Old Town, New Friends: Cartagena to Sincejelo

Still giddy at the fact that I was on the ground, in South America, with my bike, I awoke on the Wild Card for the last time, sharing a quick breakfast with my newfound friends. Rather than feeling disappointed that we'd be parting ways, most of us were looking forward to spending the next couple of days enjoying Cartagena and meeting a few more times in the process.

We received our stamped passports a little after 9 A.M., and now that we were legally allowed into Colombia, gathered our things and left the port. Well, at least the others did; I still had to get my temporary import and mandatory insurance for the bike, so while the others headed off to find lodging, I made the moderate walk to the Direccion de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacional (DIAN) office. After trying two different security checkpoints and being directed to the next one, I finally found my way in and to the Aduana office. The process was surprisingly simple; after presenting my passport and vehicle documents, I was given a form to take to one of the nearby insurance agencies in order to get my mandatory liability and medical insurance (SOAT). Word of advice to any future travelers reading this: don't bother with the SOAT vendors near the DIAN office; the first one I went to refused to sell me anything less than a 1-year policy, and wanted the equivalent of nearly $250 for it. After a bit of Googling, I found another agency a short walk away who sold me the two-month minimum permitted by law for less than $30. The only issue I ran into in the process was that I caught the insurance agency at lunchtime, which added an hour and a half to the process, but once I had my SOAT approved, I was back in and out of the DIAN office in under an hour, transit time included. It was the easiest customs process I'd experienced since Guatemala, and gave me hope for easier times to come.

Now that I was fully legal as far as Colombia was concerned, I made my way back to the port to retrieve my bags and gear, and got a bit of a nasty surprise when I did. The crew had stashed my helmet, jacket, pants, and boots with my luggage for the voyage, and when I got my helmet back, I found spots of mold dotting the liner. Even after scrubbing off the padding in the bathroom, my helmet still smelled so bad I got nauseous after putting it on. More advice for motorcyclists taking the boats between Panama and Colombia: keep at least your helmet with you in the cabin, lest you suffer the tropical consequences.

Several of us had decided to stay at Hostel Mamallena in the heart of Getsemani, Cartagena's old town, and I found Paul, Kat, and Ferdinand in the common area when I arrived. The hostel staff had graciously agreed to let me park the bike in a corner of the common area, and once I'd parked, changed, and vigorously scrubbed out every part of my helmet I could reach with soap and a sponge, I joined the others to catch up. They'd already explored the neighborhood a bit, so after waiting out a brief rain shower, I took a quick walk around the few blocks surrounding Mamallena, taking in the colorful decorations surrounding and overlooking many of Getsemani's narrow streets. Cartagena, at least the area I was in, was showing itself to be a beautiful and vibrant place, and I was excited to see more of it. Returning to Mamallena, I ran into Bobby, Joanna, and Caro with an armful of food, and accepted their offer to come cook with them. Charlie had planned an evening out with any of the passengers who were up for it, and after finishing dinner and a quick phone call home, I met most of the now-former Wild Card passengers in Mamallena's bar. After a drink or two at the hostel, we set out around Getsemani, stopping first at the Plaza Trinitaria a few blocks away to watch a series of street performers, then heading across the neighborhood to Cartagena's famous clock tower and a rooftop bar overlooking it.

It was an excellent night all in all, and a nice way to cap off the voyage to Colombia, one of my favorite parts of the trip thus far. I was definitely a little sluggish the next morning, but not enough to keep me from exploring more of Cartagena, and after a quick breakfast, I set out for the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, the enormous colonial-era fort overlooking the old town and much of Cartagena.

Originally constructed in 1536 and significantly expanded in 1657, San Felipe defended Cartagena from attacks by French, British, and privateer forces for much of Cartagena's history, finally falling out of use in the 1800's. The fortress is very well-preserved, enjoying status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and both the open areas and many of the tunnels criss-crossing the interior are open to the public. One of the more interesting quirks I learned about during my tour was that the outer tunnels weren't primarily intended for use by personnel; the small alcoves placed every 10-20 feet were pre-loaded with explosives intended to be detonated in the event invading forces tried to scale the walls of the fort. It was easy to see why San Felipe was such a strategic piece; its cannons could be trained on every possible route of attack by seagoing invaders, and the only real land-based approach was over a hill within easy range of the fort.

After leaving the Castillo San Felipe, rehydrating, and meeting one of my shipmates for lunch, I decided I wanted to see more than just the fort and the two blocks around my hostel, so I grabbed my camera (in my bag unless I needed it, I'm not an idiot) and started wandering the old town. What I found was a gorgeous, vibrant district with splashes of color at nearly every turn. There are murals all over the place, I stumbled onto a couple of different art exhibitions, and even regular streets had some kind of decoration on the walls or overhead; I particularly enjoyed the umbrellas stuck over a couple of different streets. Cartagena felt more alive than any city I could remember visiting over the last two months, and it didn't seem to matter whether it was day or night; as soon as the sun went down and the street vendors packed up, performers of all types came out to take their places. Whether it was a comically unconvincing Shakira in drag, multiple Michael Jackson impersonators, traditional Latin guitarists, the rap trio that entertained us during dinner that night, or break dancing groups, some kind of human creativity was on display nearly everywhere I looked.

I just want to point out that the composited RAW file for this photo is over 500 MB.

I could have easily stayed in Cartagena for a week or two, but needing to be in Quito by October 10th, I had to move on. My next actual destination would be Medellin, but getting there would require at least two days on the road; after getting used to crossing entire countries in a couple of days, the sheer distance between landmarks in Colombia was a bit of a rude awakening. I decided on spending Friday night in the town of Sincejelo, mostly because it was an afternoon's ride from Cartagena and because I'd found a Couchsurfing host there. Before I left, I did something I've literally never done, and paid someone to wash the Twin. It was utterly filthy, covered in dirt and mud, and had been exposed to saltwater for most of the last week, and I wanted to make sure that nothing corrosive was left anywhere. Plus it was nice to have a clean bike for once, even if I knew that wasn't going to last very long.

The ride from Cartagena to Sincejelo was perfectly pleasant, and brought with it an unexpected and very welcome discovery: motorcycles are almost entirely exempt from tolls in Colombia. This had been a point of worry for me, as I typically plot my routes to avoid having to pay tolls, but doing so for just this leg of the trip practically doubled my travel time. It was a huge relief to find out that I didn't have to worry. In what would become a running theme of my time in Colombia thus far, however, I ran into a considerable amount of road construction; it seemed that nearly every highway in Colombia was having some sort of work done, and while the long lines of cars had no option but to wait it out, I very quickly found that jumping the lines on either the shoulder, lane lines, or sometimes going entirely off-road was par for the course for motorcyclists. Colombian motorcyclists, it seemed, were capable of solving any traffic-related problem. I certainly wasn't going to say no to a few dirt road detours, nor to getting a little closer to the farms and marshlands I was passing on the way.

I made it to Sincejelo with daylight to spare (for once), and was warmly welcomed by my host, Julio, and his family. Julio teaches English classes at the local university, and had spent a year studying abroad in Pittsburgh, so the language barrier that sometimes showed itself when meeting new people was entirely erased. We spent much of the evening comparing notes on life in the U.S. and Colombia, and I was pleasantly surprised when Julio's mother insisted I share in their dinner. Julio freely admitted that there wasn't much for a tourist to do in Sincejelo, but I didn't mind; I'd been a tourist all through the San Blas and for three days in Cartagena, and I was happy to go back to being a traveler. Besides, I needed a night to catch up on writing and photos before riding the rest of the way to Medellin, which will have to wait for the next post. Thanks again for reading!