On that miserable night I remember with sadness the wonderful buses of the "Southern Cross“Society, to the Cama seats, the warm blankets, the soft pillows, the leg rests on the Drive from Cusco to Lima.
On this bus this is just a dream. After a few hours, I somehow find some sleep, but weary, squeezed, not at all comfortable. However, it is true to say that driving at night has considerable advantages. There are just a few vehicles to be passed, hardly any of those monster trucks, and so our bus roars through the dark night at top speed, once again a ghostly apparition, a wraith with hundreds of horsepower.
It doesn't stop a single time. Does it have something to do with the fact that nighttime robberies of buses are common and the probability of them happening is now reduced by high speed? I don't know.
Tu Onda Beach Hotel
Anyway, even uncomfortable nights come to an end after a good 13 hours.
The very first contact with the outside world shows completely different temperatures than those experienced lately. It is already stifling hot in the early morning, affecting the aforementioned feel-good level positively.
The cab driver, however, has not the faintest idea where to find my accommodation (a common phenomenon in Colombia?), so we drive off at random, always in the direction of the sea. We stop here and there, asking someone at the roadside, then we stop by a hotel guard, but he doesn't have a clue, but points confidently in the wrong direction, and only later it turns out that his hotel is just about three hundred meters away from the one we're searching for.
We are approaching our destination, albeit without knowing it, and when the sign "Tu Onda Beach Hotel“Shows up, the taxi driver and I have almost become a conspiracy and give each other a high-five.
The “Tu Onda Beach Hotel” turns out to be the right hotel, but in the wrong place, as it will later turn out to be. But that shouldn't interest me at the moment, because all my battered body craves is a good shower and two or three hours of sleep. At the reception, two other tourists are just checking in, a lady with her son. We talk in English for a long time until the boy says to his mother: "Häsch gseh?"
Well then, dos Suizos.
But the hotel is truly nice, has a large courtyard with tables and chairs, a bar and, oddly enough, parallel bars and a high bar. No swimming pool, but gymnastics equipment on which a few young men with tailored bodysuits and six-packs try their hand, but without impressing the spectators in the slightest ...
Cartagena de Indias
Cartagena de Indias with its 1.001.755 inhabitants is a city on the Caribbean coast of Colombia and is located in the north of the country with access to both the open sea and the Bahía de Cartagena de Indias.
The city has established itself as one of the most beautiful colonial cities in South America. Cartagena is the city with the most tourists and, not least because of its geographical location, the safest and best guarded city in Colombia.
On my way into town ( which is unfortunately much farther away from my hotel than expected), the skyline of the city shows on the horizon. It gives the impression of a sophisticated cosmopolitan city, but this is only true for a relatively small part of the city.
The walled city center
The ancient city center, completely walled, with a ring of fortifications has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1959. The city includes Centro, with the cathedral and countless palaces in the Andalusian style, San Diego, the neighborhood of merchants and the numerically small bourgeoisie, and Getsemaní, the neighborhood of small people and artisans, which dates back to this period.
The Centro Historico is a particular feast for the eyes. Set out like a checkerboard, it offers an impressive collection of well-preserved colonial houses dating back to Spanish times. Many are colorfully painted, blue, green, red, orange and all shades in between. Purple plants (bougainvillea?) hang low over the alleys, exuding a beguiling scent (or is it the perfume of the lady just rushing by next to me?).
I can't remember seeing so many tourists in a town, not even in Cusco. Compared to the locals, they are vastly outnumbered, tripping over each other's legs and feet, looking for the cathedral, the Parque Bolivar, a cold beer or perhaps the exit, which is not that easy to find.
Unfortunately, only a few roads are closed to traffic, so the incessant honking soon gets on your nerves. However, it can be expected that with further growth of tourism, this problem will probably soon be solved to the disadvantage of the traffic.
Life is a calm river
The side streets are quiet and lonely, here life is a calm river. But here too, graffiti artists have left their mark.
I let myself drift as usual, my eyes wide open, letting the images, the sounds from the windows, from the backyards, the garages and small stores take effect on me. Strangely enough, I suddenly have the impression that I am no longer in a particular place. It is a place-less, time-less, being-less drifting, completely in the here and now, where neither place nor time play a role.
The sun plays its usual role, burning on my head and shoulders, making it hard to breathe, but I'm grateful, feasting on the unusual heat in the hot alleys.
I am happy.
The nightlife
The Caribbean nightlife in Cartagena de Indias is legendary, i am told that a tourist specialty is Rumba en Chiva, a party on a bus. I don't know what that means though. I have seen neither a bus nor a party.
Most of the nightclubs are on Arsenal Street, Getsemaní. Smaller clubs and restaurants are located in the historical center of the city. The Afro-Caribbean style of music, Champeta, originated in Cartagena and is mainly heard and celebrated in the poor areas of the city.
Like Djema al Fna
Sometimes you feel like you are on that Djema al-Fna in Marrakech, really only missing the water sellers and the storytellers.
Young boys give Breakdance performances in perfect choreography in front of the tourist buses. Absolutely world class. This body control. You can't help but stop and marvel. A young lad hangs horizontally in the air, held in the air only by his hand on a vertical pole. The pedestrians stop, wondering, thinking of a physically correct answer to the inexplicable phenomenon, until even the last one realizes that the young man is held in suspension by his sleeve, his shirt and his pants by a horizontal metal construction.
So much for the background. I cannot contribute much regarding nightlife, because as already mentioned, our beautiful hotel is located by the sea, far away from nightlife, discos and champeta (not to mention the age-related urge to go to bed early).
Thus the day passes, fatigue sets in, the sky darkens, time to say goodbye ...
Mileage: 9015
Matching Song: Fonseca, Silvestre Dangond - Cartagena
And here the journey continues ...
