Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

Saturday Night

Frankly I’m having a bit of trouble at the moment meeting people. This is partly down to my usual unwillingness to engage in conversation with strangers, but also slightly down to the lack of gringos in Cartagena. I think I’ve only heard half a dozen people speak English (all American), although there were a crowd of 8 Germans in a restaurant the other night. They asked for 8 separate bills.

It tends to be a bit easier in hostels and I’ll be starting to use them in a couple of weeks, so I’ll see how the search for Spanish lessons goes and then try a bit harder. A slight problem on the lessons was the late arrival of the boat meaning I was more bothered about sorting out accommodation than setting up the classes before the weekend – which is now here.

Still football on the telly and I’m attempting to get to the Real Cartagena game tomorrow – playing football in this heat should be a laugh – they’ve just shown a close up of a player on TV and they are soaked through. One point – when there’s a corner the pitch side riot police use their shields to prevent the player taking the kick from getting hit by missiles.

None of this is to say that I’m bored. I’m still seeing loads of interesting and new things and trying to walk off the weight I put on whilst on board.

Sunday morning arrived and a chat after breakfast with an American guy put things into a bit of perspective. He is working in Medellin and says that he had to go to Peru to learn Spanish, because Colombia is starved of tourists and therefore no real infrastructure has been set up to sort out my specific bit. Of course the lack of tourists is a result of Colombia’s international image. For the record, Cartagena is one of the safest and best cities I have ever visited. Next time, however, I’m bringing a mate.

Absolute failure where football was concerned. The hotel clerk got nervous when the taxi turned up and insisted I took a member of staff with me and pay for the return trip for him (and me, if I couldn’t get a ticket). I decided to try under my own steam, but was vaguely depressed and ended up in one of my favourite salsa bars, Donde xxxxx?, before a small time in the oldest church in the town and sunset at the beach. Spent the money I would have spent on taxis on a bottle of wine (first for over three weeks!) and retired to my hotel where the electricity had been restored. Loose plans wavered as I decided I was going to finish the Steinbeck (which I’ve been rationing). Really pleased I did. At 10pm on a Sunday evening I can quote long in the following way:

“Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor emerges and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip: a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognised can the blown-in-the glass-bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”

This forms part of his introduction to the book referred to earlier and like him I feel the better for it having been said. I now need to get on with it…

Tonight’s song – I Was Right The First Time (or whatever it’s called) – Dexy’s

On a high cultural note, the Colombian X Factor final appears to be taking place tonight. The Colombian Who Wants to be a Millionaire has kids as competitors. And footie fans, there is a programme of such toe-curling embarrassment for a Toon Army ex and those who believe that there should be some dignity in the world. Essentially two local celebs get dropped somewhere and have to find their way home (and it’s a long way). One is some blousy blond ex-athlete by the looks of things. The other, with a look of thunder from start to finish, is Tino Asprilla, who is possibly going to murder his agent before the programme concludes (which may be some weeks). Now why would a player earning European premier wages for all those years allow himself to be subjected to such humiliation, for what can only be relatively poor remuneration in his home country? Feel free to email in an answer… (I’ve my own views, but I’ll be here for a few weeks yet and don’t want to excite local passions.)

Monday Morning

That’s better.

Got up early and had breakfast before my cold shower. Strange how girded I felt by last night’s ruminations. Well done JS, even if you have been dead these past 27 years.

Got to the language school before el profesor had left (even though I’d stopped for a coffee in my new favourite place). He sold me 20 very expensive hours of tuition, but it means he can start when I want (Miercoles) and that I get a focus to the day with other gringos about. Already met Andy from Basel (a town that is always popping up in my life) and had a good chat about the difficulties of going out with locals and where it’s best to be based when in Bogota.

Later found an ‘open’ vegetarian restaurant. (The first veg restaurant I’d planned on sampling is called Govinda’s. I’d sort of seen it as a treat last Thursday after escaping from Bocagrande to the city. I asked from the bottom of the stairs if food was available and was told yes. When I got upstairs there were a few stoned hippies, a cripple and a sort of mini-temple smelling, of course, of joss sticks. The cleared away tables made it clear there was to be no food tonight – “Sunday, maybe Monday” was the finally forced utterance. No further comment needed.)

Anyway, today’s was a healthy affair of rice with veg and soup for around a quid. It was in the roof space of a shop. Not a converted attic, but a roof space (with no windows). Still all fine, although I need a haircut and haven’t managed to get in to the barbers I’ve decided on yet. No pictures until this happens.

I understand from the papers that Europe is suffering from something of a cold snap. Just off to the beach for a couple of hours (well, the Caribbean is so warm).

Today’s Tune – Start by The jam

Bye all (sorry if this is a bit long – next bit’s only really for visitors).

Note on hotels in Cartagena. `

Taxi drivers will try to get you to Bocagrande, because: a) it’s a longer drive from the airport and b) because they get better commissions there. There’s nothing wrong with Bocagrande and there are clearly loads of nice hotels there. However, while there is a beach there, there isn’t much peace to be gained if you’re a gringo (non-stop offers of fake watches, fake cigars, sunglasses, shellfish, chicitas, etc.) and most will want to be based in the historical centre. And you can get to better beaches

The taxi drivers will most likely take you to a dump in the old town explaining that the Santa Clara or Charleston will charge a fortune. This is true, but there are at least half a dozen options between the dump that is, say, the San Felipe Hotel (which I was shown) and the super rich colonial piles. Try the San Diego, Tres Banderas, Hotel Central, Hotel Balcones for prices in the £25-£40 per night range (with breakfast). There are other cheaper options. The Pirate Hostel is within the walls, The Viena and Gestemeni (amongst others) just outside. My cab driver told me that my choice of Tres Banderas was many miles outside of the city. A bare-faced lie.

Tags: Travel

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