Santa Marta: Ending and Beginning

The dark blue Atlantic Ocean was on my left side, green banana plantations extended to the horizon on my right. I rode a minibus with fourteen people from Cartagena to Santa Marta, down the Caribbean coast. It took us three and a half hours.  We passed swampy marches full of gray and brown ducks, white egrets, and small black and puffy white birds. Periodically, there were poor subsistence fishing villages of dark skin people. As we approached Santa Marta, the snow white capped Sierra Nevada Mountains dominated the landscape. In some areas the mountains went right down to the water line. 

Food vendors hop on buses during stops and sell a variety of munchies

Most of the coast is wetlands

Simple shack where people live in a fishing village along the coast

My hostel was located two blocks from a new indoor, air conditioned modern shopping mall - Buenavista Centro. Since Santa Marta is hot and humid like Cartagena, I went to the mall to check it out and enjoy the cool air. There was a Juan Valdez Cafe that sold blended ice coffee drinks. I had to have one. It was as good as a frappuccino from Starbucks at a third of the price. The humidity causes a constant thirst no matter how much water, fruit juices, or cold blended coffees I drink. I’m in a perpetual sweat.

Desserts are also available at the Buenavista Centro mall

(Yes, had a piece and it was yummy)

A family of seven Tayrona indigenous people were walking hand in hand in the mall. All were dressed in white hand woven tunics that were four or five inches above the ankle and dark brown leather sandals. The only male, probably the father, was wearing white baggy pajama like pants under his tunic. He had a white and brown horizontal stripped woven messenger bag over his neck and across his front body. All had long, straight shinny black hair. They were captivated by the window displays of mannequins wearing tight jeans and different colored T-shirts.

Museum depiction of Tayrona (or Tairona) indigenous people

Santa Marta is a busy Colombian port. The main beach where the town begins is littered with debris from shipping traffic. While in Santa Marta the national soccer team beat Chile on its way to the World Cup elimination rounds. The team was behind 1 - 0, for most of the game, and staged a late comeback to win 1 - 3. Colombians, like most Latin Americans are passionate about “futbol”. The whole town erupted in celebration. People everywhere were dressed in the banana yellow jersey of the team. Cars were driving around honking horns. People were shouting, “Viva Colombia! . . . Viva Colombia!” The party lasted all night.

Container traffic at the busy Santa Marta port

Main beach with Sierra Nevada mountains in the background

It maybe old and rusty, but it still floats

It seems that after decades of narco-traffic violence, guerilla warfare, and the depression and delirium that comes from living in a society full of indiscriminate violence, Colombians were ready to release pent up joy and happiness. It’s a watershed moment. Colombians are experiencing real pleasure and jubilation. They’re exercising out of their body politic depression, fear, and disappointment by expressing pride in being Colombian. This sports victory goes beyond soccer. It signals a uniting of all levels of society, a genuine feeling of belonging to a bigger community - the Colombian society.

Museum guard erupts with joy after soccer team scores a goal

(Note the small TV atop a display of priceless artifacts from antiquity)

Conquistador Jimenez Quesada began his conquest of Colombia from Santa Marta. The great Liberator of South America Simon Bolivar ended his in Santa Marta. Next we’ll investigate what Santa Marta remembers of these two historic figures.

Liberator Simon Bolivar died in Santa Marta

Jimenez Quesada began his march to fame in Santa Marta

Price Paid in Blood: Defense of Cartagena

San Felipe Fortress

Hurry boys! . . . if we’re defeated, we lose everything . . . our family, our home, our lives . . . Hurry boys! . . . we need to replace those who have sacrificed their lives . . . Hurry boys! . . . we fight until death comes to take us to our Maker . . . Hurry boys! . . . we defend what is ours . . . Hurry boys! . . . victory is near . . . Hurry boys! . . . .

The sergeant and all his “boys” in his company were annihilated, but the fortress holds. The bloody pirates are turned back. The families, their homes, and the city are saved. The high price paid are red, hot human blood and eternal souls.

The only entrance to San Felipe fortress

San Felipe was the most elaborate stronghold Spain built in the Americas. It had to be. Cartagena served as the staging area for gold, silver, emeralds shipped to Europe. It warehoused finished goods - machines, tools, clothing, hardware for buildings - imported from Spain. Human cargo, African slaves, was brought to South America through its ports. 

Gun batteries defending attacks from land

Cannon and cannonballs at the ready

Annually, from Cartagena a Spanish convoy of a hundred or more ships began their crossing of the Atlantic with treasure. French, Dutch, and English pirates attacked this flotilla. Instead of  assaulting the fleet, Sir Francis Drake, Henry Morgan, and others changed their tactics and decided to attack where the riches were stored - Cartagena. It had less defenses, less number of Spanish soldiers, and less harm to their ships. 

Drake sacked and burned Cartagena. He stole the treasure trove that the Spanish had looted from the indigenous tribes. A strong, impenetrable fort was needed. Therefore, San Felipe was built. The fortress with its big, long range cannons, fifteen foot walls, and only one way in defended Cartagena.

Long range cannon able to reach ships in the Caribbean Sea

View from artillery battery facing Cartagena

In 1741, a British force of 27,000 men under the command of Sir Edward Vernon laid siege to the city. Spaniard Blas de Lezo, known as “half a man”, having lost a leg, an arm, and one eye in previous battles, with only 3,000 fighting men held out and defeated the British armada. The British defeat was so devastating and demoralizing that the king demanded that the incident be stricken from recorded history and never to be discussed. The Spanish would rule the seas for the next five decades.

"Half a man" Blas de Lezo, fights to defend Cartagena even

without a right arm, left leg, and left eye

As I walked the walls and batteries, I could hear the guns from British ships pounding the walls. The return cannon fire and smoke can still be detected. Tears in the darkness of desperate men can be sensed as one tours the dark underground chambers. No relief is coming. The cries of wounded, suffering, and dying men still resonates from the stone walls. 

During battles these guns operated non stop until victory or defeat

Tears in the darkness could still be sensed

In the underground chambers the sweat is pouring 

off me, even though I'm standing still. Image having to

fight without relief in hot, humid conditions.

The spirit of the Spanish dead, wails of African slaves toiling to rebuild walls under fire, and the painful torments of British sailors and soldiers dying so far from home haunts this hallowed ground. When you go be ready to smell, taste, touch, and feel the pain and weight of the history of the defense of Cartagena.

A lone iguana stands sentry on the walls of this hallowed ground

Refuge of writers

I’m sitting in the “Abaco” cafe bookstore where Gabriel Garcia Marquez composed his literature when he lived in Cartagena. When he became famous, he held court in this bookshop with fellow authors, arguing philosophy, politics, international events, mysteries of women, and literature.

Entrance to Abaco bookstore

A smooth jazz saxophone is playing in the background. I ordered  a cold ice blended coffee to cool me down. I’m writing and surrounded by books, bibliophiles, writers, and air conditioning -- life is good. 

Books are stacked right up to the ceiling

I’m trying to channel Garcia Marquez into my writing. Alas, he’s still alive and not yet become a spirit that inhabits old haunts. At least I’m sitting in the same chair he sat in, seeing the same scenes, and breathing the same air. The melody of a Latin jazz version of “Sway with me” bewitches me: “I can hear the sounds of violins, long before they start to play, make me sway . . . make me thrill, like only you know how . . . sway with me, stay with me . . .” I feel something is about to happen.

It’s probably only the caffeine pumping through my body. Either way, I’m alert and open to any spirits that occupy this space. I feel a tingle and lost souls begin whispering in my ear, “Write, write everyday, put your experiences, observations, interpretations, aspirations, failures in words. You may influence someone. Write and write well. You have only your words to leave after you’ve moved to the next reality. The rest of your remaining life is granted to you to write. The only grave sin you can commit is not to write. No excuses, no embarrassments. If you’re wrong, put it on paper and you’ll have the opportunity to correct it. Write and be fulfilled”. I sense these are the same spirits that spoke to Garcia Marquez and he wrote literature that will outlive him. I can only answer, yes, I’ll write. 

Manny de listening to the magic and writing in Abaco bookstore

I begin my final day in Cartagena eating a waffle at “Waffles & Crepes”, since this is my favorite breakfast and was missing home. I devoured a waffle topped with strawberries, bananas, peaches, and sprinkled with nuts. It was delicious, but not as good as one gets at “Rosie’s” in Watonville, California. I washed it down with a flavorful, rich Colombian coffee, and a thick, naturally sweet and filling fresh mango juice. Next, I walked around and atop the city wall visiting the San Diego Plaza and a museum that featured the history of this Caribbean city. 

Having waffles in Cartagena. Not as good as "Rosie's"

Families enjoying themselves on a Sunday afternoon outside the city walls

Pedro de Acuna, Governor of Cartagena 1585 - 1588: oversaw first

construction of the city's fortifications. Strong resemblance to former 

colleague and friend, Miguel Acuna

The inquisition section of the museum speaks to that moment in history when fear of the unknown gripped humanity. Over a two hundred year period, eight hundred people, mostly women, were tortured because their special gifts were not understood. There was a section that illustrated the inhumane practice of slavery. Cartagena was an important slave port. The ancestors of most Afro Colombians came through this port. Today, Afro Colombians inhabit all sectors of society. Indeed, I found less prejudice against this group than in the USA. 

Instrument of torture: two sharp prongs pierce the chest and the chin, until

the "right" answer is given

The rack was always effective in getting people to

"agree" with the accusations

The stockade was punishment for the convicted

For those who refused to confess (after torture) or convicted

of alliance with the unholy evil one . . . off with their head

On my last night I had a lengthy conversation with Raphael, the night clerk at Casa Mara Hostel (recommend a stay here when in Cartagena, there’s a swimming pool). The conversation turned to him giving me his description of the foreign travelers that come to his hostel. The following are his words and experiences.

Germans: distrustful of others, refuse your help, cold and non emotional, need to get to know you before they’re friendly.

Spanish: racist against blacks, are fearful of them.

Australians: loud, always want to drink and party.

Chinese and Japanese: we always group them together and called them Chinos (Chinese), very respectful and reserved.

Italians: always want to argue about price, won’t stop even after nothing can be done.

English: like to party a lot and very messy in the rooms.

I asked his opinion about the USA. He said he, “respects the US. It’s the most powerful country in the world, a leader in technology, economy, inventions, has the strongest army, and seems not to have too much corruption. Many people want to go there for the opportunity to lift their lives. Probably it’s better to be poor in the US than Colombia. In the US if you work hard you and your family can get ahead. Here no matter how hard you work, you don’t get ahead. Things are changing in Colombia. The guerilla war has stopped. They’re in dialogue and it seems an accord will be reached. There are more foreign travelers coming. It’s safe now. We’ve had some bad, corrupt leaders and people. There’s a saying in Colombia, ‘Una yerba mala, nunca muera’ (A bad weed, never dies).”

Entrance (white building) to Casa Mara Hostel

The hostel's swimming pool was a life saver

I pursue my quest to follow in the footsteps of a died leader, conquistador Gonzalo Quesada. He began his conquest of Colombia in Santa Marta, south down the Caribbean coast. Cartagena, thank you for hosting and charming this wanderer. 

Cartagena: Colonial Jewel of the Indies

Afro-Latin music and rhythmic sounds, . . . click, clack . . click, clack . . click, clack . . horseshoes hitting the cobble and brick stone streets, vendors calling out “fresh fruit for sale”, engulf the atmosphere in “Cartagena de Indias”. The weather is always warm. Today, it’s 90 degrees (Fahrenheit) with 90% humidity. Occasional cool breezes sweep in during the day, and more frequently at night. A five minute walk outside during the day results in my shirt drenched with sweat.

Colorful fruit vendors, there is a large population of Afro Colombians in Cartagena

The sound of horseshoes hitting the payment is constant

Narrow streets, colonial architecture, and Panama hats epitomize the colonial city

The local people all move at a slower pace than in the USA or Europe. I adopted this way of walking - a controlled, deliberate stroll. No one moves fast in the tropics. I started carrying a bandana to wipe perspiration off my face, neck, and chest. I constantly drank freshly squeezed orange, mango, pineapple, melon, or maracuja juices. The ripe tropical fruits are abundant. The seafood is delectable.

Ripe, fresh maracuja fruit makes a tasty citrus juice

Local people are delightful, friendly, and want to have fun

Historic Cartagena is built on an island and surrounded by a Spanish colonial brick and mortar wall to protect the city from pirates and other invaders. The buildings are sixteenth century colonial architecture, with balconies surrounded by stylized wrought iron, outdoor garden courtyards in the middle, with blooming red, orange, purple bougainvillea, and tree shaded or open parks. There are numerous cafes and restaurants with open air sitting reminding one of outdoor European diners. Across a bridge from the historic center is modern Cartagena with high rise buildings, modern beach facilities, and shops with the latest fashion and vogue trends.

Historic walled city on the right, modern Cartagena on the left

Streets were built for horse and carriages, not cars

Colors of buildings of Cartagena

One of the many shaded public squares

Atop the wall surrounding the city with the Caribbean Sea in the background

Plaza Santo Domingo

Walking around the walled old city at night, I felt like I was in colonial Spanish America. When hunger overcame me, I stopped at Plaza Santo Domingo and had a seafood pasta dish in an outdoor cafe. Horse drawn carriages transported visitors through the narrow streets. Vendors peddled Panama hats, cigarettes, handcrafted jewelry, maracas, and exquisite water color paintings of old buildings and scenes from a bygone era.

Entrance to the walled city

Under these arches passed Liberator Simon Bolivar, 

Nobel laureate Garcia Marquez, and President Obama

Plaza Santo Domingo at night

Seafood pasta: overpriced, but atmosphere was priceless

In front of the Plaza, there were Afro Colombian dancers performing pulsating fast hip moments with thrusting groins - very sensuous and suggestive of the “forbidden dance”. In the sixteenth century black African slaves were brought and sold in Cartagena, most entered South America through the city’s ports. These African dances are the same ones performed for hundreds of years and imported from ancient Africa. Today the young dancers looked like they were truly free. In the past, this was probably the only way African slaves were allowed to freely express themselves, through gyrating body movements and demonstration of jubilee. Children of families meandering around the plaza joined in the dancing and shouting. One could hardly hear conversations over the sounds of maracas, African drums, and whistles - very exciting.

Dancers dancing in a plaza that was once a slave market

Afro Colombian dancers in Plaza Santo Domingo performing ancient African dances

Strolling singers and guitar players serenaded people eating at the cafes with romantic songs of love. A constant stream of people paraded through the plaza. All were solicited to eat at the different restaurants. Private security guards shooed away the few beggars, but not vendors. There were many women wearing high heels walking hand in hand with lovers or would be lovers. The slightly overpriced meal I ordered was well worth the price for sitting and enjoying the atmosphere. It was an inexpensive form of entertainment. I stayed for two and a half hours after dinner at the outdoor cafe absorbing the fiesta. I sense that these scenes - Afro dancers, vendors, strolling musicians, families promenading, beautifully served seafood - have been occurring since Spanish colonization. Be prepared to fall in love with this colonial city.

Singers serenading couples to put them in the mood for "amor"

A newly married couple enjoying the jewel of the Indies

One of many open air plazas filled with cafes and people

I ended the evening on top of the fortified stone wall looking out to the Caribbean sea. Are those pirate ships in the distance coming to attack? No, just a mixture of waves, twilight, and imagination. An illusion easily made in Cartagena of the Indias.

City wall with cannon battlements from where I imaged pirate ships