Cartagena

Cartagena

With an obligatory stop in the city of Barranquilla due to a change of vehicle, we arrived in Cartagena after a journey of about six hours. The bus station was very far from the city centre and we had to spend more money on a taxi to get to our destination. Following the taxi driver's suggestions to try to figure out which part of the city to settle in, there were two alternatives: Bocagrande, a new-generation tourist district made of very tall skyscrapers by the sea, and the Ciudad murallada, that is, the old colonial Cartagena, declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. Under the strong insistence of our driver (who described it as more suitable for tourists) we initially headed towards Bocagrande, which however was completely outside the colonial spirit we were looking for.

The old city instead proved to be a true architectural jewel, recently recovered and restored, making it what in our opinion can be called the colonial city par excellence. Again on the taxi driver's advice we chose to leave our suitcases in a very colourful colonial house now used as a hostel. It was beautiful, with a characteristic inner garden over which the wooden pergola of the upper floors overhung; the vivid colours made the atmosphere even more pleasant. The only flaw of the house and problem of the whole city was the intermittent water supply and a stifling mugginess, which made it almost impossible to stay in the room despite the very fast blades of a constantly running wall fan. Having overcome the plumbing problems, by now at sunset, we set off to explore the city.

Luckily we were only about two hundred metres from the famous clock tower, a monument that can be considered a sort of centre of the city. Even though darkness was falling we couldn't resist plunging among the historic colonial houses: a unique and incredible experience, a dive into history that, at least as far as the buildings are concerned, seems to have stood still hundreds of years ago. After this first taste we went back hoping to take a shower, no small feat due to the very low pressure that allowed only a timid trickle of water. Having left our room, pleasantly refreshed by an evening breeze, we returned to the centre in search of food, choosing a very classic little stall offering pizza and good-quality sandwiches.

The following morning our goal was to get to know the city more deeply, and that's why we left the hostel early to return to the clock tower square and from there venture again through the city alleys. We crossed the entire historic centre to reach the very famous city walls: in front of us the sea gently beat against the rocks, behind us the city in all its splendour. A short walk along the top of the walls and then back towards the centre as far as the cathedral; we were early compared to the church's opening time and treated ourselves to a stop in the nearby gardens, sipping a very sweet mandarin juice.

At three o'clock sharp the doors of the cathedral opened and we, like good tourists, queued up to get in; after almost an hour of waiting in the little gardens we were expecting sumptuous interiors, but in reality the cathedral was under renovation, so a bit disappointed we left with our tails between our legs, with the only consolation of having been in the same church where Juan Pablo Montoya's wedding had been celebrated: a rather slim consolation. From there we then headed to Plaza Santo Domingo, one of the focal points of the city, crowded with tourists and restaurants preparing for the imminent evening. This first day in the city did nothing but confirm all those positive impressions we had gathered the previous day; it was time to go back home and let our tourist feet rest, subjected as they were to incessant work.

Luckily the water problem had been solved, and with great relief we were able to take a shower and cool off sitting in the rocking chairs placed along the corridor: it really felt like living in another era. We then thought about taking a few more steps in the arsenal area, the tourist spot par excellence, dotted with bars and clubs: even tourists, after a day of culture, look for a bit of healthy fun, and the city certainly doesn't hold back in satisfying these needs.

For the following day the plan was a return to the city centre to visit the convent of San Pedro Claver, made a saint for his exhausting fight against black slavery. The convent included a very well-preserved church and an attached three-storey cloister where the monks lived. At the entrance we opted for a guide service that in forty minutes took us around the entire convent: really interesting, above all for the very green outdoor garden and for the very fine inlaid wood decorations covering the interior of the cloister. Once the visit was over it was time to concentrate on one of the city's main attractions: the castle of San Felipe. We took a taxi and in ten minutes we were in front of the castle ticket office, and in no time at all inside the fortress built for the city's land defence.

A true bastion characterised by an endless series of internal corridors that plunge towards the centre of the earth; we certainly couldn't skip them and we pushed downwards, where humidity and darkness reigned supreme. Once we resurfaced we did the entire tour of the castle to get another view of the old city and of Bocagrande. In the late afternoon we headed again towards the arsenal area where we had been the previous evening; we wanted to see this area also in the sunlight, but to tell the truth, apart from the convention centre and the municipal theatre, there was nothing else of note. After the intense day we returned home for a healthy shower and some well-earned rest.

The following day was Sunday and the city was practically deserted. We too, caught up in this desolate emptiness, did practically almost nothing and stayed to enjoy the tranquillity of the garden inside our lodgings, chatting amiably with two very curious little old ladies.

The next morning it was time to pack up because twelve endless hours awaited us on board the bus that, passing through the winding Colombian mountains, would take us all the way to Medellin.