicenter. From the 1500s to 1700s Spain oversaw the thriving slave trade and just about the time the first colonies in our country were being discovered they handed the reigns over to England. This transfer of power of dealing in the slave trade in Cartagena, Colombia had a profound impact on the history of the United States and this South American city once known for its native riches of gold and silver can be considered the gateway to America’s hypocrisy in claims of freedom, democracy and equality for all. This is the grave history that partly drew us into deciding on Cartagena as our destination to celebrate our five-year anniversary. While February is the month, we celebrate my wife’s birthday, Valentines and finally capped off with our wedding anniversary on the 21st; it’s also the month that the United States recognizes its citizens of African descent; who’s harsh heritage more than likely lies in their ancestors being traded through Cartagena. We found this to be a fitting reason, along with the old Spanish colonial architecture and culture that radiates from Cartagena, to visit this location.

It’s early February 14th and the plane has safely come to a stop outside of the small airport terminal. There is no tunnel from the plane to the airport inside so we are immediately met with the bright Caribbean sun and humidity; I fumble to pull the sunglasses from my backpack to protect my eyes from the intense rays, as we step out of the plane and down the stairs to where our feet are met with the hot asphalt that we must walk on for a few hundred feet until we are finally met with the coolness of A/C inside the arrival gate. I’m accustomed to rudimentary accommodations in airports from my numerous travels with the Navy; however, for my wife this was her first experience with an airport that was basic in nature that had nothing more than a few conveyor belts to deliver our bags from the planes that parked outside. Since we just arrived on the only plane that currently situated itself just outside the bag delivery area; we had our bags in our possession in less than 20 min after we first set foot on solid ground. The perks of a small airport being the fact that receiving your bags and getting out of the airport can usually be completed in under 30 minutes.

Now with our luggage in tow; My wife carting a much bigger suitcase than me in order to hold the 2 or 3 outfits a day she needs to perfect her daily Instagram fashion show posts for her fans, we emerge from the tiny airport to be greeted by a new hot foreign atmosphere. Our first mission is to locate and ATM and withdraw enough money in the local currency to get us from the airport to our hotel that is about 30 minutes away. With curious nervous tourists faces we make our apprehensive search for the bank machines. Landing in strange foreign countries is always full of stress and anxiety when trying to locate all the required facilities needed to actually get the vacation that’s been planned rolling and underway. Here in Cartagena, we have a secret weapon to foreigner translation gap, my wife speaks Spanish fluently and when we are confused about a location or an item she springs into action. Her ability to speak the native tongue not only helps us out of our quandaries it puts the locals into a more accepting state of our presence in their country and city. Locating an ATM I cautiously insert my card and am relieved that there is an English feature. I quickly researched the currency rate as we landed so I felt fairly confident I knew what to withdraw from the machine to get us the initial cash we needed to get to our hotel. However, once presented with the withdrawal amount options my confidence faded and I wasn’t sure of the choices that were presented to me. I didn’t know if they were shown in the Colombia Peso or US dollar denominations. Taking a shot in the dark I chose $100,00 hoping it was just one-hundred US dollars I was taking out. 100 Pesos was spit out of the machine at me leaving me confused as to the amount I just received. Now with money in hand we step up to the Taxi window and again my wife uses her linguistic abilities to get us a cab from the airport to our hotel. We look at the receipt we were handed that has the amount to be paid to our driver once we reach our destination and it reads $19,200. Thinking we only have 100 pesos and we need 20,000. Upon further inspection with help from the taxi driver he shows us that our money is sufficient because it’s in MILs or thousands of the number represented on the bills. With a sigh of relief, we load our luggage into the taxi and depart for our reserved hotel.

Passing by the crudely constructed buildings and moving along with the bustling traffic that seemed to pay no attention to safe or sensible driving laws; my wife asks, “How would you like to drive here?”, “No thank you” I reply, but knowing in the back of my mind I’ve driven in worse conditions throughout my worldly travels. Now; however, I was perfectly fine with not tackling such a stressful feat and was happy to have a driver to navigate us along the strange route to our destination. The short ride we spent with our driver I was really struck by his knowledge and forthcoming of information regarding his city he relayed to us. My wife’s ability to speak Spanish may have made this more possible. Being an older man, older than myself, I assumed that was how he gathered the wealth of information he was now imbibing upon us as he shuttled us to our hotel. My wife and the driver conversed fluently while I gazed out the windows in wide-eyed wonderment just taking in the new scenery my wife would intermittently stop talking with the driver to interpret something she considered interesting for me to know; usually it was something funny or a joke at my lack of understanding Spanish.

Shortly after 9 am we arrived at our hotel. After an 8-hour overnight flight from Los Angeles we were feeling the staleness of our lived-in clothes. Due to the hour of our arrival the hotel didn’t have a room available for check-in. Expecting this would be the case we were not too disappointed; besides the day was young and we were eager to explore our new environment. The hotel to offer us some convenience checked in our luggage, offered us a place to change clothes and served us some coffee and juices to help us freshen up from our long journey. Sitting at a small table enjoying our drinks we gazed in wonderment out the hotel’s glass wall onto the hectic scene of cars and people that were pouring by. Breakfast was just winding down and only a few guests were seated around us enjoying the buffet of fruits, meats, and cereals. Most residents were on their way out for the day as we watched them pass by with excitement for their day’s adventures; we decided that we would join in on their idea and venture out into the unknown city while the hotel prepared our room.

“Taxi?”, “Taxi?”, we hear called to us from across the narrow but busy street, by a slender Colombian man dressed in light colored jeans and a long sleeved white oxford with the sleeves folded hallway up to his elbows. For such a hot and humid location, the man’s dress struck me as odd, as I thought to myself, “I’d die in this heat dressed like that”. “Si”, my wife and I reply back to the man; not certain whether he was just a man who hailed the cab or the driver himself we approached the man not knowing what mode of transportation was being assigned to us. The man’s enthusiasm was quite evident when we accepted his offer for a taxi and he walked us the few steps to where a small late modeled yellow hatchback was parked. The man opens his driver side back door and with an open hand in an ushering motion invites us into his car. While the car was clearly marked with official state taxi badging I couldn’t help but think this was his personal vehicle as well. A plain gray well-worn interior lay before us, as my wife entered the vehicle first then once she’s situated inside I carefully fall my 200-pound frame through the small opening into the seat next to my wife. Once inside, my wife begins to work her verbal magic and askes the man, “Puedes llevarnos la parte historica de la ciudad?”. “Adonde quieres ir?” the taxi driver asks, as he’s trying to get a more specific request from us. “What is the name of place we want to see?”, my wife turns to me and asks. “The walled-city” I answer quizzingly. “La ciudad dentro de la pared”, my wife explains to the driver that we want to see the city inside the walls. The vast amounts of gold, silver and lucrativeness of Spain’s slave trade here forced the original city to construct a near impenetrable wall to keep out pirates and looters always looking to plunder the riches of this ancient city. We wanted to see this old fortress of a city within a city and my wife’s explanation finally was understood by our driver and agreeing he accelerated away from our hotel.

A few moments into our ride my wife and the driver are easing into a fluent conversation in Spanish, “He says he will take us on a personal tour of historical sites around the city that will take three hours for only $40 dollars US” my wife pauses her conversation with the driver to tell me of his proposition. “Sure”, I reply easily. “Sure” in a jubilant Spanish accent the driver echoes back to us, showing us his excitement and appreciation for our willingness to take him up on his offer without hesitation. We have learned from previous travels that a good guide is a great asset and with the amount of pictures my wife loves to take they make for a good stand in photographer to capture pictures of both of us together in our new surroundings without bothering strangers. “He is going to take us to the Convent on the hill first” my wife informs me after the driver tells her in Spanish, “Yes, the older man that chauffeured us from the airport earlier pointed it out in the distance as we drove to the hotel” I thought to myself. Like the first taxi ride my wife took up conversation with our driver and just like the previous driver our new guide was full of information about his city and its heritage. Thinking back to the old man and my reasoning for his vast knowledge being his age was now discredited by our drivers younger age and the even greater wealth of knowledge he was imparting upon us compared to the old cab driver. While my wife and the driver engaged in conversation, I admired that these drivers were so well versed in the history of their old city and the global importance it played.

“My name is Neil” the young Cabbie now feeling comfortable with us, no doubt to the credit of my wife’s Spanish tongue, introduces himself formally and my wife reciprocate; only to have Neil follow up our introduction with a comical story of his given name. “Mi nombre es Neil pero cuando mi madre fue a poner mi nombre del certificado de nacimiento, el mismisimo puso una ‘R’ al final de mi nombre en lugar de una ‘L’. Asi que mi verdadero nombre es Neir.” Neil in a great deal of laughter says to my wife, “He says that his name is Neil but when his mother went to put his name on his birth certificate they mistakenly put an R at the end of his name, and instead of his real name being Neil it’s Neir; pronounced Near” my wife translates our driver’s strange typo-tail of his birth name. We all collectively fill the little cab full of laughter as we dodge our way through the maze of traffic and pedestrians like a real-life game of ‘Frogger’. Convento De La Popa sits atop the tallest hill overlooking the vast islands and inlets that is the city of Cartagena. Making our way up this hill we could see where the new high-rise 21st century met the old mid-century colonial fortresses and how the harbors and water-ways sewn all the different areas of Cartagena together. Neil pointed out the two giant cruise ships butted up to each other along-side a pier in the commercial harbor and to our dismay they brought a bunch of vulturistic tourists. Pulling into the parking area of the convent only to see it flooded with tour busses and people my wife quips to Neil, “We left California to get away from all these people” only for Neil to reply in laughter with his best attempt at English, “It’s the cruise ships”.

Convento De La Popa founded in 1607 by Augustine Fathers is a rather unassuming concrete and stucco structure that now pays tribute to the Spanish conquistadors whom were sent on missions to convert local natives in these new lands. Before entering the structure my wife adorned in a maze colored mini romper with white polka dots, over-sized sunglasses and accented with a cream-colored sun-hat wants to take pictures posing next to the giant flag of Colombia that is unfurling majestically in the strong gusts of wind on top of this 150M high hill. Not realizing before we left the hotel of what our destination would be or the strength of the pending wind my wife’s choice of outfit while beautifully classy wasn’t well suited to keep her bottom covered and protected from the winds snarling puffs. Watching my wife struggle with her bottom playing peek-a-boo but staying determined to pose for the perfect shot proved my wife’s dedication to rendering me as the stereotypical ‘Insta-Boyfriend’. I’ve never had the appreciation or eye for photography like my wife has, but over the five years of our marriage through her demanding persistence I’ve grown to learn what type of picture she’s trying to capture. Satisfied with our photos and being driven off by the large horde of cruise ship tourists that descended upon the flag pole, we made our way inside the old convent. Handing the attendant our tickets she rips off the entrance stub and my wife and I pass through out into a centered courtyard adorned with blooming flower bushes and a now defunct well as its focal center piece. We make quick business of touring the chapel and other small wooden adorned rooms due to the relatively small size of this religious monument. Exiting the fenced in compound to meet up with Neil; the vendors, like mosquitos, swarm us and forcefully plead with us to buy their wares at the stands that litter the parking lot. We pose for a few quick pictures to capture us against the backdrop of the city and ocean then we were off to the next attraction.

San Felipe de Barajas Castle is a fortification that was built in the late 16th century to defend the riches of Cartagena against enemies of Spain and as we pull up to it we are amazed by its grand and immense presence and yet again due to the cruise ships in port there is a great deal of foot traffic in the immediate area. Neil points us to the entrance where we purchase tickets and get channeled through a turnstile; “Are you thirsty, let’s get some waters”, my wife says to me just before we leave the entrance area to make our way up the steep graded stone walkway into the fortress. Just as my wife is requesting we get waters and old gentleman with a beat-up Styrofoam cooler was being ushered away from selling water to tourists. In Spanish, my wife yells out to the unofficial water vendor, “Dos aquas”! The old man then skirts around the police like a slippery running back eluding tacklers while simultaneously pulling two chilled waters from his dirty white cooler to deliver them through the temporary fencing guardrail that separates the attraction patrons from random pedestrians. “Quanto?” I ask, “Cinco pesos” was the old man’s reply. Fortunately to make this transaction expeditious and allowing the old man to keep eluding the police I had a 5MIL COP that I quickly slipped to him through the railing. With our hydration now procured after paying the equivalent of $1.50 USD we were ready to tackle this great Spanish built attraction.

Just like outside this attraction’s entrance as well as the convent on the hill’s many vendors were sporadically set up on blankets or tables along the steep walkway peddling small statues and trinkets to the swarms of tourists. “I want to take a picture of you walking up”, my wife says to me and points to the immediate path ahead; I oblige her and do my best uncomfortable for pictures pose and walk. “OK, now my turn” I hear my wife say handing me her iPhone as she eloquently strolls up the hill; showing me how a photogenic natural does it.

The wind was once again proving it difficult for my wife to keep her butt from being exposed, “Later you’ll be on the beach revealing more in less” I joke, “I know” she replies admitting to the strange societal double standard. In the hot and high noon-day sun we made our way around the Spanish turret guarded walls with antique cannons affixed to many strategic locations all exclamated with a magnificently huge Colombian flag standing watch over the entire structure.

Gated doorways randomly stood open leading down stairs to dungeon-like tunnels and caverns. To get a break from the heat and to take a more rigorous approach to our adventure we traversed down the steep steps into the darkness. The low ceiling labyrinth corridors grew darker and darker as we moved away from the opening. A constant cool breeze could be felt upon initial descent; however, just like the light it too disappeared as the entrance grew further away. After about 30 minutes of my wife braving her claustrophobic fear we emerged from the dark warm maze. “Are you ready, have you seen enough” my wife asks, “Yes I’m ready to go and see the next spot” I reply back. We exit out onto the street and struggle to find Neil’s yellow taxi amongst the sea of small yellow hatchbacks that make up. After a long walk, up and down the street we find Neil parked in the lot next to the entrance.

Neil having what I assumed to be some innate sense for my love of books and reading informs us that we are going to the monument of ‘The Two Boots’, which was dedicated to the memory of a famous Cartagenian poet, Luis Carlos Lopez. “You’ll love that” Lilly says to me as she then explains to Neil my love for learning and writing, “Le gusta tomar informacion”. Very few tourists and vendors occupied this brick paved open pavilion; giving us a welcomed reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the previous two spots. A small line of a few tourists wanting their pictures taken waited about 20 feet from the giant bronzed boots that were posed with one upright while the one on the left as you face the monument lies over on it’s right side. Neil informs us that it is considered good luck to stand inside the large upright boot as he selflessly helps us safely climb inside. Neil converting himself into a photog, snaps a handful of pictures while we model ourselves inside the statue dedicated to Lopez’s reply when asked of his home; Cartagena: “It is comfortable like an old worn-in pair of boots”.

Saving the best stop for last, Neil, takes us inside the walled city. Just a little past 12:30; I feel my hunger pangs setting in but knowing that our room won’t be available until 1 pm at the soonest, I quietly soldier on to tour the Spanish colonial architecture inside the large chiseled rectangular stone barrier wall. Arched tunnels have been carved through the wall in modern times to allow pedestrian and motorized access to the old city; as we pass through one such arch-way and drive a long a high section of the wall Neil explains to us that in older times punishment for deserting your duty as a soldier resulted in being dumped inside the water flooded core of the wall. While we pictured that gruesomely dark tale of horror, we took in the beautiful architecture of the entire area. Parking adjacent from a narrow street that was lined overhead with small flags representing every nation in the world; we used this quiet road as our access point to discover this part of Cartagena on foot. My wife in true model fashion made beautiful work and pictures strutting and posing on this picturesque lane.

Along with the old Spanish colonial buildings numerous murals of modern day street art adorned these medieval walls. A very youthful rebelliousness ran through the overall theme on these concrete canvases giving us a glimpse into the true African influenced soul of the city that is Cartagena. Aimlessly wondering the narrow cobbled sidewalks, we stumbled upon an alley that was covered in a ceiling of bright multi-colored umbrellas. Recognizing another memorable Instagram moment, my wife wasted no time in directing Neil in our impromptu photo shoot highlighted by these wonderful umbrellas. Making our way back to Neil’s taxi we stop only to take pictures with murals we find personally significant or beautiful. “Oh look, there’s the writer you were talking about earlier” my wife says to me as she points to a large brick mural. “Yes, it’s Gabriel Garcia Marquez” the Nobel Laureate writer, I exclaim. “Take a picture by him” she says as I stand with thumbs up in front of the “Gabo” picture on stone.

“You want to come back here and wonder around when you’re wearing something more trekking friendly, right?” I pose in a question to my wife “Yes definitely” she replies, “Es un lugar para ver el set del sol” Neil points out a sun set viewing spot to our right as we drive by a section of the wall where the ocean lies powerfully on the other side. Hunger setting in so intensely now it feels like my stomach is eating itself and leaving a hole to where it once was; so, I am ready to get back to the hotel but Neil has one more quick stop for us. Along the road back to our hotel there’s a small strip of dirty brown beach where the letters made out of 100% recycled materials spelling CARTAGENA sit painted in a tropical theme no doubt erected for tourists’ photo taking pleasure. Along with the city spelled out in letters were three black women dressed in African garb vividly colored resembling the Colombian flag standing by at the ready to take pictures with tourists, for a self-discretional fee, while balancing baskets of fruit on top of their heads. The woman come from a small town next to Cartagena that hold on to their African roots and heritage by the city’s claim of being the World’s first free African community outside of Africa. After we take our pictures with the jovial woman I reach into my pocket for the only bit of Colombian Pesos I feel comfortable parting with for such an event. I hand over two 500 pesos coins to what I can tell is a disappointed look on the woman’s face. 50,000 pesos was the only other currency I had in my pocket and There was no way that 30 second photo op was worth $15 USD. Mildly embarrassed I walk back to taxi as my wife and Neil light-heartedly laugh at the situation.

As promised Neil gave us a little over three-hour historical tour of the city, and all before we even checked into our hotel or freshened up after our intercountry travels. Arriving at the hotel we trade contact information and thanks to my international plan with Sprint my cell phone works most places world-wide making our foreign travels so much easier. Neil solicits us for more opportunities to be our guide for the 8 days we have remaining in Cartagena. Assuring him that we will definitely be taking him up on his offer; we are eager to get checked into our hotel room, shower, and rest for the night and days that lie ahead. We have a loose list of places we’d like to see and decided that we just wanted to play this trip by ear and doing everything on a whim instead of a regimented vacation where the day’s excursions were planned and paid for well in advance. The way we met Neil and his offering of tour guide services fit perfectly into our easy anything goes approach to this vacation. With future transportation secured, we check into our room to re-energize for the days ahead.