For over a month now I have tried to start writing shit that happened in Cartagena and the first few weeks of my time in Colombia. I have even written new posts about things that had just happened only to find myself physically unable to sum up the effort to dig up the 'old' memories.
I blame at least half of this laziness on the heat in Cartagena/Mompos/Santa Marta. You couldn't even think without sweating.
The first morning in Cartagena, Colombia was to be spent at the international film festival watching El Secreto en Sus Ojos (the secret in your eyes) an Argentinian film that was supposed to be really good, with Holland, Argentina, and West Coast USA (I seem to remember where people are from better than their actual names).
The night before our Hostel's owner had a party for his girlfriend who just returned from visiting her home (Spain) and invited a ton of his friends to hang out at the hostel. At the time it seemed pretty cool, you just arrived and you're already mingling with a local crowd. It was a lot less cool when they kept hanging out the next few days taking up all the spots on the couches, watching shitty tv, and hogging the computer.
Anyways, within the first 8 hours of life in Cartagena I had already encountered a really hot Colombiana. I did not spot her from across the street or through a shop window, she was sitting on the couch across from me, staring.
A lot of the black/really dark girls on the coast seem to have really light gray eyes, I think this was the first time I had seen this great combination. A bright yellow top thing with 4in heels and shoooort black shorts never looked so good.
"Hey man" the 25 yr old hostel owner says to me, "you should go talk to her". I don't understand what it is about me that makes other guys think I need help (see my Bucaramanga - Zona Rosa post) but I thought it was pretty obvious that that was what I was already moments away from doing.
Before I can reply he has decided to change plans, and calls her off the couch and introduces us.
Earlier in the day I showed him how terrible my Spanish is/was (it's still pretty rough), so he knows I can only carry a conversation in English. This friend of his, ONLY speaks Spanish. The whole night felt like a cruel joke. All in all this was a great motivation maker for improving my Spanish.
The next morning I chill around the hostel looking for the guys to go to the movie and they aren't in sight. Damn. I end up taking the 30 minute stroll down Bocagrande's beach to El Centro, the old Colonial part of Cartagena with this very unique 55+ yr old Black lady who was really into Ebonics. She has been all over Latin America (especially Cuba) so I actually did enjoy talking with her.
In the evening I run into West Coast USA.
"Oh here you are now" she says.
"Hm? I should be saying that to you"
"What do you mean, you stood up Holland."
"What? No way, I was here at the time we said, where were you?"
"I went out in the morning and Holland stayed behind to pick you up"
"Well god dammit, I don't know how we missed each other."
Holland and I both thought we were stood up, the next day we were both sitting around the hostel looking for something to do. The beach is our best option, and gets our votes.
While we're walking 1.5 blocks to the beach (Bocagrande is only 3 blocks wide, our hostel is in the middle, no matter which way we walk, we get a beach) Holland gets a phone call from his girlfriend in Medellin. One of their friends was shot a few times earlier that morning (dead), and the night before, one of their other friends shot and killed some guy and was caught by the police. In one phone call he lost two friends, less than 20 steps from the hostel.
He paused a little after the conversation, filled me in on the details and then we continued to the beach. At that moment I should have understood it was likely we were going to have more conversations like this, I was naive though and chalked it up to a one time event. I was wrong..
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment