It would have been Dad's 86th birthday today, 22nd February, so I had thoughts of him when the alarm went off at 0615 hours. We had booked Viktor to pick us up at 7am, outside the marina, to take us to the Santa Marta transport terminal, about 7kn outside the town. We waited until 7.15am before deciding that he had forgotten about the booking and walked the short distance to the Marriott Hotel, where we knew there would be taxis waiting. We agreed a price of 20,000 pesos for the short ride. On arrival, I managed to understand and respond to questions, in Spanish, regarding whether we already had tickets and which provider they were with and we were directed to the Brasilia desk to check in, much as you would at an airport. We presented passports and tickets and were met with a stream of rapid Spanish. Luckily, a guy (Lewis) at the next desk jumped in to assist us. Our 8.30am bus would not be leaving until 9.30am but there was space on the 0730 bus which would also be leaving up to 1 hour late. We were offered 2 seats apart, which we declined but this was followed up with 2 seats together, right at the back, on the right hand side. I prefer this side of the bus, as the view is not obscured by traffic going the other way and as we were heading south, would hopefully have a sea view. New tickets in hand, we settled down in the waiting room until we saw our bus pull in. The bus left at 0815, so we were ahead of our expected schedule. The coach was very comfortable, with big, plush, reclining seats and a little bit of aircon. Pete was soon asleep while I watched the world go by. The surf on the beaches north of Baranquilla was ferocious and there were large, well-worn logs all over. They come down the river through Baranquilla, along with dead cows, old sofas and other detritus and are a well known hazard to sailors passing by, such that the advice is to stay at least 6 miles off the coast. The 'express' bus made several stops around the city, picking up and dropping off customers, then headed inland and across country towards Cartagena. All along the roadside and in the hedgerows there was rubbish. We passed through small towns, slowing now and again to pick up street vendors who came aboard to sell arepas and drinks or to spout at everyone, before jumping off at the next town. We passed into cattle country, with fincas and haciendas along the roadside, where there were small lakes. There were trees with beautiful yellow flowers and then a burnt out bus teetering half on and half off the road. After 5 hours and 10 minutes, we arrived at the transport terminal, 14 km outside of Cartagena, the journey taking 40 minutes longer than advertised. I doubt that the bus ever managed the trip in less than 5 hours, as there are very few pieces of dual carriageway and lots of slow moving juggernauts. In the bus station, I paid 1200 pesos to use the public toilet. Toilet paper was extra and dispensed, by the sheet, from a machine on the wall. Luckily I had tissues. Taxi prices were posted on boards inside the station, so we knew that our ride should be 25,600. Our taxi said 30,000 but we didn't quibble. Cartagena was as frenetic on the roads as Santa Marta, with motorbikes and scooters weaving in and out of the traffic, across forecourts and in the wrong direction, with pillion passengers generally without helmets. Some bikes has husband, wife, child and dog on board. We reached the old town, where all the streets are one way and we jumped out at the top of our street, to save the taxi going around the block. He was lucky to pick up a fare back to the transport terminal immediately. Just before we reached our hotel, BHaus Boutique Hotel, Pete disappeared. There are no prizes for guessing that he had entered the bar across the street and was busy ordering beer. We sat at the open window, looking out onto the street, which was full of colour and noise. Our beers arrived; not the usual Aguilla or Club Colombia but craft beers. I found a menu and discovered we would be shelling out £20 for these 2. Ladies in long, swirling dresses in Colombian colours and with bowls of fruit on their heads were trying to entice Pete out to dance. I took a photo and money was demanded. I only had change and the lady wasn't happy. We would soon find that this is the way in Cartagena. It's a tourist city, unlike Santa Marta and everyone is in your face and after your money for something or nothing.
We walked across the road and checked into the hotel. Our room was very small, with a double bed, 2 bedside tables, a fridge, TV and small hanging rail and a shower room. It was a bit tired and need of some maintenance but we had a plentiful supply of hot water in the shower and the bed and pillows were extremely comfortable. The only window looked onto the small, central atrium, so the blind needed to be drawn but we had aircon to keep the room cool. We unpacked and had a quick refresh, before heading out.
Adam and Bev were already in Cartagena and messaged to meet them at a bar / restaurant in the area known as Getsemani, about 10 minutes walk from our hotel. The area is cheaper than the old town, very busy, noisy and colourful. The streets are festooned with bunting, flowers and umbrellas hanging overhead. We located Adam and Bev in El Cabildo, just finishing a late lunch. From there, the four of us went to the park to see the sloths, monkeys and hawks in the trees. Years ago, the sloths had been kept in cages and were brought out for tourists to hold while they had their photo taken. Now they have been released and there are 8 sloths living in the trees. On the other side of the park there was a roller rink and children of all ages were skating round, most wearing vests for a particular club. As we watched, 2 very small, young girls stopped beside us and said hello and how are you? Then they opened their shoulder bags and tried to sell us their popcorn. The hustling here starts at a very young age. Adam and Bev left to go to a cooking class they had booked and we returned to the hotel via the Exito supermarket, where we bought a pack of beer and a bottle of wine, for the fridge. We showered and changed and returned to El Cabildo for dinner, eating filet mignon for a mere £12 each. We wound our way back to the hotel, through the colourful streets of Getsemani, Central and the Old Town, ignoring the menus, trinkets, drinks and cigars that were pushed in front of our faces. It's a well known fact that the tobacco sellers are actually selling drugs, from weed to cocaine. Hardly anyone in Colombia smokes. Back at the hotel, we took a beer and wine onto the rooftop and sat beside the small pool for half an hour before going to bed. We slept extremely well.
Breakfast at the hotel was a la carte, from a limited menu. Fruit, coffee, fresh orange juice and lovely, soft focacia bread came with each menu choice. I chose an omelette and Pete had avocado on toast. Our first stop this morning was the park, so Pete could take photos of the animals with the Nikon. From there, we visited one of the main squares before crossing the road towards the waterfront, taking photos of various buildings, monuments and sculptures. We followed the water down towards the marina and saw Miocene (Mitch and Avi) at anchor, although there was nobody on board. It was getting extremely hot, so we moved off into the narrow streets and soon came across a pretty little square, with 2 small restaurants and tables in the middle. It was peaceful and shady, so we decided to take cover and have a drink. We ordered a bottle of crisp, cold sauvignon blanc and later ordered ribs for lunch. There was a cruise ship in harbour and a walking tour passed through the square, bringing with them the beggars, rapping buskers and trinket sellers. We declined all wares and they moved on, returning the square to peace. Having had our fill, we ambled back to the hotel, via the old city walls and the old town and spent the afternoon in and around the pool, which we had to ourselves, save for a vulture that came down for a drink. The pool was very small and its surroundings needed tidying up but at least it was cool. We had dinner at La Vieja Guardia, on the edge of the old town, near the city walls and a bit off the tourist track, where we weren't bothered by anyone selling anything. We enjoyed conversing with the couple on the next table, who were from the sticks outside Ottawa. They weren't enjoying Cartagena, which they found too busy, touristy and expensive. They were based here for 3 weeks but had cut their stay by a week and were going to Uruguay instead.
On our second full day, we walked along the old town walls, descending now and again to visit squares, monuments and sculptures. The we traversed all the streets of the old town, backwards and forwards, taking photos of all the door knockers, for which Cartagena is famous. We grabbed a slice of pizza for lunch, at the ridiculous price of £1.80, including a bottle of Sprite and returned to our seemingly private pool, to cool down. On our way to dinner, we walked around Getsemani, just to overload our senses with the atmosphere, the noise, colour, hustle and bustle. We ate steak at La Tagina, along with a good bottle of red, served by a true sommelier. I didn't sleep well that night, as there was a lady with a very loud, high-pitched voice and earth-shattering laugh, in the bar downstairs, until after 2am.
On Tuesday we had to be up early and at breakfast by 7.30am, in order to catch the bus back to Santa Marta. There had been a rain shower and the pavements were damp. Because we were early and the only ones in the restaurant, all of our food and drink arrived at once, the meal felt rushed and made me feel uncomfortable. We collected our bags, checked out and walker down the street to find a taxi. The first taxi wanted 40,000 pesos, so we sent him on his way and he was replaced within seconds by another yellow cab. This one wanted 30,000, the correct price, so we climbed in. It was rush hour and the city roads were packed. The buses have their own lane, so that's the best way to travel. The inside lane has everything from taxis, cars and scooters to donkeys with carts and hand-pushed carts. It was absolute chaos and we were glad we weren't driving ourselves. We arrived in plenty of time, checked in for the bus and sat in the waiting room. Here we were approached by the tourist police, who warned us about taxi drivers that might rip us off and wanted to know about our experiences. The bus arrived on time and we climbed on board, taking our seats near the back, on the left hand side, this time. We seemed to be making good progress but the journey was uncomfortable, with the driver speeding up behind other vehicles then braking hard. The aircon wasn't working very well and I started to feel queasy and hot. I managed to get some air and recover a bit, in the toilet, where there was a small, open window. We made it to the transport terminal in Baranquilla, where we stopped for about 40 minutes, with no idea what the hold up was. Eventually we set off and headed across the suspension bridge to the causeway through the mangroves. We saw herons, vultures and pelicans. With the polarising tint on the bus windows, the sea and sky were amazing shades of blue and turquoise. The surf wasn't as high on the beaches today, as the wind had calmed. I pointed out the logs on the beaches to Pete, as he'd missed them going south. We could see the mountains behind Santa Marta now and were looking forward to getting off the bus. After 6 hours, we arrived and picked up a taxi for 13,000 pesos back to the marina. I was desperately tired and weary, so we had a quick tea at La Fresca (not to be recommended) and had an early night.