See, directions can be difficult in Cartagena.
Type a destination into the modern wonder that is google maps, and the pin will point you to a neatly numbered calle (street) that seems to sequentially follow the numbered street beside it and precede the numbered street on the other side.
Simple, right?
Sorry, no. The thing is, in Cartagena's Centro District, NOBODY uses the numbers. Instead there are colourful names like Calle de Tripita y Media (Street of Tripe and a Half), or Tumbamuertas (Street of the Fall Down Dead). These are the names people who live here actually use. They appear on the floral lettered wall plaques of polished marble on every corner. On hotel stationary. Sometimes they even appear on maps. And the myths and stories that gave birth to them are passed down through the generations and shared with a few lucky tourists.
Intrigued by what made the dead fall down? This particular name apparently dates from the 1800s, when the rickety carts carrying plague victims, dropped the unfortunate corpses due to the street's poorly maintained bumps and potholes.
A particularly generous vendor who always dished out an extra half serve of tripe could be found in the Getsemani street named Tripita y Media. The alternative explanation is the lady selling the tripe always did so wearing only her socks. An interesting combination.
Yesterday I was told the origins of my street, Calle de San Antonio. San Antonio is usually identified as the patron saint of lost articles and people. Hmm.. perhaps given my general hopelessness in this area I should keep him on speed-dial? Although considering I have lost about 6 phones since I got here, speed-dial might not be the best approach. Anyway.. a young woman who lived on this street was particularly distraught with the fact there was a boyfriend missing from her life. Wisened women who knew all about these things told her she should ofcourse pray to San Antonio to find her a boyfriend. She did as they instructed, purchasing a weighty statue and praying to the saint morning and night. But after months and months of unanswered prayers, the girl became so frustrated she cursed San Antonio and threw the statue out her window in disgust. This was shortly followed by the anguished screams of pain from the poor sod who was whacked in the head by the hurtling hunk of sainthood. Ofcourse the girl, apologising profusely, was obliged to tend to the stranger's wounds. And ofcourse, dot. dot. dot. they fell in love. San Antonio coming through with the goods. Awwwww...
The first street I lived in here was called Calle de las Chancletas (street of thongs/flip-flops). There's the street of bitterness. The street of ladies.The street of the bomb - particularly controversial among historians who have been unable to determine exactly what bomb the name refers to. The streets have been named and renamed. Each time, reflecting the emergence of a new local legend, another plot twist in the film-like history of this slave-built, pirate-plagued, king-coveted city.
In the "new" city of Bocagrande, most often described to me as a dirtier version of Miami, the numbers are actually used in practice as well as theory. It's clearer. More organised. But in reality, so much less fun. Yes, you can determine very easily how far away Calle 22 is, if you are currently eating icecream on Calle 25. But there is no way I would have discovered that I simply have to start pegging pietists onto the street and true love will be mine.
So when you holiday in Cartagena, give Google Maps a vacation too. Find a local and ask for directions. And while you are at it, get yourself a snooze-free history lesson.
