First Ickcillint Adventure of South America
Well, first blog on this new and already promising ickcillint adventure
Currently, we are in Cartagena, Colombo, sweltering in the tiny Casa Iguana, a backpacker hostel room with tinier ants crawling all over the end of my bed. Despite the fan that is pressed to my face, it is sticky and hot. We are enjoying a bit of a siesta before going out to celebrate with my lover, Bill Blair for Valentines Day. We are going to try Cafe Havana for some dining and nightlife.
We learned today that Cartagena, in the 1600's, was a major African Slave Market and evidence of this period remain as many black people are locals here, and have retained much of their African roots in their attire and music. Saint Pedro Claver was a Jesuit missionary who spent his entire adult life trying to improve the conditions of the slaves in Cartagena. His remains can be see in the chapel built in his memory inside the church within the walled city.
We had a couple of exciting incidents in Medellin (Mey-Dey-Jean). After exploring the Fat Statues and Fat paintings of Fernando Botero, we noticed a huge plume of smoke arising from a building around the corner. We hustled over, being almost the first people to notice the smoke, to what looked like a restaurant engulfed in a huge blaze.
A gathering crowd made it difficult for the modern firetrucks to get close, but eventually they did manoeuvre into the narrow street. We watched the fire and the firefighters until we saw men rolling out 50 gallon drums of oil from the neighbouring business. We decided we didn't want to be around when they blew up and be caught in a pandemonium of people fleeing. Two of my family members are/were in the fire service and I have heard many stories of paint and other combustibles blowing up unexpectedly. We scurried away.
A little too fast. The next day, in our scurry to catch our bus at Terminal Norte to make the long 14 hour night bus journey to Cartagena, Bill lost his brand new $250 Merino Wool fleece. Now this garment was purchased exclusively to keep constantly shivering Bill from the cold at Machu Pichu. I must admit, when he purchased this jacket, I was envious of his lovely blue Merino Wool jacket that made my old purple one (purchased seven years ago in New Zealand) look shabby. This event has rather changed my view of my jacket. My jacket is in my bag and It is warm, cozy and snug and available, anytime I need it.
I shan't repeat the expletives that were used when Bill discovered it was missing. Fortunately, the bus schedule he was carrying and not me smashed into the pavement, thus taking the brunt of his loss.
Oh yes, one other thing of note. As we walked back to our hotel after the fire, we came across a male cyclist who had been hit by a car in a cross walk. The cyclist lay in the crosswalk and Good Samaritan Bill volunteered me as a first aid attendant. I responded by kneeling over the man, giving directions in English. However, nobody around the scene understood my commands and neither did the injured man, so when we heard that ambulance had been called, we slunk away. The language barrier likely saved the man's life as a rusty industrial first aid training taken 30 years ago might have done more harm than good. Is it still ABC?
I have pictures, but as we have no computer with us, have no way to transfer the pictures unless we get to an Internet cafe.
Hasta Luego and Happy Valentines Day all.
Currently, we are in Cartagena, Colombo, sweltering in the tiny Casa Iguana, a backpacker hostel room with tinier ants crawling all over the end of my bed. Despite the fan that is pressed to my face, it is sticky and hot. We are enjoying a bit of a siesta before going out to celebrate with my lover, Bill Blair for Valentines Day. We are going to try Cafe Havana for some dining and nightlife.
We learned today that Cartagena, in the 1600's, was a major African Slave Market and evidence of this period remain as many black people are locals here, and have retained much of their African roots in their attire and music. Saint Pedro Claver was a Jesuit missionary who spent his entire adult life trying to improve the conditions of the slaves in Cartagena. His remains can be see in the chapel built in his memory inside the church within the walled city.
We had a couple of exciting incidents in Medellin (Mey-Dey-Jean). After exploring the Fat Statues and Fat paintings of Fernando Botero, we noticed a huge plume of smoke arising from a building around the corner. We hustled over, being almost the first people to notice the smoke, to what looked like a restaurant engulfed in a huge blaze.
A gathering crowd made it difficult for the modern firetrucks to get close, but eventually they did manoeuvre into the narrow street. We watched the fire and the firefighters until we saw men rolling out 50 gallon drums of oil from the neighbouring business. We decided we didn't want to be around when they blew up and be caught in a pandemonium of people fleeing. Two of my family members are/were in the fire service and I have heard many stories of paint and other combustibles blowing up unexpectedly. We scurried away.
A little too fast. The next day, in our scurry to catch our bus at Terminal Norte to make the long 14 hour night bus journey to Cartagena, Bill lost his brand new $250 Merino Wool fleece. Now this garment was purchased exclusively to keep constantly shivering Bill from the cold at Machu Pichu. I must admit, when he purchased this jacket, I was envious of his lovely blue Merino Wool jacket that made my old purple one (purchased seven years ago in New Zealand) look shabby. This event has rather changed my view of my jacket. My jacket is in my bag and It is warm, cozy and snug and available, anytime I need it.
I shan't repeat the expletives that were used when Bill discovered it was missing. Fortunately, the bus schedule he was carrying and not me smashed into the pavement, thus taking the brunt of his loss.
Oh yes, one other thing of note. As we walked back to our hotel after the fire, we came across a male cyclist who had been hit by a car in a cross walk. The cyclist lay in the crosswalk and Good Samaritan Bill volunteered me as a first aid attendant. I responded by kneeling over the man, giving directions in English. However, nobody around the scene understood my commands and neither did the injured man, so when we heard that ambulance had been called, we slunk away. The language barrier likely saved the man's life as a rusty industrial first aid training taken 30 years ago might have done more harm than good. Is it still ABC?
I have pictures, but as we have no computer with us, have no way to transfer the pictures unless we get to an Internet cafe.
Hasta Luego and Happy Valentines Day all.
Wowsa! That's a lot of goings on! I miss you. Keep the stories coming. xoxox
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