Here Comes the Sun

Wednesday 12 May
Medellin – Cartagena

We arrived at the bus station in Cartagena. I get out of the bus and it hits me. It's hot. Damn hot. We're further north of the equator but we're 1500 meters lower, back at sea level, and the proper tropical-equatorial weather is back with us. It's 33 degrees in the shade here. This is more like it. Except of course on the bus I was wearing jeans. And the taxi I took didn't have air con. So I was hot. Too hot. But I was back in the Caribbean after a break of something like 12 years.

From the taxi to the hostel I could see the state of the city. It looked poor and dusty, very similar to how I remembered Port of Spain in Trinidad, when I was here last. The people were also more Afro-Caribbean as well. It really brought the memories back.

I arrived at the hostel and it looked really nice, all centred around a courtyard and mostly painted white with a small pool in the centre. I met Gentleman Steve, an English guy from the hostel at Medellin. He was kind enough to give me some of his left over food for lunch as I adjusted to the new climate and recovered from the bus ride.

I showered, changed and surfed the net as I waited for my room to be ready. The room was empty when I arrived so thankfully I could take a bottom bunk. Though there was no air con in the room, but an arrangement of fans that all seemed to point slightly away from the bed I’d chosen.

I went for a walk around the town. I was relying on my own random directions so didn't find the nice part of town. Instead I only saw all the crappy parts and wasn't impressed. I would find the nice bits later on.

In the evening I met up with Joe, Craig and Etienne as well as a guy called Daniel from my home town of Hammersmith, who despite his origin was actually 100% Italian, genetically at least. His crazy Sideshow Bob hair was awesome to look at, especially when it was wet and tried to reassert its structure against the weight of the water.

So we splashed about in the pool with the rest of the people from the hostel and ate at the barbeque that they had laid on. We played on Etienne's - or should I say Le Lambadour's - tiny guitar. I think we also went out after this - or at least tried to. But there wasn't much open and what was open was pretty "ordinary" as Australians say, meaning crap.