bigger than a monolith

Colombia is really a hidden jewel. Everyone in the United States is afraid of visiting so they never hear about the people in Medellín taking dance classes in the plazas or the friendly people and dogs. Or a gigantic rock sticking out of a flooded valley like the Lady of the Lake beckoning young Arthur to destiny.

I came, I saw, and I miraculously scaled Guatapé, Antioquía's famous monolith, during a daytrip out of Medellín. 740 steps doesn't sound like a lot, but the base sits at 2000 meters. Combined with my throbbing right foot, the altitude turned this quick jaunt into an exhausting trial. All bitterness dissipated when I reached the top and took in 360 degrees of the gorgeous green view, as you can see here:

flying the friendly skies

I'm ar Terminal 1 in SFO right now and despite a few self-imposed setbacks, I am at the gate waiting to board an Alaska Airlines flight to Seattle. Now I'm not on my orignal flight but that's another story about alarm clocks.

Alaska deserves a great big hug for their customer service. The clerks at the check-in counter were very helpful with my checked bags. It's cheaper to check 2 bags than to pay overage for one, and these heroes of the airline will let you know. Now I just have to hope that the runway construction at SFO doesn't delay me too much.

So far, this Alaska Airlines experience could not be more different from Jetblue odyssey to and from Colombia. I have never been delayed coming and going, nor have I ever been delayed as long as 10 hours. Jetblue's proactive reroute of my itinerary to Colombia is commendable. Sitting on the tarmac for 1 hour and causing me to nearly miss my connecting flight is not. And that connection from dull Fort Lauderdale back to SFO? That was a jetblue flight, too.

This poor soul didn't make it, and I almost thought my fate would be the same. Beware Jetblue!

warm and oppressive languor

Gabriel García Márquez's novels are a better introduction to Cartagena than any travel guide.

The city is hot and humid and mashes everyday people and a few blemishes of commercial tourism on top of a gracefully decaying infrastricture. Depending on where you are, locals are more apt to sit on their patios or in the street cooling off rather than sell you things. I still can't believe they managed to fit one of those ubiquitous red tour buses in Cartagena's narrow streets.

We arrived in Cartagena on Friday night and their appeared to be some sort of concert/rally going on in front of the clock tower. Historically the clock tower was the main entrance to Cartagena, but some walls were broken down so that the city could be expanded to include the not-as-nice neighborhood Getsemani ( after all, when travel guides say "bohemian," they mean dirty.)

Even though I had no idea what was going on, it was nice to see all the kids out enjoying Friday night.

all I ever wanted

As I lay my weary head and mosquito-bitten body to rest on my last night on Cartagena, thoughts turn to a grand reflection of the past 10 days.

I have persevered a terrible flight detour without shedding a tear. I have proved to some entity that I am not too unfit to scale the 740 steps of Guatapé or hike for an hour under the scorching sun and heavy humidity of Tayrona National Park - both with an ailing right foot. I have floated in mud, danced the night away in a salsa club, and dared to walk into Pablo Escobar's bookcase.

Don't get me wrong, the guide for the Intrepid itinerary is fantastic. I truly hope to keep in touch with her and cheer her on through the next chapter in her young and beautiful life. But when I came to Colombia, I couldn't help but want a little of that stereotypical barrio-esque life that I had the pleasure of sampling in Peru.

Enter the southern Getsemani district in Cartagena de las Indias.

Having been released from the constant "consensus" of the group, I ventured on my own into parts of the city that our guide had not shown us. Usually this brings me to an unsavory area, like when I wandered into the prosty hangout when I wondered what was west of Las Ramblas in Barcelona.

It was a Sunday so many shops and restaurants were closed in Cartagena. But while the touristy areas were dead, Getsemani - a city extension that was historically the neighborhood of slaves - refused to sleep. I wandered around the southern wall and wove my way through the streets filled with dogs barking and with reggaeton music blaring from stereos on the street. I actually heard Lucenzo's and Don Omar's "Danza Kuduro" on Calle del Espiritu Santo... that is my most played song in my music library and I had to wait until my last day in Colombia to hear it!

I found my way to la Plazuela de Santísima Trinidad, which was already full of people. The faithful sat in evening mass in a small church while children playing with small and probably illegal firecrackers did their best to interrupt the service. The little square was so full of life compared to the rest of sleepy Cartagena and I loved every bit about it.

I even loved it when I tried to order an epic-looking chorizo dog and the lady made a face when I didn't understand her. Finally! After hearing from almost every Colombia that I speak Spanish well, the food cart lady reminded me that I am not as eloquent en castellano as I thought.

After apogizing for my inability to order a simple chorizo dog in Spanish (only 5,500CP / just over $3) and picking up Aguila beer at a corner market (1800CP / barely over $1,) I watched as the children in the square gave way to a free aerobics class. I kid you not, three not-very-Colombian-looking ladies led an ever-growing mass of people through a tai bo dance workout. It was like something out of Turbo Jam but with more bootyshaking, and all were welcome. Locals mixed with hippies mixed with young expats mixed with women in party clothes mixed with women in workout clothes mixed with a few men mixed with some of the children, and all were partying down.

I left at the early hour of 9PM to prepare my duffel bag and nervously check my flight status every hour. Neither the plaza nor the streets of Getsemani showed any signs of slowing down, and my only regret is that I didn't find la Plazuela any sooner.

my favorite snack

I love empanadas. This was my breakfast for most of the trip.

In Medellín, I treated myself to a large beef-and-potato-filled empanada as well as a chicken and mushroom pastry, all for about $4.

Pueblo de Zócalos

Back at the foot of Guatapé lies the charming town of Old Peñon. This town is such a technicolor dream it's as if the place was made for me!

my first mudbath

In the volcano just outside of Cartagena...

I didn't smell the sulphur until after we reboarded the bus.