Professor Bernal and the Deficit in Santo Domingo

My last days in Panama were spent with friends. Losing my opportunity to visit Colon, the country's second largest city with the highest percentage of black Panamanians, I felt a little discouraged. As had happened in Esmeraldas, Ecuador and Buenaventura, Colombia, I couldn't find the time or the way to make it to parts of the Afro-Latin world undoubtedly rich with cultural expression, but rife with poverty and violence. People warned me about each place, about how dangerous it was and how it wasn't worth it to go. While I wanted to go regardless, I did want to have an objective or a contact, rather than just dropping myself there with no plans. Unfortunately this always took a longer time than I had in country - to establish the contacts to plan a productive trip to some pretty rough cities. Anyway, I had a good time hanging with some new friends, which involved a bizarre late night trip to the casino until 6am. The casinos are open 24 hours and they don't draw the cream of the crop at 4am. Apparently, there were plenty of Colombian hookers looking for clients. And there were plenty of people running around with no teeth making some ridiculous statements. As we got our late-night pleasure food, it was quite a show.

Two days before I left for Dominican Republic though, I had a great dinner conversation with Professor Miguel Bernal. The law professor was a good man, devoted to human rights and development in Panama. His history spoke for itself. I found him after a quick Google search, and read about his continued periods being thrown in jail by the repressive military government, the many attempts made on his life and his eventual exile. A former mayoral candidate of Panama City, he still teaches today and has a daily radio show where he talks about contemporary politics. Many people acknowledged him as they passed our table, and a few came to chat. Within a short 45 minute conversation, he had given me many leads for my questions regarding Afro-Latin culture. Our conversation was interesting though. He spoke about how the basic rights of people are being compromised in various sectors, especially education. He rightfully connected education with freedom and opportunity and employment, both nationally and internationally. He thought that was the major front to fight on. But he spoke about the political legacy of the military regime in Panama, and while he believed things were better, he still believed people weren't as involved as they should be in the political process. He lamented the lack of private ingenuity (not one Panama-owned magazine being produced) and collective mobilization (with only 9 million people in the country, why is it so difficult to find common ground). One thing he drove home for me though as I pressed him on culture and politics, is how diffuse and diverse Panama's cultural history has been. They've seen the arrival of African slaves and the influence of Amerindian groups, and the immigration of Europeans, Asians, West Indians, Americans, and South Americans, creating an identity that is as worldly as any you can find. While that has created a sense of equanimity among Panamanian people (outside of the judicial system and police brutality among people who are darker-skinned), it has perhaps also engendered some complacency.

Professor Bernal gave me tons to think about, as I compared Panama with the other countries I have visited to this point. I arrived in Santo Domingo to a very different vibe, distinctly Caribbean and overly touristy - to be expected. While Santo Domingo has been fine, it's felt a bit congested at times (the streets are generally smaller) and there's an annoying obsession with Christopher Columbus. Since I was little I have questioned why this man is so celebrated, why the pope would visit his tomb here in DR. I wonder if we need an actual number of the Native Americans he slaughtered. Oh well, it didn't make sense in 2nd grade and it doesn't make sense now. But I have tried to come to terms with Dominican history, especially the racism that came with the brutal regime of Trujillo, and its impact on current prospects for exploring Afro-Dominican culture (rather than going to ANOTHER Columbus landmark, museum or statue). I'm still probing here, asking cab drivers and new friends, but noone seems to really know or be interested in Afro-Dominican history. This is fascinating because the nearby countries of Cuba and Puerto Rico have more openly documented and celebrated African cultural influences.

Other than a merengue/bachata show in the Plaza de Espana and museum trips, I've used my week in DR so far to recharge. The nightly, drunken party outside the grocery store outside my hotel was entertaining as well though. I only watched, didn't participate. It was tempting...I am excited about seeing the Garifuna in Belize in a few days, and even more excited to head home in a little over one week (especially since the NBA season started yesterday, but mostly to reacquaint with friends and wear DIFFERENT CLOTHING). Until then, I'll enjoy other parts of the DR with old college friends and hope to stumble upon something interesting in the days ahead...

San Blas Paradise

My visit to the beautiful San Blas islands were by far the highlight of my trip. Last Monday I awoke at 5am to take the 2 hour journey to the dock on the Atlantic coast. Some other travelers and I were greeted by a crocodile creeping in the water, silently stalking the boat...I immediately thought to myself - "What in the world did I get myself into?" Crocodiles and spiders are my worst enemies. Anyway, I got on the small motorboat and we made the 45 minute journey to Franklin island. As we pulled up to the island, one word came to mind immediately "paradise." The waters were a rich color of blue and the sky was clear with strips of clouds. The beach was clean and big, and the island was lined with large palm trees, hammocks everywhere, a volleyball net, and a series of thatch-roofed huts (which were like our hotel rooms, the beds were remarkably comfortable and despite others' complaints of cockroaches and crabs, I slept really without any problems).

San Blas is composed of over 300 islands, and mainly the Kuna people live their, an indigenous Amerindian group who has apparently fought fiercely for continued ownership of their land and the onset of tourism on their own terms. Families run the islands where travelers are able to stay. The Franklin family was very pleasant and the patriarch was awesome. It was really familial, as he learned almost everyone's names. Most of the men are quite short, and they played makeshift basketball everyday. Of course one pointed at me and said Shaquille O'neal. I think more than anything it has become quite clear that in Latin America, if I ever want to travel again and tell everyone that I'm a star player for the New York Knicks, I will be believed quite easily. The women were ALWAYS dressed in their colorful attire, a tight body wrap dress, and large anklets, as well as multiple piercings. I loved it, and wondered if it was cultural for the women to wear the outfits all the time or simply in case tourists wanted to take a picture with them (which cost $1...we came to find out that everything cost $1).

The days were spent mostly lounging in hammocks and reading, listening to relaxing music, playing volleyball, swimming and laying on the beach. It was so wonderful to be isolated like that. I met some great people as well. Along with Carl from the UK, I met two Dutch guys, and we played board game after board game and tons of card games. The island was primarily Israelis, a group I've learned that travels more than most since people leave after their 3 yr plus stint in the national army. Every night they had the rum and cokes out, and got very rowdy. It was definitely entertaining. Lights went out every night at 10pm, so other than flashlights, fires and candelight, the island was completely dark. This meant we went to bed quite early and woke up early as well. I came to enjoy this routine.

One of the days we took a trip to another nearby island called Isla Perro. It was funny because as we wondered why it was called Dog Island, there were the cutest two dogs barking like maniacs as pulled up to shore. It was a pretty secluded island, only about 6 guests were there compared to the 30 or so on Franklin. Isla Perro was ridiculously gorgeous though, just amazing. I snorkeled over this ship wreck near the shore which was awesome. All of it was pretty breathtaking. I extended my trip a day or two to have a bit more fun and relaxation - unfortunately this cost me a day trip to Colon because I returned too late in the week. But it was quite worth it because San Blas was definitely the highlight of my time in Panama. Needless to say, I didn't do as much cultural exploration as I had hoped to do, but it was a great recharge for the home stretch of my trip. I returned to Panama City realizing I had only 3 weeks left of my trip.

Bocas del Toro

Bocas del Toro is a fascinating cluster of islands on the northern Caribbean side of Panama. After about a week in Panama City, I went with my traveling buddy Trinh on what turned out to be an epic overnight bus trip across the country, filled with funny stories, upset stomachs, crammed local transportation, and insane driving. I spoke to a local electrician on the bus for a long time about life in Panama and what I had been studying. Although I was struggling to keep my eyes open, the man shared a lot with me about issues of employment, land rights, education, etc. in the country. He had very keen perspectives. We arrived at Almirante in the wee hours of the morning, where we took a taxi-boat to Isla Colon, the main island of Bocas del Toro. The network of islands is cool and you take taxi boats all the time. After free pancakes and a long nap, Trinh and I walked around the sleepy, subdued town, comprised of about 5 blocks in each direction. The island was not particularly pretty or impressive in any way, just incredibly laid back. What impressed me the most was the absolute clash of cultures in Bocas. The population is mostly black, or Afro-Caribbean, coming mostly from Jamaica but other islands as well. I encountered the influence when I first heard people speaking Patua and other local dialects other than Spanish and English. Apparently, Bocas has a completely different feel than other parts of the country.

While this reality made me somewhat hopeful for cultural immersion in a very distinct part of Panamanian society, I was met with a tourist black hole. I had great fun in Bocas with the happy hours, power hours, ladies' nights (I had friends pass me free drinks of course), and constant partying every night. One party was really good actually, with this Australian guy blowing fire and these people jumping on a trampoline. However, that lifestyle got old very quickly and I felt bothered by the "cater completely to gringos" mentality that swallows the creativity and aspirations of the locals. I understand tourism, but Bocas made me think, why would I travel all this way to just party with travelers? The closest thing we got to cultural exposure was the night we followed some locals to a small, hole-in-the-wall club blasting reggaeton. The star of the night was a woman who said it was her birthday (apparently she said this everyday), and proceeded to ask for everyone's drinks. People told me she was a mother of a wonderful boy and she was trying desperately to break a crack addiction. Unfortunately, when that's as close as you get to a place, you know the tourists have taken over.

Despite all this, Bocas was still a great time. We visited Dolphin Bay and watched beautiful dolphins leap from the water, I went snorkeling for the first time, and we visited an awesome, deserted beach called Zapatillas. I resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be introduced to the black experience here regardless of the number of black people I had met. So I enjoyed the cuisine, tropical drinks, lazy afternoons and competitions with Trinh regarding who could stay in bed sleeping the longest (Trinh always outlasted me). We met this newlywed Israeli couple on their honeymoon in Zapatillas. They were really nice and offered to drive me back to Panama City in the car they rented. We had a cool little road trip home, with a stop at McDonald's of course. And I listened to some Israeli pop music on the way. While Bocas is certainly a nice little holiday, I was a bit relieved to return to normalcy.

La Ciudad de Panama y La Historia Afro-Antilleano

I arrived in Panama City about 3 weeks ago, ready for a new adventure after a long month in Colombia. I left late and in a hurry from Colombia, so arrived in Panama with no US dollars, causing me to scour the airport for someone to loan me $5 to pay an annoying tourist entrance fee. I finally was able to borrow the money and get passed customs. My taxi ride was quite interesting. A young black man picked me up, and he spoke like he was from New York City. There was literally no trace of an accent, except with a few words. We went back and forth about Plaxico Burress and Michael Vick and NFL football in general, as we drove on the highway along the water passed impressive skyscrapers and bright lights. The guidebook says Panama City reminds people of Miami, and I really was confused about the level of development I saw. I got a healthy wake up call though as we drove passed some more sober neighborhoods, devoid of the glitz of the oceanside glamor.

Since the taxi driver seemed like quite an educated black Panamanian, I of course launched into a series of questions about racial identity and Afro- influenced culture in Panama. I was surprised that he responded with a very defensive rant about how race and racism does not exist in Panama, how it never matters the color of skin or where you come from because everyone is so mixed and embraces everyone, how the idea of difference basically does not exist. I am always surprised when people attack the idea of difference, as if it inherently threatens equality. People can have different sensibilities, understand the world through unique cultural lenses, and still respect others and live among them in a spirit of openness and peace and understanding. His dismissal of all of my questions shed a new light on the unique challenge I have come to recognize in Panama - the way people have handled their history of racism and cultural diversity has been to deny completely its impact on the present day. Now I'm still young, but I'm experienced to know that in a place like Panama its highly unlikely that they've reached the status of a racial utopia.

My first days in the city were uneventful. I switched hostels form El Cangrejo, a working class neighborhood, to Casco Viejo, the colonial city center. Casco Viejo is quite run down in some parts, with squatters living in centuries-old buildings, and in other parts, like the plazas and the area around the presidential palace, is developed, touristy, and almost ritzy. The contrast is startling. My second night I met my friend Diego from Colombia, who had missed his flight to his wedding in Turkey. I felt so bad for him that I dedicated two days to trying to take his mind off his angry/upset bride to be and the confused families waiting for him hundreds of miles away. We played basketball, ping pong, watched movies in the hostel theatre (shout out to Luna's Castle with their movie theatre - baller!), and generally did nothing of consequence. I'm happy to know he finally made his way to Turkey and is now with his wife. When Diego left, I immediately assembled a new crew - this girl Holly from Canada, this girl Trinh from the UK, and this guy Mike from Australia. There were some others, but we pretty much stayed attached during our time in the city. Weekend nights out on Calle Uruguay and Zona Viva, with tons of bars and clubs, was both fun and expensive (one night this Australian guy came with us, got incredibly drunk, we lost him, and it turned out he got mugged - not smart on his part). To be honest, being in Panama City kind of made me want to be back home, since I wasn't getting a huge sense of cultural difference. Of course there were some, watching families play craps and card games while blasting reggaeton and bachata outside my window. But the number of sports bars, McDonalds, etc. (even a Hooters) wasn't too exciting.

The two highlights of my time in Panama City though were my trips to the Panama Canal and the Museo Afro-Antilleano (that is the museum for the history of African people from the Spanish-speaking Caribbean). The canal was quite interesting. With millions of dollars spent a day, ships make their was from the Pacific to Atlantic Ocean through a slow but efficient process of rising water levels and opening flood gates. The process wasn't exhilirating, but it was cool to see something I remember learning so much about in grade school American history. The three-floor museum was also fascinating as well as the movie. The most interesting part of the canal was the incredible diversity of people who worked on the project, side by side, in the early 1900s - including Jamaicans, Chinese, Europeans, and local Indian groups. The pictures were quite cool. Of course this multiracial panorama was met with the reality of segregation brought by the American government between black and white workers. This made sense after I learned of a former president denied the chance to run for reelection by the US gov't because of he was Afro-Panamanian. The US certainly did impose its accepted ideas of racial segregation on Panama, and there is some resentment among people here toward American racial imperialism - the idea that America's understanding of race being forced upon other nations.

Yet the misdeeds of the Americans should not give Panamanians a pass from dealing with their own history of racial hatred. The Museo Afro-Antilleano was small, in a dodgy part of town. This is because the gov't doesn't subsidize museums, so they depend completely on private donations. Though it was small it was extremely informative. The exhibits marked the times when immigrants from the Caribbean flooded into Panama during the canal building, as well as traditional dress, music instruments, etc. The lady that walked me through the museum was quite interesting as well. Describing her ancestry as "Afro-colonial," as in the wave of African slaves that came to Panama mostly from the area known as Congo today, she shared some oral history of the tragedy her forebears suffered. Working as slaves in gold mines, young women were routinely raped, slaves were killed and hung in public squares, families were sold and torn apart. As time moved on and Afro-Caribbeans moved in, there were tensions between "afro-colonial" and "afro-caribbean" communities, as they often dissociated themselves from one another culturally and engaged in violence. This history, prior to American intervention, is what complete denialists in Panama City must answer to. This history is not taught in schools (despite a law passed in 2000 for schools to include Afro- related history in the curriculum), and people generally don't know the pain endured by those first slaves. The fact that my guide defended her family's oral history and argued against putting her ancestors' struggles to paper was fascinating.

Clearly, just the term "Afro-Panamanian," unlike other countries' Afro groups, carries another degree of complexity, with such high levels of racial mixing, and waves of distinct "black" people immigrating to the country. The definition of Afro-Panamanian remains unclear and varied to me, thus the culture remains even more unclear. Unfortunately the kind of cultural and musical displays I have found in other countries has been hard to find here after trips through the country to Bocas del Toro, San Blas Islands, and stops in small towns like Almirante and David along the way. I will recap those trips as well. But in the meantime, I'm hoping a day trip to Colon, a city which housed some of the palenques (runaway slave communities), will bring some much-needed exposure to Afro-Panamanian culture before I leave for Dominican Republic in three days.

Colombian Immersion and Diversion

I spent the past two weeks basically retracing my steps in Colombia. I stopped in Santa Marta, another city close to Cartagena, for a few days and met two British girls who I traveled with for the next few days. It was cool to have some travel buddies for a little while, and it turned out to be worth it because there's not much to do at all in Santa Marta. The beachfront is quite nice, except for the beach part. We did spend a day at a beach about 15 minutes away which wasn't amazing but was quite nice. The crazy group of gringos we had assembled had a lot of fun that day. We also did good amount of dancing at a local bar. The first night we went wasn't that amazing because the DJ kept scream/singing over the reggae/funk tunes. The next night was great though - a mix of salsa, reggaeton, pop and hip hop (and a little Michael Jackson set). I also met an interesting guy, a soldier who had just left Iraq, and we had long talks about the politics of the war, his brushes with death, his hopes for the future, philosophy, the existence of heaven and hell. He was my age, but confronted with the question of whether the people he had to kill would lead him to miss salvation.

My two friends and I agreed though that while Santa Marta is charming, it can become a black hole, which I define as a place time starts passing really quickly while you basically are not productive at all. In terms of cultural exposure, there was very little of it. Unlike the cumbia blasting through the centro in Cartagena, Santa Marta was pretty quiet. The highlight of my time in Santa Marta was actually a really great burrito; after months without my Qdoba and Mexican food, it was a refreshing respite.

From Santa Marta, we tried to visit Parque Tayrona, but were rebuffed by an intense rainstorm. We immediately had to turn back. We did get to Taganga though, a small beach town with some AMAZING juice smoothies. I had an excessive 5 a day (banana and oreo, strawberry mango, and local fruits like lulo and zapote - all delicious). Taganga was also interesting. Many signs were in Hebrew because of the high number of Jewish tourists. We met a pleasant group of guys and one girl from Israel who had rented out an apartment. As we passed around some Cuba Libres, my friend and I noticed that there was a drug binge going on - bongs, cocaine, acid. We made our way out after we noticed, but it was crazy. We went to a roof-top bar that was really fun, with a nice view of the city. There was also basically a weed beach we traveled to where we looked around and everyone was blazed. We were confused at why the smell was so strong, until a man explained it to us. (One thing that has been somewhat unpleasant is the tourism of cocaine. Apparently in Colombia its cheaper and good quality, so you'll meet some good people to hang with, but they're always buying it and doing it, and the fact that it's illegal and tourists have been thrown in jail creates an anxiety when you go out with a group who suddenly switches all their focus to trying to buy some; Colombia has so much more to offer!).

From Taganga, I said my goodbyes to my travel buddies Erin and Anna, and took my bus back to Cartagena for my flight the next morning. I would basically be re-tracing my steps. I met a great guy from Argentina and a nice New Zealand/Croatia couple who I had a long conversation with into the night. The next day I made my way back to Medellin to reunite with Diana and people at the Casa del Rosa. They're pretty much like a family. I love them! So helpful and nice. I then took my bus back to Cali where my flight would leave to Panama. In Cali, I got a better feel of the city. It's interesting how you can look a few blocks away but have a different view of a place. I took more salsa classes and look forward to continue my salsa calena at some point! I met some more good people. Unfortunately though, the weekend I had come back to Cali was the same weekend as the election, and rules were in place against drinking or selling alcohol, thus most places were closed. I didn't have my last Colombian rumba but I had a good time. I also had hoped to visit the Pacific coast, near Buenaventura and some of the small times with strong African influence. However, there were so many obstacles and differing views of where to go and how to get there, that I ultimately decided against it since my flight was so close. Like Esmeraldas in Ecuador, I felt like I missed the chance to become acquainted with Afro-Colombian music and cultural tradition because of lack of infrastructure and the reputation these place have of being quite dangerous. Yet I just see it as an excuse to return one day to see it. And the point of this year isn't to have an academic experience, but to have time to understand and reflect on Afro-Latin culture. The many possibilities to see Afro-Latin communities makes me content with what I have seen - in other words, because there's so much to see, I feel like there's no way I would be able to see an elusive "everything," if that makes any sense.

I arrived in Panama completely aware that I had entered a completely different world. Although Panama used to be part of Colombia, the differences were immediately stark, as I went back and forth with my cab driver about Plaxico Burress, Michael Vick, the Cowboys and the Jets in English, as we drove along the water with the back drop of modern skyscrapers lit up in the night - a scene many people rightly see as reminiscent of Miami. I'm in Panama now, still needing to explore the city after the crazy rainstorm today, already missing the charm and vastness of Colombia. I have about a month to go, and I'm more reflective in these last weeks, reading and writing, and thinking of what lays ahead while trying to remain immersed in my Latin American adventure. I'm hoping the distinct, fascinating culture of black/Afro-Panamanians will sweep me away from a wintery arrival at Newark airport that awaits me in a little over a month.

Sept. 11

It was difficult to understand the magnitude of the moment that morning 8 years ago. During a normal day of high school, caught in the doldrums of a repetitive daily schedule, word started spreading that the World Trade Center had been bombed. Students crowded around television sets in the cafeteria and we soon understood that it had been a plane crashing into the first tower, and the United States was under attack. Noone will forget the horror of that day, the helplessness felt by an entire nation. Many have discussed the post-9/11 era in America in terms of seemingly perpetual wars against extremists, in terms of nation-building and the spread of democracy, and in terms of a post-modernist sensibility of loneliness gone wild with the added loss of invincibility. I can't say I have personally felt that my world changed because of 9/11 or that living in my country feels significantly different. Certainly, having elected Barack Obama following George W. Bush in the post-9/11 political universe, it's difficult to talk about a new set of social priorities or a novel, hardened worldview brought about by that now famous act of violence by Al Qaeda.

However, what 9/11 has presented is the opportunity not only for our nation to resolve to live up to its core values, but for people to resolve to live up to their individual core values. While wandering through the old town of Cartagena looking for a place to eat dinner with friends, a Colombian asked me if today (now yesterday) is a day of remembrance in my country. I had no idea what he meant at first, but he pressed on, asking if the 11th of Sept. has significance. As I had a moment to hit myself in the head, and put on my U.S. hat instead of world traveler hat for a minute, I remembered the courage of thousands on that day - those who fought back, who saved lives...They are an inspiration. This traveling experience is valuable because as I think of all that I have seen just in Cartagena - the woman the other day offering her body for money to feed her children, the young man whose reply to being asked what he did in the past week was that he sold cocaine and weed, all the people struggling in this city and feeling hopeless - I'm reminded of all the structural changes that need to occur, but also the inspiration that people need to live up to their core values. One reason black people here, and other Afro-Latin Americans throughout this continent, disproportionately struggle with poverty, unemployment, hunger, and ill health, is because they lack those models or events upon which to build a sense of self-worth.

9/11 is tragic to think about, but I'm so proud that I live in a country where differences and divisions can be put aside to display a basic moral, human character in the most important of moments. If some of these black Colombians knew the story of the palenques (escaped slave communities) or Afro-Colombian politicians who laid the foundation for the national character of all Colombians, if these facets of history were in fact something the nation actively celebrated, I can't help but wonder if some of these people in Cartagena would be inspired enough to change their life trajectory...

Mi Color and the Beauty of Cartagena

I feel like Diddy when I walk Cartagena's streets. Since pretty much everyone here is black, I get shoutouts once every 10 minutes. What is funny is that people call out to me and say "Mi color!" - a clear reference to the fact that our skin color is the same. It's kind of become my nickname in this city. After only two days, there have been countless hilarious encounters. Like the guy who called out, "Hey mi color, we gots beautiful p*ssy here man." The very sad, desperate exploitation of women in this instance is only matched by the hilarious absurdity of such a comment being yelled in my direction on my first few hours in the city. I've been offered all kinds of crazy things besides women, some things I've never even heard of. I try to look for the humor in all of it though.

The most egregious instance came last night as I walked with two guys I had met in the hostel through the main square. I heard, "Yo whatsup m*thaf*cka! Hey my n*gga! Over here pahtnah!! Why you no respond man?" In my head I said to myself "keep walking, keep walking," until I realized he had gotten up to follow us. I knew a crazy conversation would ensue. This man had lived in New Jersey before, in Plainfield to be exact, where his family owned a restaurant. He told me a free meal waited for me back in NJ if I told them I spoke to their cousin, the short guy with the gold teeth. He went on and on for about 20 minutes about his stint in a Texas prison , and how his sentence was reduced from 6 to 3 years, after which he was deported back to Colombia. He told me he had three kids in the US and they all spoke Spanish and were quite smart. After twenty minutes of non-stop chatter, we told him about the friend we were supposed to meet (who of course didn't exist). It was hilarious to see him bothering a group of three Americans an hour later on the street, yelling to me asking if I knew them. The only other thing that matched this insanity was when this old lady passing by us on the street grabbed the balls of my friend from Ireland , and then cat-called him afterward. My mouth dropped. Good ol' sexual assault on the street. For some reason, all of this, despite how inappropriate it is, has just made me laugh.

People are generally extremely nice here in Cartagena even if they refuse to leave me alone or attempt numerous times to lead me to whorehouses. In a tourist area like this one, it's all business for them. Women are commodities, and everything is an opportunity for money-making. Despite these issues though, the pleasantness of the spirit of Cartagena's people matches the real wonder of Cartagena's layout and architecture. The old city is surrounded by magnificent walls and towers. Inside are winding, narrow streets and airy plazas, with horse-drawn carriages on every road. The romanticism of the place hits you immediately, with the lovers on the corners and the artistic brilliance in old statues and modern art. The square outside of the old city is magnificent as well, with fountains, colonial buildings and the vast Caribbean waters. Walking through Cartagena is like walking through a dream to be honest. The only thing is that it's a very hot dream. The weather is scorching and each day we all pray for a breeze, which surprisingly never comes despite the proximity of the water. The humidity is astounding. For this reason, I haven't been out for too long during the day, since I would most definitely sweat my clothes off (I sweat like Shaq!). I plan to venture out today though to take some daytime pictures. The weekend should also bring some more options as well. Like in Medellin and Cali, Cartagena is also a pretty chill city, with most people staying inside during the week, leaving empty streets late at night and very few places open.

I knew I would immediately like the city though when, on my first night, I wandered into a plaza where this dance troupe called Grupo Candela Vivo was playing some amazing cumbia music, very popular African influenced rhythm here in Colombia. I met some of them afterward - they were young, interesting, and quite talented. They also danced to folklorica music, which I saw the following evening. They're practicing every evening in the square for upcoming shows. This kind of spontaneous cultural exposition, free music and art coming from true musicians and artists, reminds me of Salvador in Brazil, which I am still hopelessly in love with. After a day exploring outside Cartagena, passing small islands and swimming at Playa Blanca, I hope I can see some more live music and performances this weekend and learn more about this romantic city. I'm sure the random shoutouts will continue...