OK, here we go... let's relive some memories.
Here Tim and I are, trying to take our requisite "We went to South Beach" picture in Miami. Only we weren't very invested in it, so we didn't set up the camera right and only got a shot with our heads cut off. We didn't care enough to take another photo.
At lunch, we asked for Caipirinhas and were given what essentially amounted to two $25 buckets of alcohol. When we (Tim) complained to the waitress we received a blank look and were unapologetically told: "This is Miami Beach."
We stopped in St. Augustine because it has some history. For example, Ponce de Leon didn't find the fountain of youth here. For some reason despite this failure there is a site which purports to contain the fountain of youth, along with peacocks and some guy in furs who throws spears (?), sets off cannons (??) and makes bold claims about every historical fact on TV being wrong. The only logical move on our part was to sneak in through the peacock entrance, snicker a lot, pose as explorers and then leave.
After our family reunion (no pictures here), we did the long and uneventful drive back to Miami, followed by an even more uneventful stay in Quality Inn. The next day we got into Cartagena just in time to wander around the old town for a little and eat dinner. I ordered a "plato tipico" so I could find out what's tipico in Cartagena. Apparently the answer is: a fried fish.
The next day, we walked around the old town some more.
We also saw a really old, really big fortress. We were lectured by a tout outside that "it is necessary to drink water." We couldn't really argue with his logic, so we bought two bottles. It's a good thing, too, because I almost died from heat while walking in the maze of underground tunnels. But here I am pretending to have a hysterically good time (which somehow translated into a picture of me looking like a psychopath). Tim opted for the safer "happy tourist in a tunnel" picture:
Here's a picture of Tim outside the tunnels, while I sit on the stairs inside and try to delay going out in the sun for as long as possible:
We used our stunning sense of direction (translation: Google maps and the telltale "Nose" graffiti on our block) to make our way back to the hotel...
... where we had a beer and took a swim.
On our way to dinner I lost Tim, who blended into all of the buildings like a sneaky chameleon.
But eventually I spotted him and we made our way to the top of the city wall. We had expensive drinks at a bar where the waitresses were dressed in Denny's uniforms and the DJ was playing an X-Files remix. Outside of the bar people were jubilantly posing in front of the high-rises, putting their babies on cannons, etc.:
On our way back, we witnessed a sunset wedding, including a highly choreographed entrance into a horse-drawn carriage, and a public ceremony in the cathedral below. All of the wedding party were dressed in the finest white linens money can buy. Tim and I never figured out how to pull off that look without looking like drug lords/crazy people.
After several beautiful days in Cartagena, we took a five hour collectivo to Taganga, a fishing village/hell hole on the Caribbean coast near Santa Marta. Taganga is deceptively beautiful from one specific angle and time of day: sunset, looking directly out to the boats on the beach:
But at every other time of day, and every other angle, the real Taganga emerges. And let me tell you, the real Taganga is ugly, and at any given time is filled with one or more of the following:
- Locals setting soccer balls on fire, lighting fireworks, or making out on boats next to piles of trash.
- Israeli backpackers taking LSD and getting robbed to reggaeton music.
- Packs of big-balled stray dogs begging for steak at tourist restaurants.
- Hotel mini-bars stocked with spam sausages and condoms.
- Old, dreadlocked white guys with dead eyes, carrying sacks of cans up the main street. [oh wait, I guess we have a lot of those in LA too...]
But it was just a stop on our way to Tayrona National Park. The next day we paid a local Tagangan to drive us (apparently as recklessly as humanly possible) to the park entrance. From there we had to hike about an hour in to Arrecifes, the first of many beautiful, unswimmable beaches flanked immediately by giant pits of mosquitos.
Our final stop was the beach at Cabo San Juan, where we spent at least an hour in line fighting to secure a hot, dirty tent next to these people:
But it was (probably) worth it, because the beaches were indeed beautiful:
Plus, at dawn tons of little camouflaged crabs ran along the beach, darting into their crab holes as soon as they saw me. This one was my favorite:
We got back into Taganga the next day and promptly made plans to leave it again. We booked a day trip to Minca, a village in the Sierra Nevada mountains, blissfully unaware that it would entail hopping like pixies across slippery river rocks. Despite my impressive athleticism, there were more than a few times that I tumbled like a bag of marbles into the river and had to be picked up like a baby. Here I am having fun at the start of the trip, clueless about what was ahead (the helmet should've aroused my suspicions...).
I was still in good enough spirits to pose as Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now. Though, looking back at this picture makes me a little queasy, because I'm pretty sure this is the precise moment that bacteria-infested poo water got into my mouth and poisoned me.
Anyway, we got to hold a toucan at lunch.
After lunch and rock hopping (?) we were scheduled to go tubing down the river. Looking at the picture of the river above, you might be wondering: isn't the water a little shallow and rocky for tubing? Unfortunately, neither Tim or I had this foresight, and even more unfortunately, the water stayed as shallow and rocky as it looks in that picture the whole time. Result: I spent about 80% of the time with my tube snagged on the rocks, my guide spent about 80% of his time trying to get my tube out of the rocks, and everyone left 80% grumpy.
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| canyon tubing adventure... FROM HELL |
After tubing they took us on a "tour" of a "coffee plantation," where we all stood around several coffee plants for about ten minutes. But really, that was about as much as I could handle, what with being covered in bruises and imminently poisoned.
After our tour, our driver was patiently waiting in town to argue with us about the fare back to Taganga. Because we asked him to stop by our hotel on the way to Minca, he wanted an additional C$10,000. This prompted Tim to start lecturing in broken Spanish about ethical business practices: "No esta bueno... para tu ... su.. como se dice business? trabajo."
Later that night the food poisoning descended, and although I decided to brave the flight to "the Fridge" (Bogota) the next morning anyway, I spent the whole flight trying not to vomit on the poor soul sitting next to me. Luckily I didn't, and we successfully checked into our freezing Hindu-themed wigwam, where I prayed to Sai Baba for my nausea to go away.
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| The ashy, unhappy expression on this statue closely approximated my own face upon arrival. |
Over the next few days, I slowly recovered from poisoning and descended into altitude sickness, as we heard about pre-Columbians at the gold museum in Bogota...
... and, along with about a billion Bogotians, took a tram up to a cathedral looking out over the whole city..
And finally wandered around the shopping district, where I only took pictures of umbrellas...
Before I end this post, I feel I should also acknowledge the wonderful first-class reclining seats we got on the flight back to California. Everyone should get to experience being woken up by a warm towel and a freshly baked cookie at some point in their lives.
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