Cartagena

Cartagena...
The city truly is amazing - all that the guide books say, and more.  Truly is Colombia's jewel. The first (non-local) settlers and construction date to the early 1500's.  Mostly Spanish.



It's a walled city, with several miles of walls 10-ish feet thick, and up to 20' feet tall, with forts at strategic places; the most gigantic Spanish fortress ever constructed stands at the mouth of the key inlet (pictures below). 




  

To the right and below are some examples of the wall.  Cartagena is built on a peninsula, and the wall makes a long narrow u-shape as it runs along both sides/one end of the peninsula, enclosing the old city.  





 The Spanish resorted to the walls/forts/fortress because during their years of looting the country's gold and other treasures (which they amassed and stored in Cartagena prior to shipment to Spain),  they kept getting attacked (successfully) by pirates (the most successful and famous was Frances Drake).   





 



After the walls and fortress, the city never fell again.  Easy to see why!

                                                              If you look closely at these two pictures of the fort, you'll see people walking on the ramparts.  Hopefully they convey a sense of the massive scale of this structure.

 




 
      
  Couldn't resist including one with me...


 

Beneath the fort's surface there's  a maze of tunnels that connect the living quarters, mess halls, supply rooms, medical facilities, etc., and also provide shortcuts for fast transitions to/from any part of the structure.  The tunnels are cool with a constant breeze - I'm sure they provided  welcome relief from the hot temperatures on the all-rock surfaces above.
 The architecture here is as beautiful as the books say.  Many of the early buildings, churches and fortresses are still intact. Lots of narrow cobblestone streets with lovely old multi-storied Spanish homes complete with ivy/bougainvilla-covered balconies. Think medieval Europe/New Orleans. 



 If you look closely at the church door on the left, you'll see one of the utilitarian doors. 

                                  Cartagena  is actually 3 cities:  the lovely old walled city; the new city of skyscrapers and haciendas; boutiques and gourmet restaurants; casinos and other toys for the mega-wealthy; and the "underbelly" where the local and indigenous people live in abject squalor.  The city is advertised as safe, and it is - in large part because each and every day (and night) there are 2,000+ armed police patrolling the streets.  Outside of the city, it is definitely not safe - even for the police.                                                                    

              

This lovely parque is directly across from the Inquisition Palace.

 

 

Lots of art in the plazas and parques.

 

 

 The ocean is awesome - always a breeze blowing.  It would be quite intolerable here if that weren't the case, as it's pretty hot, but with the breeze, seems moderate.  The beaches are a mixed bag - they're beautiful, but - the good news here is that they're all public - the businesses and condos are set back, across the road.   But the fact that they're all public is the bad news, too - they're public to every vendor wanting to hawk some wares. Time on the beach requires one constant "no, gracias" to an endless parade of vendors.  It truly ruins an otherwise fabulous experience, because you can't ignore them, not even by closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep, because each vendor is armed with some sort of bell/whistle/tinkler to keep you alert. A partial list of stuff I declined, within a half-hour one morning: beach towels, hats, kites, drinks of all kinds, t-shirts, sandals, jewelry of all types, massages, foods/fruits, boat rides, ice-creams, photos, raw oysters, bathing suits/sarongs, sunglasses, beach chairs and cell phone calls. 

 

The two main beaches within walking distance of the old city are Bocagrande (above - ocean-side) and Castillogrande, (below - bay-side).  The day I took the beach pictures it was morning and overcast.  When the haze burns off, the water is tropical turquoise.

 

 It takes me a day or two in a new place to find my "level" - it was harder in Caartgena  than in most places because it's one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and the shops and restaurants reflect that. But I did find my favorite street vendors, a great book store, an unbelievable restaurant with 5-course dinners for $6, a decent grocery store, and a quiet park.  Those finds, combined with my hostel (large room with kitchen privileges) made for a great time.  Even so, I was more than ready to leave - 6 days on a budget in this type of place is about 2 too many.   

One Cartagena story: one morning in the hostel I met a neat woman from Israel (Anet) – a musician. She'd studied afro-caribbean percussion across Africa and Cuba, and was in Cartagena to find and record some unique musicians she'd heard of, in a nearby village. She invited me to join, and the day was on. A long, local (hot/crowded/dusty) bus ride and a hike – and by asking various villagers (thatched adobe huts – honest) as we went, we found them. We were really lucky – not only did we find them, but it was a fiesta day and they were playing (and drinking) at 11:00 in the morning in a tiny thatched beach hut.  We stayed there quite a while, and when we got hungry they suggested a great local eating place “a ways” down the beach (Uncle Zack's). A couple miles later we hadn't found it yet, and it was clear we were not in a good area – crowded, ramshackle huts and garbage piled everywhere. We were debating how much further to go before giving up when two policemen pulled up on a motorcycle, asked what (in the world) we were doing out there, and explained clearly they intended to escort us back. We convinced them to escort us to Uncle Zack's instead – they knew where it was – another mile or so. Glad we did - the environment got worse and worse – from a road to a trail to a path through gutted, abandoned structures - so we invited them to lunch, if they'd then escort us back. They were about to go on break, so agreed. Anet and one policeman rode the cycle back; I walked, and talked, with the other – a wonderful young man (22-ish) named Caesar. My heart went out to him – young/intelligent/motivated/hopeful...he'd become a policeman because he couldn't afford college, and our immigration office had refused his visa to join his older sister in New Jersey. He'd only been on the job 2 months, had never been in this area, and was quite afraid for his life – already one team mate had been killed and another was in the hospital with massive brain damage after taking a knife in the head. He hoped to save enough money during his 2-year stint to go to some small college and then work to help coffee farmers improve crop production and profitability - he'd grown up on a coffee plantation and had experienced how impossible it had been for his father to support the family.  His story is one I won't soon forget.

 Next blog - Otavalo (where I am now)!

Giradot in the Rear View Mirror

March 6 ~ I can't believe how fast time passes and how impossible it's proving to be to keep this blog anywhere near current! I'm writing from Cartagena, Colombia, where I'll be for just 2 more days. It's every bit as wonderful as the travel guides promise – more on that later. First, I want to wrap up Giradot:

1. Security: I knew that security in this town is taken very seriously, but was still taken aback one morning on my way to the gym. It was very early, no people around, and a Brinks truck was in front of a bank, transferring money – the truck was just like the ones back home, but that's where all similarity ended. There were 8 armed guards protecting the transaction – one at each corner of the vehicle, facing out, with assault rifles drawn and scanning, two outside the bank door, assault rifles drawn and scanning, and two more inside the bank door, assault rifles drawn and scanning! I went over to the other side of the street and still felt uneasy walking past 8 drawn assault rifles. The home I'm in also takes security very seriously – the entrance door is thick, heavy metal, with 2 sets of deadbolts, each of which has 2 independent bolts with different keys and each of the 4 bolts must be turned through 3 different settings to lock and/or unlock the door. And after that, there's an electronic alarm! It's always set at night, and a few weeks ago, in the middle of the night, when I was here alone, it went off. Scared the living daylights out of me...in order to turn it off, I had to be prepared to deal with whatever might be outside my door when opened it, so I grabbed my mace canister. Just before opening the door I wondered if the canister was in the on or off position, so without thinking, I 'discreetly' depressed the button just a little. Not one of my better ideas. It was on, and sprayed into the fan. I have renewed respect for the disabling effects of mace. I'll never know what set the the alarm off, but thankfully, it wasn't a person!

2. The last week in Giradot, I finally got a real bike in. Did 48 kilometers on a rolling valley road out of Giradot – good pavement, and breathtakingly beautiful. Mountains on both sides – steep, verdant close mountains with misted higher peaks beyond, and beyond, and beyond. It was wonderful to finally be out in the beauty I'd only seen from a car window. Very frustrating to live so near to gorgeous countryside, and be unable to get out and freely enjoy it.

3. Blouses update – I don't have a picture of the blouses – will try to have at least one for the next blog. They all fit; two turned out well, and one is really beautiful. She does some “shortcut” sewing, but on the one I really cared about, she did some wonderful pin tucking for the front, and the short-sleeve design is lovely. You may recall that I had the blouses made because the stores here don't carry clothes for women so big as I. This is a picture of one of my tutors (and me) – you can see what I mean – her size is petty typical of the women here.

4. Giradot's Main Plaza and library are just a block from where I live. These are pictures from early in the morning, when few folks are up and about. It's really a beautifully designed plaza – the problem is that the plaza is a solid city block of bricks/tiles/stone. With days here never below 85 degrees, and usually much higher, it's impossible to enjoy it after about 11:30 am – and those stones hold their heat well after dark. The library steps open into the plaza – very beautiful. Libraries in Colombia are a unique partnership between banks (mostly Bancolombia), and the state. The bank constructs and owns the building, and the state staffs the library, any programs, and buys the books. Many of the books I looked at date back to the 80's. One impact of the state being responsible for ongoing operations (and poor economy) is that even here, there's no toilet paper or soap in the bathrooms...not even in the kids area! Again, we take SO much for granted...

5. A few pictures I took on my way to the gym one morning. I really prefered going out early in the morning, because the streets are so clean. The way garbage was handled herewas perplexing. There are no refuse baskets or containers, and people throw everything – bags, wrappers, food, newspapers, everything – on the sidewalk or into the street. By evening it's filthy, and smells bad. Then every morning around 6:00 the street cleaners – mostly women, in bright orange city uniforms– come through with brooms and shovels and bag everything up. The trucks come along shortly after, and by 7:00 things are pretty tidy again. When the stores open, each one scrubs their front sidewalk and gutter (soap and water)...and the cycle begins again. Maybe they don't put out garbage cans because that would take away work from people who desperately need it...? One thing that's always in the streets are mangy, half-starved dogs – and their poop. Yuck! And they sleep anywhere – even on busy street corners during the day – people just step over/walk by them. Couldn't resist taking a picture of a couple.

6. Water - People here don't have water heaters – no need, really. By noon the water is wonderfully warm. So evening showers are great – but morning showers? When that water first hits, it takes a few involuntary gasps to get breathing started again. I've come to really like them, tho – wonderfully refreshing. 

 7.  The Streets - At first, the streets here seem just chaotic - but nothing could be further from the truth - every square inch of sidewalk is "owned" by some one for some purpose - usually street sellers of one type or another.  I saw a pretty ugly fight one day when one cart-vendor was infringing on another's space.  The picture on the right is Fernando - my favorite pan de yuca man - he would set up each morning at 6:00 and was sold out and gone by 8:30. 

8.  Deliveries - One morning I was having coffee in a little cafe, waiting for the gym to open and the gas delivery man came...with the tank of gas on the back of his motorcycle! 

Most morning deliveries are by some form of bicycle or hand cart - I tried to edit this picture so you could see the man better, but my software isnt cooperating right now.          
     So I'm going to call it quits for now - I doubt if I'll get the Cartagena piece done before I leave here...you'll probably hear from me next after I reach Otavalo, Ecuador...Love to All - Karen

Round Two

If calling this post 'Round Two' sounds a bit pugnacious, it's because getting back here has been just that.  Not only did I 'lose' my blog, but every effort to get back to it failed because the search engine always switched to spanish, and when I finally solved that problem, the site would not accept my password and would not let me change it!

But, fnally - here I am - it's 8:15 in the evening as I begin, and it's cooled down to 90 degrees now - should hit the  mid-70's sometime during the night.  I'm so grateful for an air-conditioned bedroom. 

Life has settled into a very comfortable, if slightly boring, routine here.  I've switched my spinning classes from evenings to mornings, so start my day by walking to my 6:30 am spinning class.  Giradot is very different at this time of day - very little traffic, the streets have just been swept and cleaned, and there's usually a fresh breeze.  Speaking of traffic, I have a new appreciation of the need for so many 250cc - 500cc motorcycles.  Not only are many people quite poor here, but there are few safe places to park cars in town during the working day and/or in neighborhoods over night.  I would never have thought of these small cycles as family transportation, but it's a frequent sight to see them going down the road with dad driving, mom on the back holding a baby off to one side, and an older child smooshed between the parents.  Back to the daily routine - after spinning, I come back home for a shower, tutor a little girl in english for an hour or so, have a late breakfast, then head off to the library (to read, work on spanish, etc.) for 4-ish hours.  I think it's the only building (other than banks) with ac in this area.  Late in the afternoon there's time for a few errands, then "cena" (the light evening meal), after which I meet with Ingrid, a young woman I met who wants to improve her english, so we're trading tutoring:  I help her for an hour, then she works with me for an hour.  And that's about it...slightly boring.

But of course there just has to be a fly in the ointment. And for me, once again, that's bugs - or more specifically bug bites.  None of those awful ants time, but every night, I was getting 4 - 8 bites from something and they itched like crazy for days.  Of course no one else here gets bitten - just me.  We tried home remedies - they even had the dog treated for fleas - with no luck. In desperation, I soaked my silk underwear (a present from Todd & Renee I'd brought for when I'll be in the mountains) in permethrin, and tried sleeping covered from head to toe (in this weather!) - plus socks - in my 'poison pj's'.  It cut down the bites, but I ended up having to see a doctor, who prescribed a (very spendy) repellent for what, as it turns out, is an almost microscopic mosquito. So small they go though any fabric.  I surely wish I knew what it is about my blood chemistry that's so irresistible to bugs...

The food in this area is so different from Ecuador and Peru.  Bland is an understatement:  virtually no spices and few herbs. But fresh, with fresh juice to accompany every meal.  Lunch - the main meal - is served sometime between 12:30 and 2:00 and is a 3 or 4 course affair:  salad; soup; fish, meat, or chicken; rice or potatoes; and fresh juice. "Tipicos" include patacones (fried green plantains that are absolutely addicting), pan de yucca (also addicting - a bread made from yucca flour;  they're best fresh - all the local bakeries make them twice a day), arripas (a type of thick corn tortilla), and avena (a chilled and sweetened oats-based drink that's very rich and memorable).  The family I stay with has a cook who's outstanding - I don't think I've had the same main dish twice.  One day she made an amazing fruit salad unlike anything I've ever tasted:   lulo fruit in a sweet/tart fruit aspic - wow!!  I had to take a picture.  And then I decided to include this picture of a fish dinner we had at a reserva ecologica named Santafe.

This is a shot of the mountains on the way to Ibague.  The entire area is ringed by beautiful mountains - the view is never the same twice, because of the mists. 

Below are a couple pictures of the "inside" of the house I'm in.  It's hard to describe, but some rooms have ceilings, and others don't - they're just open to the sky.  When it rains, some rooms/parts of rooms get watered - it's pretty neat! 

A picture of Lolita - a wonderful little girl...

And a picture of Angie, the little girl I'm tutoring in English - she loves to use my little netbook to practice her alphabet and spelling - and I've figured how to access some Sesame Street videogames or her.  They're too juvenile, though...sure wish we had book stores here.

Some of you may wonder "how's the spanish coming"?  Slowly.  Very slowly...there just are no resources here - and trying to learn by 'talking' to people just doesn't work.  They can't understand much of what I'm trying to say, and I sure can't understand their rapid local cadence.  In addition to Ingrid, I've met another woman - she's also a teacher - and I'll start working with her on Saturday. other.  But the total time will be under 8 hours a week.

A note to Merry Jo, Kendall and Heather:  Practice the 'usted/ustedes' forms and forget using "tu", at least if you plan to come to Colombia!  Here, 'tu' is reserved for the only the very closest personal and family relationships.  One of my 'tutors' told me that even for best friends of many years, it's still 'usted'!

Last week I got so fed up with the few really hot weather shirts I brought that I ventured out shopping.  Major disappointment - only one store carried anything even remotely in my size - the women here are so petite. I ended up in the men's department to get a t-shirt for sprinning.  But - the good news is that there's a strong cottage industry of seamstresses and incredible fabric stores - sort of like we had back home 10 - 15 years ago.  So I bought some fabric, and am having 3 blouses made @ $9 each.  The process is interesting - no patterns are used.  The seamstress hands you a bunch of magazines and you show her blouses or features of blouses you like, then he takes your measurements and tells you when to come back for a fitting - generally 4-5 days.  So on Thursday I'll find out if the process works...

This has gotten quite way too long - and without substantial content - likely to bore even my most dedicated friends...mea culpa!  Hopefully next time I'll have more interesting things to talk about.  Love to all -
Beau/Karen/Mom

With apologies to those who may get this twice...I'm testing the 'automatic notification' feed.  If you got it twice, please let me know...thanks for your patience with my learning curve!

Introduction

This first commentary will be repetitive for those of you who got my email last week.  But -compulsive me - I'm going to start at the beginning:  January 12, 2011.  

Things got off to a rocky start in Detroit, but, in spite of the best efforts of an overly zealous counter agent in Detroit, I was finally allowed to board.   The agent had first decided that I was not an "American National", even though she didn't know what an American National is.  Nor did any of the supervisors on duty that morning.  A call to someone off-site cleared it up for her (I still don't know the definition) and she was off to the next hurdle:  because my flights in and out of Bogota are 4 months apart and we from the US can stay in Colombia only 3 months, she said it was not legal for her to let me go. And my explanations that I was staying in Colombia only 2 months, then traveling elsewhere until time to fly back, were irrelevant because I couldn't produce any booked travel tickets or itineraries to prove it.  Finally, an unidentified off-site official gave me the green light - with just minutes to spare. Fortunately, customs in Bogota had no concerns.

Unbelieveably, today is Friday, January 21 - day 10 of this venture! 

I've included a few pictures of Giradot, Colombia - my temporary home town - swiped from their website. (Giradot is pronounced "here-a-doe").  They don't convey the reality of this place, but I haven't been out with my camera yet, in part because I'm living smack-dab downtown and the only thing I could take pictures of are the throngs of traffic and crowded store fronts.   Giradot is far from the small bucolic village I had envsioned - the population is 450,000 people!  It's very hot - temperatures so far have been in the high 80's, with substantial humidity.  The mountains around the town are pretty impressive, but the town itself is quite flat, and very green with acacia trees in abundance everywhere.

Giradot spreads out from the Rio Magdalena - see picture.  One would not voluntarily enter this water.  I don't know yet what the source of pollution is, but it's major.  To the right of the bridge is Giradot's sister city, Flandes.  I've been told not to go there because it's dangerous. 

This last picture begins to convey a bit of the flavor of Giradot.  It's a poor city,

and the downtown seems always teeming with people and motorcycles.  Especially motorcycles - I swear every citizen must own one.  The problem with the traffic is that although there are a few traffic lights, about 95% of the streets have no stop signs, so it's chaos!


So far it's not clear exactly what I'll be doing, but we had a really promising meeting last week with a local social worker who's also involved with the local school.  It's looking like I'll be assisting the high school English teacher in the mornings, then having two small groups of high school students to or three afternoons a week, to give them an opportunity to practice conversing with a native-English speaking person.  The ability to speak English is highly valued here, but none of the English teachers here are native to the English language, so even their best students have terrible accents and speak poorly.  In this entire town, there's no ESL program - I'm sure a person could set up shop and make a fair income if they wanted to.  Which I don't - it's just too hot here.

One story and I'll call this quits.  The first full day that I was here in Giradot, their maid/cook asked me - in Spanish - if i liked soup and of course I said yes.  Then she ran a list of ingredients past me, and I thought I had understood all of them and kept saying yes, yes.  But when the soup came, it was clear that I had missed one very important ingredient, big time.  The soup had garbanza beans, some veggies...with pieces of meat that were clearly not muscle-based, and I knew I was in deep doo-doo.  I tried the beans/veggies part - fabulous - then tried really hard to chew the "meat" but just could not - it was way too grisly.  Got most of it down by swallowing pieces whole.  Later learned it was stomach soup.  I refused to ask from what animal...some things are better left alone!

More Later...