Colombia – Initial Impressions

Should we have been paranoid or scared?  Let me set the scene.  It’s hot.  We’re talking sticky hot.   Sweating through my shirt in seconds hot.  The tarmac in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia.  We were standing in line outside closed doors to the airport (and air conditioning) waiting for customs and immigration.  A brief look around and I realized we were two of four Americans on our flight from Miami.  All eyes were on us.

“What are you doing here?” asked a couple in heavily accented English.  They were merchant marines.  That shouldn’t be a question fellow travelers ask.

“Vacationing,” I responded.

“Here?” asked another stranger in similar accented English.

“Yes, here.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Thus we were welcomed into Colombia, a country that I had fantasized about visiting since studying abroad in Ecuador.  We received similar reactions from the Colombian born Americans we met along the way.  They were both shocked and proud that we were visiting their homeland.  Proud that Colombia was finally getting the chance that it deserved, even if it was only by a handful of American tourists at this point.

I’d be lying if I said that these greetings didn’t put some initial fear in me.  Did I choose the wrong vacation spot?  Were FARC and the narcos still active?  Did Kurt from church lie to me (I knew his company didn’t really sell just tile?)  What did I get my wife into for trusting me with the vacation planning?

I was on high alert in the cab to our hotel.  Everything was congested – buildings, cars, people.  How many of them were drug runners?  Guerilla soldiers?  It was all so Latin America.  A world I had forgotten about since my last voyage 10 years prior.

Our taxi drove us through a narrow gate into the walled city where we were staying and down several skinny lanes through the working class part of town, finally pulling up in front of Casa la Fe in which was probably the most local square in all of Cartagena.  There were no quaint sidewalk cafes with customers sipping coffee.  Instead, there were card tables with locals playing dominos.  A watering hole blared loud Latin beats as men stood outside displaying their machismo.  Not exactly a welcoming scene for a night arrival.

A quick check-in and a walk to a bistro for a light dinner put all my fears away.  Memories of Cuenca poured forth and calmed all nerves.  I was instantly swept into the romance of Latin America, and in particular, the romance of the prettiest city of them all – Cartagena.