Cartagena, Colombia, skyline of glass and concrete towers rose before us upon docking at Cartagena. Between the highrises, stacked containers and loading cranes one could glimpse a few cupolas of the churches in Viejo Cartagena. We were definitely in a 'level orange' port. The portable 'noise machines' to dissuade attackers had been mounted on the promenade decks, just incase a Colombiano would dare to scale the ship. An armada of armed cigarette boats, thinly disguised as grey navy vessels, circled the ship apparently guarding us against drug runners. Colombia allegedly is one of the most notorious drug producers in the world with the usual problems associated with it. Drug-runners apparently export their wares using very fast boats, ergo the Navy uses even faster ones. A few armed guards lined the dock. Not to worry the Captain advised...things are quite safe. We heard later that they indeed were more than safe. The old walled city is closed to vehicle traffic whenever a cruise ship is in port, in order to avoid that oblivious tourists are run down by eager local motorists.
Cartagena de Indias (the name on the coat of arms) was founded by Pedro de Heredia in 1533 and served for a century or so as THE export point for gold collected by our brave European exploiters for the Spanish Crown. The city also became a major centre for the Spanish Inquisition as well as a major Slave Trading Centre. The Palacio de Inquisition is a deceptively elegant and beautifully designed edifice on a tree shaded square (centre of which of course is a beautiful statue of an Andalusian horse mounted by a historic hero), far to elaborate to have harboured slaves. It is hard to imagine how many indiginous 'heathens' suffered atrocious tortures to be converted to the religion of a merciful God.
The Old City is a maze of narrow cobbled streets enclosed by a massive sea-wall about seven miles long. Balconies filled with potted flowering shrubs adorn every building, and turn the quaint streets into shady and colourful lanes.
Streetlevel consists of restaurants, shops (a whole slew of Colombian Emerald boutiques at every corner) and entry hallways to Spas and Hotels with stunning courtyards and unique colonial architecture.
Getting there was half the fun. Not being on an organied 'highlights' tour, we set out to catch a taxi. Buddied up with my friend Gyl and two Mexican ladies to share the expense (supposedly 20 dollars one way to Viejo Cartagena). Had to find the 'blue shirts' which identify licensed taxidrivers. Walking was 'out' as things aren't that safe in some of the suburbs for tourists or locals. Outside the tropically green harbour terminal milled a mass of blue shirts, with 'taxi' printed all over them just for good measure. Hayday for the chauffeurs, who initially refused to accept any one way ride to town, all insisted on providing the visitors with extensive city tours to all the shops and a drive into the hills to a prominent fort thrown in for 45 dollars.
We stood our ground, the two Mexican women machine gunning in Spanish with the reluctant drivers, I adding my single shot Spanish into the melee, Gyl just looking on in silent English. We finally found "Freddy", a blue shirt whom we talked into taking us to town. We all squeezed into the hot yellow cab (no airconditioning) and Freddy started his assault in Spanish: he insists we should take his tour, we insist we want to walk, he insists to take us to a monastry, we insist we want to walk, he insists to take us to a nice emerald shop, we insist to walk....the inside of the cab was not only steaming with sweat but also smoking from the hot argument...all conducted in a noisy and Latin staccato (my comments had to be short and to the point as my Spanish is still somewhat rudimentary). We arrived at the city wall, where Freddy was still trying to convince us of the error of walking. But, we all agreed to meet again at 3 p.m. for him to give us all a ride back to the ship, thus he would earn his 40 dollars in a total of two 1/4 hour stints instead of a whole day. Everyone happy.
Cartagena old city is one seamless canvas of imposing historic architecture. There is only one cathedral, but there are many churches, some converted into museums. However, the most charming aspect are the rows and rows of balconied two story hoses - one attached to the next - with their covering of vines and flamboyant display of flowers on hundreds of sculpted balconies. Some carved of wood, some of wrought iron. Large entry doors, with elaborate doorknobs as large as a human head, signified 'private' residences, where shaded courtyards with cool fountains are the centre of daily live for the 'better off citizens' of Cartegena.
It is difficult to stay out of the numerous Emerald Jeweller shops; Colombian emeralds are said to be the most precious in the world (something to do with tectonic plates...) Between oohing and ahhing at the architecture we slipped into a few of the air conditioned treasure chests.
Resistance wore down with every little nip into one of those, and inside the last one was practically non existent. Spanish semi-fluency comes in handy when it is time for bargaining. By that time one has made friends with the owners/managers/attendants and a lively conversation about Colombian architecture, cruise ship trivia, Latin literature etc has smoothed the way for the serious business of 'mejor precio', best price. Gyl succcumbed to the enchantment of a pendant and earring set...and I fell for a set of earrings. We 'mejored' the price to half of the initial request, which probably turned out to be a pretty fair deal as duty free stores at the Cruise Terminal asked a heck of a lot more for a heck of a lot less, we found out later.
Payment was a bit of a challenge, as chip and pin technology is accepted practice here, however Canadian banks may have some concerns of authorizing Visa purchases from somewhere like Colombia.
The deals seemed to be off. But ingenuity and the eagerness to make a sale (especially on a Sunday) overcame all obstacles. The owner drove Gyl back to the ship (getting his car into city walls was a challenge by itself) where traveller cheques and jewels changed hands. I departed for a last admiring stroll, when Carlos, the owner of the emerald store saw me wandering by a little later. He was offering to let me take the earrings along with me on the journey, and money order him the funds later. Ah, the impact of speaking a little of the local idiom on personal trust. Anyway...we settled the deal, and it involved a bit of phoning etc to my bank in Canada at a later date.
Punctually at 3 p.m. Freddy, the blue-shirted taxi driver waited at the agreed upon corner, the two Mexican woman had returned as well, and the four of us enjoyed a rather social drive back to the ship. Different from the morning, where all was pressure and sell a tour. Now, it was family talk, pointing out interesting buildings, friendly chatter. Freddy dropped us off as close to the ship as the barricade of guards with drug sniffer dogs or explosive detectors allowed us. Freddy pointed out that his outstanding reliability required a propina (tip) and he we gladly accommodated him.
The armed cigarette boats still circled the ship and chased a few gawkers on pleasure away, but our cast off proved to be uneventful and we sailed off into the tropical sunset.
