Come out and playa

So the beaches in Cartagena city itself leave a little to be desired by Australian standards. I'm not a total beach snob..  there's sunshine, sand and water plus palm trees so I'm happy. The fact that I can cycle to them in under 10 minutes makes me giddy. But visitors and locals alike (especially spoiled Australians) tend to complain about the pollution, colour of the sand, colour of the water etc.

Luckily there's a pristine beachy reprieve from the clouded cityside waters, at Playa Blanca. Situated on the island of Baru, just 45 minutes by boat from Cartagena, Playa Blanca is the stuff postcards dream of. The white sand alluded to in the beach's name (Playa= Beach; Blanca = White) is soft and squeaky, the water is [insert cliche - they all apply]. The boats will drop you off on a kindof main drag (as far as, relatively, beaches go).. turn left and leave the masses (again, relative) as you round the corner to a quieter stretch. Heavenly!

Armed with my secret weapon, a Colombian boyfriend, we negotiated a tent to sleep in for the night (15,000 pesos). There are also little palm rooved huts and simple hammocks. Bags dumped, we pulled out the first litre bottle of Ron Medellin and began the difficult task of relaxing. Took about 3 seconds. 

The boat ride to Playa Blanca varies in price.. if you catch it from the port in front of the Torre del Reloj (Clock Tower) it will cost 40,000 pesos return (including lunch) or 35,000 pesos return (excluding lunch). BUT if you don't want to return the same day, you will have to negotiate your return trip on top of this price. You can normally get cheaper boats from Manga or from Castillogrande. Or it is possible to take a bus, then a moto and get there for as little as 7,000. But it will take you 2 hours. I should also say that if you front up looking all touristy you will probably spend a lot more than this. OR you can take the big ferry which is a cheaper option (I think 15,000 each way?) but super slow and makes all these stops along the way. Anyway.. when you think that the minimum wage here is about 150,000 a week (this is what I'm getting paid!) 40,000 or $20 is quite expensive. So that's why you (I) don't do it every weekend.  

So I recommend getting the included lunch option for 5,000 pesos.Whole grilled fish, patacones, salad and coconut rice. Conversion is less than $2.50 AUS. This is what it looked like:

We happened to go the same time as my friend and work colleague Jen, and her German squeeze Carsten. If you've seen the photos, you'll know these two are magazine-worthy: bronzed, buffed and better than you. But I was too frickin chilled to allow even their ridiculous hotness to make me feel self-conscious as I let it all hang out. I drank coconut juice then ate the flesh, I swam, I made out with the aforementioned Colombian boyfriend, I slept, I drank rum. People visited us, we chatted. Like with the incredibly nice and cool Arnando who runs a kitesurfing school on the beach. The sun went down. We added rum to our coconuts and snacked on crispy patacones chips. Life was pretty darn good.

Mid-way through the second litre bottle of rum we decided to get dinner. We walked up to Mama Ruth's which is hands-down the best spot to eat. Beautiful steamed-in-the-bag fish, garlic prawns, dream catchers everywhere.. and a gorgeous hippie couple working there that made this amazing jewelery from coral and silver and shells. My spend-no-money resolve loosened by the rum, I maybe bought myself a few reminders.. 


Truthfully, the remainder of the night is fairly blurry but definitely involved dancing on the beach and skinny dipping. Though, ofcourse, I would do both of those things sober. I also insisted on drunkenly making tuna and corn sandwiches for anyone who came within cooee of our little beach shelter. Apparently they were appreciated.


Next morning I literally crawled from my unzippered tent, past the emptied third litre-bottle of rum, to the welcoming warm caribbean waters. Sins absolved, I continued on in the same fashion as the previous day: eat, sleep, read, make-out, sleep, swim. HAPPY. I maybe also did a few cartwheels.


We arranged to board a boat at 2. Things didn't exactly go to plan on this front. Because you are squeezing onboard boats with other people who only came over for the day.. it is better to negotiate as a two-some then as a four-some. That's just for future, visit-playa-blanca reference. Long-story- crazy-beach-filled-with-crazy-locals-short, we eventually made it back. Oh! further tip from those in the know. When selecting your seat on the boat - be sure to hustle your way to the back seat. Way less bumps and bum bruises. 

Anyway.. sorry for the unnecessary detail.. I kindof thought I'd make this post a wee bit educational because Playa Blanca is somewhere people might actually visit. So hence prices, locations etc


So in summary... When I choose to take a holiday from my perpetual holiday, I choose Playa Blanca. White on, man.

World Nomads Travel Scholaship Entry: HELP!

Meat or Soup. Vietnam or Argentina. Please help me decide which one to enter. The topic is :  Understanding a Culture through food.  Apparently they are looking for essays that show:

- great descriptive ability
- strong eye for detail
- ability to uncover and tell a compelling story
- excellent spelling and grammar and a knack for avoiding clichés

Please make your choice and either comment below or on facebook. And email me or fb message me any additional comments, corrections or improvements. GRACIAS!

Option 1: Street Eating

My rear-end tingled with pinned and needled numbness as I crouched on the teeny tiny red plastic stool. Later that week I would be introduced to the man allegedly responsible for the introduction of this ubiquitous seating to Hanoi, but for now, my attention was being monopolised by the steaming bowl of soup before me. I followed my father's lead, plunging the tooth-chewed communal chopsticks into the mystery broth and holding them beneath the surface. 

“The soup's just off the boil so I figure this will kill off any germs,” Dad explained.
The steam delivered the fermented sweet and sour smell of the country's notorious fish sauce to my nostrils where it intermingled with the head-tickling exoticness of anise and coriander. The soup's fragrant contents layered upon the already established street odours, creating a kind of evocative olfactory decoupage.
 

It was time to eat.
 

After a brief moment contemplating the identity of the meat, I commenced with a hearty slurp of broth and sucked down a few slippery white noodles for good measure. Oh yes. It was good.
 

I was 17. It was my first time eating street food in a foreign country. And I was hooked.
 

Since losing my street-eating virginity way back then, upon arriving in any given destination I will immediately head to the streets, gesture convincingly at whatever mysterious concoction excites my curiosity, plonk myself down next to some unsuspecting local and plug into the community in a way not possible on a guided tour.
 

While eating the cheapest, and arguably, the best food available, you are also served a tantalising slice of local reality; pretension-free exchanges and simple but important rituals. It helps that my adventurous approach to food is accompanied by guts of steel and a (touch-wood) never-get-sick confidence. I guess one day my reckless hubris will render me powerless and clutching at a porcelain bowl. But until then, and, in all likelihood, afterwards as well, the call of the street resounds.

Option 2: Pleased to meat you.

“Bravo!” I chorused over the building applause, appreciatively eyeing the meaty towers that crowded the table. The Asador (the evening's appointed barbeque buff) accepted the traditional thanks with a gracious bow before stabbing his fork into a chubby little chorizo and loading up the first plate. Soon afterwards, myself and 15 other carnivores were unleashing our inner caveman on pile of sausage, steak and innards that would stop Fred Flinstone in his tracks.

Welcome to the Argentinian asado. In a country where the eating of meat has been elevated beyond quintessential pastime, to something closely resembling a national sport (I've been told Argies consume 100kg of beef a year per capita), the barbeque is taken very seriously indeed.

I'd been invited to arrive at 9pm. “Oh! But you can't arrive before 9.30pm”, I was cautioned by my Porteña friend, “It would be rude! They won't be ready!” Ahh.. Argentine-time.

Fireside, the coals turned ember-red, while we downed that potent Listerine-like concoction of Fernet and Coke and stuck the boot into political leaders and football players. My inner-Aussie comfortably embraced this familiar ritual as the asador expertly created his collage de carne on the grill, arranging the various cuts according to cooking time and usual eating order. Grilled nibbles to begin; teeth-blackening morcilla (blood sausage), tender sweetbreads, best-you-don't-know-what-they-are chinchulines; all offal-ly good (ba boom ching etc). Then the main event of strip, flank, ribs and belly.

Is there anything that arouses salivary glands more than the smell of flame-licked beef?

The grass-fed, happy-cow goodness of Argentinian beef is so staggeringly flavoursome, my knees feel weak at even its memory. Salt-seasoned (anything else would detract) and cooked in the open air with the tendrils of smoke from the woodchips still teasing your nostrils, I defy you to find better. 

And if you do, please invite me.

So.. what do you actually do there?

BE WARNED. Mega, huge update to follow. Cut-and-pasted from an overdue email update sent out on Monday last week. Please don't feel obliged to read. It is way too long, but I am too lazy to edit. 

Ok. So. right now I am typing this from an airconditioned room in front of the Cartagena Convention Centre. I found myself getting a gig working at the Cumbre de Las Americas - the Summit of all the leaders and heads of state from the countries of the Americas. So yes Obama is coming! Cartagena is such an amazing place. There is always something happening here. Conferences and festivals and summits and parties and religious holidays etc etc etc. The first week I arrived here was the film festival. So amazing! Free movies all day for a week! Did I already tell you that the delicious Gael (motorcycle diaries, amores perros etc etc) walked right by me at the opening night. Literally made bodily contact as he brushed his way to the red carpet. He is kinda short. But I´d make an exception.  That whole week was amazing. Nightly parties with famous or soon-to-be famous directors, free movies in theatres all around town, free popcorn!! The month before it was the Hay Festival. A writer's festival with talks and activities focused on the famous and soon to be famous writers. Jonathan Franzen was here Gabriel Garcia  Marquez ofcourse etc etc. Then there was the Jazz festival.  SO yes.. even though the town is small, it is never boring.

The Cumbre (summit) is kinda a big deal. It will pretty much necessitate the shutting down of the entire city for a week. I am working in the aforementioned airconditioned room checking in delegates. What this actually entails is me smiling hugely at people as they enter the room and then passing them on to someone else. My hope is that sometime soon there will be someone who actually needs my english and I will be able to feel useful. But the rest of the time I am just masquerading. And wearing white pants. That are tight. Ugh. .In typical me fashion I got the job by going out and being uber chatty while tipsy, talking to a friend of a friend of someone I met while house hunting.  I am getting paid (hopefully) 70,000 pesos a day. I think it works out to about $35. My hours are 6.30am to 8pm.  But it is super good to get any money at all! To give you some idea of costs here.. it can be as cheap or as expensive as you like. You´d be hardpressed to find clothes less that $50. I can eat dinner and lunch for as little as 6,000 ($3). But $12,000 would be more common´and still good value. You can buy a beer for less than $2,000 ($1) from the corner store. It´s quite easy to find a happy hour with 2 4 1 mojitos.. for 12,000 or $6 for 2. If you don't know where to look though, you're more likely to spend 25,000 for dinner (and upwards), 15,000 for each cocktail, 50,000 for a bottle of wine (cut off the zeros and divide by 2) Which is still pretty good value if you are holidaying with dollars and compared to australian prices.. but really expensive compared to the rest of Colombia and when you think what the wages are here.  I pay $150 a month rent but this is rare - I looked for ages and got lucky. And also have to share a room (and a bed!) with someone else! Any snacks you see on the street are around 1,000 (50c) each.. a cold coconut where you drink the juice, then they cut it open so you can eat the flesh is 2,000 ($1).  There are a tonne of tourists here from Argentina that make the place their holiday playground and they push the prices up plus other tourists etc. At this stage there aren't that many americans despite the proximity. I guess they haven´t worked out how safe it is here yet. When they cotton on, which I think will be in the next few years, things will get expensive pretty quickly.

Ok.. anyway. What else to tell you?? What am I doing here?!

When not wearing top to toe white and living in fear that I will spill salsa all over myself, I am usually working at a website www.thisiscartagena.com. It is an online guide for all things Cartagena. I write articles (like a street food guide I did.. I am currently writing about Cartagena´s best happy hours). It's a new site so isn't really making any money yet, so I'm not actually getting paid.  But yes.. the point of doing the website.. even if it is for free instead of, say, more lucrative teaching work.. is that I think it is moving me in the direction I want in terms of life career. I think I will try and make a life here in Cartagena.. maybe some kind of travel business? So the website is really good for making contacts and for learning about starting a business here and for learning about Cartagena generally. So at this stage I am planning on making Cartagena my home. For a lot of reasons. I think it will end up being a key tourist destination but at the moment there isn't a lot here. If I get in now and learn everything and start a tour business I think I can do really well. Plus I really love it here. My typical day involves waking up.. going into plaza trinidad and giving a free english lesson to a couple of girls who live locally and make taquitos. Then I go to work around the corner in a beautiful house owned by my boss Rainbow. Yes, that´s his real name. I haven´t really asked him but I think he had some hardcore hippie parents. He is married to a Colombian from Baranquilla (it´s the neighbouring town to Cartagena and is where Shakira is from.. oh! She is also coming to town for Cumbre to perform for the Summit!). He has been here for 10 years and has 2 sons. Monty, the eldest is 5 years and is such a dude. I love him! Throughout the day I write and research for the website and I borrow the bike and go visit clients or run errands. I love taking the bike and jetting about town. I feel like such a local!! I get lunch for free (well, in exchange for working 10 hour days for nothing). Rainbow is also going to sponsor me to work here.

So my home neighbourhood or barrio is called Getsemani. You say it with a h not g. They even have their own anthem.. Soy Getsemanisense!! google it. I plan on learning the words! I love love love love my neighbourhood. I feel like part of the community - and there is this real community vibe. People wear these Orgulloso Getsemanisense tshirts (I´m a proud person from Getsemani!) and have each others' backs. Life revolves around the plaza trinidad which is in front of the church. After work I might grab myself a cup of peta which is a hot chunky drink made from corn and tastes kind of sweet and milky and satifying. Then I will sit in the plaza and watch kids skateboard, or the men play chess. Most people seem to know or recognise me, even though I can´t really remember them. I think I am their token tall blonde gringa.Like a mascot. I feel like I know so many people here already! If I spend an hour in the plaza I will probably chat to about 15 people that I know. It doesn´t move much beyond ¨hello, how are you?¨because I still don´t really speak Spanish. It´s just so hard for me to learn without seeing the words written down and properly studying it. I will start to take classes when the summit is over. But yes, I really really love my neighbourhood. I come out of my house in the mornings (which is also whacky and wonderful) and just feel this giant heartswell as soon as I step into the street. The bright pink bougainvillea! the way there is already music playing, my neighbours sitting in front of their houses, the men playing hotly contested games of ludo, the kids cycling around en masse on their bikes, the people selling fruit and vegetables and bread!! There is so much music and colour!!

Even the food here is musical!! The vendors announce what they are selling with a song -- everything has it´s own sound. pan pan pan pan pan pan pan (said in fast succession and accompanied by the drumming on a metal tin.. that´s the sound of bread.)

After chilling in the plaza for a bit and catching up with locals, I will usually try and go for a run around the bay of Manga or down to bocagrande (the beach). 

Boy-wise, my research has been progressing nicely. Have experienced crazy latino jealousy and intense declarations of undying love. In one particular instance following a bizarre jekyl and hyde script where he switched from "preciosa, mi amor, me encanta etc etc" to .. "why didn´t you answer your phone.. were you with any guys, who were you with.. I don´t think you like me as much as I like you etc etc" 

Dating has given me the opportunity to get out to the burbs and experience more of the real Cartagena... hanging out in local neighbourhoods or driving to the beach with the sound system blaring (they are particularly into that Rihanna song at the moment.. what kind of love in a hopeless place or something like that).

And OH! This city is SO romantic! It´s so easy to imagine I am in Love in the Time of Cholera, which was set here in Cartagena (unofficially). The sunsets are so so beautiful. This gorgeous tequila sunrise of orange and yellow that descends into a mauve haze. And the way the sun sets over the sea.. with palm trees! And as you sit on the ancient wall that circles the city and drink the beer you bought for less than a dollar.. it´s impossible not to be happy. Anyway.. young lovers go to the wall and make out at night. They have even made it into a verb - murallado -- ¨wall-ing¨ which I think is hilarious! There´s also horse drawn carriage rides. Horse rides along the beach. Copious time spent near-nude in bikinis. Oh! And DANCING! so much dancing. I still suck at partner dancing though. I always just want to do my own thing. But it is still romantic!

I'm thinking about making up little romance-related cards with piropos on them and selling them for some pocket money.  But that's just an idea I had yesterday.

Anyway.. that was just a whole lot of junk from my head to hopefully give a bit more of an insight to my life here. In summary, and in response to my FAQs: 

How ARE you? Awesome. Happy..  

Where ARE you?! Cartagena, Colombia. 

When are you coming back? No plans to. 

Where to next? My only plan is to attend the wedding of Leah and Mark on June 3. Otherwise, Cartagena is my home and I will be coming back here after the wedding? I'm not backpacking.. I'm living.

Update for the Update: Managed to be within 2 metres of Obama and a bunch of other leaders as they strutted past me in the convention centre.

Street Eats

Hey all! I wrote this for www.ticartagena.com. Cos I'm exceptionally lazy, I'm just going to use it to provide the promised entry on the food here in Cartagena. Anyway, just explaining the formal-ish tone.

...

The streets of Cartagena offer a virtual smorgasbord of sensory treats for the hungry visitor or resident. After devouring the city's colourful architecture, drinking in the postcard-worthy views and smacking your lips at the tasty musical offerings, you'll probably want to eat some actual food.

And the place to do it? Street-side of course.

Whether you are chasing a snack or something more substantial, a healthy start or a sweet denouement, take to the streets to experience food the way Cartagenans do whilst simultaneously gaining an insight into the people and culture of this incredible city.

Here's our pick of the best street eats from breakfast through to midnight snack. These should whet your appetite, but we suggest the real fun is found in discovering your own! Buen provecho! 

Breakfast Fast 

Start your day with the most quintessential of Colombian foodstuffs – the Arepa. Made using ground corn dough, these tasty treats take many forms; white, yellow, fried, grilled and stuffed.

Opt for a substantial, stick-to-your-guts serving of the Arepa de queso that will keep you going til lunch. White corn dough is mixed with cheese, shaped into squoval patties, then grilled until golden. The vendor will then strategically prong your arepa with a knife, to allow melted butter to seep into the crevices. Definitely a heart starter. Try to ignore the greasy transparency of your serviette once you've finished eating.

Equally popular is the arepa de huevo. These yellow, usually round, parcels of joy actually originated on the Colombian coast, but are now popular throughout the country. Made using yellow corn dough, an entire egg is added before frying. Some versions also include meat. Try to buy them fresh out of the fryer for finger-licking flavour.

For those watching their waistlines, a tropical fruit platter might be a better bet. Wave down one of the colourfully-costumed Pelenque women and watch as she transforms your plastic plate into a work of art – Maracuya (passionfruit), Lulo, Carambola (starfruit), Pitaya (dragonfruit), Sandia (watermelon), Nispero and Papaya are arranged decoratively for an antioxidant hit that tastes as good as it looks.

Pick up a tiny cup of black coffee or tinto from one of the thermos-toting vendors, then head to a bench in one of the Plazas to enjoy your breakfast al fresco.

Snack Attack

Either side of lunch you'll be chasing something small to tie you over and Cartagena's streets do not disappoint.

For our money, you can't beat a bag of mango biche. Colombians eat their mango unripe, crunchy and doused in lemon, salt and dried chilli powder. You can also buy green guava served in the same way. You will find carts selling the skinny soldiers of cut up fruit throughout the city. 

 

For an alternative tropical snack, find a coco frio cart – the vendor will pop a straw into the chilled coconut for you to slurp away. The energy-filled coconut water will return the spring to your step, then if you stick around, the vendor will cut open your finished coconut so you can gobble down the other other white meat inside.

If you make your way past the Torre de la Reloj towards Getsemani, you will stumble upon another foodie-find and a perfect afternoon snack: Cheese with guava. Eat the white, spongey cheese with a slab of the tart, ruby-red guava paste and you have something of a taste sensation.

Lunch

For Cartagenans lunch is the most important (read: largest) meal of the day. Locals will usually either paper-bag a meal from home or grab a styro-foam pack filled with fish, pork, beef or chicken grilled with onion and peppers and served with rice and lentils. Strangely, it will also sometimes come with a portion of what seems to be tinned spaghetti. Go figure.

To nab your own, simply ask someone on the street who is already eating, “de donde compraste” and s/he will point to a vendor walking the streets with large plastic bags filled with stacks of the styro-foam lunchboxes. Be warned, there is a limited window for purchasing this lunch option, normally between noon and 1.30pm.

Alternatively, make yourself a very traditional lunch of fritanga food – FRIED! Try some empanadas – semi-circular pastry pillows with assorted fillings (beef, chicken, cheese). Then be sure to load them up with plenty of salsa! We've had a number of favourable reports supporting our claims that the freshest are found on sale parallel to the wall at Calle 38 and Calle Zerrezuala (near the Exito Supermarket).

You'll probably also need something to wash it all down with. Again, the streets provide! You won't need to look far to locate one of the vendors pushing along a giant fishtank filled with icy juice. Perhaps try the sweet and sour tartness of a tamarind juice or a lemon/lime juice, to cut through that lunchtime grease. Also popular is Avena – a white drink made on oats and served both hot and cold. You can identify these vendors because the beverage is kept in giant silver vats.

Dinner Winner

If you're harbouring some nostalgia for the gloriously 70s dish that was the prawn cocktail – you're in luck! They never went out of fashion in Cartagena. Just beside the Torre del Reloj you will find a string of stalls selling coctel de camarones (some stalls also call themselves cevicherias although if you are expecting a Peruvian ceviche you will be disappointed). Choose your cup size (the different sized cups are on display and conveniently have the prices written on the outside), then choose your seafood – prawns/shrimp, squid, mussels, octopus or a combination. The vendor will combine your selection with finely diced purple onion and garlic, lime juice and a home-made thousand-island sauce. Eat your prawn cocktail with the water crackers provided and be sure to accept the complimentary mint for your garlic breath!

Something Sweet

Just because you are bypassing restaurants, there is no need to miss out on dessert. In fact, Cartagena has an entire dedicated street of sweets: el Portal de los Dulces. Opposite the Torre del Reloj (Clock Tower) in the Plaza de los Coches you will find stalls stacked high with sweet-filled glass jars. The candies are intensely sweet, so one will usually suffice. Examples include fist-sized mounds of coconut and condensed milk, tiny blocks of caramelized peanuts, slabs of sour guava or tamarind dipped in sugar, bolas de panela (brown sugar and popcorn balls) and muñecas de leche (“milk dolls”). 

 

Midnight munchies

So you've worked up an appetite shaking your stuff at Havana all night? Or perhaps you need something savoury to offset all those Cuba Libres? The man you need to see is DJ Hotdog. With his unique combination of pumping beats and calorific buns, this Costellan character is top dog in Plaza Trinidad.
Grab one laden with every conceivable condiment (give the pineapple or pina a try) and eat while chatting to other appreciative strangers, watching fire-twirlers and wiggling along to DJ Hotdog's musical stylings.

Sea Change

SUPER Chevere! I now live in Cartagena, Bolivar, Colombia.


Why? Hmm.. tough question. I was totally happy in Buenos Aires and had so many wonderful friends there. But I decided it didn't really have enough of the things I am really looking for in a chosen latin american home. It gets cold. It isn't close to water. And apart from meat, there isn't really a heap of cheap, interesting street food. It is also pretty darn expensive. So after an extremely small amount of research ("Hey guys.. where should I move?"), I decided to move to Cartagena.

How? My flight from Buenos Aires left at 6am. Which necessitated arriving at the airport at 3am. Which necessitated leaving home at 2.15am. Which necessitated returning home from a last-minute goodbye dinner at 1am to finish packing.
I flew to Lima, then Bogota, then Cartagena. 14 or so hours later I was at Cartagena Airport being picked up by self-appointed Cartagena ambassador, Willy. I had never met Willy before, but, through CouchSurfing I asked where might be a good area of Cartagena to live and what might be a good site to use to search. Next thing he is volunteering to pick me up from the airport and the next day he is taking myself and a new friend, Shelly, to eat some of the best pizza ever. Here is a photo:

 This is the Manzana (apple) pizza. It has blue cheese, apple, basil and a caramelised balsamic dressing. It also has the crispiest tastiest base. After the pizzas in Buenos Aires (thick base, 2 inches of bland cheese, make-your-hands-shiny greasiness) I felt completely vindicated in my decision to relocate.

But I'm kindof getting ahead of myself. The pizza came after an entire day of walking around Cartagena and feeling vindicated. Again, although I loved Buenos Aires, it was as though, upon arriving in Colombia, I could let out a big huge breath that I didn't realise I'd been holding in.  I'm probably explaining it badly.. but I think maybe it felt like the people (not my friends!! por favor!) of Buenos Aires take themselves really seriously and judge quite harshly so you don't really feel as though you can relax. 

Walking the streets here, mini-dancing along with all the latin music (can't wait to learn to distinguish all the different styles), the patchwork-painted buildings, the HISTORY, the colourful and exotic fruit, the random conversations with local strangers... I just couldn't wipe the smile off my face 

And that's ignoring the fact my arrival coincided exactly with the 52nd International Film Festival. This meant free movies held in centuries-old theatres, visiting dignitaries (GAEL walked past me on his way to the red carpet.. swoon!), after-parties and general city-wide buzz. Here's a photo of the outdoor screen set up in front of the Torre del Reloj (Clock Tower) on opening night:

When not going to movies, I have filled my daytimes with beach visits, old-town exploring, street-food sampling, and (until 2days ago) home-hunting.

In summary - the historic city is way cool. It is surrounded by a giant wall which is topped with sea-pointing cannons. The buildings inside are old and decorative and colourfully painted. They have wooden balconies with flashes of deep magenta bougainvillea (Hmm.. I'd never noticed how that plant has the word "bogan" in it. I might think about how it is and is not bogan-like later on) creeping over the balustrades and stretching out to create a romantic canopy. The sky seems to be incessantly, cloudlessly blue. The impressive wooden doors all have the most ornate and entertaining door-knockers - iguanas, fish, lions, geckos. They remind me of the Labyrinth and that scene where there is one doorknocker with the handle in his ears.. so he is deaf but can talk.. and the other who has the handle in his mouth, so he can't talk, but can hear. Agh! Sorry! Digress digress! Here is a doorknocker:

 I will do an entire, food-related post, but sofar my favourite thing to eat is a bag of mango biche. This is unripe mango that has crunch, cut into soldiers, then doused in freshly squeezed lime juice, chilli-pepper and salt. I could (and do) eat it every day. At least once. 

The other thing I love to do is to buy take-away beer or rum from the corner stores and drink it one of the many plazas or on the city walls overlooking the sea and the oldtown skyline. At one point, in one of his books, Gabriel Garcia Marquez talks of the "amethyst afternoons" here. He said something the night breezes too. Anyway.. while drinking my drink and sunset-gazing I like to put "amethyst afternoons" as the title on the mental photo I take. Either that, or the line from the Corona ad "From where you'd rather be".

The house-hunting was a bit more of a process. Early on, we asked someone what is the best way to find an apartment. They answered with "Walking and talking", and that's exactly what we did. 2 full days of walking the street, asking street-randoms, sniffing down leads, looking at palatial-sized, ocean-view rooms we couldn't afford, then rooms where we'd have to push the cockroaches off our beds to sleep at night. Finally we found a room and have been doing a happy dance ever since. It is a big room with a private bathroom in Getsemani, right around the corner from Plaza Trinidad. The Deuna (owner) is this eccentric old lady named Gladys who keeps cages of birds (lorikeets and cockatiels) in the courtyard. There are green plants everywhere and the sunlight comes into our room through a wooden-posted window in the most spirit-lifting way. The first morning waking up in our new home, Salma and I couldn't stop squealing with utter delight.

Oh! Salma! You won't know who she is. It seems strange because for the last few days we've spent 24hours a day together and it feels like I've known her a lifetime. I guess it's a bit of a story but basically, I learned that she was moving to Cartagena too and we decided we should look for apartments together. So before actually meeting her, I invited her to crash in my bed when she arrived. It sounds strange and random - but that's kindof how my life is these days so it doesn't really occur to me how odd that is anymore. I guess I just keep trusting my instincts and the fact that I am the luckiest person ever (ooh! please hubris - don't strike me down yet!).

So the Trinidad Plaza I referred to is like the heart of Getsemani. Basically it is a church with a large paved circular area in front, surrounded by bench seats and food and drink vendors. Young people will busk for money, backpackers will meet up before their night on the tiles, locals with play music from their boomboxes or swing around on their bikes, children will jump on the trampoline or play tiggy. It just has the best, most vibrant feel about it. People in our neighbourhood treat the pavement in front of their houses like a private balacony or backyard. They set up their chairs, play music, smoke and drink beers and call out to any girls that might happen to be walking past. Salma and I always do a bit of a wiggle-dance as we walk past and they blow us kisses. 

Anyway.. I already feel so at home here. Even by the time Salma arrived (by that stage I had been here 5 days) it seemed as though we were bumping into someone I knew every ten minutes or so, or I was telling her about some other piece of information I had gleaned, usually on the topic of food. We've been to rooftop houseparties overlooking the Cathedral, we've danced salsa in Cuban bars, I've downed rum with Latin America's best new film directors and we're generally living the latin dream.

So! Now I've found a home, I can concentrate on learning Spanish, salsa, windsurfing and find some kind of income. Hmm.. I'm kinda loving my life right now. (Ugh.. hubris.. sorry!!)

I'm sure there's more to write and tell you about, but I am itching to get back out there so I'm off! I also need to add more photos.. but they're mostly on facebook so you should be fairly well apprised on that front.

If any of you have been to Cartagena and have any recs or contacts please send me mail or comment below. Next post will probably be food. Or about yesterday's visit to Pelenque. Or the all-nighter I had filled with salsa dancing, bocagrande balcony rum-drinking and a refreshing morning swim with a bunch of skinny dipping friends accompanied by waiting police officers. Stay tuned etc etc

The Third "M"

My smoking-hot, mega-talented and infinitely-wise friend Chrissy Bray (check her out: http://www.chrissybray.com/) , upon learning I was flying to Buenos Aires, told me excitedly that I would love it because it was the city of three Ms: Meat, Malbec and Men. 

After writing posts on the other two, this post is dedicated to shedding some light on some of  my experiences with the men of Buenos Aires. Mum, probably don't print this one out for Nanna. Just kidding. Kindof. 




Ok, so I've mentioned before that the locals of Buenos Aires are called Portenos (there's a wavy line above the n that I can't get my keyboard to type.. but you get the idea), meaning, from the Port. A typical porteno has longish hair, lives with his parents until the age of 28, loves football and is an insatiable flirt. Ofcourse I'm generalising. But y'know, mas or menos (my favourite spanish phrase - meaning more or less.. you can use it for everything.. but I digress).

Street, Bar, Police Station, Emergency scenarios (more on that later).. any opportunity is the right opportunity for a porteno to test out his powers of flirtatious persuasion. Now, as far as I have sussed things out.. just because a porteno compliments you, declares his love for you, spends the entire night staring at you etc it doesn't actually mean that he would want anything to happen between you. Often he is just letting you know that he is a male and has noticed (and appreciates the fact) that you are a woman. He is probably married or long-term-girlfriended. Telling a woman he thinks she is beautiful is a reflex reaction akin to yawning. He probably isn't even aware he is doing it.

Street
If you are the type of girl who gets freaked out when construction-site workers wolf-whistle as you walk past, do NOT come to South America. You will hate it. If you feel this way AND are a high-vis blonde, like me, you will spend most days in tears. For my part, although I am amazed by the frequency and inappropriateness of comments (really? do you expect me to hand over my number to a complete stranger who tells me he will f@$% me into 8 pieces? Really?), I would be totally lying if I said I didn't enjoy the attention or sometimes let a private smile slip as I walk past. The attention varies from the genuinely sweet or clever - my gorgeous friend Lucia tells me she had a lovely old man declare "Finally, my eyes have had breakfast"  upon seeing her on her way to work one morning - to lewd kissing and tongue-flicking gestures. Fairly animalistic and gross.

The flirtatious comments have been given the name of "piropos" - which translates something like "fire eyes". There's some pretty cool ones that do the rounds (not that I understand them at the time) like - "Look at those curves! And here I am without breaks"; or "If you cook like you walk, I want to eat scraps!". Sometimes I wish I had one of those head-cameras, I'd call it piropos-vision, to capture the lustful looks and neck-snapping head-twists, that take place as you walk down the street. It's quite comical.

For further insight, check out this entertaining video (the chica who made it has become a bit of a local celebrity after originally posting a video about her asshole ex-boyfriend).. http://vimeo.com/36509870

Bar
Ok.. so this is where Porteno men really shine.  For them, picking up a girl is really just a game where they can put into practice their excellent skills.. and they really love the game! If you don't play the game i.e. if you (a) accede too easily or (b) don't show sufficient interest.. you aren't fun to play with and they'll probably look for someone new. It's a lot like fishing. They bait their hook and put it out there, often starting with direct staring or a flirty comment. Being obviously foreign, I provide the perfect opener of "de donde sos?" Where are you from?.. they chat/bullshit for a little while, testing for nibbles and revealing themselves as Chamuyeros (a silver-tongued, smooth-talking, bullshit artist lothario), then attempt to reel you in (this can be via attempting to kiss you there and then.. or by buying you a drink), then they release the reel, they'll go for a walk and survey their options, they won't call for a week etc.. then they will start again with the charm offensive and attempt to reel you in again. Release. Repeat. There's a whole chunk of porteno slang dedicated to the dating game and describing the male approach. e.g. you describe a guy who demonstrates this hard-to-get, hot and cold technique as an Histerico. FYI, the girls (portenas) play their part equally well in this game and are called Histericas.

Emergency Situations
Ofcourse, you know I love a good story. And Bs As has provided ample fodder for cracking story accumulation. This is one of my favourites (don't worry, it's short), that illustrates perfectly the men over here. Ok.. so I was walking along the street one night when I hear the sounds of an approaching fire engine. Sure enough, further down the street I could see smoke emerging from an apartment. As the fire-truck nears, I notice it start to slow down. I think "Gosh! They don't know where the fire is, I will put on my helpful face and show them where they need to go". Stopping beside me, the firemen lean out the window of the truck ..I wait, expectantly and ready to point and give directions in fumbled spanish. But no..  "Hola! Hermosaaa!! Que tal?! Dame tu numero!!" Etc etc (note.. my spanish is crap. this is along the lines of what I understood).

Yup. That's right. The firemen had slowed down to flirt with me and ask for my number. ON.THE.WAY.TO.A.FIRE.

Obviously a pretty extreme example, but I feel, very fitting for capturing the incorrigible nature of the men over here. And definitely not isolated. There's also the police officer who took my number from my official statement to ask me out (see Cops Are Tops). And the Museum Cloakroom attendant who asked me out after getting my number from the form I completed when checking-in my bag.

The result is that I've become something of a Chamuyera myself. Enjoying the funny, flirty conversation and the chance to practice my spanish.. but not viewing the guys as holding any viability in a serious romantic capacity. Muy histerica. My friend Bill, American ex-pat, tells me that the vast majority of ex-pats here, after experimenting with the locals intermittently, tend to end up dating other ex-pats.

Hate the game, not the players. Although actually, I'm quite enjoying both thank-you-very-much.

"Now, take off your dress". Joining a gym in Buenos Aires

So, I had a plan. Arrive in Buenos Aires, sample the local delights just long enough to establish an informed opinion (1 -2 weeks), then eat like a Portena (which is to say, stop eating) and dance every night to shed the 12 or so kilos I had stacked on after a year of living at home with my parents (my mum seriously makes the WORLD'S best brownies). 

But I didn't really stick to the plan.

I kept eating (d'uh. who was I kidding anyway) and the late night, carb-heavy eating, unfailingly punctuated with a giant helado full-stop, meant the 12 kilos were feeling quite at home and had even decided to invite over some new friends. 

So I decided to join a gym. I'd been holding off, not knowing how long I was going to stay, but at 250 pesos for the month.. I figured future photos of me shaking my groove-thang in a bikini on a beach in Rio would thank me for shelling out the $10/week.

So I signed up, paid my money for the month upfront, then was told I would need to see a doctor to complete a health check before commencing. Refer to the above title. Do you see where things are going?

The seemingly very professional doctor invited me in to his consultation room. He provided me with a questionnaire to complete with all the usual questions: smoke - no, allergies - no, alcohol - yes, please etc etc. He asked me my height and weight, took my blood pressure, all extremely standard. "Ok", he says. "Take off your clothes and lie on the bed".

I look at him, checking for a sign he is joking. No such sign. As serious as cancer. I will say, at this point, that I think his limited English and my limited Spanish meant the absence of customary niceties that would enable him to ask me to remove my clothing in a way that didn't seem completely pervy.

"Porque?"
"We attach these". He holds up a bunch of suction circles attached to a giant battery thing. My concerns are not abated. I think about throwing out another porque but there doesn't seem to be much point. I doubt I would understand the explanation.

Trying to maintain modesty, for now, I unbutton my shirt dress down as far as my navel and allow the doctor to affix the discs. "Be calm", he says. Sure thing.

The discs feel warm but are otherwise painless. A machine zig zags over green-checkered paper. "Normal" he declares. Hmm.. more or less.

I stand up. Ok. Survived that. It was strange but I'd witnessed other off-beat examples of the Argentinian health beliefs/superstitions by now so I'm feeling all, go-with-the-flow about it all. Like, they love calisthenics.. getting together in groups in the park and pointing and flexing their toes.  Ok.. not the best example but it's what I can think of at the moment.


"Now, take off your dress". Really?! Again, the ever-trusty, "Porque?".
"I need to see your skin".
Nope, you're going to have to do better than that. "Porque?!"
"You need to bend over and I need to look at your skin." It's said so matter-of-fact and without a hint of perv. Hmm.. one more.. "Porque?!!"
"Your back". 
I shrug my shoulders and relent. Removing my dress to waist-length and bending over, presumably so he can see the curvature of my spine. 
"Normal". Um.. not exactly.


So that was that. He handed me the green-checkered paper with the zig-zagging line (Mel, or other doctor friends, perhaps you can interpret for me?) and confirmed with the gym staff I had passed my physical examination. 

I still don't know if this is the usual practice or not. Any Bs As locals had similar experiences? Lucia??