Beaches and big lips and shopping OH MY!

As the saying goes, careful what you wish for.

I have always thought it would be pretty amazing to look like Angelina Jolie. And wouldn't you know, this morning I awoke with lips so puffy and swollen, you'd swear I had been injected with collagen overnight. Only unlike it is for Miss Superstar Humanitarian Wondermom, big lips aren't looking so sexy on me. It must be a sunburn, unless some creepy crawly little thing bit me during the night... but let's not go there.

Maybe the swollen lips are punishment handed down by the Gods of Self-Imposed Rules, because as of now I have officially broken all three of my own. The first: No Coffee. Well come on, I am in Colombia after all. Can you blame me? The second: No Blackberry. Impossible, silly rule for an addict like me. The third: No Shopping. What can I say? I am weak. Pathetic and weak.

But isn't it always the case that when traveling, you just never seem to have the right clothes with you? Or, more like my situation right now, you start to hate the few things you do have? I look back on my 6 weeks traveling around Europe, and wonder how I didn't burn the 8 pieces of clothing I wore during that entire time. Come to think of it, maybe I did.

In my defense, the shopping wasn't completely my fault. The boutiques in the high-class beachfront neighborhood of Bocagrande (think La Jolla) are just too enticing to pass by. They beckon me with their very reasonable prices and fabulously unique made-in-Colombia fashions. Shame on them, not me. Those damn boutiques turned "not shopping" into Mission Impossible. And I am Angelina, remember? Not Tom Cruise.

I spent most of the day on Monday snoozing on the beach in Bocagrande, Blackberrying under a shady blue carpa (rentable by the day for only $5... or $4 with a little sweet-talking). Feigning sleep became my best defense against the parade of vendors marching up and down the beach, selling everything from recently deceased fish to massages to plastic watches. It was a perfectly content afternoon of beach naps and shopping, meant to be topped off with a trendy sushi dinner at Tabetai - where one very sexy Colombian sushi chef (he studied in Venezuela under a Japanese master) mixed up some of the most amazing sea bass ceviche and spicy tuna that I have ever tasted. I am happy to report that the new dress I had just guiltily bought quickly paid for itself. What else explains the complimentary glasses of wine that appeared at my table all evening?!

Tuesday was much less of a perfect day, and all I will say is that those of you considering a day trip to the beautiful Playa Blanca on the Island of Baru, well, don't. Yes, the beaches are gorgeous and oh so Caribbean, with pristine turquoise waters, swaying palm trees and long stretches of sugary white sand. But make this trip only if you plan to spend the night sleeping on a rented hammock or in a tent - something I would have loved to do had I timed my visit a little more, and if I wanted to tolerate the mosquito attacks that would surely be a part of this experience (which I didn't).

Early on Tuesday morning, I booked a seat on a high-speed motor boat, thinking I would avoid all the big tour groups and head direct to the island. Not quite so. By the time the boat actually got going, then made various stops around the bay for who-knows-what, then dropped off some folks at the touristy Aquarium, then slowed here and there to give a talking tour around the archipelago, it was well after 1pm when we actually made it to shore. And we had to turn around and head back at 3:30! The cruise out was fun enough, but the ride back was so smashy, choppy, churny and whiplashy I thought my spine would crack into two. I think actually it did. And so I hobbled my way back to the hotel, popped a few Motrin, and began to wonder if it was all really worth it. The jury is still out.

Wednesday. Hot, muggy, tired, icky. I have given myself a day off, and apart from a luxurious $4 spa pedicure, I have done as close to nothing as possible all day. Later tonight, I will take my achy back, two hilariously puffy lips, some cute new clothes and a dwindling bank account, and bid farewell to the beautiful city of Cartagena. Medellin awaits.


Snoozing beachfront in Bocagrande


Floating by the dock of the bay


Cruising away from Cartagena


There was a time I would only eat Lucky Charms.


Fresh coconut water served beachfront on Playa Blanca


I was caught! Yes, I bought some fruit in return.


Happiness comes in the simplest of forms.

Cartagena, like no other

Under the brightest of moons, with a cool breeze blowing through the plaza just outside the city's walls, the voice of Placido Domingo - live, in the flesh - rises up into the clear night. On the other side of the wall, just steps away, this magical sound is swallowed up by the heavy rhythms of salsa music pouring out of Donde Fidel Salsa Bar. Like you might find in any American sports bar, a large number of men fill the space in this legendary spot, staring intentedly at a big screen TV. Only tonight, they aren't watching any sort of big game, but rather videos of live salsa bands as turned by the resident Video Jockey. Swaying and rocking in their seats, they are enchanted by these native rhythms, completely oblivious to the famous tenor belting a tune just around the corner.

It must be Saturday night in Cartagena.

And lucky for me, I am here now, peering through the gates to catch a glimpse of Sr. Domingo, then strolling across Plaza de Los Coches and straight into Donde Fidel to join in the nightly rumba. There really is no where else I would rather be tonight, because in a matter of hours I have fallen completely in love with this city. Despite the overwhelming heat and the occasional nasty mosquito, Cartagena lives up to is reputation as the gem of Colombia. Hectic, hot and beautiful by day.... steamy, sultry and downright sexy by night. As far as cities go, Cartagena is everything and more.

I felt the city's charm the moment I arrived; it would be impossible not to. Imagine row after row of quaint colonial buildings in every color, old-world balconies draped with magnificent flowers, all overlooking a maze of narrow cobblestone streets that see surprisingly little traffic. Around every corner is a spacious plaza, or a lovely garden, or a bustling marketplace, or an ancient church, or a lone vendor selling plump avocados. A police officer stands vigil on every block, watching over the city as horse-drawn carriages trot by. An entire block of enticing candy stalls make up El Portal de los Dulces, adding more sugar to an already sweet atmosphere.

What makes it all so magical is that all of this life and ambience and beauty is trapped within the confines of an imposing stone wall that encircles the historic center, offering a striking reminder of the city's complicated past. As the LP guidebook points out, the city wall deterred pirate attacks and pillaging throughout the centuries, but in modern times it is no match for the tourist machine that flocks here daily. This may be true, but I haven't noticed the tramplings of tourism nearly as much as I thought I would. The crowds here feel much more authentically local than they do extranjero. Or maybe all the tourists are hiding out in internet cafes and coffee shops, wherever they can find air con and refuge from the sweltering afternoon heat.

I will admit that earlier tonight I was doing just that. In desperate need for a late-afternoon boost and some beloved cafe ambience, I broke down, made a beeline for the nearby Juan Valdez Cafe, and had my first cup of coffee in nearly 2 months. And damn was it good, right down to the very last drop of tinto. I must say, all that hype about the fabulousness of the Colombian roast isn't just hype... or maybe I was merely growing desperate. Regardless, it was worth the wait.

What's more, it seems my pattern of making new friends in cafes has followed me all the way to Cartagena: soon enough, a conversation was struck with a friendly father and son duo from Bogotá, and next thing I know this lovely family is inviting me to their beachfront apartment in the nearby town of La Boquilla. Happy to accept, I spent the afternoon lounging by their pool and completely enjoying the company. And, I was reminded that if making friends is what the cafe scene brings, then I need no other reason to start drinking coffee again.

And so here I am, totally at peace in Cartagena. After 10 exhausting days of traveling and constant movement, I have decided to stay put for awhile. I have completely settled in at a lovely little hotel in El Centro, and have no desire to leave. Why would I? For 20 USD per night, I have a large tiled room in a recently-renovated building, cable TV that includes English news channels, a private bathroom, access to a common kitchen, a huge living room area with free high speed internet, a wonderful staff with whom I have become friends, and a location in the historic center that could not be more safe or perfect for a lone traveler like me. I have groceries in the fridge and some photos on the public desktop. At least for the next few days, I am completely and happily at home.


Splendid balconies


Stunning architecture


Incredible interiors


Plaza de Los Coches


A city's fortress


Candy for sale along the Portal de Los Dulces



Ripe avocadoes for only 1 dollar!



A newfound friend (wearing my jaunty hat)


The central "courtyard" at my current home

Sevilla in Santa Marta

Yes, I lie. And just like when with a group of 20-something backpackers I am 28 years old (end of story), my name when receiving unwanted attention from locals (mostly men) is now "Sevilla". It's a good one, don't you think? First of all, it's more easily pronounced around here than my real name; second, it offers a degree of anonimity; and mostly, I just love the way it sounds. So exotic.

So La Blancita Sevilla now finds herself in Santa Marta, staring at the biggest bowl of fruit salad I have ever seen in my life. Papaya, pineapple, banana and watermelon drenched in fresh yogurt and granola: Colombians certainly know what to do with fruit. Last night for dinner I had sliced mango from a street vendor and an ice cold beer at La Puerta bar. See how much fun it is to be a non meat-eater?

It feels great to have finally reached the coast, and the very long bus journey to get here was well worth it. Here in Santa Marta I am seeing some major contrasts to the pretty, organized city life in the interior. This is Caribbean territory: dusty, hot, chaotic streets packed with people and kids and dogs and construction projects, this town moves fast and slow at the same time. Although the city is apparently building up quite quickly, with big plans in the works to attract more visitors, there remains that chilled-out vibe typical to any beach town. I have noticed here some obvious disparities in income and maybe a lower standard of living than I have so far seen around Colombia. But again, it's nothing like the desperate, painful poverty I have witnessed elsewhere in the world. It's more like living contentedly within one's means - along a very long stretch of beautiful sandy shore. Not exactly awful.

This morning I took myself for a jog and swim along this beautiful sandy shore, introducing myself as Sevilla to the few folks who wanted to chat and cheer me on as I ran. I thought I might get this kind of attention as the only gringa jogging, but within minutes it was happily stolen from me: this kid, no more than 17 years old and clad only in tight little swim trunks and his MP3 player, took to the middle of the beach as though it were a stage, and started to dance. And I mean, DANCE! He was outrageous. Thrusting and grinding and shimmying and shaking - he looked like a backup dancer in a Janet Jackson video. Or Shakira's number 1 fan (she is Colombian, by the way). Literally everyone on the beach just stopped and stared - we really couldn't help it - and a group of giggly teenage girls nearby did their best to copy his every move. He either didn't notice or didn't care: he just kept on shaking it. It was quite a show, and I was glad someone took away all the attention!

I have been here for less than 2 days, but feel I have done and seen enough in this town. There are some Must See places close to Santa Marta, like stunning national parks and rewarding cultural hikes, but I am just not in the mood to see them. I am quite tired of being on the Gringo Trail and going where all the other travelers go. And anyway, I am itching to get to Cartagena (remember Romancing the Stone?), a city I expect to be beautiful and fun and full of things to do.

In addition to doing my laundry, feeding me this gorgeous fruit salad, and generally looking out for me, the wonderfully helpful owners here at Casa Familiar in Santa Marta have arranged a shared vehicle of sorts that will take me door-to-door (a four hour journey) to my next stop right in the center of Cartagena. As much as I don't mind the buses (see previous post) this will be a welcome and convenient way to travel.

And so, Sevilla goes to Cartagena... until then!


Inside Casa Familiar


Fabio and granddaughter Melanie, the management team at Casa Familiar