We arrived on a yacht in the port of Cartagena de Indias, as conquerors in search of new cities. We tour the Caribbean aboard the Alsa Craig, squalid ship unable to contain our illusions, once tied to the gates of South America.
The first tour of the city mixed the sweet smell of fruit salads, street rhythms with the sound of the drums and the festival of colors painted on the facades. Light and flowers welcomed us, because Cartagena is dressed and joy at dawn and never rests.
The city has its strength, San Felipe Castle, but today the sea cannons pointing only serve to take a picture of the past of the bold. A large Colombian flag waves pride of a city that Gabriel Garcia Marquez went on to say that it is the most beautiful place on the planet.
A large Colombian flag waves pride of a city that Gabriel Garcia Marquez went on to say that it is the most beautiful place on the planet.
This is a place away from the inside, conflicts outside of a country that survives from the jungles arming. Perhaps his stone walls insulates them from another reality, avoiding the tourists, which does not have beaches, or bars, ni batidos de papaya. Cartagena de Indias denies the sadness, because among so light there is no room for despair.
I had the feeling of debuting its squares, because in every corner I found a garden of fountains and pots, of roses and violets, as newly laid. Cartagena viewed from the balconies. People facing the road because it would be obscene to stay home as life dancing on the sidewalks, while men walk slowly carts overflowing with bananas and pineapples and women carry on their heads all the flavor of Latin America.
On a terrace either witnessed the live showcase of its inhabitants, with that unstoppable ritmillo everyone makes them walk like dancing. I could not stop the parade of vendors hawking sunglasses, to filter a little burst of light that, or spontaneous guides, though no one can guide you in a maze where grace resides in lost. Some sell magic tricks, the postales, the paintings, the floaters, Some do not sell anything, but they stop talking to overseas and see what take. Yet the siege of the locals is always accompanied with a smile as natural as their orange juice. And leave no more, without disturbing.
Cartagena de Indias denies the sadness, because among so light there is no room for despair.
Men wave from their balconies and mulatto at street dance, a perpetual spring, the rest saw only a couple of lazy, that animal as a bear, someone robbed the trees, to carry, precisely, to one of the busiest cities in Latin America.
We stayed at a hotel 5 stars, tourism promotion privileges, but the sun minigolf or a craving too impersonal to me in a city that is dying to live on the streets.
It is better to hear the passing of carriages by cobbled, or dine next to a statue of Botero, or sit on a bench and watch any men read newspapers, or how women start laughing.
And only when the sun announces the sunset, the city is calm and abroad overlooking the sea, that so many people and so much joy goes almost unnoticed. And that's when you go to sleep and wait for passing the night go tropical heat and the cracks again light the day and the drums and the city wakes up again to the rhythm of light.
